by Robert Bloch
2. Harry Collins--1998
It took them ten seconds to save Harry from falling, but it took himover ten weeks to regain his balance.
In fact, well over two months had passed before he could fully realizejust what had happened, or where he was now. They must have noticedsomething was wrong with him that morning at the office, because twosupervisors and an exec rushed in and caught him just as he was goingout of the window. And then they had sent him away, sent him _here_.
"This is fine," he told Dr. Manschoff. "If I'd known how well theytreated you, I'd have gone couch-happy years ago."
Dr. Manschoff's plump face was impassive, but the little laugh-linesdeepened around the edges of his eyes. "Maybe that's why we take suchcare not to publicize our recent advances in mental therapy," he said."Everybody would want to get into a treatment center, and then wherewould we be?"
Harry nodded, staring past the doctor's shoulder, staring out of thewide window at the broad expanse of rolling countryside beyond.
"I still don't understand, though," he murmured. "How can you possiblymanage to maintain an institution like this, with all the space andthe luxuries? The inmates seem to lead a better life than the adjustedindividuals outside. It's topsy-turvy."
"Perhaps." Dr. Manschoff's fingers formed a pudgy steeple. "But then,so many things seem to be topsy-turvy nowadays, don't they? Wasn't itthe realization of this fact which precipitated your own recentdifficulties?"
"Almost precipitated me bodily out of that window," Harry admitted,cheerfully. "And that's another thing. I was sent here, I suppose,because I'd attempted suicide, gone into shock, temporary amnesia,something like that."
"Something like that," the doctor echoed, contemplating his steeple.
"But you didn't give me any treatment," Harry continued. "Oh, I waskept under sedation for a while, I realize that. And you and some ofthe other staff-members talked to me. But mainly I just rested in anice big room and ate nice big meals."
"So?" The steeple's fleshy spire collapsed.
"So what I want to know is, when does the real treatment start? Whendo I go into analysis, or chemotherapy, and all that?"
Dr. Manschoff shrugged. "Do you think you need those things now?"
Harry gazed out at the sunlight beyond the window, half-squinting andhalf-frowning. "No, come to think of it, I don't believe I do. I feelbetter now than I have in years."
His companion leaned back. "Meaning that for years you felt all wrong.Because you were constricted, physically, psychically, andemotionally. You were cramped, squeezed in a vise until the pressurebecame intolerable. But now that pressure has been removed. As aresult you no longer suffer, and there is no need to seek escape indeath or denial of identity.
"This radical change of attitude has been brought about here in just alittle more than two months' time. And yet you're asking me when the'real treatment' begins."
"I guess I've already had the real treatment then, haven't I?"
"That is correct. Prolonged analysis or drastic therapy isunnecessary. We've merely given you what you seemed to need."
"I'm very grateful," Harry said. "But how can you afford to do it?"
Dr. Manschoff built another temple to an unknown god. He inspected thearchitecture critically now as he spoke. "Because your problem is ararity," he said.
"Rarity? I'd have thought millions of people would be breaking downevery month. The Naturalists say--"
The doctor nodded wearily. "I know what they say. But let's dismissrumors and consider facts. Have you ever read any _official_ reportstating that the number of cases of mental illness ran into themillions?"
"No, I haven't."
"For that matter, do you happen to know of _anyone_ who was ever sentto a treatment center such as this?"
"Well, of course, everybody goes in to see the medics for regularcheck-ups and this includes an interview with a psych. But if they'rein bad shape he just puts them on extra tranquilizers. I guesssometimes he reviews their Vocational Apt tests and shifts them overinto different jobs in other areas."
Dr. Manschoff bowed his head in reverence above the steeple, as ifsatisfied with the labors he had wrought. "That is roughly correct.And I believe, if you search your memory, you won't recall even amention of a treatment center. This sort of place is virtuallyextinct, nowadays. There are still some institutions for thosesuffering from functional mental disorders--paresis, senile dementia,congenital abnormalities. But regular check-ups and preventativetherapy take care of the great majority. We've ceased concentrating onthe result of mental illnesses and learned to attack the causes.
"It's the old yellow fever problem all over again, you see. Once upona time, physicians dealt exclusively with treatment of yellow feverpatients. Then they shifted their attention to the _source_ of thedisease. They went after the mosquitoes, drained the swamps, and theyellow fever problem vanished.
"That's been our approach in recent years. We've developed _social_therapy, and so the need for individual therapy has diminished.
"What were the sources of the tensions producing mental disturbances?Physical and financial insecurity, the threat of war, the aggressivepatterns of a competitive society, the unresolved Oedipus-situationrooted in the old-style family relationship. These were the swampswhere the mosquitoes buzzed and bit. Most of the swamps have beendredged, most of the insects exterminated.
"Today we're moving into a social situation where nobody goes hungry,nobody is jobless or unprovided for, nobody needs to struggle forstatus. Vocational Apt determines a man's rightful place and functionin society, and there's no longer the artificial distinction imposedby race, color or creed. War is a thing of the past. Best of all, theold-fashioned 'home-life,' with all of its unhealthy emotional ties,is being replaced by sensible conditioning when a child reaches schoolage. The umbilical cord is no longer a permanent leash, a strangler'snoose, or a silver-plated life-line stretching back to the womb."
Harry Collins nodded. "I suppose only the exceptional cases ever needto go to a treatment center like this."
"Exactly."
"But what makes _me_ one of the exceptions? Is it because of the waythe folks brought me up, in a small town, with all the old-fashionedbooks and everything? Is that why I hated confinement and conformityso much? Is it because of all the years I spent reading? And why--"
Dr. Manschoff stood up. "You tempt me," he said. "You tempt mestrongly. As you can see, I dearly love a lecture--and a captiveaudience. But right now, the audience must not remain captive. Iprescribe an immediate dose of freedom."
* * * * *
"You mean I'm to leave here?"
"Is that what you want to do?"
"Frankly, no. Not if it means going back to my job."
"That hasn't been decided upon. We can discuss the problem later, andperhaps we can go into the answers to those questions you just posed.But at the moment, I'd suggest you stay with us, though without therestraint of remaining in your room or in the wards. In other words, Iwant you to start going outside again."
"Outside?"
"You'll find several square miles of open country just beyond thedoors here. You're at liberty to wander around and enjoy yourself.Plenty of fresh air and sunshine--come and go as you wish. I'vealready issued instructions which permit you to keep your own hours.Meals will be available when you desire them."
"You're very kind."
"Nonsense. I'm prescribing what you need. And when the time comes,we'll arrange to talk again. You know where to find me."
Dr. Manschoff dismantled his steeple and placed a half of the roof ineach trouser-pocket.
And Harry Collins went outdoors.
It was wonderful just to be free and alone--like returning to thatfaraway childhood in Wheaton once again. Harry appreciated everyminute of it during the first week of his wandering.
But Harry wasn't a child any more, and after a week he began to wonderinstead of wander.
The grounds around the treatment c
enter were more than spacious; theyseemed absolutely endless. No matter how far he walked during thecourse of a day, Harry had never encountered any walls, fences orartificial barriers; there was nothing to stay his progress but thenatural barriers of high, steeply-slanting precipices which seemed torim all sides of a vast valley. Apparently the center itself was setin the middle of a large canyon--a canyon big enough to contain anairstrip for helicopter landings. The single paved road leading fromthe main buildings terminated at the airstrip, and Harry sawhelicopters arrive and depart from time to time; apparently theybrought in food and supplies.
As for the center itself, it consisted of four large structures, twoof which Harry was familiar with. The largest was made up ofapartments for individual patients, and staffed by nurses andattendants. Harry's own room was here, on the second floor, and fromthe beginning he'd been allowed to roam around the communal hallsbelow at will.
The second building was obviously administrative--Dr. Manschoff'sprivate office was situated therein, and presumably the otherstaff-members operated out of here.
The other two buildings were apparently inaccessible; not guarded orpoliced or even distinguished by signs prohibiting access, but merelylocked and unused. At least, Harry had found the doors lockedwhen--out of normal curiosity--he had ventured to approach them. Norhad he ever seen anyone enter or leave the premises. Perhaps thesestructures were unnecessary under the present circumstances, and hadbeen built for future accommodations.
Still, Harry couldn't help wondering.
And now, on this particular afternoon, he sat on the bank of thelittle river which ran through the valley, feeling the mid-summer sunbeating down upon his forehead and staring down at the eddying currentwith its ripples and reflections.
_Ripples and reflections...._
Dr. Manschoff had answered his questions well, yet new questions hadarisen.
Most people didn't go crazy any more, the doctor had explained, and sothere were very few treatment centers such as this.
_Question: Why were there any at all?_
A place like this cost a fortune to staff and maintain. In an agewhere living-space and areable acreage was at such a premium, whywaste this vast and fertile expanse? And in a society more and moreopenly committed to the policy of promoting the greatest good for thegreatest number, why bother about the fate of an admittedlyinsignificant group of mentally disturbed patients?
Not that Harry resented his situation; in fact, it was almost too goodto be true.
_Question: Was it too good to be true?_
Why, come to realize it, he'd seen less than a dozen other patientsduring his entire stay here! All of them were male, and all ofthem--apparently--were recovering from a condition somewhat similar tohis own. At least, he'd recognized the same reticence and diffidencewhen it came to exchanging more than a perfunctory greeting in anencounter in an outer corridor. At the time, he'd accepted theirunwillingness to communicate; welcomed and understood it because of_his_ condition. And that in itself wasn't what he questioned now.
But why were there so _few_ patients beside himself? Why were they allmales? And why weren't _they_ roaming the countryside now the way hewas?
So many staff-members and so few patients. So much room and luxury andfreedom, and so little use of it. So little apparent purpose to itall.
_Question: Was there a hidden purpose?_
Harry stared down into the ripples and reflections, and the sun wassuddenly intolerably hot, its glare on the water suddenly blinding andbewildering. He saw his face mirrored on the water's surface, and itwas not the familiar countenance he knew--the features were bloated,distorted, shimmering and wavering.
Maybe it was starting all over again. Maybe he was getting another oneof those headaches. Maybe he was going to lose control again.
* * * * *
Yes, and maybe he was just imagining things. Sitting here in all thisheat wasn't a good idea.
Why not take a swim?
That seemed reasonable enough. In fact, it seemed like a delightfuldistraction. Harry rose and stripped. He entered the waterawkwardly--one didn't dive, not after twenty years of abstinence fromthe outdoor life--but he found that he could swim, after a fashion.The water was cooling, soothing. A few minutes of immersion and Harryfound himself forgetting his speculations. The uneasy feeling hadvanished. Now, when he stared down into the water, he saw his own facereflected, looking just the way it should. And when he stared up--
He saw her standing there, on the bank.
She was tall, slim, and blonde. Very tall, very slim, and very blonde.
She was also very desirable.
Up until a moment ago, Harry had considered swimming a delightfuldistraction. But now--
"How's the water?" she called.
"Fine."
She nodded, smiling down at him.
"Aren't you coming in?" he asked.
"No."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"I was looking for you, Harry."
"You know my name?"
She nodded again. "Dr. Manschoff told me."
"You mean, he sent you here to find me?"
"That's right."
"But I don't understand. If you're not going swimming, then why--Imean--"
Her smile broadened. "It's just part of the therapy, Harry."
"Part of the therapy?"
"That's right. _Part._" She giggled. "Don't you think you'd like tocome out of the water now and see what the rest of it might be?"
Harry thought so.
* * * * *
With mounting enthusiasm, he eagerly embraced his treatment andentered into a state of active cooperation.
It was some time before he ventured to comment on the situation."Manschoff is a damned good diagnostician," he murmured. Then he satup. "Are you a patient here?"
She shook her head. "Don't ask questions, Harry. Can't you besatisfied with things as they are?"
"You're just what the doctor ordered, all right." He gazed down ather. "But don't you even have a name?"
"You can call me Sue."
"Thank you."
He bent to kiss her but she avoided him and rose to her feet. "Got togo now."
"So soon?"
She nodded and moved towards the bushes above the bank.
"But when will I see you again?"
"Coming swimming tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Maybe I can get away for more occupational therapy then."
She stooped behind the bushes, and Harry saw a flash of white.
"You _are_ a nurse, aren't you," he muttered. "On the staff, Isuppose. I should have known."
"All right, so I am. What's that got to do with it?"
"And I suppose you were telling the truth when you said Manschoff sentyou here. This _is_ just part of my therapy, isn't it?"
She nodded briefly as she slipped into her uniform. "Does that botheryou, Harry?"
He bit his lip. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Yes, damn it, itdoes. I mean, I got the idea--at least, I was hoping--that this wasn'tjust a matter of carrying out an assignment on your part."
She looked up at him gravely. "Who said anything about an assignment,darling?" she murmured. "I volunteered."
And then she was gone.
Then she was gone, and then she came back that night in Harry'sdreams, and then she was at the river the next day and it was betterthan the dreams, better than the day before.
Sue told him she had been watching him for weeks now. And she had goneto Manschoff and suggested it, and she was very glad. And they had tomeet here, out in the open, so as not to complicate the situation ordisturb any of the other patients.
So Harry naturally asked her about the other patients, and the wholegeneral setup, and she said Dr. Manschoff would answer all thosequestions in due time. But right now, with only an hour or so tospare, was he going to spend it all asking for information? Matterswere accordingly adjusted to t
heir mutual satisfaction, and it was onthat basis that they continued their almost daily meetings for sometime.
The next few months were perhaps the happiest Harry had ever known.The whole interval took on a dreamlike quality--idealized,romanticized, yet basically sensual. There is probably such a dreamburied deep within the psyche of every man, Harry reflected, but tofew is it ever given to realize its reality. His early questioningattitude gave way to a mood of mere acceptance and enjoyment. This wasthe primitive drama, the very essence of the male-female relationship;Adam and Eve in the Garden. Why waste time seeking the Tree ofKnowledge?
And it wasn't until summer passed that Harry even thought about theSerpent.
One afternoon, as he sat waiting for Sue on the river bank, he heard asudden movement in the brush behind him.
"Darling?" he called, eagerly.
"Please, you don't know me _that_ well." The deep masculine voicecarried overtones of amusement.
Flushing, Harry turned to confront the intruder. He was a short,stocky, middle-aged man whose bristling gray crewcut almost matchedthe neutral shades of his gray orderly's uniform.
"Expecting someone else, were you?" the man muttered. "Well, I'll getout of your way."
"That's not necessary. I was really just daydreaming, I guess. I don'tknow what made me think--" Harry felt his flush deepen, and he loweredhis eyes and his voice as he tried to improvise some excuse.
"You're a lousy liar," the man said, stepping forward and seatinghimself on the bank next to Harry. "But it doesn't really matter. Idon't think your girl friend is going to show up today, anyway."
"What do you mean? What do you know about--"
"I mean just what I said," the man told him. "And I know everything Ineed to know, about you and about her and about the situation ingeneral. That's why I'm here, Collins."
He paused, watching the play of emotions in Harry's eyes.
"I know what you're thinking right now," the gray-haired mancontinued. "At first you wondered how I knew your name. Then yourealized that if I was on the staff in the wards I'd naturally be ableto identify the patients. Now it occurs to you that you've never seenme in the wards, so you're speculating as to whether or not I'mworking out of the administration offices with that psychiatric nogood Manschoff. But if I were, I wouldn't be calling him names, wouldI? Which means you're really getting confused, aren't you, Collins?Good!"
* * * * *
The man chuckled, but there was neither mockery, malice, nor genuinemirth in the sound. And his eyes were sober, intent.
"Who are you?" Harry asked. "What are you doing here?"
"The name is Ritchie, Arnold Ritchie. At least, that's the name theyknow me by around here, and you can call me that. As to what I'mdoing, it's a long story. Let's just say that right now I'm here togive you a little advanced therapy."
"Then Manschoff did send you?"
The chuckle came again, and Ritchie shook his head. "He did not. Andif he even suspected I was here, there'd be hell to pay."
"Then what do you want with me?"
"It isn't a question of what I want. It's a question of what _youneed_. Which is, like I said, advanced therapy. The sort that dear oldkindly permissive Father-Image Manschoff doesn't intend you to get."
Harry stood up. "What's this all about?"
Ritchie rose with him, smiling for the first time. "I'm glad you askedthat question, Collins. It's about time you did, you know. Everythinghas been so carefully planned to keep you from asking it. But you_were_ beginning to wonder just a bit anyway, weren't you?"
"I don't see what you're driving at."
"You don't see what anyone is driving at, Collins. You've been blindedby a spectacular display of kindness, misdirected by self-indulgence.I told you I knew everything I needed to know about you, and I do. NowI'm going to ask you to remember these things for yourself; the thingsyou've avoided considering all this while.
"I'm going to ask you to remember that you're twenty-eight years old,and that for almost seven years you were an agency man and a good one.You worked hard, you did a conscientious job, you stayed in line,obeyed the rules, never rebelled. Am I correct in my summary of thesituation?"
"Yes, I guess so."
"So what was your reward for all this unceasing effort and eternalconformity? A one-room apartment and a one-week vacation, once a year.Count your blessings, Collins. Am I right?"
"Right."
"Then what happened? Finally you flipped, didn't you? Tried to take aheader out of the window. You chucked your job, chucked yourresponsibilities, chucked your future and attempted to chuck yourselfaway. Am I still right?"
"Yes."
"Good enough. And now we come to the interesting part of the story.Seven years of being a good little boy got you nothing but the promiseof present and future frustration. Seven seconds of madness, ofattempted self-destruction, brought you here. And as a reward forbucking the system, the system itself has provided you with a life ofluxury and leisure--full permission to come and go as you please, livein spacious ease, indulge in the gratification of every appetite, freeof responsibility or restraint. Is that true?"
"I suppose so."
"All right. Now, let me ask you the question you asked me. What's itall about?"
Ritchie put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Tell me that, Collins. Whydo you suppose you've received such treatment? As long as you stayedin line, nobody gave a damn for your comfort or welfare. Then, whenyou committed the cardinal sin of our present-day society--when yourebelled--everything was handed to you on a silver platter. Does thatmake sense?"
"But it's therapy. Dr. Manschoff said--"
"Look, Collins. Millions of people flip every year. Millions moreattempt suicide. How many of them end up in a place like this?"
"They don't, though. That's just Naturalist propaganda. Dr. Manschoffsaid--"
"_Dr. Manschoff said!_ I know what he said, all right. And youbelieved him, because you wanted to believe him. You wanted thereassurance he could offer you--the feeling of being unique andimportant. So you didn't ask him any questions, you didn't ask anyquestions of yourself. Such as why anybody would consider aninsignificant little agency man, without friends, family orconnections, worth the trouble of rehabilitating at all, let aloneamidst such elaborate and expensive surroundings. Why, men like youare a dime a dozen these days--Vocational Apt can push a few buttonsand come up with half a million replacements to take over your job.You aren't important to society, Collins. You aren't important toanyone at all, besides yourself. And yet you got the red-carpettreatment. It's about time somebody yanked that carpet out from underyou. What's it all about?"
Harry blinked. "Look here, I don't see why this is any of yourbusiness. Besides, to tell the truth, I'm expecting--"
"I know who you're expecting, but I've already told you she won't behere. Because she's expecting."
"What--?"
"It's high time you learned the facts of life, Collins. Yes, thewell-known facts of life--the ones about the birds and the bees, andbarefoot boys and blondes, too. Your little friend Sue is going tohave a souvenir."
"I don't believe it! I'm going to ask Dr. Manschoff."
"Sure you are. You'll ask Manschoff and he'll deny it. And so you'lltell him about me. You'll say you met somebody in the woodstoday--either a lunatic or a Naturalist spy who infiltrated here underfalse pretenses. And Manschoff will reassure you. He'll reassure youjust long enough to get his hands on me. Then he'll take care of bothof us."
"Are you insinuating--"
"Hell, no! I'm _telling_ you!" Ritchie put his hand down suddenly, andhis voice calmed. "Ever wonder about those other two big buildings onthe premises here, Collins? Well, I can tell you about one of them,because that's where I work. You might call it an experimentallaboratory if you like. Sometime later on I'll describe it to you. Butright now it's the other building that's important; the building withthe big chimney. That's a kind of an incinerator, Collins--a placewhere the mist
akes go up in smoke, at night, when there's nobody tosee. A place where you and I will go up in smoke, if you're foolenough to tell Manschoff about this."
"You're lying."
"I wish to God I was, for both our sakes! But I can prove what I'msaying. _You_ can prove it, for yourself."
"How?"
"Pretend this meeting never occurred. Pretend that you just spent theafternoon here, waiting for a girl who never showed up. Then doexactly what you would do under those circumstances. Go in to see Dr.Manschoff and ask him where Sue is, tell him you were worried becauseshe'd promised to meet you and then didn't appear.
"I can tell you right now what he'll tell you. He'll say that Sue hasbeen transferred to another treatment center, that she knew about itfor several weeks but didn't want to upset you with the news of herdeparture. So she decided to just slip away. And Manschoff will tellyou not to be unhappy. It just so happens that he knows of anothernurse who has had her eye on you--a very pretty little brunette namedMyrna. In fact, if you go down to the river tomorrow, you'll find herwaiting for you there."
"What if I refuse?"
Ritchie shrugged. "Why should you refuse? It's all fun and games,isn't it? Up to now you haven't asked any questions about what wasgoing on, and it would look very strange if you started at this latedate. I strongly advise you to cooperate. If not, everything is likelyto--quite literally--go up in smoke."
Harry Collins frowned. "All right, suppose I do what you say, andManschoff gives me the answers you predict. This still doesn't provethat he'd be lying or that you're telling me the truth."
"Wouldn't it indicate as much, though?"
"Perhaps. But on the other hand, it could merely mean that you knowSue _has_ been transferred, and that Dr. Manschoff intends to turn meover to a substitute. It doesn't necessarily imply anything sinister."
"In other words, you're insisting on a clincher, is that it?"
"Yes."
"All right." Ritchie sighed heavily. "You asked for it." He reachedinto the left-hand upper pocket of the gray uniform and brought out asmall, stiff square of glossy paper.
"What's that?" Harry asked. He reached for the paper, but Ritchie drewhis hand back.
"Look at it over my shoulder," he said. "I don't want anyfingerprints. Hell of a risky business just smuggling it out of thefiles--no telling how well they check up on this material."
* * * * *
Harry circled behind the smaller man. He squinted down. "Hard toread."
"Sure. It's a photostat. I made it myself, this morning; that's mydepartment. Read carefully now. You'll see it's a transcript of thelab report. Susan Pulver, that's her name, isn't it? After dueexamination and upon completion of preliminary tests, hereby found tobe in the second month of pregnancy. Putative father, HarryCollins--that's you, see your name? And here's the rest of therecord."
"Yes, let me see it. What's all this about inoculation series? And whois this Dr. Leffingwell?" Harry bent closer, but Ritchie closed hishand around the photostat and pocketed it again.
"Never mind that, now. I'll tell you later. The important thing is, doyou believe me?"
"I believe Sue is pregnant, yes."
"That's enough. Enough for you to do what I've asked you to. Go toManschoff and make inquiries. See what he tells you. Don't make ascene, and for God's sake don't mention my name. Just confirm my storyfor yourself. Then I'll give you further details."
"But when will I see you?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, if you like. Right here."
"You said he'd be sending another girl--"
Ritchie nodded. "So I did. And so he'll say. I suggest you beg to beexcused for the moment. Tell him it will take a while for you to getover the shock of losing Sue this way."
"I won't be lying," Harry murmured.
"I know. And I'm sorry. Believe me, I am." Ritchie sighed again. "Butyou'll just have to trust me from now on."
"Trust you? When you haven't even explained what this is all about?"
"You've had your shock-therapy for today. Come back for anothertreatment tomorrow."
And then Ritchie was gone, the gray uniform melting away into the grayshadows of the shrubbery above the bank.
A short time later, Harry made his own way back to the center in thegathering twilight. The dusk was gray, too. Everything seemed graynow.
So was Harry Collins' face, when he emerged from his interview withDr. Manschoff that evening. And it was still pallid the next afternoonwhen he came down to the river bank and waited for Ritchie toreappear.
The little man emerged from the bushes. He stared at Harry's drawncountenance and nodded slowly.
"I was right, eh?" he muttered.
"It looks that way. But I can't understand what's going on. If thisisn't just a treatment center, if they're not really interested in mywelfare, then what am I doing here?"
"You're taking part in an experiment. This, my friend, is alaboratory. And you are a nice, healthy guinea pig."
"But that doesn't make sense. I haven't been experimented on. They'velet me do as I please."
"Exactly. And what do guinea pigs excel at? _Breeding._"
"You mean this whole thing was rigged up just so that Sue and Iwould--?"
"Please, let's not be so egocentric, shall we? After all, you're notthe _only_ male patient in this place. There are a dozen otherswandering around loose. Some of them have their favorite caves, othershave discovered little bypaths, but all of them seem to have locatedideal trysting-places. Whereupon, of course, the volunteer nurses havelocated _them_."
"Are you telling me the same situation exists with each of theothers?"
"Isn't it fairly obvious? You've shown no inclination to becomefriendly with the rest of the patients here, and none of them havemade any overtures to you. That's because everyone has his own littlesecret, his own private arrangement. And so all of you go aroundfooling everybody else, and all of you are being fooled. I'll givecredit to Manschoff and his staff on that point--he's certainlymastered the principles of practical psychology."
"But you talked about breeding. With our present overpopulationproblem, why in the world do they deliberately encourage the birth ofmore children?"
"Very well put. 'Why in the world' indeed! In order to answer that,you'd better take a good look at the world."
Arnold Ritchie seated himself on the grass, pulled out a pipe, andthen replaced it hastily. "Better not smoke," he murmured. "Be awkwardif we attracted any attention and were found together."
* * * * *
Harry stared at him. "You _are_ a Naturalist, aren't you?"
"I'm a reporter, by profession."
"Which network?"
"No network. _Newzines._ There are still a few in print, you know."
"I know. But I can't afford them."
"There aren't many left who can, or who even feel the need of readingthem. Nevertheless, mavericks like myself still cling to the ancientand honorable practices of the Fourth Estate. One of which isferreting out the inside story, the news behind the news."
"Then you're not working for the Naturalists."
"Of course I am. I'm working for them and for everybody else who hasan interest in learning the truth." Ritchie paused. "By the way, youkeep using that term as if it were some kind of dirty word. Just whatdoes it mean? What _is_ a Naturalist, in your book?"
"Why, a radical thinker, of course. An opponent of governmentpolicies, of progress. One who believes we're running out of livingspace, using up the last of our natural resources."
"What do you suppose motivates Naturalists, really?"
"Well, they can't stand the pressures of daily living, or theprospects of a future when we'll be still more hemmed in."
Ritchie nodded. "Any more than you could, a few months ago, when youtried to commit suicide. Wouldn't you say that _you_ were thinkinglike a Naturalist then?"
Harry grimaced. "I suppose so."
"Don't feel ashamed. You s
aw the situation clearly, just as theso-called Naturalists do. And just as the government does. Only thegovernment can't dare admit it--hence the secrecy behind thisproject."
"A hush-hush government plan to stimulate further breeding? I stilldon't see--"
"Look at the world," Ritchie repeated. "Look at it realistically.What's the situation at present? Population close to six billion, andrising fast. There was a leveling-off period in the Sixties, and thenit started to climb again. No wars, no disease to cut it down. Thedevelopment of synthetic foods, the use of algae and fungi, rules outfamine as a limiting factor. Increased harnessing of atomic power hasdone away with widespread poverty, so there's no economic deterrent topropagation. Neither church nor state dares set up a legalprohibition. So here we are, at the millennium. In place ofinternational tension we've substituted internal tension. In place ofthermonuclear explosion, we have a population explosion."
"You make it look pretty grim."
"I'm just talking about today. What happens ten years from now, whenwe hit a population-level of ten billion? What happens when we reachtwenty billion, fifty billion, a hundred? Don't talk to me about moresubstitutes, more synthetics, new ways of conserving top-soil. Therejust isn't going to be _room_ for everyone!"
"Then what's the answer?"
"That's what the government wants to know. Believe me, they've done alot of searching; most of it _sub rosa_. And then along came this manLeffingwell, with _his_ solution. That's just what it is, ofcourse--an endocrinological solution, for direct injection."
"Leffingwell? The Dr. Leffingwell whose name was on that photostat?What's he got to do with all this?"
"He's boss of this project," Ritchie said. "He's the one who persuadedthem to set up a breeding-center. You're _his_ guinea pig."
"But why all the secrecy?"
"That's what I wanted to know. That's why I scurried around, pulledstrings to get a lab technician's job here. It wasn't easy, believeme. The whole deal is being kept strictly under wraps untilLeffingwell's experiments prove out. They realized right away that itwould be fatal to use volunteers for the experiments--they'd be boundto talk, there'd be leaks. And of course, they anticipated someawkward results at first, until the technique is refined andperfected. Well, they were right on that score. I've seen some oftheir failures." Ritchie shuddered. "Any volunteer--any military man,government employee or even a so-called dedicated scientist who brokeaway would spread enough rumors about what was going on to kill theentire project. That's why they decided to use mental patients forsubjects. God knows, they had millions to choose from, but they werevery particular. You're a rare specimen, Collins."
"How so?"
"Because you happen to fit all their specifications. You're young, ingood physical condition. Unlike ninety percent of the population, youdon't even wear contact lenses, do you? And your aberration wastemporary, easily removed by removing you from the tension-sourceswhich created it. You have no family ties, no close friends, toquestion your absence. That's why you were chosen--one of the twohundred."
"Two hundred? But there's only a dozen others here now."
"A dozen males, yes. You're forgetting the females. Must be aboutfifty or sixty in the other building."
"But if you're talking about someone like Sue, she's a nurse--"
Ritchie shook his head. "That's what she was _told_ to say. Actually,she's a patient, too. They're all patients. Twelve men and sixtywomen, at the moment. Originally, about thirty men and a hundred andseventy women."
"What happened to the others?"
"I told you there were some failures. Many of the women died inchildbirth. Some of them survived, but found out about theresults--and the results, up until now, haven't been perfect. A few ofthe men found out, too. Well, they have only one method of dealingwith failures here. They dispose of them. I told you about thatchimney, didn't I?"
"You mean they killed the offspring, killed those who found out aboutthem?"
Ritchie shrugged.
"But what are they actually _doing_? Who is this Dr. Leffingwell?What's it all about?"
"I think I can answer those questions for you."
Harry wheeled at the sound of the familiar voice.
Dr. Manschoff beamed down at him from the top of the river bank."Don't be alarmed," he said. "I wasn't following you with any intentto eavesdrop. I was merely concerned about him." His eyes flickered ashe directed his gaze past Harry's shoulder, and Harry turned again tolook at Arnold Ritchie.
* * * * *
The little man was no longer standing and he was no longer alone. Twoattendants now supported him, one on either side, and Ritchie himselfsagged against their grip with eyes closed. A hypodermic needle in oneattendant's hand indicated the reason for Ritchie's sudden collapse.
"Merely a heavy sedative," Dr. Manschoff murmured. "We came prepared,in expectation of just such an emergency." He nodded at hiscompanions. "Better take him back now," he said. "I'll look in on himthis evening, when he comes out of it."
"Sorry about all this," Manschoff continued, sitting down next toHarry as the orderlies lifted Ritchie's inert form and carried him upthe slanting slope. "It's entirely my fault. I misjudged mypatient--never should have permitted him such a degree of freedom.Obviously, he's not ready for it yet. I do hope he didn't upset you inany way."
"No. He seemed quite"--Harry hesitated, then went onhastily--"logical."
"Indeed he is." Dr. Manschoff smiled. "Paranoid delusions, as theyused to call them, can often be rationalized most convincingly. Andfrom what little I heard, he was doing an excellent job, wasn't he?"
"Well--"
"I know." A slight sigh erased the smile. "Leffingwell and I are madscientists, conducting biological experiments on human guinea pigs.We've assembled patients for breeding purposes and the government issecretly subsidizing us. Also, we incinerate our victims--again, withfull governmental permission. All very logical, isn't it?"
"I didn't mean that," Harry told him. "It's just that he said Sue waspregnant and he was hinting things."
"Said?" Manschoff stood up. "_Hinted?_ I'm surprised he didn't gofurther than that. Just today, we discovered he'd been using theoffice facilities--he had a sort of probationary position, as you mayhave guessed, helping out the staff in administration--to providetangible proof of his artistic creations. He was writing out 'officialreports' and then photostating them. Apparently he intended tocirculate the results as 'evidence' to support his delusions. Look,here's a sample."
Dr. Manschoff passed a square of glossy paper to Harry, who scanned itquickly. It was another laboratory report similar to the one Ritchiehad shown him, but containing a different set of names.
"No telling how long this sort of thing has been going on," Manschoffsaid. "He may have made dozens. Naturally, the moment we discoveredit, we realized prompt action was necessary. He'll need specialattention."
"But what's wrong with him?"
"It's a long story. He was a reporter at one time--he may have toldyou that. The death of his wife precipitated a severe trauma andbrought him to our attention. Actually, I'm not at liberty to say anymore regarding his case; you understand, I'm sure."
"Then you're telling me that everything he had to say was a product ofhis imagination?"
"No, don't misunderstand. It would be more correct to state that hemerely distorted reality. For example, there _is_ a Dr. Leffingwell onthe staff here; he is a diagnostician and has nothing to do withpsychotherapy _per se_. And he has charge of the hospital ward in UnitThree, the third building you may have noticed behind Administration.That's where the nurses maintain residence, of course. Incidentally,when any nurses take on a--special assignment, as it were, such asyours, Leffingwell does examine and treat them. There's a new oralcontraception technique he's evolved which may be quite efficacious.But I'd hardly call it an example of sinister experimentation underthe circumstances, would you?"
Harry shook his head. "About Ritchie, though," he said. "What wil
lhappen to him?"
"I can't offer any prognosis. In view of my recent error in judgmentconcerning him, it's hard to say how he'll respond to furthertreatment. But rest assured that I'll do my best for his case. Chancesare you'll be seeing him again before very long."
Dr. Manschoff glanced at his watch. "Shall we go back now?" hesuggested. "Supper will be served soon."
The two men toiled up the bank.
Harry discovered that the doctor was right about supper. It was beingserved as he returned to his room. But the predictions concerningRitchie didn't work out quite as well.
It was after supper--indeed, quite some hours afterwards, while Harrysat at his window and stared sleeplessly out into the night--that henoted the thick, greasy spirals of black smoke rising suddenly fromthe chimney of the Third Unit building. And the sight may haveprepared him for the failure of Dr. Manschoff's prophecy regarding hisdisturbed patient.
Harry never asked any questions, and no explanations were everforthcoming.
But from that evening onward, nobody ever saw Arnold Ritchie again.