The Santaroga Barrier

by Frank Herbert

  Dasein found a container of sterile water, another of alcohol, put bits of the cheese into solution. He started a culture flask, made a control slide and examined it under the microscope.

  A threadlike binding structure within the cheese leaped into vision. As he raised magnification, the threads resolved into spirals of elongated structure that resembled cells which had been blocked from normal division.

  Dasein sat back, puzzled. The thread pattern bore a resemblance to fungoid mycelium spawn. This agreed with his early surmise; he was dealing with a type of fungus growth.

  What was the active agent, though?

  He closed his eyes to think, realized he was trembling with fatigue.

  Easy does it, he thought. You’re not a well man.

  Some of the experiments required time to mature, he told himself. They could wait. He made his way back to bed, stretched out on the blankets. His left hand reached out to the cheese, broke off a chunk.

  Dasein became aware of his own action as he swallowed the cheese. He looked at the crumbled specks on his fingers, rubbed them, felt the oily smoothness. A delicious sense of well-being spread through his body.

  The body does it, Dasein thought. Of itself, the body does it. Could the body go out and kill a man? Very likely.

  He felt sleep winding about his consciousness. The body needed sleep. The body would have sleep.

  The mind, though, built a dream—of trees growing to gigantic size as he watched them. They leaped up with swift vitality. Their branches swept out, leafed, fruited. All basked under a sun the color of golden cheese.

  12

  Sunset was burning orange in the west when Dasein awoke. He lay, his head turned toward the windows, looking out at the blazing sky, his attention caught in a spell akin to ancient sun worship. The ship of life was headed down to its daily rest. Soon, steel darkness would claim the land.

  A click sounded behind Dasein. Artificial light flooded the room. He turned, the spell broken.

  Jenny stood just inside the door. She wore a long green robe that reached almost to her ankles. Green slippers covered her feet.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” she said.

  Dasein stared at her as at a stranger. He could see it was the same Jenny he loved—her long black hair caught in a red ribbon, full lips slightly parted, dimple showing in her cheek—but furtive smoke drifted in her blue eyes. There was the calm of a goddess about her.

  Something eternally of the past moved her body as Jenny stepped farther into the room.

  A thrill of fear shot through Dasein. It was the fear an Attic peasant might have experienced before a priestess at Delphi. She was beautiful … and deadly.

  “Aren’t you going to ask how I am?” she asked.

  “I can see you’re all right,” he said.

  She took another step toward him, said: “Clara brought Jersey Hofstedder’s car over and left it for you. It’s down in the garage.”

  Dasein thought of that beautifully machined automobile—another bauble to attract him.

  “And what have you brought—this time?” he asked.

  “Gil!”

  “There’s no food in your hands,” he said. “Is it a poisoned hatpin, perhaps?”

  Tears flooded her eyes.

  “Stay away from me,” he said. “I love you.”

  She nodded. “I do love you. And … I’ve felt how dangerous I could be … to you. There’ve been …” She shook her head. “I knew I had to stay away from you. But not any more. Not now.”

  “So it’s all over,” he said. “Let bygones be bygones. Wouldn’t a gun be quicker?”

  She stamped a foot. “Gil, you’re impossible!”

  “I’m impossible?”

  “Have you changed?” she whispered. “Don’t you feel any …”

  “I still love you,” he said. “Stay away from me. I love you.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Wouldn’t it be kindest to do it while I’m asleep?” he asked. “Never let me know who …”

  “Stop it!”

  Abruptly, she ripped off the green robe, revealing a white, lace-edged nightgown beneath. She dropped the robe, pulled the gown over her head, threw it on the floor, stood there naked, glaring at him.

  “See?” she said. “Nothing here but a woman! Nothing here but the woman who loves you.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “No poison in my hands … Oh, Gil …” His name came out as a wail.

  Dasein forced his gaze away from her. He knew he couldn’t look at her—lovely, lithe, desirable—and retain any coolness of judgment. She was beautiful and deadly—the ultimate bait Santaroga offered.

  There was a rustling of cloth near the door.

  He whirled.

  She stood once more clothed in the green robe. Her cheeks were scarlet, lips trembling, eyes downcast. Slowly, she raised her eyes, met his stare.

  “I have no shame with you, Gil,” she said. “I love you. I want no secrets between us at all—no secrets of the flesh … no secrets of any kind.”

  Dasein tried to swallow past a lump in his throat. The goddess was vulnerable. It was a discovery that caused an ache in his chest.

  “I feel the same way,” he said. “Jen … you’d better leave now. If you don’t … I might just grab you and rape you.”

  She tried to smile, failed, whirled away and ran out of the room.

  The door slammed. There was a moment’s silence. The door opened. Piaget stood in the opening looking back into the foyer. The sound of the elevator doors closing came clearly to Dasein. Piaget came in, closed the door.

  “What happened with you two?” he asked.

  “I think we just had a fight and made up,” Dasein said. “I’m not sure.”

  Piaget cleared his throat. There was a look of confidence in his round face, Dasein thought. It was not a judgment he could be sure of, however, in the unmapped land of concentration. At any rate, the look was gone now, replaced by a wide-eyed stare of interest in Dasein.

  “You’re looking vastly improved,” Piaget said. “You’ve a better color in your face. Feeling stronger?”

  “As a matter of fact I am.”

  Piaget glanced at the remains of the cheese on the nightstand, crossed and sniffed at it. “Bit stale,” he said. “I’ll have a fresh block sent up.”

  “You do that,” Dasein said.

  “Care to let me look at your bandages?” Piaget asked.

  “I thought we were going to let Burdeaux work on my bandages.”

  “Win had a small emergency at home. His daughter’s getting married tomorrow, you know. He’ll be along later.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “Just getting the new couple’s house built in time,” Piaget said. “Bit of a delay because we decided to build four at once in the same area. Good location—you and Jenny might like one of them.”

  “That’s nice,” Dasein said. “You all get together and build a house for the newlyweds.”

  “We take care of our own,” Piaget said. “Let’s look at those bandages, shall we?”

  “Let’s.”

  “Glad to see you’re being more reasonable,” Piaget said. “Be right back.” He went out the lab door, returned in a moment with a supply cart, stationed the cart beside Dasein’s bed, began cutting away the head bandages.

  “See you’ve been puttering around the lab,” Piaget said.

  Dasein winced as air hit the burn on his cheek. “Is that what I’ve been doing, puttering?”

  “What have you been doing?” Piaget asked. He bent, examined Dasein’s cheek. “This is coming along fine. Won’t even leave a scar, I do believe.”

  “I’m looking for the active agent in Jaspers,” Dasein said.

  “Been several attempts along that line,” Piaget said. “Trouble is we all get too busy with more immediate problems.”

  “You’ve had a try at it?” Dasein asked.

  “When I was younger.”

  Dasein waited for the head bandage to be
tied off before asking: “Do you have notes, any summary of …”

  “No notes. Never had time.”

  Piaget began working on Dasein’s right arm.

  “But what did you find out?”

  “Got a broth rich in amino acids,” Piaget said. “Yeastlike. You’re going to have a scar on this arm, nothing alarming, and you’re healing rapidly. You can thank Jaspers for that.”

  “What?” Dasein looked up at him, puzzled.

  “Nature gives; nature takes away. The Jaspers change in body chemistry makes you more susceptible to allergenic reactions, but your body will heal five to ten times faster than it would outside.”

  Dasein looked down at his exposed arm. Pink new flesh already covered the burned area. He could see the scar puckering Piaget had noted.

  “What change in body chemistry?” Dasein asked.

  “Well, mostly a better hormone balance,” Piaget said. “Closer to what you find in an embryo.”

  “That doesn’t square with the allergy reactions,” Dasein protested.

  “I’m not saying it’s a simple thing,” Piaget said. “Hold your arm out here. Steady now.”

  Dasein waited for the bandage to be completed, then: “What about structure and …”

  “Something between a virus and a bacteria,” Piaget said. “Fungusoid in some respects, but …”

  “I saw cell structure in a sample under the microscope.”

  “Yes, but no nucleus. Some nuclear material, certainly, but it can be induced to form virusoid crystals.”

  “Do the crystals have the Jaspers effect?”

  “No. They can, however, be introduced into the proper environment and after suitable development they will produce the desired effect.”

  “What environment?”

  “You know what environment, Gilbert.”

  “The Co-op’s cave?”

  “Yes.” Piaget finished exposing Dasein’s left arm. “Don’t think you’ll have as much scar tissue on this side.”

  “What’s unique about the cave environment?” Dasein asked.

  “We’re not certain.”

  “Hasn’t anybody ever tried to …”

  “We do have a great many immediate problems just to maintain ourselves, Gilbert,” Piaget said.

  Dasein looked down, watched Piaget finish the bandage on the left arm. Maintain themselves? he wondered.

  “Is there any objection to my looking into it?” Dasein asked.

  “When you find time—certainly not.” Piaget restored instruments and material to the cart, pushed it aside. “There. I think we’ll be able to take the bandages off tomorrow. You’re progressing beautifully.”

  “Am I really?”

  Piaget smiled at him. “Insurance from the garage will take care of paying for your new car,” he said. “I presume Jenny told you about the car.”

  “She told me.”

  “We’re also replacing your clothing. Is there anything else?”

  “How about replacing my freedom of choice?”

  “You have freedom of choice, Gilbert, and a broader area from which to choose. Now, I have some …”

  “Keep your advice,” Dasein said.

  “Advice? I was about to say I have some rather interesting information for you. Your suggestion that I look into the people you accuse of trying to kill you has borne some …”

  “My suggestion that you look?”

  “I took the liberty of going ahead with your suggestion.”

  “So you hypnotized some of them,” Dasein said. “Did you prepare a Davis chart on their suscept …”

  “I did not hypnotize them,” Piaget snapped. “Will you be silent and listen?”

  Dasein sighed, looked at the ceiling.

  “I’ve interviewed several of these people,” Piaget said. “The boy, Petey Jorick, first because he’s a primary concern of mine, having just been released from … school. An extremely interesting fact emerges.”

  “Oh?”

  “Each of these persons has a strong unconscious reason to fear and hate the outside.”

  “What?” Dasein turned a puzzled frown on Piaget.

  “They weren’t attacking you as Gilbert Dasein,” Piaget said. “You were the outsider. There’s a strong unresolved …”

  “You mean you consider this good and sufficient …”

  “The reasons are unconscious, as you suspected,” Piaget said. “The structure of motivation, however …”

  “So Jenny both loves me and hates me … as an outsider?”

  “Get one thing straight, Gilbert. Jenny did not try to harm you. It was a student nurse who …”

  “Jenny told me herself she prepared …”

  “Only in the broadest sense is that true,” Piaget said. “She did go to the diet kitchen and order your food and watch while it was prepared. However, she couldn’t keep an eye on every- …”

  “And this … this hate of outsiders,” Dasein said, “you think this is why some of your people tried to get me?”

  “It’s clearly indicated, Gilbert.”

  Dasein stared at him. Piaget believed this—no doubt of it.

  “So all I have to watch out for as long as I live in Santaroga is people who hate outsiders?” Dasein asked.

  “You have nothing to fear now at all,” Piaget said. “You’re no longer an outsider. You’re one of us. And when you and Jenny marry …”

  “Of all the nonsense I’ve ever heard,” Dasein ,said. “This takes all the honors! This … this kid, Petey, he just wanted to put an arrow through me because …”

  “He has a pathological fear of leaving the valley for college outside,” Piaget said. “He’ll overcome this, of course, but the emotions of childhood have more …”

  “The roach powder in the coffee,” Dasein said. “That was just …”

  “That’s a very unhappy case,” Piaget said. “She fell in love with an outsider at college—much as Jenny did, I might add. The difference is that her friend seduced her and left her. She has a daughter who …”

  “My god! You really believe this crap,” Dasein said. He pushed himself against the head of the bed, sat glaring at Piaget.

  “Gilbert, I find this far easier to believe than I do your wild theory that Santaroga has mounted a concerted attack against you. After all, you yourself must see …”

  “Sure,” Dasein said. “I want you to explain the accident at the bridge. I want to see how that …”

  “Easiest of all,” Piaget said. “The young man in question was enamored of Jenny before you came on the scene.”

  “So he just waited for the moment when …”

  “It was entirely on the unconscious level, that I assure you, Gilbert.”

  Dasein merely stared at him. The structure of rationalization Piaget had built up assumed for Dasein the shape of a tree. It was like the tree of his dream. There was the strong trunk protruding into daylight—consciousness. The roots were down there growing in darkness. The limbs came out and dangled prettily distracting leaves and fruit. It was a consistent structure despite its falsity.

  There’d be no cutting it down, Dasein saw. The thing was too substantial. There were too many like it in the forest that was Santaroga. “This is a tree, see? Doesn’t it look like all the others?”

  “I think when you’ve had time to reflect,” Piaget said, “you’ll come to realize the truth of what …”

  “Oh, no doubt,” Dasein said.

  “I’ll, uh … I’ll send you up some more fresh cheese,” Piaget said. “Special stock.”

  “You do that,” Dasein said.

  “I quite understand,” Piaget said. “You think you’re being very cynical and wise right now. But you’ll come around.” He strode from the room.

  Dasein continued to stare at the closed door long after Piaget had gone. The man couldn’t see it, would never be capable of seeing it. No Santarogan could. Not even Jenny despite her love-sharpened awareness. Piaget’s explanation was too easy to take. It’d
be the official line.

  I’ve got to get out of this crazy valley, Dasein thought.

  He slipped out of bed just as the door opened and a hatless, chubby young student nurse entered with a tray.

  “Oh, you’re out of bed,” she said. “Good.”

  She took the old tray off the nightstand, put the new one in its place, set the old one on a chair.

  “I’ll just straighten up your bed while you’re out of it,” she said.

  Dasein stood to one side while she bustled about the bed. Presently, she left, taking the old tray with her.

  He looked at what she had brought—a golden wedge of cheese, crackers, a glass and a bottle of Jaspers beer.

  In a surge of anger, Dasein hurled the cheese against the wall. He was standing there staring at the mess when a soothing sensation on his tongue made him realize he was licking the crumbs off his fingers.

  Dasein stared at his own hand as though it belonged to another person. He consciously forced himself not to bend and recover the cheese from the floor, turned to the beer. There was an opener behind the bottle. He poured it into the glass, drank in swift gulps. Only when the glass was drained did he grow aware of the rich bouquet of Jaspers in the remaining drops of beer.

  Fighting down a fit of trembling, Dasein put the glass on the nightstand, crawled into the bed as though seeking sanctuary.

  His body refused to be denied. People didn’t take Jaspers, he thought. Jaspers took people. He felt the expanding effect within his consciousness, sensed the thunder of a host jarring across the inner landscape of his psyche. Time lost its normal flow, became compressed and explosive.

  Somewhere in a hospital room there were purposeful footsteps. The toggles of a switch slammed away from their connections to create darkness. A door closed.

  Dasein opened his eyes to a window and starshine. In its illumination he saw a fresh wedge of cheese on his nightstand. The mess had been cleaned from wall and floor. He remembered Jenny’s voice—soft, musical, rippling like dark water over rocks, a plaintive tremor in it.

  Had Jenny been here in the dark?

  He sensed no answer.

  Dasein groped for the call buzzer at the head of his bed, pressed it.

  A voice sounded from the speaker: “Do you wish a nurse?”

  “What time is it?” Dasein asked.