Arcadian's Asylum

by James Axler

  In other words, he gathers gossip, Doc thought, though to hear such terms as “database,” these days sounded strange to his ears.

  “Information about what?” Doc questioned further.

  Andower shrugged. “This and that, everything and anything. Information is the key to the future. If we know what those who surround us are doing, then we’re better placed to judge our own actions. If we know of their activities, and the levels that they have reached, we’re better placed to know those who may be our allies.”

  “And those who may be your enemies?” Doc interjected.

  Andower pondered that. “Perhaps. Enemy in the sense that they may attack us? I wouldn’t consider that. We do nothing at the moment to attract attention to ourselves, and when we do spread the word, then surely it’ll be obvious that it’s for the good of all. Why would anyone wish to go up against us?”

  “Because your notions of good and bad are not the same as theirs, perhaps?” Doc said with a wry smile.

  The answer was just as he expected.

  “That, surely, isn’t debatable. We seek to improve the life of all and to bring a civilized way of living back to the world. Who wouldn’t want to partake of that?”

  “Oh, you would be surprised,” Doc said mildly. Then, before Andower had the chance to lunge into an abstract argument that would tell Doc nothing of any practical use, he added, “So I would assume that part of the purpose in gathering this information is to add to Arcadian’s archive of the past. Technology, innovation, advances that were being made in scientific fields before skydark, that sort of thing?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Andower stated. “The more we find out, the more we can add to our store of human knowledge. There are gaps we can fill in ourselves, of course, and in some senses we have progressed beyond the levels that had been achieved before the nukecaust. But there are still gray areas, and even the barest scraps can sometimes bridge gaps that seemed to be beyond our reach.”

  “I see,” Doc said slowly. “So Arcadian wishes to take the world back to where it was before the sky rained bombs.” Despite his desire to know more, Doc found this arrogance starting to irritate. The bile rose in his gorge in a manner that he hadn’t known for a very long time. The reason he had felt at home in the ville when they had arrived, the familiarity that was like a comfortable bed into which he could seek, all of this was the flipside to the things that had driven him to the point of madness when he had first arrived in the late twentieth century. And in spite of his wish to know more, he was finding it hard to control his anger. The words nearly choked him as he uttered them.

  “He wishes to return things to how they were. To the stupidity that caused this mess in the first place. How, pray tell, can that be a constructive move?”

  Andower stopped, astonished at Doc’s bitter tone. His hand gripped Doc’s upper arm, and although the old man wished to pull away, he was mindful of the sec men watching his every move.

  “But my dear Doctor,” Andower said softly, in the kind of voice people used for addressing Doc when he was first trawled by Chronos, “of course it is constructive. We aren’t bringing the shit from the past. We’re cauterizing those wounds, burning out the cancers. Only the useful will survive.”

  There was such a sincerity in Andower’s tone, a kind of disingenuous innocence, that Doc was drained of his anger. By the Three Kennedys, Doc thought, this man truly believed, like the worst kind of zealot, that he was doing nothing but good. His was a type that permeated history with awful deeds that were meant for the best. Doc had read of them when young, and seen them happen in his lifetime, and the lifetime of those who should have lived after him.

  His anger was useless. Andower would never see, never understand why Doc held him in such horror and contempt. As that anger flowed out of him, Doc remembered the reason he had begun this mission. It was time to get some concrete facts to take back to Ryan and the others.

  “Perhaps you are right,” he murmured in what he hoped was a conciliatory tone. “You must understand that in our journeys, the people I am associated with have seen some terrible things that have been perpetrated in the name of human advancement. I may, I confess, have judged hastily.”

  Andower smiled. It was the smile of the evangelical, believing he had another convert and could close the deal.

  “My dear, dear Dr. Tanner, given the things that we know go on in the outside world, and against which we know we have to fight, then your attitude and suspicion are perfectly understandable. Please, let me show you what we are doing here, so that you may have a better grasp on one of the ways in which we hope to improve the world.”

  Well, Doc thought, at least that saved him having to engineer an opportunity. Ironic that all Andower wanted to do was to give him what he wanted, and his temper almost got in the way and blew away the chance. Doc knew he would have to keep himself in check.

  And as that ran through his head, he said, “Nothing would give me greater pleasure. What, pray tell, do you actually do in these buildings?”

  “Not just these buildings,” Andower said excitedly, guiding Doc along the corridor, through swing doors that led into an adjacent block and then up a flight of stairs. “This whole sector of Arcady comes under my control.”

  “Ah, you did say something about the heads of different sectors becoming aware of our presence. I meant to ask—”

  “But of course, Dr. Tanner, of course. You haven’t had the time for Arcadian to really explain to you the full extent of how he puts his theories into action. You see, there are eight sectors within the boundaries of Arcady. Each is kept distinct, though it comes under the central administration of the whole. And each is devoted to following a particular set of sociological, psychological or biological theorems.”

  “Really?” Doc was a little astounded, if not surprised. That Arcadian should pursue such a course was an obvious step on from the theories that he had espoused to them the previous evening, and certainly made sense of the strange shanty settlement they had encountered on their oblique entry to the ville. But to hear a man in these times calmly use such terms with an assumption that they would be plainly understood was still something that was vaguely amusing, if a little disturbing.

  “Oh, indeed,” Andower said, starting to slow down. He also became a little distracted, looking up and down the corridor in which they now stood, as though trying to make a decision. One that, on the face of it, was baffling to Doc as this corridor looked exactly as all the others they had walked through, albeit with doors on both sides, as opposed to windows. They were now well within the interior of one of the buildings. Otherwise, it was anonymous. There were no signs or numbers on the doors to differentiate them. Doc could only assume that Andower was so familiar with this complex—as was his staff—as to need no signposts, which also suggested they had few visitors. Little interference, and no one without an escort.

  “And would I be right in assuming—from your attire—that your task in this sector concerns itself with matters biological?” Doc asked, taking advantage of the pause.

  “Hmm? Yes, yes, of course,” Andower answered, still a little distracted. It gave him the air of a whitecoat about to conduct a particularly unpleasant experiment. Doc had endured many of those, and seen many such expressions. It took an awful lot of self-control to hold himself back.

  “So would I be correct in a further assumption that you conduct experiments in the control of breeding? I have noticed, on our travels, that there is a severe problem with in-breeding and the subsequent diminution of the gene pool. And perhaps dealing with mutation—that, too, is a dreadful legacy of the nukecaust,” he continued, words running faster. He was beginning to babble, and he wanted to keep control. He bit off the end of the sentence, surreptitiously running an eye over the two sec men to see if they had noticed. They remained impassive.

  Andower, for his part, had certainly not taken heed. He had his own concerns. He looked at Doc for a moment blankly, as though lost in thought. Then he
smiled beatifically.

  “Dr. Tanner, that is only the smallest part of what we do here. I was wondering where I should begin, but I think to truly grasp the extent of our work, there is only one point at which to start. Come with me,” he added, beckoning with a crooked finger.

  Doc had the most sickening turn of the stomach at what he felt he was about to see, but was powerless to do anything except follow.

  “GUESS WE SHOULD MEBBE get some more rest. There’s nothing we can do, and I figure that Doc should be pretty safe for the moment. Whatever the stupe old bastard has got himself into, there’s little chance Arcadian is going to let him come to any harm yet.”

  “Yeah, it’s the ‘yet’ that worries me, Ryan,” Mildred countered.

  Ryan grinned. It was a fair point, but right now they could only sit tight. Arcadian’s men were scouring the building, and if they found the old man, there was a next to zero chance they would do anything except handle him with care. Ryan Cawdor had learned to read men pretty well, and he would have bet jack on the baron wanting to keep them sweet for now. When he felt he could put into place whatever plans he might have for them, it would be different. But not yet.

  They were gathered in the room that had previously been occupied by the Doc and Jak. It was too close to sunup to consider going back to their own allotted rooms. Ryan knew that sleep would be an impossibility. But he was keen to keep his people frosty, so that if trouble came they would be up to the task.

  “Should stopped him,” Jak said grimly. “Stupe fuck it up for all.”

  “Mebbe not,” J.B. mused. “If you had to send someone off to recce, you’d send Doc in this situation.”

  “How so?” Jak queried, his brow furrowing. J.B. shrugged. “Everyone can see he’s crazy. If he wanders off and we claim it’s got nothing to do with us, you’d believe that a whole lot more than if it was me, you, Mildred, Ryan or Krysty. Doc could do anything, face it.”

  “True enough,” Mildred agreed. “Anyone around him for more than ten minutes can see the old buzzard’s missing something up here.” She tapped her temple. “But they wouldn’t figure he could take in as much as we know he can. Who knows, the old bastard might come back with something useful.”

  Ryan nodded. “That’s why I figure he’ll come out of this okay. Still wish he hadn’t done it yet, though.”

  Krysty had been listening to them while she stood at the barred and secured window, watching the first rays of the sun pierce the gloom.

  “How much trouble can he get himself into?” she asked.

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Ten

  Doc felt as though he would vomit.

  The room was brilliant white. The walls were freshly painted, as was the ceiling and floor. There was a bed and a chair, both also painted white. The bed had a thin mattress covered in white cloth. On one of the white walls was a screen, also painted white—so much so that, at first, he didn’t notice that it was slightly detached from the area behind. The manner in which the two seemed to sway in and out of focus, running together then apart as his eyes tried to adjust, did little except add to his nausea.

  But this wasn’t the major cause of the sickness that welled up in him. On the chair, sitting upright and staring straight ahead of him, was a man. It was hard to determine his age, as his sallow skin hung in folds from his face, and his emaciated arms and legs poked out of the voluminous white gown he wore, making his body shape and condition hard to determine. He was facing the screen, sideways on to the door where Andower and Doc now stood. He didn’t seem to notice their entrance.

  Andower ushered Doc into the room, gesturing to the sec men that they remain outside. This would be Doc’s chance to snap the neck of the man who repulsed him so much, yet where would that get him? Still, the urge was strong as he stared at the seated man, who had still to notice them. Doc could see, now, that his lips were moving rapidly in some wordless litany. His eyes were wide and staring. At first Doc thought that the lids may be restrained in some way, but when the man blinked he realized that it was nothing less than the adrenaline of fear that kept them so wide.

  Andower leaned in to Doc, and spoke in a low whisper.

  “Some of our work here concerns the behavior of men and women. Children don’t present so much of a problem. They are easily diverted from any erroneous path and put back to the right. But when men and women are older, and have long established patterns of behavior, then—”

  “What have you done to him?” Doc asked in a hoarse whisper, trying to keep his voice neutral.

  “The procedure, you mean?” Andower asked, oblivious. “Ah, now that’s a most interesting thing. You’ll notice the completely blank canvas upon which the man is laid? Something that is intended to disorient him. This way, he has no idea of time and space, and so becomes more and more isolated and drawn in upon himself. When there is no stimuli to speak of, then the slightest change becomes effective. However, that would be a very long, drawn-out process. Part of our research is to cut down the time involved, and to make the transition from savage to civilized that much quicker.”

  “And how, exactly, do you do this?” Doc’s voice trembled slightly, despite himself.

  Andower smiled. It was bland, yet Doc felt it like a physical blow.

  “Like this, Dr. Tanner. Come…”

  He took Doc’s arm and gently guided him toward the wall at the rear of the seated man. Secreted in the white wall was a small panel, about the size of a man’s head. It was so carefully fitted that the line of the panel was only visible as it started to open. Andower displaced it, and then reached in. Over his shoulder, Doc could see that there was a small projector.

  “The wiring is in the wall itself,” Andower whispered. “See the cones?” With his free hand he pointed to the far corners of the room. Discreet, white-painted cones melded with the white walls, invisible unless indicated.

  Doc opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short by the noise that emanated from the speakers as Andower depressed a switch.

  Doc immediately felt his bowels turn to water, and it was all he could do to keep control of himself as the low frequencies hit him like punch. He gasped, and then clapped his hands to his ears as the frequencies shifted up to a high, piercing wail that now assailed his eardrums like the buzzing of angry hornets; hornets with needle-sharp stings they were intent on ramming home. No sooner had he done this than the frequencies shifted again. He didn’t know which part of his body to protect, although he knew his hands were useless no matter which he chose. It was just an instinct.

  Andower seemed to be unaffected, although from the fixed grin on his face as he stared at Doc, it was pretty obvious that he was used to the effect, and so braced for it. Doc wondered how long they could stay in the room.

  The sound had changed again. Now it was a pulsing, insistent throb that trawled the midranges of frequencies, hypnotic and swirling, like the images that were moving on the screen. Doc had to tear his eyes away from them, as he felt his will being sapped. They were strange, shifting kaleidoscopes of color—yet what were the colors? The way that they moved seemed to bleed them one into the other until they formed some strange kind of color never seen before.

  As Doc tore his eyes away, he could see that Andower was purposely looking at the doorway, averting his gaze. Had he not warned Doc because he wanted him to be hypnotized? Or merely because he wished him to see the effect and trusted in his own sense to look away?

  But Doc couldn’t look away completely. He kept glancing back at the man who was seated on the white chair. He was motionless, just as he had been since they had entered the room. Was he taking in anything that was happening to him? Certainly, the sonics had been affecting him. The stench from his vacated bowels, and the pool of urine that gathered at his feet bore testimony to that.

  Did this treatment really change his personality? Or did it just wipe it out?

  Andower reached into the cavity that housed the projector and flicked the switch. As suddenly as
it had started, the noise and the images ceased.

  In the sudden glare of the white room, and the almost deafening roar of the silence, where the sound of his own pounding blood filled his ears, Doc felt as though he had been thrown across the room at speed, and an unseen hand had stopped him by thrusting itself into his solar plexus. The force made him fall to his knees, retching as his stomach sought to empty itself.

  He felt Andower’s hand on his back.

  “My apologies, Dr. Tanner. I should have warned you of the force of the treatment. Are you all right?”

  Doc shrugged off Andower’s hand and pulled himself to his feet, hawking up the last of the bitter taste in his mouth.

  “I, sir, will be fine,” Doc said shakily. He pointed at the seated man. “But what about him?”

  Andower shrugged. “It’s too early to say, really. Treatment hasn’t been proceeding for long, and there are no conclusive results.”

  Doc tottered forward on legs still trembling from the sonic assault and circled the…well, what could he be called? Patient? Victim?

  However he should be designated, he was still staring ahead blankly, mouthing silently to himself.

  “No conclusions?” Doc queried. “Are you sure?”

  The irony was lost on Andower. “Until he chooses to speak to us, it’ll continue to be uncertain. Now, if you’ll follow me,” he continued, leading Doc to the door. And, when they were in the corridor, he murmured to one of the sec men, “Hygiene team for this room. Prompt.”

  The sec man nodded and left them, hurrying down the corridor in the opposite direction to that in which Andower now guided Doc.

  The time traveler was still unsteady on his feet, and despite his best intentions found himself leaning on Andower for assistance.