Wayne said, “You may be right, Frank.” Swarbrick nodded.
Gaul said, “I go along with that.” At the same time he wrote, “Another look at the exit tomorrow. Time?”
Swarbrick said, “I’ll put in another session tomorrow afternoon. Spectators welcome if they bring a bottle.”
Gaul Kalmar went through the city to his morning stint at the power desk in the Environment Stabilization Building. The walkways were crowded at this time. He had to wait in a slowly circulating backwater of a reduction bay to find a break in the fast lane. He watched the people pour past. A line of ancient verse added its gloss:
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
They might just as well be dead. Zombies all. Silent, orderly, fed, clothed and protected from all extremes, even of their own natures. From the cradle, in the Infant Growth Control block, to the Conservator, where their healthy frames, after four-score years of wear, gave up every useful molecule to the ecology of the city, they went in ordained grooves. Directed by the brain of the long-dead President. King Log.
Fifty yards down the line, there was a break and he began to juggle with relative speeds, until he matched the movement of the lane he wanted. It was one of the few competitive situations left and he liked to do it with a kind of panache. Shultz could have told him that even the manner of using walkways was featured on the confidential profiles in Byrsa.
His companion on the treadmill was a very fair, slim young woman with a Marie Antoinette bust.
Normally no slouch in admiring the mainspring of representational art, he found that he could keep his mind on the scenery without distraction. Then he realized that, since he had heaved Jane Welland into the red light of the natural sun, he had a reference for beauty which killed any comparison stone dead. He became aware that his thinking was becoming less easy to control. The cold intellectualism was being undermined. It took the rest of the journey to make a deliberate adjustment and empty his mind of all considerations other than an unemotional analysis of certain power equations which would form the basis of the morning’s work.
He might just as well not have bothered. She was already at her console in the main office. Auburn hair swung elastically as she met him with, “Good morning, Mr. Kalmar. There’s a further power demand on from Byrsa and I believe there’s a rep waiting to see you in your office. We can’t supply any more without cutting somewhere else or bringing in extra capacity.”
“Thank you. Keep them waiting for five minutes and I’ll let you know what we can do.” He could keep enthusiasm out of his voice, but not out of his eyes and she knew that he was also saying, “The morning is very much improved by your being in it.”
Two minutes with the man from Byrsa—dark, thin-faced, wearing the civil guard uniform as if it had been painted on him—convinced him that the power issue was only one reason for the visit. He was under a kind of interview. It was flattering in its way. Anyone less important to the city would have been wheeled in for investigation, even a course of therapy, without any preamble. It meant, at least, that a key engineer had some rights; habeas corpus was not quite dead duck.
Evidently they were not ready to take him in. Controller Gruber, his current visitor, made some searching probes to establish attitude. But Kalmar could play that kind of chess with half his brain. No doubt this would be monitored in detail. Even that knowledge hardly crossed the censor band into conscious thought. He concentrated on a detached analysis of the ostensible reasons for the visit and argued out the power case.
Finally Gruber stood up. “Perhaps you would introduce me to the people who are handling our power requirements, Mr. Kalmar?” It was a request, but it was also an order. Somebody would check at each introduction. Any flicker of affective tone would be rung up.
As they walked through the main floor, Kalmar kept his mind ice cold and went over the pros and cons as any manager would, showing round a senior official from another department. He cloaked it as a debate with himself on the most convenient way to do it. When they reached the section, he simply pushed the stud which summoned the four operators and the section controller to come together. If there was any alteration in his mental rhythms, it could have any one of five causes.
Even Gruber’s obvious interest in Jane Welland was not allowed to ruffle the calm and finally the policeman was ready to go, with the parting shot, “Thank you, Mr. Kalmar, it has been most interesting. I can see we are in very capable hands. I’ll note what you say and see you again about this time tomorrow.”
Over Gruber’s left shoulder, warm brown eyes briefly met his, in a noncommittal exchange which was nevertheless a kind of “thumbs down for this one for a start.”
Back in the office he looked out the power record for the last week. Byrsa had taken a regular ten percent more than they needed by any reasonable estimate. That was all right. There was plenty. Energy requirements could be met for all the foreseeable future life of the city. But it was a curious thing and he would be more comfortable if he knew what it was being used for.
Six hours later he was back in the air space behind the Alhambra. This time Swarbrick accompanied him down. The P.E. specialist made the rope look like a processional stairway.
When the stone came out, they were at ground level and got the full benefit. A lifetime of clean air had not trained them for smog and, for some minutes, Swarbrick believed his lungs would burst. Then it was clear enough to make a move and they climbed up the rough concrete face.
Gaul Kalmar had little idea of what he expected to see through the gap. The old plans showed a pair of rectangular rooms, arranged so that those coming in could be isolated and examined before they came on farther to the inner room. It seemed to be a kind of anticontamination screening, as though anyone outside would carry on his person some dangerous germ. One legend said, ANTI-RADIATION.
The thin beam of the torch stopped and made a circular splash of light not a meter from the opening. Kalmar had a momentary sense of disappointment. It seemed that their penetration had only taken them into another space between walls. Then he realized that the facing structure was something entirely different. It was not a wall, but the side of some large, shuttle-shaped object which almost filled the room.
He heaved himself forward into the space and Swarbrick followed. They were able to walk round along a narrow, meter-wide alley, which widened as they leveled with the narrowing cone end. Dust was thick everywhere, reducing the great shuttle to a featureless gray hulk.
When they reached the forward end, they were in a wider space. A good six meters lay before a wall of glass which was backed by darkness and mirrored their movements in thigh-deep swirls of gray powder. Swarbrick reached up and wiped the dust on the snub nose of the shuttle. Glass lay below the film. He cleared a neat square and the probing light of the torch showed up an interior with two rows of forward-facing seats, an elaborate control console and a shining opaque bulkhead which screened off a further compartment.
Kalmar moved without comment down the farther side. Here, there was more room. Ten meters away, the opposite wall appeared to duplicate the one they had pierced. Built onto the wall with a bench seat for several operators was a panel which carried control gear. He registered briefly that the controls had a familiar look and turned his attention to the shuttle.
Its streamlining was so complete that it took some time to find the way in. But when a two-meter section of the shell ran back, Kalmar knew they were onto something which revolutionized the project. Even after the generations of disuse, this was a precision product of such refinement that it was still mechanically sound. Inside there was no doubt. The rear compartment was arranged with four detachable bunks two by two.
Swarbrick said, “This red cross here means something. Hospital service, isn’t it? An ambulance. This was to go out and bring people in. It’s custom-built.”
“I’d like Lee to see this. He’s the genius on things mechanical.
What’s that?”
They stood still. Through the open door of the shuttle and the two concrete ports, there was a thin, attenuated pinging. The socialite Hitchen had another caller.
Three
Swarbrick gave a display of controlled power which merited a wider public. Without the rope, and in the reduced light, he gauged distances like a high-wire man and swung himself to the tie bar below Hitchen’s cupboard. From there he went up, hand over hand, and disappeared through the square of light in a smooth flow of movement. Gaul Kalmar, moving more deliberately, had reached the last rope when the light abruptly went out. Someone had pushed in the plug.
He leaned against the far wall and began to think things out, with substitutions, treating the affair as if it were a power problem. His thought content would be at least confusing if the analysts got to work on it. One legitimate consideration occupied him. There had been no time to examine the power pack of the ambulance tender; but it could easily contain an explanation for Byrsa’s sudden increase in power consumption. The exit locks in that quarter would be the only ones still operational. Even if long unused, they would contain the Strikecraft which Shultz had mentioned. Power for these could be on a storage principle; they could be fueled for a certain range of flight. If that were so, then someone could be taking the precaution of putting them at service readiness.
Coupled with the curious ploy of increasing guard strength, this suggested knowledge of their plan. But nothing would be easier than to move in and arrest them. Why be that elaborate? But then, they were all high-category citizens. It would be a clearer issue for the civil guard, if they were allowed to complete their plans and get out. Particularly if they made moves which endangered the President. Habeas corpus would not apply. They wouldn’t even be allowed to keep the modified body that a reorientation course might leave.
This led to the next major question, to which there was no immediate answer. How? How did they know? One thing was clear, it could not have been picked up from Jane Welland or Cheryl Bentham or Swarbrick, because the demand for extra power had been going on for some days before they joined the group. In some obscure way, which he did not analyze, that was a relief.
At that point, a solid shaft of light broke the darkness overhead and Lee Wayne appeared, head and shoulders in the gap.
“Civil guard detail. Checking the area for damage. Vibrations recorded, suggesting a fall of masonry. Swarbrick showed them his set of pictures and convinced them that nothing would have happened round here without his noticing it. They’ve pushed on to fill their little day with distance run.”
“You’re good with mechanical gadgets, here’s something for your busy fingers.”
Lee Wayne made heavier weather of the journey; but when he arrived, it was not only breathlessness that silenced him. He was like an anthropologist who had stubbed his toe on the Missing Link. This was the gadget to end all gadgets. By an intuitive understanding, which cut through the mass of instrumentation on the panels and isolated essentials, he had the basic operational idea of the craft in ten minutes. Then he wandered about like a replete gourmet tasting the detailed refinements.
“Well?” Gaul Kalmar was impressed, but thought they should get on. Lee Wayne had returned to the driver’s seat and made a silent gesture of thumbs up.
“This makes a certainty out of a possibility. Two thousand kilometers range. Who looks after Megara?”
Kalmar looked at his time disk. “As of five minutes ago, Cheryl Bentham.”
“Can we take power?”
“Some. Not much. She would have to bring in the duty engineer.”
“That’s Bourne.”
“Bourne it is.”
Bourne was senior of the four principal engineers who divided the supervisory duties. He was known to have close contacts with Byrsa. In bearing and general manner, he had the appearance of being police trained.
Kalmar said, “Take enough to test out the controls. That shouldn’t be much. Check the outside board.”
Together they went over the wall panel. Nomenclature was totally unfamiliar, but many legends had stylized pictographs like a subtitle. Possibly at this stage the city was catering for a heterogeneous mob of citizens and the signs would cut across language difficulties.
Wayne located a pull-out, flexible connector and walked it back to the hull. He had a photographic memory for controls and remembered a matching label on the tender’s panel. It was a positive, spring-loaded affair. After all, if a unit needed refueling it might not have an energy reserve big enough even to operate a fuel line. Minutes later he was satisfied that the connection was made.
Back at the board, Kalmar had sorted out what must be the main inlet feed. It was superbly engineered switchgear. Even at this interval of time, it was ready to carry out its designer’s intentions without a hitch. He brought power onto the board, moving delicately a centimeter at a time.
In the meager light of the two torches, they could see the panel come to life. Registering needles moved; two lines of small indicator lights began to glow. Wayne flipped in a switch with a familiarity that might have come from regular use of the system and the whole roof of the lock turned to a sheet of brilliant light.
Gaul Kalmar said, “We’re in business.”
The whole setup seemed suddenly right. They were working with something that was no longer an alien thing.
Swarbrick’s voice from the hatch brought them back to the realities of their time. He had used his journey to some purpose by bringing as much of the equipment as he could carry. “We should go now. Hitchen will be on the way.”
It was the hardest thing Lee Wayne had done for many years, but he followed them out with his eyes flicking over the dim shape of the shuttle until he dropped below the edge of the square entry hole. If Wanda Mardin had been standing there in the most welcoming posture of the wife of Indra, he would simply have asked her to hold the torch and keep it steady.
Shultz looked at the explanatory diagram and equated it with a picture in his spoken reply. “Very interesting. It opens a new dimension. I like the figure in the foreground.” At the same time, he penciled in, “I don’t like what’s going on. Suggest as early a move as we can make. Just gather the group and blow.”
Gaul Kalmar said, “I agree with you. I’d like Lee to have another look at this. Also he’s been making a gadget which he thinks you might be interested in.” He wrote, “Check. Timed device to neutralize power in Byrsa. We fix. When?”
Shultz said, “There’s no time like the present. Let’s call on him now.”
Lee Wayne’s apartment was in the next block, on an inner wall with no open vista to distract the sage. In fact he needed to keep reasonably alert to pick his way about. There was room for a bed and a table which was about all that could be said for it, though Wanda usually found a good deal to elaborate on. She felt, with some reason, that she would have fitted in better if she had been La Venus du Gaz—a couple of concentric circles of old tube on a pedestal.
Kalmar was familiar enough with the setup to thread his way gingerly through the maze. Shultz had been through the strait gate of police conformity and the place delighted him. He said, “Very restful. Very restful indeed. You can do an interior for me like this anytime you like. What does your mind-bender think about this place, Gaul?”
For a moment Kalmar did not connect. Then he said, “Tania. She hasn’t been here. We usually use my place to meet in. For obvious reasons.” As he said it, he realized that he had not been thinking much about Tania and that he had to see her before long and pass on the new instructions. Most of the gear was at Swarbrick’s and quite a good proportion had been dumped through the gap. A couple of hours work there and the stuff would be stowed away in the tender. She would have to be told to rendezvous at the Alhambra.
Lee Wayne cleared a small space on his cluttered work table and slid back a panel to reveal a shallow storage space. He did not speak and used a technique born of long experience to blank his thoughts to a ra
mbling, digressive jumble of data and engineer’s static. His hands worked by some intelligent direction of their own and picked out a black square, like a small ceramic tile. It was under a centimeter thick, but as his long powerful fingers pressed the sides, a thin recessed plate came away and revealed a busy-looking ulterior.
Shultz looked his question and Wayne poked the innards with a thin stylus point. In mime, he showed that he was setting it to a time. One minute ahead. They waited, watching a large time disk mounted on the factory wall. For the last ten seconds Wayne tapped it out on the tabletop with his stylus, conducting his own private band. Precisely on the zero, a thin jet of liquid shot from the center of each side.
The fine, atomized spray hardly wet the surfaces it touched. Even Kalmar, who knew better, was irritated. “Turn it in, Lee. This isn’t the time for a funny.” He wiped the trace of liquid from his face. Shultz was looking disappointed.
Lee Wayne said, “I know that. You got water in the dummy run. For real it takes this.” He held up a phial of heavy, colorless liquid. Treating it with very great respect, he unsealed the top and took a minute, viscous droplet on the end of a glass rod. He touched it down onto a tray of miscellaneous jumble and stood back. There was a soft hiss and the surface under the drop appeared to crumble, the drop fell through apparently unconsumed by the reaction. It went on until it met the ceramic surface below. There it remained, like a tiny globule of colorless mercury.
In a conversational tone, the last of the great saboteurs said, “I have two of these.”
“And the best of good luck go with you,” said Shultz, shocked into courtesy.
Kalmar said, “We’ll take one each. Frank and I have a job to do tonight. They will help a lot. Set like this.” He drew a twenty-four-hour clock and the clear time 1630 hours. “For the day after tomorrow.”
Eight Against Utopia Page 4