Arcadian's Asylum

by James Axler

  Before they had a chance to actually speak, the sec guards assigned to them muscled them apart. Jak bridled visibly, but a subtle gesture from Ryan stayed him. Time for that later. Right now, they were outnumbered. They would have to allow it.

  Schweiz followed onto the steps of the building while the four groups of outlanders and sec parted company.

  “You have a nice time, you hear? Don’t forget to write. Nah, mebbe just don’t bother.”

  The sec chief was enjoying his moment of power. Each of the companions filed it away for the future. For when they had a chance to gain revenge. Right now, it was more important to look ahead to where they were each headed.

  The ville was in the middle of a usual morning—trading and business as on any day. But the sight of four sec parties separating and leading—what, prisoners? Guests?—through the center of the ville brought it to a standstill, just as the previous day, when the group had been led in en masse. The center of the ville came to a momentary standstill while the citizens viewed the strange sight. They were the lucky ones. In this central sector, whether by luck, selection or a combination of both, they were subject to less in the way of experimentation and subjugation. Perhaps there wouldn’t be that luxury in the sectors that the separated companions were headed.

  From the center of the ville, the four groups parted, each headed in a different direction out of the main square. With just the barest of glances back, all that was allowed to them by their sec escorts, they headed off to their respective fates, hoping that the chance to establish lines of communication would arise, and that escape could be planned.

  If not, then what?

  J AK COULD BARELY CONTROL his temper. It was as if his skin itched with the frustration that boiled in his veins. His natural instincts—the ones that he was aware were about to be tested in some way—told him to make a break. His rational mind told him that that would be stupe. But the thought of being constrained and experimented on rankled. Never the most garrulous of people, Jak now kept a silence that wouldn’t be broken.

  Not that the sec men leading him through the center of the ville showed any sign of wanting to strike up a conversation. They barely looked at him, except to check that he wasn’t readying himself for an escape attempt. It gave Jak a chance to concentrate on the route they took. He had already worked out that the roads in this part of the ville ran on straight lines, intersecting at right angles. It was a very neat, very old piece of construction, and the change in buildings from the three-story center of the ville through the two- and single-story buildings that radiated out gave him plenty in the way of landmarks. The people milling the streets thinned out, and those who did pass by weren’t inclined to stare.

  In a short while they reached a gated fence, with a strip of empty land separating it from another fence. The buildings on the far side differed little.

  “Sector Three,” the lead sec man intoned, looking at Jak for the first time. “Your new home, boy. Better settle in. It’ll be easier for you.”

  There was note in his voice that intrigued the albino youth, almost as if he felt uncomfortable with the situation. Were there many that harbored that feeling? It wasn’t important now; it may well be in the near future.

  They passed through the gate, using the well-trodden path. Once again Jak wondered if the fence was booby-trapped in some way, or if the land that lay on either side of the path was mined. Could it be, as they had all wondered earlier, that the barriers between the sectors were as much psychological as physical? If so, then it was the strength of the sec force in each sector that could determine the difficulty of escape.

  As this passed through Jak’s mind, they marched through the sector. Although the buildings were similar to those on the other side of the wire, it was much quieter. There were far fewer people on the streets, and those who were seemed subdued, pointedly not looking at the sec party as it passed, as though punishment would follow if any dared.

  A people cowed and frightened didn’t say much for any of the baron’s experiments if Jak was any judge. But he would find out soon enough. They wheeled right, and Jak found himself standing in front of a building that looked much like the ones that surrounded it on either side: brick built, scarred by the rigors of skydark, but rebuilt much like those around it. With one difference, perhaps: this building had opaque glass windows, behind which—Jak guessed as he couldn’t see—were bars or guards of some kind. It was bland, and apart from the opacity said nothing about what may occur within. But a cold prickling on his scalp told him that it wasn’t a good place. It had a smell about it that differed from the buildings on either side. He couldn’t identify the precise elements of that smell, but knew that they added up to nothing that was good.

  As they came to a halt, the doors of the building opened and three men walked out. One was a black-clad sec man, with a Lee Enfield .303 longblaster slung over his shoulder. The other two were dressed normally, but carried with them an air of authority. The smaller of the two, a slight and balding man of greater age, peered at Jak short-sightedly, his head craning forward as he halted at the top of the three steps that led to the entrance.

  “Hmm, I think he’s everything that we’ve been led to believe, Pulaski,” he said in a voice as cracked and desiccated as his skin.

  The taller, heavier-set man who had gray-streaked hair brushed back from his forehead and a thick beard that obscured the bottom half of his face, grunted.

  “You say so, Foxx. I say we test him first, get some accurate readings, before we start any procedures.”

  “Well, okay. Though I don’t think you’ll find it necessary. Still, if you must be a stickler.”

  Jak didn’t care much for the way that they spoke about him as though he wasn’t there. Even when they turned away and walked into the building, they gave no indication that he should follow. It was only when the sec man beckoned to him with the barrel of his rifle, and his guard stepped back, that he realized what they wanted from him.

  “Good luck,” the lead sec man muttered under his breath in a tone that was sardonic and tinged with sorrow. Jak frowned, and briefly glanced at him. The sec man’s face was impassive, but the voice had been unmistakable.

  Without looking back, Jak walked up the steps and in front of the sec man from the sector building, who held the door back for him to enter. He realized that the building was soundproofed when the door shut with a hiss, sealing out the world beyond.

  Inside, the corridor ahead was lit in a fluorescent glare. There were no windows along this passage, only a succession of doors. The sec guard prodded Jak without a word. As the two men who had greeted him were some distance ahead, passing through the double doors at the end of the corridor, his meaning was clear. Jak quickened his pace. There was little he could do at the moment except follow and discover their intentions.

  Through the double doors and a sharp right brought him to an open set of double doors, inset with glass. Pulaski and Foxx were already busy, preparing a series of wires and cables that were linked to an old, blue-gray metal console. Speakers were positioned around the room, at different angles and heights. The console was at one end of the room, and at the other stood a screen, currently blank. As Jak entered, the smaller, older man looked up.

  “Ah, here he is.” He beckoned Jak to the chair, moving over to it with a bundle of wires and pad ter minals in his free hand. “Come, my friend, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I wouldn’t bother with this process myself, but Pulaski is a stickler for precision from the very start. This won’t take long, and it won’t hurt.”

  Jak kept his usual impassive visage, but some involuntary twitch of a muscle had to have betrayed him.

  Foxx smiled and said over his shoulder. “You see, Pulaski? He doesn’t trust us. This will surely affect your precious readings. Reflexes and instincts, time distorted by fear and mistrust. Only a practical situation gives a true reading. Only when we get this young man out there on the ranges will we have a true idea. But still, if
you must have your precious data.”

  Jak figured from what the old man said that this part would be simple, and wouldn’t threaten him in any way. Fine. Submit to that and let them think he was compliant, at least for now.

  But he didn’t like the sound of the thing—whatever it may be—that they called “the range.”

  AS THEY CROSSED the wire and found themselves at their intended destination, the first thing to strike Ryan and Krysty was the manner in which the people of this sector were working. Lots between the old and rebuilt dwellings had been flattened, and were being used as areas for grain and vegetable cultivation. Scattered around the lots, either bent over the earth or almost hidden by the height of the crop, were a number of people. Men and women alike, all looked as though they were in good health, and at the peak of physical condition. Toned and muscled, with no flab in sight. All were fairly tall—the variation in height was noticeable by its absence.

  However Arcadian put his theories about selective breeding into operation, at first glance it appeared to be bearing fruit. By comparison, their sec guard seemed to be misshapen and mismatched.

  As they were marched toward the center of the sector, the people milling around on the streets were also of a uniform height, musculature and fitness. Sure, some of them were dark and some blond; some were black, some of Native American descent and some Caucasian; some were broader than others, who tended toward a more wiry build. But within this range of types, the common features suggested not just breeding programs, but regimes of training that were designed to aid nature to maximum effect.

  The passersby eyed Krysty and Ryan speculatively. It was unsettling, as there was no hostility or even curiosity in their glare. It was more a kind of assessment that made Krysty wonder just what was in store for them. The way in which they were coolly studied made Ryan aware of his scar and missing eye. These people were perfect physical specimens in every way, or so it seemed. As was Krysty. As was Ryan himself, except in that particular area. He wondered if that would mark him for trouble when they were let loose in this sector. It wasn’t a genetic fault, but rather one made by man. Nonetheless, it set him apart from the others, even Krysty.

  However, no one spared them much beyond an initial glance. They seemed too busy to spare the time. What their activities may be, beyond those they had already witnessed, they could only wonder.

  When they reached the center of the sector, they found themselves in front of a three-story building that stood out from those around it. A vacant lot on either side was left barren, which was unusual in comparison to all else they had seen. The reasons why would no doubt become clear in time. Through the windows of the building, as they looked up, they could see that there were whitecoats walking around, engaged in unknown tasks. There were also men and women stripped to the waist or in very little, some of whom seemed to be running on the spot. Others flashed back and forth in front of the windows, engaged in some kind of unspecified and, from this remove, unfathomable activity.

  They were expected. A tall, sun-bronzed man stood alone in front of the building. His hair was lustrous and wavy, brushed back from his forehead. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that emphasized his well-developed biceps and pecs, and his pants were pulled in tight at the waist by a belt, as if to emphasise the development of his upper body as opposed to the slimness of his lower. It was only as they got closer that part of the reason for such obvious vanity became apparent. His sun-bleached hair was heavily streaked with gray, and his face was lined, the skin wrinkled at his eyes and neck. He may have had the physique of a young man, but his face betrayed that his real age was much greater.

  “Took your time getting here,” he said in a loud, hearty voice, stepping forward to greet them. “You boys can fuck off now, we don’t need you here,” he said dismissively to the sec escort.

  Ryan noted that they complied without rising to either the explicit or implied insult, turning and leaving without a word. The man had an absolute authority. He clapped the one-eyed man on the shoulder.

  “Good to have you here,” he said in the same exuberant tones. “I’m guessing that you mebbe weren’t a hundred percent convinced of this move—I know it’s hard to adjust to what we’re doing here, as it’s unique, right?—but you’ll soon see that we’re onto something.” He extended his other arm so that it encompassed Krysty’s shoulders before continuing. “Listen, you need to freshen up, see where you’re going to be billeted, then I’ll take you on the grand tour and fill you in on where I see you fitting in. One thing—I’d rather you lose those,” he added, inclining his head to indicate their blasters. “We don’t carry weapons in this sector, and we don’t have a sec team like the others. We look after ourselves here, and if we have a problem we use our bare hands to sort it out. That okay with you? Hell, sure it is.”

  With which, and without bothering to wait for an answer, he swept them toward the building. Once they were inside, he stopped at a door on the left. Kicking it open, he ushered them through the doorway, only taking his arms away from them when it became impossible for them all to pass through together.

  “Tod,” he boomed in the same tone. It was as though, Krysty thought, he had only the one setting. “Hey, Tod,” he boomed again when the man with his back to them didn’t immediately answer.

  “Alex, I’m actually busy.” The man sighed, turning to face them. He scanned them quickly, but Krysty caught more than curiosity in the way he looked at her. “These the new ones sent to us by the baron?”

  It was a rhetorical question, and Alex treated it as such. He continued as though Tod hadn’t spoken.

  “Get those weapons off and give them to Tod, here. He’ll make sure they’re safely filed away.”

  “That’s me, the original keeper of the keys,” Tod added humorously, though both Ryan and Krysty were at a loss to the joke.

  Figuring that they knew where their weapons would be if they needed to retrieve them, and that they wouldn’t be at a disadvantage if everyone in the ville was unarmed, they handed over their weaponry. For Ryan, he felt almost naked without the Steyr, the SIG-Sauer and the panga. But he kept his scarf, hoping that neither Alex nor Tod would notice how the ends seemed weighted. Krysty unholstered her blaster and handed it over. Alex made to take it from her, but Tod was quicker. His hand brushed against hers as he took possession of the Smith & Wesson, and she could feel the energy coming from him.

  Selective breeding programs, Arcadian had called them. She had no wish to be part of any such thing, but she could see that perhaps Tod had other ideas.

  While the younger man made a note of the weaponry in a ledger, then filed it away in a cabinet that he locked with a key that came from the top left-hand desk drawer, Alex extended his arms again, as if to gather them in before sweeping them from the room.

  “Now then, Tod here is busy, like he said. This sector doesn’t run itself, and I don’t know what I’d do without him—”

  “Exactly what you did before I started, Alex. Rely on someone else,” Tod said with that humorous tone again; except this time, Krysty was sure she detected an edge of malice. She did some filing herself. It could be a useful piece of information.

  If the older man had noted that, he made no indication as he led them out into the corridor.

  “Now then, let’s not waste time on settling you in. What we do here is develop a population that aims at a peak of physical fitness and development. You’ve traveled, and you know that the major problem with a lot of the land that lies beyond our ville is that it’s physically suspect. Mutations, deformities, weakness, an inability to develop what has been given and make it better. A weakened body leads to a weakened mind, and then the two start to feed off each other, eating into each other so that you’re left with nothing but decay, moral, physical and mental. I’m betting that could sum up what you’ve seen out there. Am I right?”

  “I guess you could put it that way,” Ryan answered, weighing his words with care.

  “Damn right I’
m right,” Alex snapped. “If people are born with weakness in the body, then they can’t help that. But they can be taught that it can be improved upon with mental effort. At the same time, if you get people to that peak, and you take people that have attained that naturally, and you put them together, then you start to develop a strain of humanity that doesn’t have the weakness inherent. That’s what we’re doing here, in essence. Putting together people like that, and also keeping them to their peak, so that the attitude becomes in-bred in them.”

  In-bred is right, Krysty thought. Especially if you have a small gene pool to begin with. But seeing as she suspected that their presence was partly to help prevent that, she held her peace for the moment.

  “Now then,” Alex continued in a manner that was beginning to rankle, “let’s show you what we do.”

  He took the stairs two or three at a time, seemingly effortlessly, and intended in part to demonstrate his fitness and test theirs. Determined not to be bested, they followed at his pace. He flung open a door and gestured that they look in. Five people—two men, three women—were running on treadmills while a man and a woman in lab coats monitored their speed and distance on dials fitted to the mills, noting the results on clipboards.

  “Endurance. Lung capacity. Muscle strength. Now follow me,” he said, before closing the door and running down the corridor and up another flight of stairs.

  Krysty and Ryan were at his heels when he stopped and opened another door. Inside, the room was padded on the walls and floor. Four men and two women were engaged in hand-to-hand combat, with seemingly no quarter. Once again, to the side, were a man and a woman in lab coats, making notes on clipboards.

  “Reactions, aggression, the desire to win. Speed and efficiency. Survival of the fittest isn’t just brute strength, my friends. Cunning and the ability to think with the lightning speed of your reflexes is also important. But from what I hear, I don’t need to tell you that.”