CLIFF Baker walked along the magnificent beach and watched the surf pounding up onto the sand. Hundreds of bathers were in the sparkling blue water, diving into the waves. Half a kilometer up the beach the surfers were riding their boards on the big breakers. Further out windsurfers leaned out from their sails and cut along the swells like oversized waterbugs.
Once these beaches had been preyed upon by "the men in the gray suits," vicious, swift, voracious sharks that could take a man's leg with a single snap of their powerful jaws. Now a flimsy net of electrical wires protected the beaches and kept the sharks away. Hasn't been a shark attack at a protected beach since I was a teenager, Baker thought idly.
The sun was high and Baker's ragged cut-off shorts and flapping unbuttoned shirt were wet with perspiration. Soak some
of the booze out of me, he thought. On the other hand, a cold Foster's would feel very good right about now.
He turned around and headed back toward the beach house. One of the advantages of being chairman of the International Investment Agency: a marvelous twelve-room house on the most expensive beach in the Sydney area. Rank hath its privileges.
Sunday's meeting had gone exactly the way he had thought it would. The regions hardest hit by the plague needed money immediately for medical services. The ecologists and the representatives of areas not so badly threatened by the Horror wanted to spend more money on research. The bastards from the corporations, who had the goddamned money, didn't want to spend their precious loot at all.
They hadn't accomplished a bloody thing. They had argued and called each other names and agreed to nothing more than appointing a bloody committee to study the problem. Study it! While thousands were dying in agony every day and the plague spread across Africa and into Europe and North America.
Baker grinned, a lopsided-smirk that was far from pleasant on his bloated reddened face. Let them argue, he told himself. Let them delay. Soon enough the Horror will start to pick them off, one by one. The women first, and then the men. They all deserve it.
As he trudged barefoot through the sand he wondered about Jo Camerata. She had been strangely silent at the meeting. Usually she took charge and made things come out the way she wanted them. But she had barely said two words. It was hard to tell when you were looking at holograms instead of live people, but it seemed to Baker as if Jo spent the whole damned meeting staring at Hsen instead of paying attention to the business at hand.
Baker shrugged off his puzzlement. He had reached his house and padded up the smooth wooden steps, heading for the kitchen fridge and a cold Foster's.
In another week, he thought, the first members of the IIA
will start to get their guts torn out by the Horror And I'll be up on the Moon, safe as houses, watching the world tear itself apart
The medical tests they had done on Stoner were ruthlessly thorough He thought of the stories he had heard as a youngster of the "experiments" performed by Nazi doctors in concentration camps
His captors were extremely wary of him No human being entered his room after the first few days Everything was done by robots under remote control Each morning began with a short cylmdncally-shaped robot carrying in a breakfast tray of )Uice, cereal, and coffee The machine was spotless and gleaming, obviously new, obviously being used for the first time
"Good morning Dr Stoner," the robot would say "I trust you slept well "
It was the robot's own voice, part of its interactive programming Immediately after breakfast another voice, human, would issue from the speakers set into the ceiling
"I slept about the same as usual," Stoner would reply "Where are wej What is our geographical location?"
"I do not have that information," the sturdy little robot would answer, with complete transistorized honesty
The first two days were standard medical tests Blood samples Cardiac stress testing on a treadmill carried in by another robot, a taller, many-armed machine of matte-dull carbon fiber composite skin Its long arms were of stainless steel, jointed and extensible, capable of carrying very heavy loads
It was the blood samples that worried Stoner He felt he could hide his star-gift abilities from his captors well enough, he had been careful not to show them anything except a normal, healthy human being But analysis of his blood would show that it was infected with myriad particles the size of viruses His star symbiotes
They may think that they're nothing but viruses, Stoner told himself But he doubted it That many strange particles
in a blood sample would set their curiosity atwitter Chemical analyses wouldn't prove much, the symbiotes were made mostly of organic elements But if they start pho-tomicrographing the particles they'll realize right away that they're something no one on Earth has seen before
At the end of the second day of medical tests it seemed to Stoner that the robot left the door unlocked when it rolled noiselessly out of the room Stoner sat on the edge of his cot for nearly half an hour, considering what he should do Obviously they were observing him If the door were left unlocked, it was because they wanted to see what he would do
There were no clocks in the room, he had no way of telling what time it was, or even if it was day or night outside Like a Las Vegas gambling casino, Stoner thought grimly With a shrug, he got up from the cot, wearing nothing but a pair of briefs, and padded to the door
He turned the old-fashioned knob Sure enough, the door was unlocked Hesitating only for a heartbeat, he pushed the door wide open
A very large robot stood immobile just beyond the arc of the door's swing Its base was a pair of heavy, tanklike treads From there it rose in a single massive column of gleaming chromed metal Four long arms were clamped to its sides, each of them ending in metal pincers The dome at the robot's top was studded with sensors that made it look more like a spider's many-eyed head than a human's
"You must stay inside your room," said the robot in a voice that sounded like a top sergeant growling from inside a concrete mixer
Stoner smiled at the machine Obviously meant to frighten people into obedience Probably built for military security or police patrol work
He took a step forward The robot rolled slightly toward him and raised one arm to block his path
"You must stay inside your room "
For several long moments man and machine confronted each other, motionless Stoner tried to probe the robot's com-
puter brain to see if he could alter its programming enough to get by, but he sensed that the computer was too simple to be influenced by outside forces. There was no way to talk it into bending to Stoner's desires, as he could do with most human beings.
"You must stay inside your room," the robot repeated in exactly the same tone of voice as before.
Stoner understood that the test had been psychological more than physical. His captors wanted to see how he would react to having his hopes raised and then dashed. Also, they were testing to see if he could somehow get past the simple-minded security robot.
Acknowledging defeat, Stoner retreated back inside his room. The robot shut the door. Stoner heard the lock click as distinctly as the slamming of a )ail cell's barred gate.
The third morning the voice from the ceiling asked, "You slept well?"
"Yes," Stoner lied. He had not slept at all. He did not have to. He had spent the night trying to sense the location and number of the people around him. He still had no idea of where he was. If his captors were not going to deal with him face to face, Stoner realized, he would have to go out and contact them, one way or another. And get past the security robot outside his door.
"No stomach cramps or other discomfort?"
"Should there have been?"
The voice did not answer. Stoner realized that they had poisoned his dinner. Not to kill him, just enough to give him obvious symptoms. His star brother had automatically neutralized the poison, broken down its complex molecular structure into simpler, harmless chemical components.
He wished the voice would say more to him, because it sounded oddly familiar Even through the low-fidelity ceiling speakers Stoner knew it was a man's tenor voice, not a woman's A voice that he thought he had heard before.
Two of the tall many-armed robots entered the room that morning.
"We have established a baseline of your physical profile," said the voice from the ceiling "Now we must see how far from that baseline you can be driven and still recuperate. The next few days will be rigorous, but we will try to make them as painless as possible for you."
In short, they tortured him.
They began with electric shocks. One of the robots clamped Stoner into a chair with its many arms while the other applied electrodes to various parts of his naked body. At first Stoner tried to stand the pain without help from the alien symbiotes. But they kept increasing the voltage until he was screaming and his star brother intervened to shut down the white-hot messages of agony that blazed along his nerves.
He sat in the chair, the stainless steel arms gripping his bare flesh, and watched the electrodes burn away his skin. Saw tendrils of smoke rising from his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Smelled the odor of his own meat roasting.
"Remarkable," uttered the voice from the ceiling microphones "He is able to handle intense physical pain." It was muffled, indistinct, as if the man had placed a hand over the microphone so that his victim could not hear what he said. Stoner made out the words, though, and even the slightly ragged breathing of the speaker. Was he enjoying what he watched, or did it upset him? Stoner could not tell
"Is this necessary " another voice asked. It was blurred even more, as if the speaker were several meters away from the microphone. "Can't you . ."
"It is necessary," snapped the first voice "We will proceed to the next step."
"Without giving him time to recuperate?"
Do they want me to hear what they're saying? Stoner wondered
"No recuperation time. Not yet. The next test is a combination of physical and psychological pain," said the man's voice. "We will see how he reacts to having his manhood threatened."
"But that's inhuman "
"We are hardly dealing with a human being here." The man's voice was cool, detached. "Don't be so sentimental. This is an experimental subject, nothing more. You must stop being so squeamish."
The other said nothing, but Stoner sensed a turmoil of emotions. And something more: the other person was a woman.
The robot held Stoner's legs apart and applied the electrodes to his penis and testicles. Stoner closed his eyes but otherwise gave no reaction. His star brother cut off all sensation, all emotion. It was like being encased in a block of ice, like being frozen again, no longer alive, inert, apart from the world of the living.
And his star brother told him, You know that whatever physical damage they do will be quickly repaired.
Sure, Stoner replied silently, his teeth clenched so hard they seemed to be fused together. Wonderful news.
After what seemed like hours the robots released him and rolled silently out of the room with their equipment. The voices from the ceiling fell silent. Exhausted, Stoner crawled to his cot and pretended to fall asleep.
They did not feed him. No robot entered with a dinner tray and the following morning there was no breakfast.
I've got to get out of here, he told himself in the dead of night.
But his star brother soothed his growing anxiety. Not yet. Wait until we can learn who they are--and who they work for.
So Stoner lay on the cot and waited for the next session. They know that whatever powers we have, we still need energy input. Without food we won't be able to heal our wounds.
We can go for several days, his star brother assured him. There is enough stored fat in the body to keep going that long without input.
The lock clicked and Stoner sat up on the cot. The tall many-armed robots came through the door. One of them pushed a gurney, the other a table full of electrical equipment.
"Today," said the voice from the ceiling, "we test the electrical patterns of your brain."
The robots strapped Stoner down on the gurney and attached electrodes to his head. In the weirdly distorted reflection from their stainless steel arms he saw his naked body, ugly red burn marks scattered about his chest, abdomen, groin.
For hours they mapped the currents flickering in his brain. His star brother remained silent as they sent tickling probes into various lobes of the brain. Stoner tried to stay completely relaxed as the electrical currents stimulated specific groups of neurons. He saw colors bursting before his eyes, heard the rushing roar of the sea, tasted bacon and then the cold metallic tang of the oxygen fed into his pressure-suit helmet. He could feel the suit encompassing him and for a fleeting moment, as in a dream that shifted like the melting scenery on a rain-streaked window pane, he was back in space helping to construct the mammoth telescope that had first detected the approaching alien starship.
The telescope glittered in the hard unfiltered sunlight, a gleaming spiderwork of bright metal against the cold black background of infinity. Stoner reached out to touch it.
And it was gone, replaced by an absurd childhood memory of trying to maintain his balance on a two-wheel bike.
Blinding white pain! Stoner could not breathe; he felt his heart stop, then start up again with thumping spasms that rocked his whole body.
"Again," he heard, as if from a trillion miles away.
The blast that shockwaved through his skull was beyond pain. Even his star brother was stunned momentarily, but then swiftly shut down the pain centers in his brain.
"There, did you see it? That blip in the EEC?"
Another powerful bolt of agony exploded inside Stoner's head, but this time he and the alien within him were ready. He knew exactly what they were doing to him: electrical shock treatments. Christ! Next they'll start lobotomies!
His star brother slowed Stoner's heartbeat and breathing rate. His whole body, rigid with the electrical shocks, spine
arched, fingers and toes clenched so hard that tendons were popping, it all relaxed as if Stoner had slipped off into a deep and restful sleep Or death
But he heard the voices from the ceiling speaker
"You've gone too far "
"Not at all Look at that EEG, have you ever seen anything like it before?"
No response
"A normal brain would show a scrambled set of jagged peaks and troughs His curves are as gentle as a sleeping baby's It's fantastic'"
"Hasn't he had enough for today "
"I want to try a couple more shocks, just to see if we can break him out of the shell he's gone into "
"You'll kill him'"
"I doubt that we could kill him if we tried "
"May I remind you that the purpose of these experiments is to determine why he survived cryomc immersion and thawing, not to chop him up into bloody little scraps'"
"Interesting choice of words, Doctor "
"What? Why do you say that?"
"Because tomorrow I'm going to see if he can regenerate significant parts of his body We'll start by amputating a finger "
"God' You can't be serious'"
"Never more serious And don't try to interfere I'm in charge here, and I'm going to find out what makes that man tick if I have to take him apart like an old windup clock "
The words would have struck fear into Stoner's battered consciousness if his star brother had allowed a man's normal hormonal reactions Instead he lay there on the gumey perfectly still, utterly relaxed, seemingly unconscious or in a deep coma
But his mind was racing I know those voices' I know who they are
Vie Tomasso paced nervously back and forth across the length of the balcony His apartment was two floors below the penthouse of one of the tallest residential towers in Hilo
On a normal weekend afternoon he would have been sitting out in the sunshine, improving his tan while alternately watching the professional football games on TV and the women frolicking on the golden sandy beach in their minuscule swim suits
This was not a normal weekend
He could feel the searing heat of fo's suspicions of him Hell, even if he had been totally innocent it would be natural for her to cast a distrustful eye at the man she thought she had planted in Hsen's camp But Jo glowered at him like the burning end of a red-hot branding iron Even though she tried to control herself and not reveal her inner thoughts, the fury and suspicion that seethed within her glowed hot as hellfire
He had volunteered to an interrogation under truth drugs "I might remember something Hsen or his people said that my conscious mind doesn't recall," he had said to Jo She had nodded and approved the interrogation Tomasso dutifully reported to the security office and was interrogated by a team that included the physician whom he had been sleeping with for the past four months She believed that Vie truly loved her The drug she injected into his bloodstream was nothing more than a mild tranquilizer Vie passed the test easily
Still, the pressure was mounting Jo would not be satisfied until she found the traitors in her midst He knew that she had people backtracking every phone call he had made over the past several weeks, trying to trace every move he had made Tomasso worried about that last call he had made to Hsen, telling him that Stoner was returning early from Moscow The number he had actually called was another apartment in Hilo, a "girlfriend" who in reality was an employee of Pacific Commerce's intelligence operations The call had been relayed to Hsen in Hong Kong from her phone
That should be safe enough, Tomasso told himself, pacing endlessly across the balcony Safe enough
But Jo was like an avenging angel, fiery sword in hand, searching for dragons to slay Tomasso felt like a very small dragon, more like a defenseless lizard
If I run, that'll prove to her that I was in on the operation Prove to her that I've been working for Hsen.
Pace the length of the balcony, reach the end and turn back again.
But if I stay she'll grab me sooner or later. Even if she doesn't get any real evidence against me. She suspects and that'll be enough for her. She'll have her own Italian bodyguards grab me and squirt real truth serum into my veins. Or worse.
The far end of the balcony. Turn around and pace the other way. Ignore the beach, the sunlight and surfers and palm trees. Tomasso was looking inward, trying to discern his own future.
She'll make me talk and once I do I'm a dead man. But if I run to Hsen he'll figure I've outlived my usefulness to him. I'm dead either way!
There was only one way out, one bargaining chip remaining with which to buy his life. He had been holding it back, carefully keeping it to himself until the right moment. His ace in the hole.
Well, Tomasso said to himself, if you don't use it now you might not live to use it later.
Nodding to himself, convinced he had no other path to safety, he drove to a shopping mall in downtown Hilo and picked out a public telephone at random. Pecking out the same "girlfriend"'s number, once he connected with her answering machine he spoke the code phrase that automatically transferred his call to Hsen's office in Hong Kong.
Hsen was not there, said the Chinese beauty whose face appeared on the tiny phone screen She looked too perfect, too flawless, to be anything but a computer graphic.
"Tell Hsen that Vanguard Industries has a secret operation going on the Moon, a special base called Delphi, far out on the Mare Imbnum."
The simulated woman smiled blandly and waited for more information.
"Nobody on the board of directors knows about it,"
Tomasso went on, nervous, glancing out toward the balcony, as if expecting Jo herself to suddenly materialize there, desperately hoping he had not been followed by anyone. "Ms. Camerata and her husband . . . they're building a starship there. A ship that will be able to fly out of the solar system. I think they intend to send it back to the planet that the alien ship came from."
Lela Obin spent every night in dread Out in the forest, wrapped in her sleeping bag against the chill damp darkness, listening to the hootmgs and growls floating through the night, she slept fitfully if at all. Gradually she had grown accustomed to the natural sounds of the forest, and during the day she had come to love this emerald world with its mottled sunlight and clean sparkling streams The thick foliage of the forest closed in like a green womb, surrounding her, enfolding her in its leafy arms Each day she walked through this primeval universe, the only human being in a new Eden, alone with brilliant flashing birds and scampering chattering monkeys.
Yet she knew she was not really alone. Koku was shambling through the woods up ahead of her, sniffing the shrubs and pristine air, bringing scents to Lela's mind that she had never known before Seeing the green world through Koku's eyes made it a true paradise, and she began to love the forest as he did.
Yet the night frightened her. Not because of the cold mist that condensed dripping from every leaf. Nor because of the predators that lurked in the darkness. Those she understood and accepted. They would never attack a human. Her sleeping bag was guarded by a tiny electronic transmitter that surrounded the area out to a dozen meters with a nerve-jangling field that would frighten off even a starving jackal.
There were other humans out there in the trees That is what frightened Lela. There should be no one except herself in this sector of the reserve, yet she kept hearing the distant
faint sounds of men talking, occasional clinks of metal on metal, even a whiff of tobacco smoke now and then.
They were stalking her They had started by going after Koku, but now they were following Lela. They could never keep up with Koku once the gorilla was warned to stay away from them So they were following Lela. Not merely following her, either, but constantly pushing between Lela and the territory that Koku was supposed to reach. They kept far enough away so that she could not see them. But at least once each day a stray breeze carried fresh proof of their presence.
Or am I being paranoidJ Lela asked herself. Alone in the woods, city girl, and you see danger behind every bush. Once again she tried to radio back to headquarters, and once again she got nothing but screeching static on her hand-sized radio Interference. Was the radio being jammed? How much safer she would feel if she could talk to Professor Yeboa or the captain in charge of the reserve's rangers She longed to hear a helicopter thrumming high above, scanning the trees with its arrays of sensors
Koku was well ahead of her, but still far from the territory where his mates were waiting for him. It was going to be difficult enough to have the tame-born young male take up a natural life in this habitat. Worrying about poachers made matters infinitely worse.
After days of inner turmoil, Lela finally made up her mind. Koku could take care of himself for a day or so. She would confront the poachers and make them know that they would be apprehended and jailed if they did not leave the reserve immediately. Inwardly she was frightened that they might kill her, but she forced such fears from her conscious mind. Nothing like that had happened in years, decades. Besides, both she and Koku were being tracked by locator satellites. Her voice radio might be jammed, but the beam of her locator transmitter was on an entirely different frequency. Even if someone jammed it, the loss of signal by the satellite would itself alert headquarters and a squad of rangers would start out immediately to search for her.
So she took her courage in her hands that morning and doubled back along the steep ridge she had been following. The rising sun was just starting to burn off the chill gray mist. The trail along the ridge was wet, the grass slippery.
Koku had awakened with the sunrise. When Lela closed her eyes she could see another part of the forest, taste the delicious leaves he delicately stripped from the gahum vines around him, rejoice in the strength and freedom he felt.
Then she heard voices. Unmistakable. Her eyes wide open now, visions of Koku fading into the back of her mind, she ducked low and crept slowly, carefully through the thick enfolding bushes toward the sounds, as silent as she could be without stopping altogether. A tendril of smoke rose from behind the bushes off to her left. Lela's nose wrinkled at the smell of grease burning.
With newfound cunning she flattened herself on the damp grass and slithered around a thick clump of bush. There were four of them, two black men and two white. Just starting to break camp. One of the whites kicked loose dirt onto their small fire. They all wore khaki shirts and trousers, and each of them carried sidearms. Lela saw rifles stacked next to one of their sleeping bags. Five bags, she counted. Yet she saw only four men.
"What have we here?" a deep voice boomed out.
Lela scrambled to her feet. A big, ruddy-faced redheaded man was grinning at her, a huge rifle cradled in his bare arms.
The other four men dashed up to them.
"Well, well, well," said one of the other whites. "It's the bride of the gorilla herself!"
CHICAGO
FROM behind the roadblock, the TV news reporter quickly sprayed her hair so it would not blow untidily in the early autumn breeze.
It was an unusually warm October afternoon out on Interstate 80, ten miles beyond the city line The sun shone serenely out of a pale blue sky washed by a morning shower Off to the east puffy white clouds were building up by the lake shore The woods on the far side of the highway were glorious in their autumnal reds and golds
From the slight rise in the ground where the cameraman stood, -80 stretched out to the horizon, a snarling metallic snake filled with fuming automobiles, vans, trucks, even school buses Heat waves rose from the highway where the traffic stood tangled and stopped, glittering and growling in the sunlight A roadblock of National Guard tanks parked shoulder to shoulder across the highway, median divider and all, had stopped the vehicles desperately trying to leave Chicago National Guard soldiers in mottled camouflage uniforms, wearing their battle helmets and carrying assault rifles, were turning the cars around and heading them back toward the city
The TV reporter, standing just outside the mobile news van with a big numeral nine painted on its side, made a final check of her appearance in the full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the open van door, then walked quickly up to the spot where the cameraman stood
They made an almost laughable contrast The reporter was neatly turned out in a pale silk blouse, pleated skirt, and beige jacket--and muddy, sturdy, comfortable jogging shoes The Channel 9 pin on her jacket's lapel was actually her microphone, sensitive to a range of about three yards The cameraman wore a grease-stained sweat shirt and jeans He was bald, fat, and had tattoos on both his forearms His camera was no larger than one of his ham-sized hands Its monitoring screen was the size of a postage stamp
"I got all the traffic footage I need," he said Pointing toward a woman soldier bearing gold oak leaves on her shoulders, he said, "There's the major in charge of this mess She's waitm' for you to interview her "
The major was gray-haired and had a face as hard as armor plate She was not a happy person
The reporter stood before the camera and put on her professional smile "This is Becky Murtaugh on Interstate 80 about ten miles west of the city With me is Major," she peered quickly at the major's name tag, "Wallmsky of the Illinois National Guard "
Turning slightly, but making certain her face was still on camera, the reporter asked, "Major, how do you feel about stopping all these people who want to leave the city?"
The major grimaced "I feel like hell But I got my orders We're supposed to keep the city sealed off in order to stop the spread of the plague "
Someone started honking his car horn and almost instantly the miles-long pileup of vehicles began bleating, blaring their fear and frustration The reporter had to shout to be heard over the dm "But only five cases of the Horror have been reported in Chicago so far Why is everyone trying to run away?"
With a withering look, the major hollered back, "They're scared They're afraid of catching it, of course It's fatal And extremely painful There's no cure, no vaccine Nobody wants to die "
"But the Army has sent out orders to prevent anyone from leaving the city?"
"The Surgeon General, actually We're in a state of emergency The governors of every state in the Union have called out the National Guard to help control road traffic and keep order "
"So you're turning back the desperately frightened people who want to get away from the Horror?"
"That's my job We can't allow them to spread the plague into the countryside The whole nation will be affected "
"But can't these people find alternate roads, side roads, to get out into the countryside?"
"Sure they can That's what makes this job so frustrating We can't put up roadblocks across every back road in the area We don't have the manpower or the time"
"So that means " The reporter gasped A sudden pain in her stomach, like a hot knife twisting She recovered, know-
mg that the lapse could be edited out of the tape "That means that just because five cases of the Horror have been reported in Chicago, the entire city of four million inhabitants is under quara ."
The pain struck again, more viciously. She doubled over, clutching her middle The microphone pin slipped from her lapel to the grass, but still picked up her awful retching screams of pain
The major bellowed in a voice of command, "Medic Get a medic up here on the double "
The reporter writhed on the ground, blood bubbling from her mouth, eyes wild with agony The cameraman bent over her and got every last second of her death throes on tape.