by Jerry Sohl
“It is a pity, isn’t it?" Emmett said. “Maybe we shouldn’t have given up. Maybe we should have let the Enemy bomb us to death. Then there wouldn’t be any complaining, would there?”
“Well, now,” the man said, opening and closing his mouth like a fish gasping for water, “that would be going pretty far, wouldn’t it? And they would never have done a thing like that. They’re too humane. Yes, sir, much too humane. We were the warmongers. Why,” and he leaned forward as if to impart a secret, “did you know they invented the atomic bomb back in the early nineteen thirties? Yes, sir, it’s the truth. They developed atomic energy for peaceful purposes, didn’t want to give it to the world, knowing what would happen to the peaceful purposes. They were forced to reveal it when the Western powers stumbled onto the discovery in the forties. If they hadn’t stepped in to save the world when they did, why we’d all be dead now.”
“Frankly,” Emmett said, getting up, “don’t you think we’d all be better off dead?” He left the man sputtering an answer he didn’t wait to hear.
An hour later the bars were opened in the banquet hall, music rolled out of the speakers all over the building and couples danced. The lights were turned low, and some couples took to darkened corners to exchange talk of private nature.
Emmett walked the halls and the banquet room, studying faces, most of them flushed now, and all the faces of people enjoying themselves. He saw the blonde once when he went to a bar to get another drink. She was there with her escort and managed to smile at him. He didn’t get a chance to talk to her.
He watched the dancing for a while, wished he knew how. He saw Gniessin on the floor, a slip of a girl in his arms, and he saw Bradshaw, too, executing some complicated step that the girl he was swinging around didn’t seem to enjoy.
Much later the music stopped and the number of couples in the banquet room and in the corridors dwindled. He had had his fill of drink, of food, of music, conversation and the sight of women and men.
He went to his room, feeling relief when the door slid shut on everything in the rest of the house. He wasn’t sleepy, went to the window, could see nothing outside. How the other half lived. That’s what this was. The era of plenty for these people, for these collaborators, leaders and workers, and their girl friends. And for the rest of the people in the area, it was an era of pain and misfortune and hard work and trying not to think of how bad things were, how good they used to be. Who was worse, the man who adapted and co-operated and won for himself some of the gravy, or the man who stubbornly refused to embrace any of it but who refused to rise up against it?
Rise up against it. He snorted. How could anyone rise up against it? He, Emmett Keyes, was the only man he knew who could because he was the only man he knew who was not touched by the shadow of the booster. And he had risen to fight it. And now he was as helpless as if he, too, could not live without a booster. A one-man revolution gone wrong, hamstrung and tied, a servant of the master.
He undressed for bed, his mind still dwelling on the plenty for some, the little for the rest, and his own inability to do anything about it.
The door slid open and Shirley came through. She leaned against the closing door, her eyes bright.
“Are you alone?”
“Yes, I’m alone. Don’t you believe in knocking?” Emmett reached for his lounging robe.
She suddenly saw him the way he was and uttered a little laugh. “Well!” she said, putting her hands on her hips. “I didn’t expect this!”
“What did you expect? Henderson?”
“Him?” She laughed, came in, threw her beaded handbag on his dresser and arranged her hair in the mirror. “He’s out like a light. I left him in his room. Aren’t you glad to see me?” She looked at him in the mirror.
“Should I be? What do you want?”
She turned. “Should I want something?”
“Else why should you come here?”
She smiled and came over to him. “Isn’t it enough just to come and finish our conversation? It was interrupted, you know.”
“Was it?”
“You were asking me where I was from. Don’t you remember?”
“Vaguely. Where did you come from?”
“Atlanta. A little town in Logan County. Just off Route sixty-six.” She sat on the bed next to him. “Don’t you like me?”
“Sure I like you.”
“You don’t act like it.”
“What am I supposed to do, turn handsprings?”
She frowned. “You are an odd one. I help get Henderson fried so I can come here and ... I had a terrible time trying to find your room until I thought of asking one of the robots.”
She ran a forefinger up his arm to his shoulder, following it with her eyes until it reached his chin. Then she looked at him. Her blue eyes were wide, her lips not quite closed. Emmett saw the fine curve of shoulder, the smooth expanse of flesh over her breasts. . . . She moved toward him.
He kissed her. Her lips were cool.
“Look,” he said, pushing her away, “supposing this guy Henderson wakes up and starts looking for you. Should you be here?”
She looked at him with puzzled eyes. “Why not? I’d rather be here than with him, don’t you understand that? And if he wakes up and I’m not there, why that’s his fault for falling asleep.”
He got up from the bed, went to the window. “I still don’t understand it. How did you ever get mixed up in a thing like this?”
“Are you serious?”
He could see her reflection in the window. She was still on the bed, looking at him intently. “Yes, I’m serious.”
“Well. ... It was a year before I got a chance to come. And then I wasn’t sure I’d make it. There’s lots of competition, you know.”
He turned to her. “Is this the goal of every young girl in Gniessin’s district? And if it is, why should it be?”
“Of course it isn’t the goal of all the girls. Some of them know they’d never make it. But increased rations, not just for you but for your whole family and anybody you choose, providing you don’t overdo it, isn’t that a worthwhile goal? Don’t you know how it is to live on the outside?”
“Of course I know.”
“It isn’t as if you were signing your life away. You only have to come to twenty-five parties and then you’re through. You don’t have to pay any taxes any more or buy any permits even if you get married and have a family.”
“You mean somebody would marry you after this?”
“What do you mean!” She stood up. “Just what do you mean ‘after this’?” Her eyes blazed.
“But what man . . . ?” He stared at her.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you’d be lucky to marry an ex-party girl, Mr. Emmett Keyes. No taxes for either of you, no permits to buy, just as I said. You think we never get married? Why, they choose only the prettiest girls!” “Who chooses only the prettiest girls?”
“The county directors. They get up their party, an equal number of men and girls. Sometimes a girl even marries a director. That’s happened.”
“And I suppose you consider that lucky?”
“I certainly do.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Why—ever since I remember.” She looked around the room. “You really live here and you don’t know that?”
“I live here,” he said slowly, “but I’m just beginning to learn a few things. What happens if you get pregnant?”
“That’s why they have a doctor here.”
“Have you--”
“No I haven’t, if it’s any of your business.” She glared at him, her nostrils flared. “I don’t know what I ever saw in you. I thought you were nice when I saw you down there in the fountain room. I couldn’t understand why you should be alone. But now I see why. No girl would have you.” She turned her back and with her high heels digging hard into the rug, she flounced to the door.
She halted in front of it, turned to him. “Aren’t
you going to stop me?”
“Why should I?”
She came back in the room. “I forgot my purse.” She picked it up, looked at it, then at Emmett. Her eyes softened. “Look,” she said, “I don’t want to go back to that Henderson.”
“He is pretty much of a mess. I’ll grant you that.”
She pouted. “Aren’t you going to ask me to stay?”
She was ravishing, a woman he had never seen the likes of before. Something out of a picture book. And viewing her this way, seeing the entreaty in her eyes, and feeling a simple physical stirring within himself for her, he said, “You can stay if you want to.”
The bag plopped back on the dresser.
CHAPTER - 13
The door slid open at his touch. Emmett entered Dr. Smeltzer’s room. He was surprised to find the doctor lying in bed with his clothes on. As Emmett approached him, the man rose on an elbow.
"Keyes," he said hoarsely, "for God’s sake get Gniessin to give me my ration. Eve been calling him over the scanner, but he only laughs. He tells me I’ve got to take part in the next party or he won’t give me any more."
The man wet his lips, his eyes round and staring, his face pale and dewed with sweat. "Please, Keyes! I’ll do anything in the world for you if you’ll only convince Gniessin ...!’’
"Well, why don’t you tell him you’ll go to the next party then?” Emmett suggested, coming over to the bed.
"I did! I did!” the doctor wailed. “I told him I’d go. I told him I’d swear I’d go.”
"And still he refuses?”
"He just laughs, Keyes. Laughs at me.” The man was nearly to the point of tears. "Tell him. Tell him!” He cried the last words. "He tells me he wants to be sure. Tell him I’m sure, won’t you please, Keyes?”
"Isn’t this the day the Enemy doctor comes?”
“Yes, yes, this is the day. Will you do it?”
“Well, then Gniessin will need his shots, won’t he?”
“He got those last night. Please, Keyes--”
“I was just on my way for the massage.”
“Please hurry!”
“What time is the doctor coming?”
“Tonight. Don't stand there, damn you! Oh!” The doctor put out a trembling hand. “I didn’t mean that. Honest, I didn’t, Keyes.”
“Well, if we’re supposed to get out of sight, he won’t leave you in this condition.”
“No, he won’t. I know he won’t. But I can’t stand another minute of this. I’ve got to have it—goddamit, can’t you understand? Can't you?" The doctor covered his face with his hands, fell to one side and buried his head in the covers, crying.
“I’ll do what I can,” Emmett said, leaving the room. He was filled with sudden loathing for the doctor, tried to overcome it by telling himself it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. Gniessin should never let him get in that condition. There was this streak in Gniessin, this inhumanity to others. It was too bad for Smeltzer.
He had gone to see the doctor to learn something about the visit of the Enemy physician, thinking perhaps Smeltzer would accompany him to the massage session to administer the necessary drugs; but the doctor had done it Sunday night. He shrugged as he walked along. Perhaps Gniessin had to assimilate the ingredients overnight. That was their business. But he wondered where he was supposed to go when the other doctor arrived. Well, Gniessin would know.
He pushed open the massage-and-steam-room door, found Jascha stationed at the small door to the steam chamber.
“How long has Gniessin been in there, Jascha?” he asked, preparing the massage table.
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
“He should be coming out soon.”
Jascha said nothing, watched Emmett uncork the mineral oil, arrange a sheet on the table. When he finished, Emmett walked
to the door to look through the lucite window. Jascha moved menacingly in front of him.
“Think I’m trying to get at him, Jascha?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m not. Couldn’t see anyway because of the steam.” Emmett went back to the table to wait. He sat on it, swinging his legs and looking at Jascha.
“What time will the Enemy doctor arrive, Jascha?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Does he usually arrive at night?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s his name?”
“I can’t tell you that, Mr. Keyes.”
“How long does he stay?”
“There is no predetermined time.”
Emmett looked beyond Jascha’s head trying to see some activity in the steam room. Gniessin ought to have been out by now. Jascha’s head jerked slightly.
Emmett had heard it, too.
Gniessin was doing or saying something in the steam room. “Help!”
The word was plain. They both heard it now.
Jascha’s eyes glowed.
“Open the door,” Emmett said. “Something’s wrong with Gniessin!”
“Help!” It was fainter.
“Open the door!” Emmett jumped from the table and rushed to the door. Jascha flung him back with his arm. Emmett staggered back against the table.
“You stay there,” Jascha said. Then he whirled, whipped open the door. He staggered back as the steam billowed out.
“I’m sick!” The voice was weak. “Help—me!”
“He needs help, Jascha,” Emmett cried. “You can’t go in. Let me go in! We’ve got to get him out of there!”
“You stay!” Jascha said.
“Jascha!” It was nearly a scream.
Jascha plunged into the steam room.
Emmett was behind him.
Together they made their way to the far end. Gniessin was sprawled out on the top step, his eyes glassy, his head lolling. He tried to focus his eyes. The mist swirled around his head.
“Its you, Keyes—and Jascha—I need—I—” His eyes suddenly opened wide in surprise, his hands slipped off the step and his head hit it with a dull thud. The eyes were still open, he was sucking his breath and suddenly there was an awful gurgling sound above the hiss of steam.
Jascha was at his side, his powerful arms about him. He lifted him from the step, walked one pace, and stopped.
The robot swayed.
Gniessin slid out of his arms, fell in a heap on the floor.
Suddenly the robot moved sidewise—fast—hit the wall a resounding thud and clattered to the floor of the steam room.
Emmett stood transfixed, looking first at Gniessin, then at the immobile robot.
Then he gradually became aware of the hiss of steam and of sweat running into his eyes, down his throat, and he could taste the saltiness of it when he wet his lips. His shirt and trousers clung to him.
And then he knew Gniessin was dead.
And the thought crashed through to free him.
His mind raced. What to do? Get Smeltzer? Bradshaw? Try to revive the robot? Maybe Gniessin. It could be he wasn’t really dead.
No, no! Don’t revive anybody! Now just wait a minute. Calm down and get hold of yourself, damn it! Don’t do anything rash!
He stood quietly, trying to control his jackhammer heart. He wiped the sweat out of his eyes.
Gniessin and Jascha. Both gone!
No, he wouldn’t revive anyone, he thought calmly. He wouldn’t even let anyone know.
There was only one thing to do.
If it could be done.
He turned and walked slowly to the door. It was open. He stepped through. It felt cold in the massage room. He looked up at the scanner. Are you watching me? he asked himself. Well, let me do this then. I know you know something’s happened to Jascha. But maybe you don’t know Gniessin’s dead. Maybe you’re not doing anything about it because you’re waiting for orders from Gniessin. Well, just sit tight, brain, and let me proceed. Just let me do this one thing.
He walked to the massage table, nonchalantly picked up the mineral oil bottle and the sheet. He carefully folded the sheet. The
n he walked back into the steam room.
Once inside, he did something he had forgotten to do before. He looked at the ceiling. He saw with relief there was no scanner there. There was a chance, then. He glanced back at the door. The steam was so thick he could hardly see it.
He bent down, rolled Gniessin over. Then he went to the lowest step, broke the mineral oil bottle.
Back to Gniessin again. He started to cut the man’s left wrist. There was a coded identity bracelet there and Emmett Keyes meant to have it.
He cut quickly, almost savagely. There was little blood. He isolated the bracelet, was surprised to find it very much like his own. With trembling fingers he undid the catch, slipped it off.
Emmett put it to one side, gritted his teeth and, with the sharp edge of the piece of mineral oil bottle glass started to cut around his own left wrist. Blood spurted. He moaned with pain and felt faint, but he kept determinedly on.
He had it now. It was loose. But how to loosen the snap? He sought the answer with fumbling fingers, working feverishly and frantically. Oh, God, let my fingers unsnap this thing. . . . There!
It was off.
He snatched Gniessin’s bracelet, snapped it in place on his own wrist. There was a pool of blood beneath where he had been working. He put his own bracelet on Gniessin’s wrist, took up the sheet and ripped a long ribbon from it. He applied the tour-
niquet to his left arm at the elbow. Next he bandaged his wrist tightly.
He breathed a sigh of relief, stumbled from the room, leaned against the massage table, gasping for breath. He was weak and dizzy.
He had one more job to do.
He looked around, saw a weight scale in a corner. He had seen Gniessin use the device, went over to look at it. It was bulky. He tried to pick it up, found it heavy, but thought he could manage it. He carried it into the steam room.
When he dropped it on Jascha’s head, there was a dull crunch. There were cracks in Jascha’s skull now.
He left the steam room, closed the door behind him.
