Mercury Man Read online

  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 bel
ow. 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.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Father and Son

  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.

  Tarn, for his part, was giving nothing away. “You know what this means, of course.” He laughed shortly. “It means a felony charge and confinement in prison. And this time, no consideration.”

  He paused, as if to let this sink in, then continued. “I want to know exactly what led you to do this. Who your accomplices are and how this break-in was planned. Why are you wearing this ridiculous costume? Only yesterday I gave you good evidence as to how you were being misled and deceived. Some people have a lot to gain by disrupting Fabricon. You’ll gain absolutely nothing.”

  Tom bent his glance. “I don’t want to talk to you,” he mumbled. Did Tarn’s questions mean that they hadn’t caught Mercury Man? He couldn’t be sure; he could only pray that it was so.” I’ll stand on my rights,” he insisted. But his voice sounded choked and it bothered him.

  “I haven’t called the police yet, but I intend to,” Tarn spoke dryly. He seemed to be studying the far wall. He looked at his watch and added, “I intend to give you one last chance, however.”

  Tom shrugged his shoulders, though his stomach was beginning to turn over.

  “Take him down the hall!” Tarn ordered, and the guards shoved Tom through the doors and into the corridor.

  Another guard waited there. When he saw Tom appear, he slipped by him and whispered something to Tarn. The scientist pressed his lips together; Tom could not read his expression.

  A few steps forward, then the guards pushed Tom through an open door and into another room, bare and brightly lit. The door slammed suddenly behind him; a man got up from behind a desk.

  “Tom! What in hell’s going on? I never thought you’d pull a stunt like this.”

  He hadn’t heard wrong. He was here. His father was at Fabricon.

  “Dad!” he said, but his heart was sinking.

  Joe Blake was a tall, rugged man with greyish rough-cut hair and an easy smile. He was dressed in a blue suit that made him look uncomfortable; he wore no tie and his hands moved uncertainly as he spoke.

  Tom could only stare at him, thinking how different he looked — not at all as he recollected. All his memory traces of his father seemed to be in close-up. He recalled his eyes and the curve of his mouth, his heavy eyebrows and his wrinkles. Now Tom seemed to be seeing him from a distance, from far away; it was as if the man had blurred or grown more awkward during all those years of absence.

  When the moment of strangeness passed, anger came, and Tom pressed his lips together. This was the man who left them in poverty, who had caused his mother so much pain.

  As if on a wrong cue, his father came forward and stuck his right hand out. Tom turned away, tried the door, but found it locked.

  “I know you’ve got some hard feelings, son. It’s been a hell of a long time.”

  “You didn’t care!” Tom said fiercely. “You didn’t care about us.”

  His father seemed uncertain. “Look, I didn’t come here to defend myself. Tarn’s boys got hold of me and told me you were in big trouble, so I came over to try to help. I know I haven’t been the greatest father in the world, but I want to help you.”

  “He’s using you, Dad, Tarn is using you. You don’t know anything. They’re probably monitoring us right now.”

  Joe Blake looked anxiously around, then smiled. “No! That’s impossible! Why would he do such a thing? Son, I don’t know the facts, but I want to help.”

  “He brought you here to confuse things. To get me out of his way. You don’t know what he’s doing! He’s a madman! He’s trying to destroy some friends of mine.”

  “Hey, just a minute! If he thinks I’ll be fooled, he’s crazy. I just want to make sure you don’t get in trouble.”r />
  All of sudden Tom saw a gleam of hope. Could his father be telling the truth? Would anything be lost by confiding in him?

  “You want to help? You really do?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then get me out of here as quickly as possible.”

  His father looked abashed. “Now just a minute. As I understand it, you broke into this place. And for the second time, at that. If I help you get away I’ll be assisting you to evade arrest. As a public servant, I can’t afford to do that.”

  “You know something, Dad?”

  “What?”

  “You’re full of crap.”

  Joe Blake flashed him an angry look. He took a step forward and stopped. Tom looked defiantly at his father, who continued in a subdued manner.

  “There’s no need for that kind of talk. Just tell me what’s happened and why you’re here and dressed in that crazy outfit. You can’t fool around with these people, you know. This is a big corporation.”

  “Is that what they told you to tell me?”

  “If you don’t trust me, Tom, we’re not going to get anywhere.”

  “All I want to do is to get out of here.”

  His father sighed, crossed the room, and sat down heavily behind the desk.

  “I should never have come over here.”

  “Why did you?”

  “I honestly wanted to help.”

  “What else did Tarn tell you?”

  His father looked at him. “Nothing much. How’s your mother, by the way?”

  “Why didn’t you call her once in a while to find out?”

  “I did! I did — at the beginning. After a while she just wouldn’t talk to me.”

  Tom swallowed. It sounded like his mother.

  “How is she?”

  “She’s fine. She’ll probably get married again.”

  He saw his father stir. “To the other guy? The guy in the weird suit?”

  Tom started. He realized he hadn’t thought of it. His mother and Paul — a strange idea! Then his hopes seemed to crash down. How did his father know about Paul?