A Darker Shade of Sweden (20 page)

I sighed and picked up my comic book again.

In the afternoon, Mark Wester entered the room and sat down on a chain by the bed. His face was serious, and I realized that something must have happened, something that meant that everything was no longer going according to his plans—whatever they might be.

“You'll be discharged from this ward tomorrow.”

“Hooray,” I said, cheerful, for once.

He remained sitting, silent, hardly saying a word for perhaps five minutes.

“I guess you'd like to know what all this is about,” he said at last.

“Man, that was the smartest thing I've heard you manage since I came here.”

Wester took no offense.

“Have you ever heard of Hans Zägel?”

“Professor Hans Zägel, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Could anyone have failed to hear about him?”

Professor Hans Zägel was the foremost scientist of our time. He was born in Germany, but when the Russians occupied Germany in 1936, he escaped to England, later on to the United States. There could hardly be anybody not aware of Hans Zägler, and I felt slightly insulted that Wester had asked me if I had heard of him. Compared to Zägler, Einstein was a nobody.

“No, I suppose you can't have failed to hear about him. Do you know how old he is?”

“Around eighty-five, I guess,” I said.

“He's eighty-six. Do you know what kind of research he is doing?”

“This and that, if you are to believe the news. He seems to know most everything within all areas of natural science. I suppose physics is his field of specialty. After all, he did build the first photon spaceship.”

“True, physics is his main subject, but for the last ten years he has mainly concerned himself with biology.”

“Hold on. What does Zägel have to do with me?”

“I'll tell you in a moment. Do you read any science fiction?”

I gestured towards the pile of magazines I had spent the last few days reading.

“Have you read anything about brain transplants lately?”

“I guess the idea pops up in some story now and then. Why?”

“What do you think about brain transplants in reality? Do you think they might be possible to perform?”

“No way,” I laughed. “That's impossible.”

“You're wrong. Hans Zägel has performed several successful brain transplants. The first one six years ago.”

“But, dear God, that's impossible. There are just too many nerves that would have to be spliced together. It's just not possible!”

“Professor Zägel has performed one hundred forty-five transplants, forty-six of them on humans. With the help of his computer, he has developed a risk-free method. A computer, incidentally, that he himself constructed.”

“I find this very hard to believe.”

“I understand your doubts, but I assure you it's all true.”

“How?” I asked, still doubting him.

“Professor Zägel makes the necessary incisions. Opens the cranium, and so on. After that, he performs the rest of the operation aided by his computer. It keeps track of all nerves that have to be spliced and makes sure that none of them are forgotten. The nerve splices are performed with a laser.”

I scratched my head.

“If he's really managed all that, he's even more amazing than I thought. But why haven't you published anything about this?”

“That's what Professor Zägel wants until his work is entirely done.”

“And when will it be done?”

“In nine or ten years' time.”

“Now I'm not sure if you're pulling my leg or telling the truth, but I certainly would like to see some kind of evidence. Would it be possible for me to meet Professor Zägel?”

“No, unfortunately not.”

“And why not?”

“He is dying. He is an old man. His heart is giving out.”

I lay back in bed without answering, feeling sorry for Zägel.

“And where am I supposed to enter this?” I asked at last.

Wester slowly stroked his beardless chin.

“I assume you'll agree that Zägel's brain is the most distinguished on earth, possibly the finest ever known?”

“Sure,” I nodded. “He's brilliant.”

“And would you agree that when such a brain is put at the service of mankind, that brain becomes the most important one on earth?”

“Yes, of course. Too bad he's going to die.”

“Now listen. To speak plainly, the world can't afford to lose a brain like Professor Zägel's.”

“Everyone has to die sometime.”

“Professor Zägel's work is almost finished. He needs, perhaps, another ten years. That's all the time he needs.”

“And where do I enter into all this?” I repeated patiently.

“Professor Zägel needs another ten years to finish the greatest work ever performed in the history of mankind.”

“And . . .”

“What we wish for is to find someone willing to give him the time he needs.”

“Where do you want to get with all this? Nobody can stop death.”

“No, but it can be postponed. We want you to let Professor Zägel's brain borrow your head in order for him to finish his work. We want you to be his new heart and body.”

I just stared stupidly at him. There was a long pause before I managed to reply.

“You're insane,” I whispered hoarsely.

“To Professor Zägel, it's a matter of life or death.”

“What about me, then? What about my life? I'll never agree to it!”

“You have to. Professor Zägel has no more than a week left to live.”

“The answer is no. To me, Zägel is welcome to die this instant, if that's what he wants. My life is more important to me than his. How could you even suggest something like this?”

“You have no choice in the matter. Professor Zägel is too important.”

“You can't force me!” I stood up and grabbed Wester's jacket.

“Pull yourself together, for God's sake!”

“Pull myself together?” I cried back at him. “Do you really expect me to commit suicide just to save Zägel's life?”

“Professor Zägel's knowledge is of paramount importance to all of humanity.”

“I won't do it. Is that why you've been testing me these last weeks? What made you pick me instead of anyone else?”

“That's self-evident. You are as fit as anyone on earth. Your physique is phenomenal. Professor Zägel himself picked you out three months ago . . .”

“So he's picked me. He's chosen his own salvation. I'm supposed to save Zägel's life by means of his own discovery. But you'll never make me do it.”

“You have no choice. The president himself has approved the plan.”

I sat silent for a few seconds, then shot up and tore the door open, attempting to get out of the university. But I didn't manage more than five steps before the guards posted outside my door had caught me. I yelled and cursed, kicked them to make them release me. One of them twisted my arm hard behind my back, and the pain made me scream.

“Don't hurt him!” I heard Wester call out.

So I did have one small advantage. They couldn't hurt me, but I had no scruples as far as they were concerned. When all is said and done, I am one of the world's foremost athletes. I aimed a kick at the stomach of one of the guards, and hit home perfectly. He doubled up, and before the other one had a chance to stop me I kicked him again. The second guard held me in a hard grip around my body, locking my arms to my sides, but I slammed him hard against the wall. I heard him moan when the back of his head struck the marble, but I was unable to pity him. I was fighting for my life. He refused to let go, but when I threw myself down, his body flew forward, above my head. Now my hands were free, and with all my strength I drove my fist against his temple.

Jumping across the first guard, who had started to rise, I ran towards the exit. Wester tried to catch hold of me after a couple of steps, wanting to stop me, but I pushed him violently aside. “Bastard,” I cried, and ran out the revolving door.

I ran along the hallway and down the stairs until I reached the ground floor, where I paused for a second or two while trying to remember if I should go left or right to get out of the building. I decided on left and was halfway down the hall when I heard the loudspeakers warn that I was escaping. They urged everyone to try to stop me, but warned people to be careful not to harm me. Suddenly I was back in the rotunda and saw the huge glass doors leading to freedom.

I began running but was immediately seen by the receptionist at the information desk. She stood up, yelling at me to stop, but of course I ignored her. She screamed for the uniformed guard who had helped me find my way on that first day to stop me, and I saw him closing in on me at an angle. He was closer to the doors than I was, but I was faster. I knew that if I could only make it out the doors, I could outrun anyone who tried to catch me.

Perhaps being a champion runner wasn't such a bad thing after all. The guard almost reached me, but missed by a few inches.

I threw myself out the doors and began running across the lawn. I was dressed only in my pajamas and was barefoot, so I had to choose the lawn. I made it out of the campus block. I ran across the street and saw a man just getting into his car. He was putting his key into the ignition lock when I threw the door open and tore him out on the pavement.

“Sorry, buddy, but this is life or death,” I told him.

The car didn't start on the first turn of the key, but on the second try it began spinning. The guards were sixty or seventy feet away when I started accelerating and I assumed that they noted the plate number. I drove for six blocks, then turned towards the main road. I had to stop for a red light, and while I waited for traffic to pass by I realized that I was shaking from fear. I felt empty inside, unable to realize how I—I, of all people—had ended up in this nightmare.

“Fuck you, Mr. President,” I muttered. “And to think I voted for you. Next time I'll vote for the Democrats . . . if there is a next time.”

When I woke up, Wester was leaning down over me. The shock from the injection they'd given me was slowly abating, and I was able to start thinking again. I tried to rise, but found that leather straps tied me to the bed, so I let my body relax.

“What . . . how?” I asked.

“The police caught you. You shouldn't have tried to run.”

“No, of course not. I suppose I should just urge you to operate as soon as possible?”

“The operation will be tonight. We don't dare let Professor Zägel fight his body any longer. He might die at any moment.”

“Let's hope. Is there really no way you could pick someone else?”

“No. It's too late, and regardless of that you are the one we need. Your excellent physique makes your chances to survive the operation better than anyone had during any of Professor Zägel's previous procedures. And besides, this time I'll be operating, and it will be my first time. I want the best chance possible to succeed, particularly given the importance of this operation.”

“My life is important to me. I have a wife and two children. I'm responsible for them and have to take care of them!”

“Don't worry about your family. The state will take care of them in the best way possible. They'll want for nothing.”

“But I don't want to lose them. I don't want to die!”

“I'm sorry, but there really isn't any alternative.”

“But why try to stop the inevitable? Zägel will die anyway, sooner or later. Even at best, I won't live for more than fifty or sixty years.”

“Professor Zägel can put those fifty or sixty years to immense use. And please let me ease your mind. You won't feel anything at all during the operation.”

“And what will you do with my brain afterward?” I asked him ironically. “Donate it to medical research?”

“No, of course not. We plan on freezing it. In a few years, perhaps when Professor Zägel has perfected his method, we'll try to find a suitable body for it. Maybe you'll even get your own body back, though I doubt the government will agree to that.”

“I doubt it, too. Zägel will still be important. And what will you do when my body wears down? Find him another?”

“Perhaps. That will depend on how worn-out his brain is becoming.”

“Don't you have any feelings at all?” I didn't even try to hide the loathing I felt for him.

“You have to understand why we're doing this. Look at it from our perspective. We do what we truly believe is best for the state. In addition to his medical work, Professor Zägel is also engaged in designing robots to cancel the Russian defense shields.”

I spat at him, but Wester didn't even react.

“I'll leave you now. Next time we meet will be in the operating room. Your wife has been permitted to see you for two hours. You will be entirely undisturbed during that time, and how you spend it concerns nobody else.”

Wester opened the door. Two guards entered the room. They undid my restraints and left before I had time even to rise. After a few minutes the door opened again, and Judith walked in. She had tears in her eyes and threw herself into my arms.

“Michael,” she gasped. “Why, Michael? Why you?”

“They just picked me. Do you know what will happen?”

“They've told me. But they can't do it, Michael, tell me they can't do it!”

I sighed. “I'm afraid they can. I did my best to get out of here, but I only got a few blocks away before the cops picked me up.”

“But the police are supposed to protect people's lives.”

“They do exactly as the government tells them. And in this case, Zägel's life is more important than that of an athlete. Judith, promise me to take care of Junior and Tina. Make sure they get the best of everything.”

“Oh, Michael, can't you stop it somehow?”