Jean stared at her daughter, perturbed. It had not occurred to her either that Liz might have understood so well or that her own position really mattered to such an extent. But she realized that for Liz’s sake she must say something. ‘Yes,’ she agreed gently. ‘Yes, I suppose you’ve a right to know more ... Well, it began as I told you, Liz. In the late seventies we lost our home. Your father’s business failed. Then Beth got the idea of coming to the icebox.’
‘Daddy,’ responded Liz. ‘Why did—’
‘She’d gone in for what was called an intelligence-enhancement course,’ Jean went on rather quickly, moving away. ‘It’s supposed to extend a person to the limit of their capacity. But in Beth’s case it seemed to bring about ... a change of personality. It was then she altered her name, anyway, became so very different. I could hardly recognize her as the girl she’d been before. As Liz ...’ Now the narration was becoming difficult for Jean. She hastened to conclude, ‘So I really hadn’t very much choice but to come with her here when it came to the point. She might have needed me again, you see. I couldn’t tell...’
Liz was moved by this, and indeed understood how hard it must have been for her mother. But one question remained uppermost in her mind. ‘You still haven’t told me... she faltered. ‘What about?—’
That Jean quite anticipated the question, and did not want to deal with it, was obvious from the way she now avoided Liz’s eyes and moved for the door. Liz had to cry after her, ‘Mummy, why won’t you tell me about Daddy? Is he dead?’
‘No, Liz!’ Jean stopped in her tracks. ‘No, your father isn’t dead.’
‘Then what... please.’’
Jean paused a long moment. Her voice was at once deeply weary and controlled as she evinced, ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. I’d like to say more, but I’ve decided it would be unwise. I’ll see that you’re let out of here now. I’ll look after you, Liz — just as I did in other days. Trust me, darling. Above all — trust me.’
* * *
Liz was only imprisoned for another hour or so, then the electronic lock was clicked off, and she found herself a free agent again. But nobody had precisely come to release her, which in the circumstances she found gratifying. Whatever else it mightn’t have been, it was great sucks to Beth.
She therefore went to the Fantasy Room that night in jubilant mood, and Larry, taken by her vivacity, introduced her for the first time to the fantasy gear.
‘Look, all you need to do is hold my hand,’ he explained as they slipped the head clamps on. ‘That links us computer- wise. Then we can fly to the Moon.’
‘Is it really true?’
‘Try it and see. Blast off.’
‘Ooh,’ gurgled Liz, as her body began to go stiff before the collapse into relaxation, ‘it’s real, it is! The Moon ... so close...’
And Simon, watching a little censoriously from a safe distance wondered two things, the first of which made him feel ashamed and the second of which restored his confidence. They were: would he have the courage to abandon himself to the governance of a machine so obviously superior? and, really if Liz was determined to make a fool of herself, shouldn’t she do it somewhere in private rather than here and with that pushing Larry? Simon swung for the door.
Beth was sitting at a table, busy with files and taking no notice of anything else. But she looked up as Simon went by.
‘Oh, Simon,’ she said briskly, ‘you and Liz will attend Doctor Joynton first thing tomorrow for calibration checks.' She tore a paper off a pad. ‘Present this slip.’
‘Calibration checks?’ replied Simon, taking the paper in perplexity. ‘What are they?’
‘What they sound like. Measurements, dimensions.’
‘For clothes?’
Beth clicked her tongue in annoyance. ‘Kindly don’t be stupid. The Director wants to get started on the AB experiment, so we need to know precisely the size of the organs of your body that are to be replaced with machine parts.’
Not all of this seemed to impinge on Simon’s consciousness at once. ‘You’re going to give us artificial organs instead of our own?’ he blinked.
‘Of course.’
‘So that’s the AB experiment?’ His voice was unexpectedly loud. ‘To fill Liz and me up with machine parts?’
‘It makes a difference?’ asked Beth sharply. Then her eyes narrowed, and she went on in an even tone, ‘Don't think you can deceive me, Simon. No matter how you got here, the computer summoned you. As volunteers’ Beth stood, gathering up her papers. ‘You and Liz are really very lucky young people. Inefficient and obsolete organs of your body are to be removed and replaced. You’ll be the first man-machine chimeras in the history of the world.’
27
They did calibrations in the ice-box by means of audio clamps that emitted signals when secured to different parts of the body, which the computer then picked up and interpreted with formidable accuracy. X-rays were not employed unless some pathological condition was observed which might be considered to confute the mathematical exactitude.
Simon had less trouble in appreciating the complexities of this technique than in persuading Liz to lie still on the couch next to him in the infirmary and just tell herself it all wasn’t going to happen. She had nearly had hysterics when he had broken to her the joyous news that given half a chance, the denizens of the ice-box meant to provide them with a whole set of gleaming new machine parts.
‘... and double-check the specifications for the boy’s artificial heart,’ came Devereaux’s voice from over by a computer-feed screen with Edith Joynton. ‘That’s an area where we can’t have the least deviation.’ Not for the first time that morning, Liz sat up to strip the clamps from her and run, but Simon pushed her down again. His grand strategy — for of course he had one — required here and now that they merely play it very cool.
Devereaux had begun to move in their direction. ‘I’ll want you to do the surgery yourself. Doctor Joynton.’
‘I see. Director.’
‘We can set a tentative date a fortnight from today.’ Before the twin couches, he paused to frown down at Liz and Simon. ‘Now that seems to settle the question of the internal organs,’ he remarked gravely. ‘There remains the matter of the limbs we intend to replace.’
Simon could not conceal a gulp at this, and on Liz’s lips there trembled a silent scream. Edith didn’t help things by saying: ‘Yes. Liz — you come along with me.’
‘What for?’ Liz was quivering like the imperilled heroine of a Frankenstein movie.
‘Because we’re going to give you a nice new arm, and we’ll have to take a cast of the one you’ve got.’
‘But I don’t want a nice new arm,’ wailed Liz. ‘What’s the matter with the one I’ve got? It picks up things nicely, moves around as it should. Look. I’ll be a freak with a tin arm.’
Edith hooted with laughter. ‘Tin arm! Girlie, you’re not living in the sleazy sixties. The kind of prosthetic arm we’re going to give you is a thousand times more efficient than the one you’ve got.’
‘Yes, Liz,’ encouraged Simon, anxious to keep her calm. ‘Stronger — easier to use—-’
‘You’ve said it. Just like the leg we’re going to give you, Simon,’ beamed Edith. That stopped him, but by that time she had Liz detached from the clamps and out the door. Simon was thus alone with Devereaux. He began to release himself.
‘Simon,’ said Devereaux.
‘Yes?’
‘Never enter my office again, you hear me? Never. Not for any reason.’
Then he hadn’t completely forgotten the incident, Simon realized. That was interesting. He waited, and Devereaux turned to look him in the eye. It was not a pleasant regard.
‘Curiosity is a vice in a place like the ice-box, my boy. I programme the computer, and the computer lays down the shape of our lives. And that’s all there is to it.’
‘And you learn how to programme the computer through depth-research,’ suggested Simon.
‘Dep
th-research?’ Devereaux’s glance hardened. ‘What do you know of depth-research?’
‘Only what Doctor Bukov was saying. I suppose — I suppose you must have found out the secret of HA57 through depth-research.’ Quite suddenly, Devereaux trembled, as though violent anger were about to claim him again. It gave Simon a momentary and absurd feeling that he was gaining an advantage; but he quickly put this out of his head to add defensively, ‘Well, I think HA57 is something terrific. It must be the greatest scientific advance since the beginning of the world.’
Devereaux’s reaction now was curious. He mastered his trembling, but gave a loud grunt, smacking one fist loudly down into the other. He smiled tautly. ‘Such beguiling innocence. Oh, if you had the fortune or the craft, Simon, you could make your name ring from pole to pole. Check? You could emerge from your period in the ice-box as one of the great scientific innovators of all times. The inventor of the longevity drug! ’
‘I never meant anything like that,’ protested Simon.
‘Don’t lie to me, boy! ’ Devereaux was getting worked up in spite of himself. ‘People of far greater moment than you would like to get hold of the formula I and the computer have perfected. But that won’t happen. The formula is well guarded. Personal to me until such time as I am of no further use, and then...’
On the instant, it had happened again. Half turned away from Simon, Devereaux had stopped dead in mid-action. His eyes were closed, and he had dropped into his strange unconsciousness.
Simon scrambled off the couch and hurried across. He passed his hand up and down a couple of times before the Director’s face; there was no question but that he was unaware of his surroundings. Then the eyes snapped open again, and the hard gaze fell on Simon.
‘So keep out of my office, Simon,’ instructed Devereaux. ‘Attend to your own affairs. No more prying.’
* * *
Later, in the computer room, Simon said privately to Bukov, ‘Did you know that the Director has blackouts every so often?’
‘Blackouts?’ Bukov was guiding some complex calculations through the computer, but at once gave Simon his full attention.
You said if I ever had anything I’d like to tell you about the Director, I was to speak. Well, there’s this. I wasn’t sure at first, but I am now. When he found me in his office, he tried to strangle me.’
‘You said that.’
‘Then in the middle of it — he just stopped.’
‘Changed his mind?’
‘No. It was as though he’d fallen asleep or something. He just wasn’t there for a minute. It’s true.’
The computer chattered behind them, and a light flashed. Bukov turned to make a minimal adjustment to a tape on a panel, his face grave.
‘Haven’t you ever noticed it. Doctor Bukov?’
‘No, Simon, I can’t say I have. But as I told you, a clone is a new species of human being. I suppose it’s always possible that...’ But then he decided against facile judgements and merely shook his head slowly. ‘Thank you, Simon. Say nothing to anyone else about this. I’ll try and talk to you again.’
* * *
Jean turned her head, shocked. ‘Then that’s the AB experiment,’ she gasped. ‘I never knew.’
‘Yes, Mummy — and they really mean to do it! Give us new lungs and arms and legs and all sorts of awful things. We’ve been measured up for them.’
‘But there’s been a terrible mistake! Haven’t any of them realized?’
‘No, they’re all convinced we’re the volunteers. They keep on saying the computer can’t make mistakes. Even Beth who knows who we are...’ Liz stared at her mother, frightened on her own account but also in confusion of mind. ‘Mummy, this is a dreadful place. How can you bear to stay here?’
They were in Jean’s plain little room, sitting around the square table. Jean sighed deeply, then rose, as though moving about might ease her anxiety.
‘Liz,’ she said at length, ‘we can’t cope with this situation any more. You’ll just have to go. You and Simon. Back through the time barrier.’
'But I can’t! ’ answered Liz desperately. ‘Not till I know about Daddy.’
‘And I can’t tell you! Why don’t you understand?’
For the first time Liz felt a movement of anger towards her mother. ‘Look, why can’t you tell me? I’ve got a right to know. I’ll stay here and let them do these awful things to me if you don’t speak, honest I will! You’re being — being’ — Liz sought wildly for a word, and as usual under such circumstances found a wild one — ‘obverse.’
Jean allowed herself a little smile. It took the tension out of the situation, and she said gently: ‘We live among mysteries, Liz. Perhaps we’ve just got to be brave enough to bear them. I can tell you this much, though. I do think this is a dreadful place. The things they do here frighten me.’
‘Then why do you stay? Just for Beth?’
‘Isn’t it a good enough reason?’
‘Oh! ’ Liz’s confusion of mind had increased and now she was upset too. ‘I think Beth’s hopeless. All mixed up. Nothing to do with me.’
‘Then go back through the barrier,’ said her mother. ‘Please.’ But she added, hesitantly, ‘There’s something else I can tell you. It isn’t much, but you’ll have to be satisfied with it. I also stay here ... for your father’s sake. If it weren’t for your father, I mightn’t be here at all.’
Liz felt suddenly like a little girl again, dispassionately sent up to bed because there were family secrets to be discussed and the knowledge of them might distress her.
* * *
‘Well, you great steaming nit,’ expostulated Simon. ‘We’ve got to do it now then, don’t you see?’
‘Why?’ inquired Liz, admirably cool. ‘Who wants the silly old.HA57 formula anyway?’
‘I do. I promised Commander Traynor.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Then shove off,’ suggested Simon cordially. ‘Leave me to do the dirty work and get caught and that, and you just run off home and cry over Larry.’
‘Simon,’ said Liz darkly, ‘one day when you least expect it, something’s going to hit you very hard. It’ll be me, throwing a steam roller.’
‘Lovers’ tiff?’ cackled Edith Joynton, passing by their chairs. ‘That’s the stuff. I don’t reckon we’ve had one of them around here since they sunk the foundations. Keep up the good work.’
They smiled weakly across the Fantasy Room at her as Edith and her laugh receded in the direction of the alcove. There were times when Edith could prove a bit of a cross to carry. Liz even wondered how she managed to maintain so constantly chummy and open an attitude when in some other part of herself she was ready and willing to chop off people’s arms and legs. Something to do with the ‘Scientific Mind’, she supposed; which Simon was supposed to share.
Liz watched Edith put on the clamps, stiffen, and drop away into fantasy, then became aware Simon’s eyes were on her, demanding an answer. She sighed painfully. Why was she always so put upon? Women were bom to suffer. With an inner tear for her gentle forbearance, her sex, and the whole stupid situation, she got up and went out to get on with it.
* * *
Both Liz and Simon went into the Director’s office this time. Again the lights were at half-power, and in a moment Simon had the back-room door open and stood peering into the darkness beyond.
‘What happens now?’ hissed Liz.
What did happen, in fact, was not at all what was scheduled. The office door opened, and Liz and Simon had barely time to scuttle down behind the desk before Beth came into the room. She walked straight up to the backroom door and then stopped, as though surprised to see it open. Then she went on in.
As she did, a remarkable thing occurred. She touched no switch anywhere, but, as she progressed, the light as it were moved after her from the office, so that in a moment Liz and Simon were in black darkness, and the room within glowed instead. Through the open door, Simon was thus able to see that the little room contained anot
her, smaller computer, and that Beth had stopped before a particular bastion, checking some dials and making notes. She did it in a familiar manner, altogether without strangeness. It was all deeply puzzling. But Simon jerked silently with his head at Liz. They would obviously have to come back later.
As a child, Liz’s father had often told her she must have been born with too many feet; and indeed there may have been some truth in the judgement, for in spite of the fact that there was only one movable object in the Director’s office, a wastepaper basket, Liz contrived to fall over it as she and Simon crept for the office door. She came down with a crash, and the metal basket clanged like Big Ben.
‘What’s that?’ cried Beth from within.
A furious Simon dragged Liz to her feet and bundled her for the door. But they were not nearly out before Beth had appeared in the aperture behind, the lights ‘following’ her as before.
‘You two again!’ she gasped. Suddenly an alarm began to ring.
Simon paused for no civilities, but belted out into the corridor, yanking Liz after him. Here, there seemed to be a species of chaos. The alarm was shrilling violently, and Bukov raced along from the computer room, Larry on his heels. ‘Emergency,’ he shouted as he went past. ‘Fantasy Room...’
‘This is monstrous! ’ Beth was very nearly sobbing with rage as she rushed out of the Director’s office to the now immobilized Liz and Simon. ‘The Director will—’ But then she too became aware of the alarm, and turned at once for the Fantasy Room. Liz and Simon seemed to have no course but to follow.
Bukov burst into the Fantasy Room, stopped in his tracks. Over by the alcove, somebody lay spreadeagled on the floor. As the others entered the room, Bukov hurried across. It was Edith Joynton, lying on her face. He turned her over. Then he cried out.
Edith was staring blindly ahead. But her face was now sunken and deeply wrinkled; her hair white, the wispy straggle of an incredibly aged woman. Her mouth hung open, a gaping hollow. She was dead.
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