by Jerry
A long period followed and Mason was filled with peace. He seemed to be floating in an ethereal world of soft light and shadow, tinged with unearthly colors that streamed out to touch and paint the drifting pattern of his mind with fragrant perfumes that chimed and danced, swirling in and out of him with sensations of unbearable sweetness. Fleeting ecstasies that left behind the overwhelming longing for all this to go on and on, and on. . . .
Mason drifted. Time stood still except for a tiny nagging voice within him that continued to grow louder and louder, forcing itself into his drowsy consciousness, demanding to be heard. He had a job to do! That was it! He had a job to do.
It was an effort, but Mason struggled, and fought against the animal impulses that were greedily soaking up the druglike sensations that stupefied his mind.
Blurry images began to appear. They sharpened into focus. He was in some sort of a laboratory. Hearing flooded him like the crash of a wave.
“Welcome, Four-o-Five A.” The voices were rich and vibrant. “You have a remarkable mind, and evidently great force of will. Your length of submission to the purest of pleasure impulses was shorter than the usual brain would accept. That is highly commendable. You should do well and advance rapidly.”
Mason sensed he had a body. Small, but he could move. And hands. He tried to locate the source of the voice he had heard when he awakened. But he was alone, in a gigantic room, crowded with white tables piled high with unfamiliar apparatus. He saw thousands and thousands of spools of reading tapes. Lathes, coils, wires, presses—hundreds of thousands of silent objects that overwhelmed his immediate comprehension. Like the room of Klarth there was no atmosphere. Where was he?
“Observe, Four-o-Five A,” the voices beamed into him. “You see before you all of civilization’s amassed knowledge. All this is yours to investigate and use as you see fit. The ways of Klarth can be wonderful indeed. You have just had a lesson in the administration of extreme pain—and extreme pleasure.
“Klarth has the powers to grant you the sensations of your own choosing. This choice you will make by your conduct, inner thoughts and rate of progress. At the end of one thousand hours, if your progress has been satisfactory, you will be elevated to the rank of Four-o-Five B and rewarded with a period in the Worlds of Pleasure. That is all.”
Mason wasted no time in useless speculation as to where he was or why. He went to work immediately. If he was to accomplish anything he would have to make up for lost time. But the uneasy question remained of when, where, or how, he was going to find out what he was supposed to do with his third of the electronic hook-up.
When the time came, Mason was determined to do his part whatever it might be, in spite of the fact that the might of Klarth made any attempt seem utterly hopeless. Meanwhile, he had many things to learn.
THE first one-thousand-hour period passed all too quickly. Mason was astounded that the time had slipped away. He had been so engrossed in the contents of the laboratory, drinking from the incredible fountain of inexhaustible knowledge, that he felt a sense of irritation when the rich voices broke in on him.
“Klarth offers Their congratulations. You have been observed. You have done well in your investigations. Following a brief mental examination and a period of reward in the Worlds of Pleasure you will be promoted to Four-o-Five B. For the next thousand-hour period you will be permitted to build a body of your own design using the knowledge you have gained, and incorporating any fittings or inventions you may choose. When you have risen to the grade Four-o-Five D you may move in. That is all.”
Mason’s world went blank. He fretted at the waste of time. He wanted to get on with what he had to do. The leechlike sucking at his brain this time was brief, and to his surprise he found his mind was strong enough now practically to ignore it.
A crystal tone, shattering into fragments, announced the influx of the pleasure sensations. For the first few moments Mason chafed and fought to free himself as he had done before, but the sensations continued in overpowering force. And somehow, they were different this time. More exquisitely so. As if his mind were capable of greater powers of pleasure and fantasy.
Finally, Mason relaxed and gave himself up completely. Perhaps Klarth really did know what was good for him. The thought only shocked his drowsy mind a trifle. He wasn’t slipping, was he—letting Klarth win him over? No, deep down, an inner part of him knew he still had that job to do—even if—his lazily drifting mind had to admit it . . . Klarth really had something here. . . .
Mason awoke, and buried himself in his second period. He labored unceasingly on the body he was building for himself. Although massive in bulk, it was still trim and exquisitely beautiful. Its translucent, milk-white skin flowed constantly with writhing streamers of soft colors. Mason was proud of it. He had it finished before the second period was up.
Klarth seemed pleased with his creation and from then on Mason’s promotion was rapid. His 405-C period he devoted entirely to the further development of his brain, and the results became apparent to him during the succeeding pleasure period. He discovered he had an awakening power that could partially control the Worlds of Pleasure to his own whim or design. The effect stunned him.
If this was possible with a C rating—what could he do with the powers of an S rating which Klarth possessed? He was beginning to conceive the infinite powers that were possible when many human minds were interlocked as one brain.
How many minds made up Klarth? The unwelcome thought came that perhaps Klarth had the key to the ultimate destiny of humans. After all, weren’t brains what made humans—human?
And then the dark thoughts would come of what Klarth was doing to the human race—holding them in bondage, smothering their development and raiding their ramshackle villages for brains. Brains to be put into the limited brain-cases that controlled the machines to keep Klarth’s civilization functioning.
Why should Klarth give only the awakening brain-cases such unlimited opportunities? Could it be that the original brain-case volunteers had a mental fiber that was necessary?
Mason tried to imagine the horror that flooded the hapless humans, who, unwillingly were forced into brain-case service. The mortality rate must be enormous. The awakening minds either snapped, or else became so damaged that they were capable of running only the most simple machines. Occasionally, Mason tried to guess Klarth’s ultimate purpose and got nowhere.
CHAPTER V
Conspiracy of the Supers
WHEN Mason was granted 405-D and permitted to move into his powerful milk-white body his elation was short-lived, as the entire period of study passed without indication of contact from the agent concerning his purpose. He was beginning to feel power and wanted action.
The first clue that things were beginning to happen came when he received his 405-E rating, and asked to be assigned to the repair laboratories, explaining he wished to study the installations of more mature Supers.
The huge repair laboratories were located several levels above the room where he originally awakened. The connecting corridors were wide, airless tubes that permitted the Supers to pass each other with room to spare. Mason learned much, but it was not until 537 hours, when Super 233-G came in to have his circuits checked, that he knew things were approaching a climax.
Mason recognized him instantly as the Super that had shot him down the day of his first flight. Without a word, he rolled over and began an inspection of the wiring system. When he had finished he heard the Super say:
“Take a look at my short-beam transmitter. I need some ideas on screening.”
Silent, Mason extended his vision inside the transmitter. Unexpectedly, he received such a mental shock that his vision blurred for an instant. There, in a tiny corner of the transmitter, was a portion of an electronic hookup that would fit a part of his jigsaw portion perfectly.
“Got any ideas?” continued the Super in a cool voice.
Mason could feel strength gather within him. The contact had come. Things were begi
nning to happen at last. He was about to insert his working fingers with the essential equipment when doubt struck him. This could be a trap! Perhaps Klarth had tripped up the other agent and was trying to draw Mason out.
Mason hesitated only a moment. The chance had to be taken. He inserted the proper tubes and adjusted the wiring. He rolled back.
“Would that help?” Mason asked. “Perfectly,” the Super replied. “It is not complete, but I think I will have the rest of it soon. Meanwhile, I suggest you build a similar circuit and see what you can do with it. Perhaps it was more than luck that it was I who shot you down—otherwise I might never have received this assistance. That is all.”
233-G lifted smoothly out of the lab.
Mason’s mind tightened. It was evident from 233-G’s casual talk that some sort of observation was probably being made. That meant he had to work harder than ever to get the freedom and equipment of a G. And the next promotions were increasingly difficult.
But at least with a G rating, he should be able to contact 233-G outside the confines of wherever he was. Mason still didn’t know where he was. He returned to his work on other Supers.
EIGHTEEN hours later, without warning, Klarth’s all-too-familiar mental torture thudded into his mind. Mason fought, with all the new-found power of his brain, but the pitiless punishment tore his attempt to quivering threads, and while the agony continued, voices spoke:
“This is a lesson, Four-o-Five. You are receiving this disciplinary measure for failure to report fully the extent of overhaul of Super Two Thirty-three-G.”
The torture vanished as suddenly as it had come.
“You will file a complete report immediately,” the voices went on, “and your brain will be checked for accuracy.”
Mason was dismayed. He couldn’t file a true report, and although he had been studying the original models of those brain-leeches in an attempt to find some way to outwit those brain-sucking periods, he still wasn’t positive he could do it. Regardless, he would make out a false report and try to drill the knowledge of the electronic hook-up down to a level where the leeches could not get at it.
The false report was made out, and while he waited for the coming check-up, Mason experimented with the deadly little attachment on his brain-case that gave Klarth such complete power over him and all the other Supers.
To his keen disappointment, Mason discovered that it was impossible to tamper with the device without flooding himself with such intense agony and dizziness he couldn’t continue. Klarth seemed to never overlook a thing.
The brain-leeches came and tested him. They departed without comment from Klarth. For the first time in many periods, Mason returned to his labors with a definite feeling of confidence. For once he had outwitted Klarth.
If he could do it once, he could do it again. But the thought that became a nagging worry, as the following periods slid by, was concerning 233-G. Suppose 233-G were given a surprise test? Surely he had some means of deceiving those unholy leeches—or did he?
Pulsing, as if gorged with blood of its own, the collosal crimson statue towered over Mason as he slid his own ponderous body to a stop beneath it and waited. Whether this figure was actually Klarth or not, he thought somberly, it was effective. He was about to receive final instructions.
“Congratulations, Four-o-Five G.” The voices were like music. “You are now in the first stage of independent action. You will be allowed freedom and given patrol duties to perform. You will discover that this kingdom of Klarth is an independent world of metal, floating or moving where We so desire. You are to guard it with your existence itself. After a suitable period you will be advanced. That is all.”
As if to impress him, Mason saw the tall figure gesture, and bewilderingly, Mason found himself floating in free space. The stars were hard and unwinking, staring at him through the distant black curtain of space.
Mason’s growing confidence in himself collapsed like a house of cards. Where was he? How did he get here? What unguessable power was he trying to conquer with a pitiful two-thirds of an electronic hook-up he didn’t even know the use of?
Somewhere in his mind, an instinct was beating that told him the direction of the world of Klarth. He was about to swing in that direction when his far-flung vision reflected an object hurtling like a meteor across his bow.
Automatically, he recognized it as 233-G and Mason saw with amazement that 233-G’s entire forward structure, gun turrets included, had been blasted away as if the steel were made of tinfoil. A melted hole gaped in the stern.
“Capture that Super!” The message crackled into his brain. There was no mistaking it was from Klarth. “Avoid as much damage as possible. Bring him here.”
The shock of his discovery, and the puzzling message poured torrents of indecision into Mason. What should he do? 233-G was evidently in trouble.
“Do as they say, Mason.” It was a tight beam boring into his brain from 233-G. “They can’t hear this. I’ve got to talk to you.”
A blast of rocket shells erupted from his stern gun turrets in Mason’s direction.
On the instant, Mason took flashing evasive action, and then his first quiver of alarm at the flares from the gun turrets subsided when he saw that 233-G was shooting at such an angle that he would have plenty of time to neutralize the magnetic charge of the rockets.
Mason tightened his communication beam as he easily demagnetized the oncoming rockets and avoided them in a skidding swerve to the port.
“What happened?” he asked on low power.
233-G’s guns spewed forth another barrage of shells.
“Blast me so I can’t escape,” the other replied. “Make it look good and I’ll explain while you take me back.”
DODGING the speeding rockets, demagnetizes on full, Mason sensed what must be done if Klarth wanted to examine 233-G. He closed rapidly, firing with all eight gun turrets and watched 233-G disappear in a blinding flash of orange flame. He felt sure that only the rockets necessary to do what he intended, would hit.
“Perfect,” came the low message. “Got my drive and also destroyed hook-up. Suggest you report to Klarth.”
On full beam, Mason reported to Klarth in the proper manner as he extended his grapplers:
“Super captured. Am proceeding to base. That is all.”
“Well done,” flashed the brief reply, and he was alone in space with 233-G.
“Klarth had me hauled in for a surprise check-up,” explained 233-G on the tight, low-powered beam. “The other third of the circuit has arrived and—”
Mason’s mind soared.
“That means—”
“Don’t interrupt, there isn’t much time and I’ve got to tell you what to do. There isn’t much chance for me after Klarth gets a talon on my hull. That was my area where I let you crash me the first time. I had to give them time to get to you with the information, since you were speeding things up by blundering around with all that unscreened energy.”
“How was I to know?” Mason interrupted. “When I found all that wreckage I was mad enough to want to do something for the humans.”
“We all want to help the humans,” 233-G said tensely. “But a long time ago, six Supers put their brains together in a single unit as an experiment. The results were unfortunate. They became Klarth and got the upper hand by convincing the existing Supers at that time, that the attachment They wanted to install, was some sort of communication device. Once the gadgets were installed, Klarth became the masters. They can kill you with that thing, let alone torture.”
“I know,” said Mason bitterly.
“Anyhow, Klarth became suspicious of my interest in the newly arrived brain-case and demanded a complete inspection. The brain-leeches I could deceive—but I knew I couldn’t stand a physical inspection.
“Klarth is pretty smart. If They found that hook-up they might be able to figure out the other third. So I didn’t hesitate. I blasted down to the level where the mechanism for permitting ships to pass throug
h the outer walls is located.”
“Where is that?” cut in Mason quickly. “Level twelve—section eight—corridor thirteen—room three. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“You can’t miss it. That’s one of the things you had to know. We’re getting close now. I’ll have to hurry. Anyhow, I pretended trying to escape and figured I’d Let you get me. That’s the only way I could think of getting to you, now that the situation is critical. I knew I didn’t have a chance, so I headed your way and They nicked me a few times.”
The gray question was spreading through Mason’s mind that if 233-G, with all his knowledge, had been caught and felt certain that he couldn’t get away successfully—what chance had he? He pulled his attention back to the instructions.
“When we get inside and Klarth starts to give me a going over to find out what I know—I’ll guarantee to hold Their entire attention for a short while. While I’m keeping Klarth busy, you’ve got to get to the new brain-case and find out the rest of the hook-up. It’s in the workshop getting worked on for an exam. I haven’t the slightest idea what that circuit is supposed to do, so from now on, it’s all up to you.”
Klarth’s metal world was swelling in his bow plates. The outer skin glistened dully in the starshine, and as he approached with 233-G in tow he saw the metal skin become translucent, then transparent, as if nothing barred his entry into a yawning corridor. “Proceed!”
It was a command.
Mason pushed on, felt a slight brushing resistance, and he was through into the corridor that led into the room of Klarth. Multiple talons reached up from the floor to relieve him of his burden.
“Well done, Pour-o-Five G. Recharge your armament supplies and return to your patrol. That is all.”
Mason lifted himself on his drive and drove down the center well to the arsenal. He stuffed himself to the full on the deadly heat-producing rocket shells. It looked as if soon he would need plenty.