To Doc’s amazement, the man moved his head forward, lifting it from the bed. His mouth twitched and formed shapes: words, perhaps. His eyes glittered, were insistent. Yet all that emerged from the open mouth were strange vowel sounds, mangled and garbled.
“Why can he not speak?” Doc asked.
Andower chewed his lip thoughtfully. “We’re not sure. The operation was successful, and he has been alive much longer than any others who have undergone the procedure. My personal opinion is that if he progresses as he has been, then the trauma will pass, and he will once more be able to shape words.”
“Procedure…” Doc didn’t want to ask—dreaded it—but knew he had to. “What kind of procedure?”
“Hmm?” Andower seemed for a moment to be lost in thought. “Well, it’s part of an ongoing program into surgical transplantation. Many good people now die because of rad sickness, damaged limbs, mutations that shorten lifespan. If we can find a way to circumvent this—”
“How?” Doc demanded, his voice firmer, louder now, with an edge to it that required an answer.
“By the transplantation of the healthy parts to a new host. This man had stunted arms, one leg and a flipper, and a lung capacity that was diminished by mutated tissues. He has a brilliant mind, and to lose him for the sake of a healthy host body would have been—”
“I doubt that his mind is brilliant anymore,” Doc
murmured. “I fear that you have, as you say, traumatized him to an extent that he has retreated to a place from where there is no return.”
“I beg to differ. Time will tell.”
“Will it, indeed? And this host that you speak of. What, in the name of all that was once holy, do you mean by that?”
Andower smiled. “Ah, there is the beauty of the process. The host has to be something willing to give up its own life, as such, or at least be unable to register that it is to lose its life. Such things—”
“Things?” Doc spit. “Do you speak of people in this way?”
Andower’s smile widened. “People, Doctor?”
Doc’s mind was racing. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Any number of images and ideas spun through his mind as he reached out—thrusting Andower away from him—and reached for the hessian blankets, pulling them off the trembling figure.
In a sense, what he saw was mundane compared to some of his imaginings, yet the banal obscenity of seeing it in the flesh was somehow far worse than the foulest dream.
The head craned around and stared at him. Was it shame he could see in those eyes? Perhaps a plea to end the suffering? And why not? For the neck was severed at a point just below the Adam’s apple, the flesh stitched crudely but well, and ran into the coarser skin and fur of the body to which it was attached. That body was lying on its side, the twitching, rippling the muscles that ran beneath the fur, the hooves jumping in involuntary spasm as the host body tried to meld with the brain that
now fed it impulses. Strapping bound it to the mattress so that it couldn’t fall, move or injure itself in any manner.
And perhaps to stop the poor enraged half-creature from chilling itself?
Doc would have been violently sick if there was anything left in his gut to spew. Instead, he felt the nausea make his head spin.
“A goat. That is your solution? Rather than let the poor man live out his natural span—because you feel it would be best for you and your baron—this?”
He placed the blanket back carefully, shaking his head, trembling as much as the poor, quivering creature that still stared up at him.
“I am sorry, my friend,” he whispered, “I am powerless. Would that I could end your suffering.”
“Really, Doctor, I’m surprised at your attitude…” Andower took Doc by the arm and pulled him away from the bed. “Think about what you’re saying, the effect it might have on a traumatized patient.”
Doc was astounded. Andower really couldn’t see the pain in the eyes of his experiment. He truly thought that his actions were for the best. How could Doc argue with that? Mutely, he allowed himself to be led from the room and into the corridor beyond. The sec man closed the door behind them. Once in the corridor, Andower turned to face Doc.
“I’m astounded by your attitude, Dr. Tanner. I would have thought a man such as yourself would know that the road of scientific advancement is littered by signposts leading to the distasteful. Sometimes it is necessary, if we’re to find the way forward to a greater future for all. The end—”
“—justifies the means,” Doc concluded. “Perhaps that is what you really think. I am not so sure, Dr. Andower, but I am in no position to argue, as you well know.” Doc shook his head and sighed. The anger had drained from him, replaced by a despair at what he had seen. “Tell me, Doctor, to what end is this butchery and torture? For that is how it seems to me. Tell me why it is necessary.”
Andower looked at Doc as though it was the stupidest question he had ever heard. “Because all the data we build and process, all the failure and all the success, go toward the fulfillment of Arcadian’s plans. It’s the same with every sector. All experiments, of whatever type, are there to test the theories that have been passed down. From them, Arcadian will synthesize the great answer. The plan, the system that will incorporate the best of the past to forge the best for the future.”
“Yes,” Doc said, exasperated, “but what is that? What will this plan be?”
Andower answered in a tone of equal exasperation. “That, Dr. Tanner, isn’t for me to question. Not for me to think about. I don’t have the overall picture. The only one who has that picture, and who can build it, is Arcadian himself. It’s only he who can rebuild the world with the perfect social system.”
Doc shook his head. In the distance he could hear footsteps. Heavy boots. Had his absence finally been noticed? Had Andower’s men notified Arcadian of his presence? Knowing time was now short, he felt compelled to ask one last question, while there was still time.
“The propositions for these experiments—not just yours, but all of them—where has Arcadian got them from? For surely he must know that the ideas of the past were also tested in many cases, and found wanting—”
“No,” Andower yelled, anger rising in him, “you don’t understand. The baron is a genius, the greatest brain among us, and certainly the greatest in this wasteland we have inherited. He will lead us out of the darkness and into a new age of light. That is the whole point, to take the best of the past and synthesize it into a new whole.”
Doc was about to tell Andower that the idea of “best” was a mutable one, even though he knew that it would be of little use, when the doors at the far end of the corridor burst open and four sec men marched toward them. From Andower’s expression, Doc could see that their arrival was as unexpected and unwelcome to the sector chief as it was to himself.
“What are you doing in this sector without permission?” Andower questioned angrily. “You know that no one from outside enters unless I have—”
“The baron’s direct command,” the leading sec man snapped, “countermands everything. You want to take it up with him?”
“No. I—” Andower was at a loss.
“So the baron himself requires me to be returned, eh?” Doc said mildly. “Well, I suppose I should be honored. I know the good doctor here was hoping to pick my brain. Perhaps literally.”
The sec leader frowned.
“No matter,” Doc said with a wave of the hand. “I
daresay I shall be back here soon enough if I am not careful. Now get me out of here before I feel compelled to vomit once again.”
Chapter Eleven
Doc was glad to see the last of Andower—or at least, what he hoped would be the last—but was less than pleased when the sec patrol that had come for him took him straight to the baron. He should have figured that this would happen, but in his relief to be free of the horrors he had seen, he didn’t think beyond getting out of this sector as quickly as possible.
The clean lines and tidy surrounds of the buildings took on a sinister mien when considering what went on behind those blank windows, and it was with a shudder that Doc allowed himself to be led away. The sec party surrounded him, so that he was enclosed on all sides by black-clad men armed with blasters.
The sector in which he had found himself was one that was unnaturally quiet. Distant sounds echoed across the early morning skies, but the area in which they walked was silent. “As the grave” was a phrase that popped unbidden into Doc’s head as he walked. The sec men had resisted all attempts at conversation, leaving him with nothing but his thoughts. And they were poor company, returning as they did to the things he had seen. The bland facades of the buildings in this sector now resembled nothing so much as mausoleums to his troubled vision.
They reached a boundary line. Fencing, and a small patch of clear ground between the two. It wasn’t long past dawn, and the regularly spaced and freestanding lamps that lit this no-man’s land had now been extinguished. The low-level buildings beyond were still sleeping, with only the bare minimum of sound coming from their midst. It was too early for the day’s work to have truly begun, and too late for the sounds of night. Yet the noise was still in stark contrast to the sector he left behind.
It was hard to tell which of the social models was used in this sector. The buildings gave away no secrets, and there were only a few people to be seen. They eyed Doc and his sec guard with some suspicion, only too glad to slink into shadows until he had passed.
The same was true of the next sector into which they passed, only now—as time was progressing—there was more activity. The people here seemed to move freely, and apart from the fact they were a little more poorly dressed than those in the central sector dealing with trade and ville administration, there seemed to be nothing to distinguish them.
Andower’s sector was set apart by the extreme nature of the experimentation, and its clinical nature. That was fairly obvious. Yet for the life of him, Doc could see little in the way of obvious differences between the two sectors he had just traversed, and the one in which the baron lived. And how, indeed, could he reconcile this with the sector in which he and his companions had entered the ville?
Doc had hoped to get some answers with his little recce, yet all he had done was pose a number of further
questions for which he was no nearer to any answers. It wasn’t much to return with, for all his troubles.
The central sector was awake to the day as they reached the baron’s domicile, and Doc’s progress elicited some curiosity from those now going about their business. He was relived when they entered the old library. As he was escorted across the lobby of the building and bustled up the staircase, he was amused to note that the door he had used just a few hours earlier had not only had the lamp replaced, but was now secured with a stout padlock to reinforce the lock he had picked with such ease.
That route out was now closed, that was for sure.
Doc had half expected to be returned to his friends, and also to find that they had been taken to more secure quarters. Indeed, he was already preparing himself for Ryan’s wrath, and to explain his actions.
So it was with some surprise that he found himself being led directly into the baron’s quarters, where Arcadian was waiting for him.
The baron was seated on one of the old chesterfields, seemingly relaxed. He indicated that Doc be seated on the chesterfield opposite. A coffee service stood on a table between them. He dismissed the sec with a gesture, and bade Doc to partake of the beverage. It was only when Doc had drunk half a cup—the baron pouring a cup and taking a sip to prove to Doc that it hadn’t been tampered with—that Arcadian began.
“So, Doctor, I understand that you have spoken to my old colleague Andower, and that you weren’t impressed with that aspect of my research.”
Doc chose his words with care. “I was surprised—
shocked, perhaps—by the nature of the experiments. But I suppose such things have to be carried out if progress is to be made.”
Arcadian raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a radical change of opinion, given your comments to Andower. He was, incidentally, a little upset by your reaction, Doctor. He expected more understanding from a man like yourself.”
Doc felt insulted by this, but kept his true feelings masked. With a shrug, he said, “You must understand that, during the recent past, I have seen much butchery without purpose. One either becomes hardened, or one has an instinctual reaction before intellect comes to the fore. I have had time to reflect. This is not idle butchery. It has purpose, and if Dr. Andower was in any way offended, then that is unfortunate.”
The baron paused for a moment, weighing Doc’s sincerity, before continuing on another tack.
“It took my men some time to work out how you effected an escape—”
“Hardly escape,” Doc demurred. “I was searching for more of your artifacts from the past, that is all.”
Arcadian eyed him wryly. “Searching, perhaps, but not for that alone, I think. But we won’t argue about that, Doctor. What I would really like to know is how you were sure about the connection between my palace and Andower’s section house. Had you some prior knowledge?”
Doc chuckled. “Were that I was that smart. If so, then I would not have been so easily found and returned. All old buildings of this type have cellars. Cellars that could have housed more from the past. I had no idea that a
tunnel system existed, and if I had, then I would have taken my friends with me, and not left them here. I intended to have a look around, then return before I was even missed.”
Arcadian nodded, but said nothing for some time. Absurdly, Doc felt that the baron could see right through him, and would think that he was lying. Absurd because, to all intents and purposes, Doc was being straight. He was looking for more than artifacts of the past, but not for a route out.
“Very well,” the baron said finally. “You’ll return to your companions. I think no real harm has been done. If anything at all, you have done little except to expedite your fate a little sooner than I would have wished.”
He clicked his fingers and two sec men, accompanied by Schweiz, entered the baron’s chambers. Doc realized that they had to have been waiting throughout the discussion, and when he looked at Schweiz he could see—even though the sec chief’s eyes were shielded by his dark glasses—that he wasn’t believed.
The sec chief gestured to Doc to move, and with a quizzical glance at the baron, the old man rose. Arcadian wasn’t even looking at him. Having summarily dismissed him, he had taken up some papers that had lain at his side, and was now seemingly engrossed in them. Whether this was genuine, or merely to prove a point, it nonetheless left Doc with little choice but to follow the sec chief.
Schweiz led Doc and his two-man guard out of the baron’s chambers and toward the area where the companions had been billeted the previous evening. As they approached the corridor housing the rooms, Doc noted
that there was now a heavy sec presence both at the end of the corridor and dotted along its length. Two armed men stood to either side of one of the doors.
“This is what you’re responsible for,” Schweiz said with a heavy attempt at irony and sarcasm. “I bet your friends are real happy about this.”
“Perhaps not.” Doc shrugged. “But what does it say about you that it just took one old buzzard to outwit all of you?”
His tone may have been mild, but he could see that he had hit a nerve from the way that, even behind the protection of his shades, Schweiz winced. He suppressed a smile.
Without ceremony, the sec chief opened the door of the room and pushed Doc in, slamming it behind him.
“Ah, you may be wondering what I thought I was doing,” Doc said without preamble as he found himself facing five people—seated or standing—who were viewing him with a mix of exasperation, relief and anger.
“That would be a good place to start,” Ryan said, with what Doc considered to be admirable understatement.
And so Doc began to explain himself, starting with the desire to find out more about Arcadian, an itch that just had to be scratched. He told them about the tunnel, and what he had seen down there. Then he told them about Andower and his experiments. His tone went cold and hard as he described what he had witnessed, yet he tried to keep any kind of judgment out of his account. That could wait, for now. It was more important that he relay, while it was still clear to him, the structure of the
sectors as outlined by the whitecoat, and what he had told Doc about Arcadian’s motivations. He finished by telling them of his capture, and of his recent audience with Arcadian, including his view of the experiments as relayed to the baron.
“So he thinks that you approve of the way in which he runs things?” Ryan questioned.
Doc smiled and shrugged. “I can only hope that my limited thespian skills were enough to fool him. I felt like he could see through me, but he gave no indication. I feel that may be irrelevant, though. He already had plans for us. All my actions have achieved is the accelerated precipitation of those plans.”
“That can’t be helped,” Ryan said. “It was a stupe bastard thing to do, Doc, and I don’t know what you were thinking. But at least we’ve got a bit more background on what goes on here. And face it, if Arcadian was going to do this shit, better we face it now than later.”
“You do not think I have made matters worse?” Doc asked.
Ryan shook his head. “No. I don’t think they could get worse as such. All that could happen was that we could suddenly be made aware of just how bastard bad they were. What Arcadian wants to do with us is the trade-off that Toms talked about. He wanted us back here for a reason. Whatever he wants from us, he was going to take it sooner or later. Better sooner. At least we’ll know what we’re facing.”
“We already do, thanks to Doc,” Mildred said softly. “And it makes my blood run cold.”
“Doc,” Krysty said in an equally quiet voice, “you
told us what you said to Arcadian about his lovely little ville, but what do you really think? You’re the only one who’s seen enough of it to judge.”
Doc sighed, rubbed his eyes and looked at them. “I think that, without doubt, Arcadian and his little acolytes have the potential to be the greatest threat to this land since the nukes hit home. I have seen barons who are more bloodthirsty and more prone to meaningless violence. Victims of their own stupidity and emotion. He is not like that, and that in turn is the very thing that makes him all the more dangerous. He is driven not by personal ambition centered on greed, but rather by ideology. True, his ego demands that he think he can achieve this, and he wishes to be feted for it. But that is not what drives him. The chance to build an empire that will bring the world in line with his vision, and to run that world in a way that is best—” he spit this latter word with venom “—is the end in itself.”
“Then surely such a man can be reasoned with,” Krysty reflected.
Doc’s laugh was hollow and sad. “Reason is only in the eye of the beholder. To him, anyone who does not agree or see things his way is wrong, and there is no counter to such a belief. He is the worst kind of butcher—at least the other butchers we have seen are powered by nothing more than their animal lusts. They delight in their sport, but have not the sensibility to see that what they are doing is anything other natural. Arcadian, on the contrary, wants to master nature, and brings the intellect of ideas to bear on bending it to his will. Those vile experiments are disgusting, and he knows it. Yet he ignores it in the belief that the end jus
tifies the means. Such a belief is a relentless juggernaut. The sector headed by the whitecoat Andower is the grossest kind of concentration camp.”
Mildred caught the bewildered glances of the others, who were unfamiliar with the term and explained.
“Jails and camps where those who were considered inferior—by whatever criteria the madmen controlling them set—were herded together then worked till they bought the farm, were used for medical experiments or were just chilled. To make a better world,” she added with sneering irony.
“Succinctly put, my dear Doctor,” Doc affirmed. “And I fear that this is what Arcadian has in mind for us. I have little doubt from what Andower said to me that he has some vague ideas—if nothing fully formed—that we have differences to those others who have passed through here. Tales are passed around, of course, but although he probably has no real indications as to the unusual histories of both Dr. Wyeth and myself, still he knows that we have experiences and knowledge that passes beyond the norm. The question is, how will he choose to extract these things?”
Silence fell over the group. They were still seated in the same room in which Doc had been returned to them, but somehow it seemed a different place. The guards outside seemed more ominous. One room, one exit: an army of sec between themselves and the outside world. An outside world that was contained in the center of a ville that they now knew to be surrounded and sectioned off by rings of defenses.