Prescription for Chaos (46 page)

By eight o'clock, Mike, Aldo, and Terry, had rehearsed so many possible maneuvers that all three were worn out. Martin had relief operators on tap, but was afraid to bring them in for fear they wouldn't have time to understand the situation and would just get in the way. The evening began to reach that stage of dimness where nothing is distinct, and Mike was hoping that Johnston would delay a little longer so that they could use the receptors with more freedom in the gloom. But at that moment, his long shiny car swung into the drive, and rolled back toward the garage.

Terry, watching Johnston's wife, said, "Here she goes, like clockwork, out the front door and across the grass toward the neighbor's house."

Aldo, watching the man, said, "He's at the upstairs window. There, he clipped Johnston's son over the head—not too hard—and now he's getting him off the bed. He's rolled him onto the floor. The belt, strait jacket and gag go into a laundry bag. He straightens the bed up, and tears out into the hall and down the stairs to the first floor carrying the laundry bag. Now he's in the kitchen. He's rushing down the cellar steps. He opens the door of the dumb-waiter shaft, pulls the dumb-waiter up about six feet, leans into the shaft, and stuffs the sack under something at the bottom of the shaft. He looks in with a pocket flash to check it. Now he lowers the dumb-waiter to the bottom."

Mike, watching Johnston, said, "Johnston's car is approaching the garage. Two doors are up, with cars in them, and two down. Johnston apparently wants the left-hand garage door, which is down. He thumbs a button on the dash. The garage door starts up—evidently a radio-controlled electric door. Wait a minute, the door's going shut again. Johnston stops the car and thumbs the button. The door goes up, and comes down again. Johnston's getting out to look at it."

Terry said, "The wife's ringing the bell of the house next door. She glances at her watch, tries to look through the shrubs and trees that separate the two lawns. Now she's ringing the bell again."

Aldo said, "He's through at the elevator shaft now. He shuts the door, runs down to the cot, opens the cellar window, picks up the record player, takes off the cover, and shoves it out the window under the evergreen. Wait a minute, that's no record player. It's a tape recorder."

"What the hell," growled Martin.

Mike said, "Johnston's wrestling with the garage door. He isn't having much luck."

Terry said, "The wife's telling the neighbors how Johnston's son is in a rage at his father, and she's afraid there's going to be a terrible argument. Won't they come over? These arguments the father and son have are just awful and she doesn't know how this one will end. But she thinks if someone else is there, they'll stop, so please,
please
, they've got to help her."

Aldo said, "The man is putting some kind of thin rubber gloves in his pocket. He spreads the pillows on the cot under the window and puts a couple on the floor nearby. He unwinds the extension cord to the recorder, and plugs it in the light socket. Now he's going out the back door."

The man had now come into Mike's range of vision. "Johnston," said Mike, "is still wrestling with the door. The man comes out onto the drive. 'Let me help you with that, sir.' Johnston turns around. 'I'd appreciate it if you'd put the car away. And see about that door-opener. Nothing at all would be better than this.' 'Certainly, sir.' Johnston takes a brief case from the car, and starts up the drive. The man gets in and starts the motor."

Terry said, "The woman's leading half a dozen people from the next house. One of them starts to run ahead. She grabs him. 'Don't,' she says. 'I'm afraid he's dangerous. We must all get there together. He won't do anything with so many people around.'"

Martin said, "The son is just getting to his feet upstairs. He looks around wildly, yanks the door open and stumbles out into the corridor. He goes back into the room, pulls open the bottom drawer of his dresser, and yanks out a Marine belt. He staggers out into the corridor, puts one hand on the wall, and runs for the staircase."

Aldo said, "The man's started the car engine. Now he's backing the car. He stops and glances back at Johnston."

Mike said, "Johnston has his back to him, walking up the driveway."

Terry said, "The wife is leading the crowd of neighbors through the trees toward the drive near the front of the house—What's that?"

Mike heard it, too. A loud voice burst out from the direction of the evergreen beside the drive. "You can't treat me this way, Father!"

"You good-for-nothing!" shouted Johnston's voice. "If you can't do decent work, you don't deserve a decent wage!"

"You know that's not what I'm talking about!"

Johnston had stopped dead-still, looking around. For an instant, there was the faint whispering sound of a recorder's tape unwinding, then the son's voice came, very loud. "You can't treat me this way, Father!" There was a pause, and then an incoherent shout: "Take that!"

Aldo said, "He's out of the car! He's got a knife!"

There was the sound of scattering gravel, and Johnston whirled, off-balance.

Martin snapped: "Final it!"

Instantly Mike switched his attention. He rose, then dropped, feeling the spasmodic guiding pulsations of powerful wings as he dove for the figure springing forward in the shadows.

"Got him!" said Aldo. There was a faint glimpse of something small and solid that rebounded like a rubber ball to pass Mike with a whir.

From well up the driveway came a woman's scream. The voice of Johnston's wife carried down the drive, "Oh, I hope we're not too late!"

Johnston's assailant landed on his face in the drive as Mike swerved away. Johnston bent to look at him closely, glanced around, and stepped to one side of the drive, behind a tall shrub.

Terry said, "Don't hit her with the sleeper till she's committed herself, Al."

"Don't worry," said Aldo. "Mike, is he out?"

"Out good," said Mike. He'd landed his sleeper again, switched viewpoint to another receptor, a "finalist" this time, and now hovered behind a certain spot on Johnston's head. He triggered a weak signal on a particular frequency, and an instant later the response came, to be stored in the complex microminiaturized circuits of the receptor.

"Final it," growled Martin tensely. "Johnston's son is running for the side door of the house. There's no telling what will happen when he gets out."

Mike dropped the receptor, to hover over the fallen assailant. He again sent out the signal, but this time when the response came, he didn't store it, but instead transmitted the signal received from Johnston.

From up the driveway, there was a crunch of gravel, and Johnston's wife screamed, "Oh, we're too late."

She came running down the drive.

Johnston stepped further back behind the shrub, and watched.

Mike was now well overhead.

In the gloom, Johnston's wife bent briefly at the fallen figure, then screamed, "He's killed Roger! Oh he's killed Roger!" She ran back towards the little crowd, advancing none too eagerly down the driveway, with their flashlights swinging around over the numerous shadowy shrubs to either side.

Just then the side door of the house came open, and Johnston's son, the thick belt in his hand, came out. The crowd was by now opposite the side door.

Johnston's wife screamed, "You murderer! You killed him!"

Martin growled, "Aldo. Get that woman."

The son was looking around in the gloom. He said in a low furious voice, "Give me that light," and taking the flashlight from one of the unresisting crowd, started down the drive with it.

There was brief whir, and Mrs. Johnston was falling. While the crowd was still paralyzed by the sight of Johnston's son, Mike dropped his receptor by the wife, and repeated the process he'd used on the man who'd attacked Johnston.

Martin said, "Aldo. He's coming out of it. Just in case, get a sleeper ready."

The would-be assailant came to his feet, still holding the knife, and blinking in the glare from the son's flashlight.

In the darkness, there was only the steady crunch of gravel, and then the low voice of Johnston's son as he came forward with the belt:

"Now, we'll even things up a little."

"Aldo," snapped Martin. "Hit the son!"

"Not on your life," said Aldo.

"Mike," said Martin.

"I've got a malfunction," said Mike.

Terry said, "That one tried to kill the guy's father, and frame him into the deathhouse as a murderer. Don't ask me to interrupt."

Some moments later, the voice of Johnston shouted, "Don't kill him, Boy! Stop!"

The wail of a police siren traveled down the street and there was a crunch of gravel as the headlights swung in the drive.

Martin growled, "You fools. This muddies it up so the police won't know who to drag in."

Mike said, "Don't jump to conclusions. Watch."

The police, four of them, were springing out of the car, demanding to know what was going on. Johnston's voice rose over the clamor with the ring of authority.

"Officers! Down here!" Taking his son's flashlight, he flashed it around till he found what he wanted, then angrily pointed out the recorder, still unreeling its tape under the tree. "This thing," he said, "had recorded snatches of argument my son and I have had together. As my second wife here brought neighbors in to hear it, my handyman came at me from behind with a knife. They were going to hang this on my son, who was no doubt tied up inside, but he got free and came out just in time."

Martin growled, "That isn't exactly what happened."

"No," said Mike, "but don't worry. They'll work out an explanation."

One of the policeman growled, "Guy had a knife all right. Look here. And look at these rubber gloves he's wearing."

Another said, "You know how to run this recorder? I'm afraid I'll erase it."

"I'll show you," said Johnston. A few moments later the recorded argument was playing back.

At this point, Johnston's wife revived, and came down the drive weeping and crying, "Oh, I'm sorry, Roger. I shouldn't have done it!"

Martin grunted, "Well, that ties it up. Start working the receptors back to the car. Watch out as you bring them by the house lights, and hurry it up."

Mike was grateful it was over. He felt totally worn out. But there was the advantage that now the cellar door was open, apparently so that Johnston's assailant could get back through it quickly after murdering him. This would enable him to yank the recorder back in, quietly shut the window, erase the recording, and then rush out to join in accusing Johnston's son. As it was, the pillows were still spread out, to muffle the sound of a crash, if the recorder had to be shoved through the window hurriedly. But what was now of most interest to Mike was that the back door was still open, which made removal of the receptors from the cellar much easier.

Outside, Johnston's revived and bloody assailant was remorsefully telling his story to the police.

"All in a day's work," grunted Martin. "Next get the receptors out of that garage. We want to be sure they don't get locked in. Then it's home for a hot toddy and a good night's sleep."

A huge dim shape flashed toward and over Mike, swung back, came closer and darted away. Mike dove for the nearest shrubbery.

Aldo's voice growled, "The hell you say, Mart. There are bats cruising around here."

Terry said, "Now, what do we do?"

"Wait," said Martin disgustedly. "You'll have to go back in short sprints or we'll lose a hundred thousand dollars worth of equipment, and a lot of bats will have bellyaches tomorrow."

"Tough on the bats," snarled Terry. "It'll be black as pitch in another hour."

The job dragged on till about three in the morning when it was over, and Mike had never felt gladder to get out of the tank.

The next day, Sue brought the newspaper in to him, as he and Mart were discussing equipment modifications at No. 1 block of tanks in the subbasement. Sue held up the newspaper to show the big black headlines:

"You boys don't get much credit," she said.

Mike said, "Well, we have Johnston's five thousand advance to split with the government, and maybe we ought to bill him for more. I think we earned it."

"More headlines," said Sue, giggling, "CARSTAIRS CLOBBERS CLIENT!—WANTS CASH!"

Martin stared at her, then glanced with a smile at Mike. "I haven't seen her in this mood before, Chief. You think it's safe to let this girl monitor for us? It seems to hit her like drink."

"I think she needs some work in the bookkeeping department," said Mike. "Long columns of figures ought to quiet her down."

"You know you wouldn't trust me with long columns of figures," she said, grinning. "Besides, what did you get all those computers for?"

Martin said, "What gets me is, how does she get the courage to come down here? Yesterday, the place made her shiver."

Mike said dryly, "Women are changeable."

"No," she said. "I'm curious. You've made some changes in things, and I want to know about them. What's a 'finalist', for instance. I take it a 'sleeper' is a receptor fitted with a small hypodermic. But what's a 'finalist'? And exactly why did Johnston's wife and his handyman break down? According to this paper, they've told all and seem filled with remorse."

Mike nodded. "As I told Johnston, once we take care of the attempted murderer, he has had enough to last him for a while."

"But what's the process?"

"Well," said Mike, "the basis of our process is the biophysical method we use in constructing and improving these receptors. But once you have one basic technical advance, you're likely to stumble over others accidentally, and that happened with us. We know, you see, that in some way the brain stores impressions of past events. But these impressions aren't always available on demand. There is a scanning process by which the memory is obtained from the stored record of events."

"Yes, I understand that."

"Well, we've found purely by accident that a particular signal serves to trigger the remembrance of very recent events. This signal is apparently much stronger than that occurring naturally in the brain itself, as the memory is close to complete. It is possible to detect and amplify the complex signal that accompanies this vivid memory, provided you have sufficiently sensitive equipment."