Astounding Science Fiction Stories Vol 1

by Anthology

  Presently he regained awareness and looked about him. The cave was dim, with only a filtered greenish light to pick out black wall's and slowly swirling water. Nobody could see much below the surface--good. He studied himself. Lacerated clothes, bruised flesh and a long bleeding gash in one side. That was not good. A stain of blood on the water would give him away like a shout.

  Grimacing, he pressed the edges of the wound together and willed that the bleeding stop. By the time a good enough clot was formed for him to relax his concentration the guards were scrambling down to find him. He didn't have many minutes left. Now he had to do the opposite of energizing. He had to slow metabolism down, ease his heartbeat, lower his body temperature, dull his racing brain.

  He began to move his hands, swaying back and forth, muttering the autohypnotic formulas. His incantations, Tighe had called them. But they were only stylized gestures leading to conditioned reflexes deep in the medulla. Now I lay me down to sleep....

  Heavy, heavy--his eyelids were drooping; the wet walls receding into a great darkness, a hand cradling his head. The noise of surf dimmed, became a rustle, the skirts of the mother he had never known, come in to bid him goodnight. Coolness stole over him like veils dropping one by one inside his head. There was winter outside and his bed was snug.

  When Dalgetty heard the nearing rattle of boots--just barely through the ocean and his own drowsiness--he almost forgot what he had to do. No, yes, now he knew. Take several long, deep breaths, oxygenate the bloodstream, then fill the lungs once and slide down under the surface.

  He lay there in darkness hardly conscious of the voices, dimly perceived.

  "A cave here--a place for him to hide."

  "Nah, I don't see nothing."

  Scrunch of feet on stone. "Ouch! Stubbed my damn toe. Nah, it's a closed cave. He ain't in here."

  "Hm? Look at this, then. Bloodstains on this rock, right? He's been here, at least."

  "Under water?" Rifle butts probed but could not sound the inlet.

  The woman's voice. "If he is hiding down below he'll have to come up for air."

  "When? We gotta search this whole damn beach. Here, I'll just give the water a burst."

  Casimir, sharply--"Don't be a fool. You won't even know if you hit him. Nobody can hold his breath more than three minutes."

  "Yeah, that's right, Joe. How long we been in here?"

  "One minute, I guess. Give him a couple more. Cripes! D'ja see how he ran? He ain't human!"

  "He's killable, though. Me, I think he's just rolling around in the surf out there. This could be fish blood. A 'cuda chased another fish in here and bit it."

  Casimir: "Or if his body drifted in, it's safely under. Got a cigarette?"

  "Here y'are, Miss. But say, I never thought to ask. How come you come with us?"

  Casimir: "I'm as good a shot as you are, buster, and I want to be sure this job's done right."

  Pause.

  Casimir: "Almost five minutes. If he can come up now he's a seal. Especially with his body oxygen-starved after all that running."

  In the slowness of Dalgetty's brain there was a chill wonder about the woman. He had read her thought, she was FBI, but she seemed strangely eager to hunt him down.

  "Okay, le's get outta here."

  Casimir: "You go on. I'll wait here just in case and come up to the house pretty soon. I'm tired of following you around."

  "Okay. Le's go, Joe."

  It was another four minutes or so before the pain and tension in his lungs became unendurable. Dalgetty knew he would be helpless as he rose, still in his semi-hibernating state, but his body was shrieking for air. Slowly he broke the surface.

  The woman gasped. Then the automatic jumped into her hand and leveled between his eyes. "All right, friend. Come on out." Her voice was very low and shook a trifle but there was grimness in it.

  Dalgetty climbed onto the ledge beside her and sat with his legs dangling, hunched in the misery of returning strength. When full wakefulness was achieved he looked at her and found she had moved to the farther end of the cave.

  "Don't try to jump," she said. Her eyes caught the vague light in a wide glimmer, half frightened. "I don't know what to make of you."

  Dalgetty drew a long breath and sat upright, bracing himself on the cold slippery stone. "I know who you are," he said.

  "Who, then?" she challenged.

  "You're an FBI agent planted on Bancroft."

  Her gaze narrowed, her lips compressed. "What makes you think so?"

  "Never mind--you are. That gives me a certain hold on you, whatever your purposes."

  The blond head nodded. "I wondered about that. That remark you made to me down in the cell suggested--well, I couldn't take chances. Especially when you showed you were something extraordinary by snapping those straps and bursting the door open. I came along with the search party in hope of finding you."

  He had to admire the quick mind behind the wide smooth brow. "You damn near did--for them," he accused her.

  "I couldn't do anything suspicious," she answered. "But I figured you hadn't leaped off the cliff in sheer desperation. You must have had some hiding place in mind and under water seemed the most probable. In view of what you'd already done I was pretty sure you could hold your breath abnormally long." Her smile was a little shaky. "Though I didn't think it would be inhumanly long."

  "You've got brains," he said, "but how much heart?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, are you going to throw Dr. Tighe and me to the wolves now? Or will you help us?"

  "That depends," she answered slowly. "What are you here for?"

  His mouth twisted ruefully. "I'm not here on purpose at all," Dalgetty confessed. "I was just trying to get a clue to Dr. Tighe's whereabouts. They outsmarted me and brought me here. Now I have to rescue him." His eyes held hers. "Kidnapping is a Federal offense. It's your duty to help me."

  "I may have higher duties," she countered. Leaning forward, tautly, "But how do you expect to do this?"

  "I'm damned if I know." Dalgetty locked moodily out at the beach and the waves and the smoking spindrift. "But that gun of yours would be a big help."

  She stood for a moment, scowling with thought. "If I don't come back soon they'll be out hunting for me."

  "We've got to find another hiding place," he agreed. "Then they will assume I survived after all and grabbed you. They'll be scouring the whole island for us. If we haven't been located before dark they'll be spread thin enough to give us a chance."

  "It makes more sense for me to go back now," she said. "Then I can be on the inside to help you."

  He shook his head. "Uh-uh. Quit making like a stereoshow detective. If you leave me your gun, claiming you lost it, that's sure to bring suspicion on you the way they're excited right now. If you don't I'll still be on the outside and unarmed--and what could you do, one woman alone in that nest? Now we're two with a shooting iron between us. I think that's a better bet."

  After a while, she nodded. "Okay, you win. Assuming"--the half-lowered gun was raised again with a jerking motion--"that I will aid you. Who are you? What are you, Dalgetty?"

  He shrugged. "Let's say I'm Dr. Tighe's assistant and have some unusual powers. You know the Institute well enough to realize this isn't just a feud between two gangster groups."

  "I wonder...." Suddenly she clanked the automatic back into its holster. "All right. For the time being only though!"

  Relief was a wave rushing through him. "Thank you," he whispered. Then, "Where can we go?"

  "I've been swimming around here in the quieter spots," she said. "I know a place. Wait here."

  She stepped across the cave and peered out its mouth. Someone must have hailed her, for she waved back. She stood leaning against the rock and Dalgetty saw how the sea-spray gleamed in her hair. After a long five minutes she turned to him again.

  "All right," she said. "The last one just went up the path. Let's go." They walked along the beach. It trembled underfoot w
ith the rage of the sea. There was a grinding under the snort and roar of surf as if the world's teeth ate rock.

  The beach curved inward, forming a small bay sheltered by outlying skerries. A narrow path ran upward from it but it was toward the sea that the woman gestured. "Out there," she said. "Follow me." She took off her shoes as he had done and checked her holster: the gun was waterproof, but it wouldn't do to have it fall out. She waded into the sea and struck out with a powerful crawl.

  VI

  They climbed up on one of the hogback rocks some ten yards from shore. This one rose a good dozen feet above the surface. It was cleft in the middle, forming a little hollow hidden from land and water alike. They crawled into this and sat down, breathing hard. The sea was loud at their backs and the air felt cold on their wet skins.

  Dalgetty leaned back against the smooth stone, looking at the woman, who was unemotionally counting how many clips she had in her pouch. The thin drenched tunic and slacks showed a very nice figure. "What's your name?" he asked.

  "Casimir," she answered, without looking up.

  "First name, I mean. Mine is Simon."

  "Elena, if you must know. Four packs, a hundred rounds plus ten in the chamber now. If we have to shoot them all, we'd better be good. These aren't magnums, so you have to hit a man just right to put him out of action."

  "Well," shrugged Dalgetty, "we'll just have to lumber along as best we can. I oak we don't make ashes of ourselves."

  "Oh, no!" He couldn't tell whether it was appreciation or dismay. "At a time like this too."

  "It doesn't make me very popular," he agreed. "Everybody says to elm with me. But, as they say in France, ve are alo-o-one now, mon cherry, and tree's a crowd."

  "Don't get ideas," she snapped.

  "Oh, I'll get plenty of ideas, though I admit this isn't the place to carry them out." Dalgetty folded his arms behind his head and blinked up at the sky. "Man, could I use a nice tall mint julep right now."

  Elena frowned. "If you're trying to convince me you're just a simple American boy you might as well quit," she said thinly. "That sort of--of emotional control, in a situation like this, only makes you less human."

  Dalgetty swore at himself. She was too damn quick, that was all. And her intelligence might be enough for her to learn....

  Will I have to kill her?

  He drove the thought from him. He could overcome his own conditioning about anything, including murder, if he wanted to, but he'd never want to. No, that was out. "How did you get here?" he asked. "How much does the FBI know?"

  "Why should I tell you?"

  "Well, it'd be nice to know if we can expect reinforcements."

  "We can't." Her voice was bleak. "I might as well let you know. The Institute could find out anyway through its government connections--the damned octopus!" he looked into the sky. Dalgetty's gaze followed the curve of her high cheekbones. Unusual face--you didn't often see such an oddly pleasing arrangement. The slight departure from symmetry....

  "We've wondered about Bertrand Meade for some time, as every thinking person has," she began tonelessly. "It's too bad there are so few thinking people in the country."

  "Something the Institute is trying to correct," Dalgetty put in.

  Elena ignored him. "It was finally decided to work agents into his various organizations. I've been with Thomas Bancroft for about two years now. My background was carefully faked and I'm a useful assistant. But even so it was only a short while back that I got sufficiently into his confidence to be given some inkling of what's going on. As far as I know no other FBI operative has learned as much."

  "And what have you found out?"

  "Essentially the same things you were describing in the cell, plus more details on the actual work they're doing. Apparently the Institute was onto Meade's plans long before we were. It doesn't speak well for your purposes, whatever they are, that you haven't asked us for help before this.

  "The decision to kidnap Dr. Tighe was taken only a couple of weeks ago. I haven't had a chance to communicate with my associates in the force. There's always someone around, watching. The set-up's well arranged, so that even those not under suspicion don't have much chance to work unobserved, once they've gotten high enough to know anything important. Everybody spies on everybody else and submits periodic reports."

  She gave him a harsh look. "So here I am. No official person knows my whereabouts and if I should disappear it would be called a deplorable accident. Nothing could be proved and I doubt if the FBI would ever get another chance to do any effective spying."

  "But you have proof enough for a raid," he ventured.

  "No, we haven't. Up till the time I was told Dr. Tighe was going to be snatched I didn't know for certain that anything illegal was going on. There's nothing in the law against like-minded people knowing each other and having a sort of club. Even if they hire tough characters and arm them the law can't protest. The Act of Nineteen Ninety-nine effectively forbids private armies but it would be hard to prove Meade has one."

  "He doesn't really," said Dalgetty. "Those goons aren't much more than what they claim to be--bodyguards. This whole fight is primarily on a--a mental level."

  "So I gather. And can a free country forbid debate or propaganda? Not to mention that Meade's people include some powerful men in the government itself. If I could get away from here alive we'd be able to hang a kidnapping charge on Thomas Bancroft, with assorted charges of threat, mayhem and conspiracy, but it wouldn't touch the main group." Her fists clenched. "It's like fighting shadows."

  * * * * *

  "You war against the sunset-glow. The judgment follows fast my lord!" quoted Dalgetty. Heriots' Ford was one of the few poems he liked. "Getting Bancroft out of the way would be something," he added. "The way to fight Meade is not to attack him physically but to change the conditions under which he must work."

  "Change them to what?" Her eyes challenged his. He noticed that there were small gold flecks in the gray. "What does the Institute want?"

  "A sane world," he replied.

  "I've wondered," she said. "Maybe Bancroft is more nearly right than you. Maybe I should be on his side after all."

  "I take it you favor libertarian government," he said. "In the past it's always broken down sooner or later and the main reason has been that there aren't enough people with the intelligence, alertness and toughness to resist the inevitable encroachments of power on liberty.

  "The Institute is trying to do two things--create such a citizenry and simultaneously to build up a society which itself produces men of that kind and reinforces those traits in them. It can be done, given time. Under ideal conditions we estimate it would take about three hundred years for the whole world. Actually it'll take longer."

  "But just what kind of person is needed?" Elena asked coldly. "Who decides it? You do. You're just the same as all other reformers, including Meade--hell bent to change the whole human race over to your particular ideal, whether they like it or not."

  "Oh, they'll like it," he smiled. "That's part of the process."

  "It's a worse tyranny than whips and barbed wire," she snapped.

  "You've never experienced those then."

  "You have got that knowledge," she accused. "You have the data and the equations to be--sociological engineers."

  "In theory," he said. "In practice it isn't that easy. The social forces are so great that--well, we could be overwhelmed before accomplishing anything. And there are plenty of things we still don't know. It will take decades, perhaps centuries, to work out a complete dynamics of man. We're one step beyond the politician's rule of thumb but not up to the point where we can use slide rules. We have to feel our way."

  "Nevertheless," she said, "you've got the beginnings of a knowledge which reveals the true structure of society and the processes that make it. Given that knowledge man could in time build his own world-order the way he desired it, a stable culture that wouldn't know the horrors of oppression or collapse. But you've hidden a
way the very fact that such information exists. You're using it in secret."

  "Because we have to," Dalgetty said. "If it were generally known that we're putting pressure on here and there and giving advice slanted just the way we desire, the whole thing would blow up in our faces. People don't like being shoved around."

  "And still you're doing it!" One hand dropped to her gun. "You, a clique of maybe a hundred men...."

  "More than that. You'd be surprised how many are with us."

  "You've decided you are the almighty arbiters. Your superior wisdom is going to lead poor blind mankind up the road to heaven. I say it's down the road to hell! The last century saw the dictatorship of the elite and the dictatorship of the proletariat. This one seems to be birthing the dictatorship of the intellectuals. I don't like any of them!"

  "Look, Elena." Dalgetty leaned on one elbow and faced her. "It isn't that simple. All right, we've got some special knowledge. When we first realized we were getting somewhere in our research we had to decide whether to make our results public or merely give out selected less important findings. Don't you see, no matter what we did it would have been us, the few men, who decided? Even destroying all our information would have been a decision."

  His voice grew more urgent. "So we made what I think was the right choice. History shows as conclusively as our own equations that freedom is not a 'natural' condition of man. It's a metastable state at best, all too likely to collapse into tyranny. The tyranny can be imposed from outside by the better-organized armies of a conqueror, or it can come from within--through the will of the people themselves, surrendering their rights to the father-image, the almighty leader, the absolute state.

  "What use does Bertrand Meade want to make of our findings if he can get them? To bring about the end of freedom by working on the people till they themselves desire it. And the damnable part of it is that Meade's goal is much more easily attained than ours.

  "So suppose we made our knowledge public. Suppose we educated anyone who desired it in our techniques. Can't you see what would happen? Can't you see the struggle that would be waged for control of the human mind? It could start as innocuously as a businessman planning a more effective advertising campaign. It would end in a welter of propaganda, counter-propaganda, social and economic manipulations, corruption, competition for the key offices--and so, ultimately, there would be violence.