Mercury Man (22 page)

Tom gasped, clung to the twisted metal, and waited.

A woman's voice spoke admonishingly, almost in his ear. “This is private property. We have a good idea who you are and you can't get away. Climb down from your perch, sit calmly, and wait for your instructions. Dr. Tarn is going to speak to you in a minute.”

Tom shook his head in frustration. There seemed to be nothing to do but to obey the instructions. He groped his way down in the darkness, bits of metal and glass clattering around him.

He groped for a chair, sat in the middle of the Pavlov Room, and waited.

A few minutes passed. Then a pleasant music started up, piped in around him, the monotonous caress of a bland repeated melody.

It was like being stuck in an elevator, washed over by muzak until you felt your brain deaden and your mind relax.

Tom sat there staring into the darkness until a screen full of images took shape in the air just before him.

Forms and colours floated before him, abstract patterns moving seductively against a limitless blue background. Tom looked away, looked back, yawned.

Other screens around him lighted up. Everything was gentle and muted — the music, the colours. Patterns that seemed related but not identical, swirls of lines, geometrical figures that appeared and dissolved — it was all very reassuring. He didn't think he should move. The woman's voice spoke to him again, gentle, persuasive — it touched his mind so lightly.

Do your arms feel very heavy?

Your legs too heavy to move?

Everything easy and relaxed, And your eyelids heavy and heavier.

Breathe deeply and relax, Relax, relax, relax …

His eyelids
did
feel heavy. His arms and legs were like lead. The tension was dissolving, and that was very good. He felt almost comfortable in his awkward chair. He pulled his mask off and threw it away. He closed his eyes.

Forget all your duties and the world out there.

We'll take care of everything.

Breathe deeply and relax.

Fabricon is your friend.

Fabricon is your friend.

The walls of the room seemed to fade away. Vistas spread out before him — pleasant landscapes, quiet flowing streams. He heard the gentle rustling of leaves in an endless forest. Everything calm and pleasant.

Relax and enjoy.

Fabricon is your friend.

Tom heard a voice echoing inside him, in a deep space inside his mind. In the middle of the sentence it was no longer a woman's voice but a man's, and the voice said:

I want you to lie down now and look up at the ceiling.

Lie on your back and look at the ceiling.

Tom had no hesitation in obeying. Not to obey would mean that all the tensions, all the threats would come back to him. He didn't want them. He wanted to be left alone, to relax, to be at peace.

He slid out of his chair and lay on his back on the floor.

The ceiling opened up. It was sky. Infinity. He seemed to be lifted.

Now comes the perfect moment.

Remember, Fabricon is your friend …

The sky above him darkened. It was like a black well, something to drown in, oblivion. Tom felt himself falling upward, downward, into that pleasant soft sky.

Then he saw the stars, tiny points of light in the darkness. They began to circle, to move. He felt himself drawn to them, swallowed up …

A phrase came into his mind:
Ad astra per aspera.

The ring! He sat up, peeled off the glove on his left hand, and touched the ring. He snapped open the top. Something flashed in the concealed mirror — a beam of light, a spark from his own soul? Paul Daniel had said it:
There's an X factor in everyone; something no Fabricon can touch.

Tom thought of the beautiful Miranda, of Paul and his boldness and daring. He couldn't give up now.

The voice droned on in the background.

Relax. Listen carefully to what I say …

No!

Tom's whole being cried out against this subtle enemy. He had to fight, to save himself. He jumped to his feet, holding up one arm to shield his eyes from the dazzling light. His violent motion, his helter-skelter desperation, seemed to jolt his mind free, and after a few seconds he found he could think clearly again.

He looked around.
There must be a way to get out of here.

Warily, he began to circle the room.

He moved relentlessly, flinging the screens aside, kicking at the monitors, pushing the tables. It didn't matter that, despite the ravaged cameras, Tarn might be watching him; he
hoped
he was watching him!

Tom kept circling, examining everything, wary as a fencer, then suddenly behind one of the largest screens
he saw outlined on the antiseptic white of the wall the clear markings, the panelled shape, of a doorway.

A room
? A secret way in and out? He clenched his sweating hands and looked around.

There seemed to be no tools, nothing to force the door. Perhaps there was a switch?

Sit down and relax.

Lie on the floor and relax.

Dr. Tarn will be with you soon.

Tom moved with frantic haste, pressing the panel everywhere with his fingers, kicking at the smooth walls. But it was no good; he couldn't find the lever.

He crashed down into a chair and in sheer frustration pounded his right fist on the smooth white table at his elbow …
and the panel in front of him slid slowly open.

He gasped and stood up. He was staring into an illuminated cave, an eerie locker full of twinkling lights. A cold breath of air touched his cheeks and forehead. The room made him think of a butcher's freezer.

He started to step in, stopped, then turned and pulled the chair into place, setting it so that it would block the panel should the wall slide shut behind him.

Having done this, he took a few steps forward, stopped, and gazed around.

Tom shivered; he felt as if his soul would freeze. But he hung on, forcing himself to look, taking in every detail, as Paul's warning sounded in his mind.

Phase two is the DNA Probe. They intend to take samples from all of you in order to construct their monster computer.

In the darkness he saw his friends — Jeff Parker, Estella Lopez, Bim Bavasi, Pete Halloran — as well as other kids he knew by sight or vaguely by name. There stood Estella with her dark eyes, Pete, and Bim with his mocking glance, surveying everything. For one horrible moment he thought he was looking at their frozen bodies.

But no! These were full-sized replicas, making a grisly show like a waxworks, lifelike in detail, and set there like displays in some ghoulish museum.

A steady bleating sounded, like the cry of a lost animal, underlined by the droning music of the air conditioners. Tom had noticed that on the wall behind each replica there was an illuminated diagram, one that showed what was obviously the structure of the human brain, and that each diagram was marked slightly differently.

There was a shaded portion here, an arrow there, and an eerie array of blinking coloured lights.

Although it was more complex and brilliantly illuminated, the display reminded him of the butcher's charts he had seen that showed the different cuts of meat on the animal.

Fabricon was clearly working on the next stage in the construction of its DNA computer. They were marking what they needed from each person's brain, where they would probe, what tissue or nerve they would tamper with.

They might be much further ahead than even Paul had imagined.

Tom took a step forward. Just beyond the replicas of his friends he saw another figure. It stood in lighted prominence on the darkest part of the wall.

It had its own niche, its own stance, its own peculiar hue of pink skin.

He stared at it in horror.

It was himself, his living semblance, yet it did not resemble anything living: it was a ghastly caricature, dead, cold, and terrible.

He stepped back, groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

They were preparing him for an experiment!

Tom turned and fled. Bumping into furniture and overturning chairs, he stumbled into the outer room. Groaning, he struggled to find a way out.

Just relax.

Dr. Tarn is on his way to see you now.

Tom ran to the main door and kicked at it. No good. He clenched his fists. He wouldn't be part of their experiment!

Suddenly he remembered something he had seen when he was smashing the cameras. A grid, a panel, close to the ceiling.

He climbed like a cat on the table and once again balanced precariously on the boxes. His fingers groped in the semi-darkness. Screens fluttered around him.

Just relax and keep looking into the deep sky.

We are about to take you on a little trip.

Patterns flickered above him but he didn't look. He groped along the smooth ceiling — and found the grid.

If only it screwed loose from his side!

It did. His fingers found first one knob, then another. Slowly, carefully, he unscrewed the plate.

Soon he had the whole plate loosened. Then he removed the screws, careful not to let the thing drop.

He turned it sideways and shoved it up into the opening. It clattered once and stayed.
Now
, he thought,
the tricky part
: he had to swing up, trusting to his ability to hang on.

Tom Strong could do it.

He swung out, and for a terrible moment he thought he would crash down into the room below. His fingers wanted to let go; his body could get no leverage.

With a huge effort he raised his head to the level of the opening, leaned forward, and rested some of his weight there. The metal edge cut into his forehead. His fingers seemed to break.

You are lifted, flying up into the blue space.

With Fabricon you will always be strong.

“Strong!” Tom shouted, and swung himself up on the ledge. He lay groaning in the darkness for a moment. The room, with its flashing lights, seemed miles below him.

He was in a vent, wide enough for him to crawl through. There was no problem deciding which way to go; he could not trust himself to swing across to the other side.

He began the slow crawl through the venting system. His overwhelming thought was that he'd escaped from the Pavlov Room.

One thing at a time, as his grandfather said.

He crawled forward through the darkness and saw a patterned light. He heard voices. He was coming to another room.

He knew he had to be careful. He was not sure how much noise he was making, or what would carry into the rooms below.

He flattened and crawled on his belly, inching forward and stopping, inching forward and stopping.

When he was over the vent he peered down but could see nothing. For a moment he stopped in a kind of terror. Voices came up to him, and one of them he recognized at once as Dr. Tarn's.

“Don't interrupt me, please,” Tarn commanded.

“Why all this mumbo-jumbo?”

Tom felt a chill in his blood. The other voice sounded like … “We'll go in and see him in a minute. He'll be quite pacified, quite receptive. I'm counting on you to win him over. What he's up to is no good, but we can make a place for him.”

“I don't understand how he went off the tracks like this.”

Tarn chuckled and answered quickly. “I'm afraid he needs a father figure.”

Tom suppressed a groan. He thought,
In a minute they'll be checking the room. I've got to get out of here.

He continued his slow crawl; the tunnel went on. Where would it take him? How would he get out of there?

He was trying not to think of the voice of the second man.

Keep on moving, the answer was to keep on moving.

But the conversation came back to him.
It couldn't be. It just didn't make any sense.

Another grid of light appeared before him. At the same time he heard voices behind him, muffled sounds, as if from the deep earth. The metal he was lying on began to shake. Voices sounded again, reverberating around him, hollow voices. He rolled over and looked back; he saw flashes of light, searching beams, in the deep maw behind him. They had found out his trick and were coming after him!

His whole world seemed to be collapsing. The grid went dark, then a light beamed up, blinding him. Whispered voices sounded close by.

Suddenly, the panel beneath him gave way. He started to fall, but rough hands seized him and he was held, dragged down. He twisted and kicked but they fastened his arms and held him. Someone shone a light in his face.

A familiar voice, the smooth voice of Tarn, his enemy, said, “Good work, gentleman. Now bring him into the next room. Our young friend's little adventure seems to be over.”

Tom stumbled forward. The room swayed around him. Two security guards, bulky men in grey overalls, pressed his arms tight behind his back. He squirmed away but they shook him until he held still. The light was blinding; he could smell their beer-sodden breath.

Dr. Tarn walked out of the shadows and stood in front of him. His white lab jacket seemed ruffled and ill-fitting, as if he had pulled it on too quickly. His blue eyes studied Tom as he spoke in a quiet voice.

“A very foolish move, Thomas. I gave you every chance and now you've betrayed me. You're a stupid boy, despite your costume and your tricks.”

The other voice … there had been someone in the room with Tarn.

Tom bent his glance away; he shook his head in a kind of protest. Though he wanted to challenge him, to denounce him, he knew he had to keep his mouth shut. He was also afraid.
Had Paul found the files? Had he
made it out of the building?
If he had, they would be able to finish Tarn. Otherwise … he'd better not let on what he knew.