"Well, Dane, how does it feel to be the savior of your race?"
Slowly, painfully, Dane forced his eyes to focus and search for the
speaker.
It turned out to be the hairless man. He sat on a crumbling stone
bench, hunched forward slightly and with his teeth bared in a cold,
knife-edged smile. Glowering Pfaff stood to his right, scrubbing a palm
over a hairy forearm. To his left, a uniformed, strangely blank-faced
stranger stood too stiffly at attention.
Dane moved his head a fraction, seeking Nelva.
She sat off away from the three men, still farther left. Her face wore
a stiff, strained look, and she kept her eyes on a spot distant from
the group, as if to avoid involvement with them.
Dane shifted his gaze back to the hairless man. He still said nothing.
"I do make a striking picture, don't I, Dane?" the other observed as
if answering a question. His smile twisted mirthlessly. "If you'd like
to try the effect yourself, a proper dose of some types of radiation
poisoning will do it. In my own case, the hair follicles were killed
completely--scalp, eyebrows, facial and body hair, everything. I felt
rather bad about it at first, for I was vain enough in my younger days.
But then I found that even the loveliest of women is more apt to be
impressed by the unique, the different, than run-of-sex handsomeness;
and no man ever forgets me. So there are adequate compensations.
Personally, I'm quite satisfied."
The voice held the same twist as the smile--a twist of bitterness, of
irony, of lurking menace. It was the voice of a man who enjoyed playing
cat-and-mouse ... or forcing those in his power to confess their
thralldom.
The very sound of it made Dane's hackles rise, in spite of all he'd
been through. "Who are you?" he asked tightly.
"That's right; you don't know, do you?" The man leaned back a fraction.
The lids of the deep-set eyes flickered. "We might make a sort of game
of it, even--let you guess--"
"He's Thorburg Jessup." This, quite unexpectedly, from Nelva. Hate
rasped in her words. Her eyes were smoldering.
"Thorburg Jessup--!" Involuntarily, Dane's eyes widened. He pulled
himself round; sat up.
"Oh! You're feeling better!" Jessup chuckled. "That pleases me. It
would have been a pity to lose you, after all the effort I put into
your creation."
Dane breathed in sharply. Then, catching himself, he counted off three
deeper breaths before speaking: "And ... what did you have to do with
my creation?"
The Security chief lifted a long-fingered hand. "It was my idea. All of
it, from the beginning."
"Your ... idea--?"
"Precisely. My biochemical staff in the Mercury laboratories is
superlative technically, but they need a broader, more incisive mind to
shape their concepts. I gave them that--outlined the exact requirements
they'd have to meet in developing the type of creature we'd need to
send against the Kalquoi."
"The type of _creature_?"
"Of course. You didn't think you were human, surely?"
Dane's throat drew so tight he couldn't answer. Numbly, he dug his
fingers into the dirt of the arena, trying to hide their trembling.
Jessup watched him for a moment, then threw back his head and
laughed--jubilant, sadistic; the self-same laugh Dane had heard that
other time, so many worlds away.
Only then, suddenly, Nelva Guthrie was on her feet--fists clenched,
eyes blazing. "Stop it, you fiend!" she screamed. "Stop it! Stop it!"
Jessup's laugh cut off as if severed by a knife. "Oh, my dear! Have
I disturbed you?" Mock solicitude flowed from him like oily vapor.
"Really, I _did_ have to handle it this way, though. I simply couldn't
use a human. There was the matter of subconscious memory, inadverent
knowledge. You have to consider those things when you're dealing with
telepaths like the Kalquoi, you know."
Beside the Security chief, pig-eyed, smirking Pfaff moved smoothly into
the conversation: "You didn't have much time, either, Mr. Jessup."
"A vital factor," the hairless man nodded. And then, to Dane again:
"As you may have guessed, the Kalquoi already had perfected a shield
against the brain-drain. It was urgent for us to strike a strong
blow at them before they seized the initiative. I decided the Sandoz
Shaft, here, offered us our best opportunity. We'd already worked out
a new-type catalytic relay that would activate it on practically no
power. The only problem lay in coupling the relay to the shaft. To do
it by normal procedure, with a task force, would have destroyed its
whole value, because it would have driven the Kalquoi from Callisto."
From Pfaff: "Brilliant analysis, Mr. Jessup!"
"So, I conceived the idea of an artificial man with the relay built in,
made part of his tissue structure--a creature something on the order
of my guard, here"--a gesture to the blank-faced man in uniform--"but
of a higher order. He'd be physically strong, well endowed with
initiative. His mind would be good, too, and properly pre-stocked with
all necessary information, as well as conditioned to a compulsive drive
to reach Callisto and the Sandoz Shaft."
* * * * *
Dane shuddered. Were these the things that dreams were made
of--conditioning, packaged data, concepts born in someone else's brain?
Was he really one with the blank-faced guard--"but of a higher order"?
He wished he'd died at the shaft's base.
Jessup was still talking: "... and as a special twist, we named you
Clark Dane, after a John Dane who stayed on at Sandoz, long after
everyone else had left, trying to learn more about Kalquoi culture.
Because he'd established some slight communication with them, I thought
his name might help you...."
Another piece of the puzzle, clicking into place. Another of Dane's
questions answered.
"... like every life-form, the Kalquoi needs periods of quiescence.
The yat-stick provides a closed circuit where a Kalquoi can rest with
no escape of energy. So, you were left by a yat-stick experts assured
me contained a Kalquoi in repose. I knew your name would arouse the
creature's interest. Tie that to your drive to reach Callisto, and the
odds were good you'd live to activate the shaft. If you didn't"--a
shrug--"it didn't matter too much, because you lacked any knowledge
detrimental to us."
Of a sudden, Dane was tired of words and explanations. He no longer
cared about questions or their answers. Lurching to his feet, he
stumbled past the Security chief, out of the arena.
Jessup eyed him curiously. "Where are you going?"
Dane continued his unsteady march. He didn't bother to answer.
Thick-bodied Pfaff moved round to block him. "Hey, you! Mr. Jessup
asked you a question!"
Dane veered to pass him.
Belligerent, bullet-head down, Pfaff thrust a foot between Dane's. Dane
tripped and fell.
Now Nelva Guthrie was running to him; kneeling beside him. Her
fingers were cool upon his face. "Let him alone, can't you?" she
cried fiercely. "Haven't you done enough to him, without more of this
torture?"
Jessup's smile faded just a little. "You've been a favorite of mine a
long time, Nelva," he said in a too-quiet voice. "Don't jeopardize that
status now."
The girl stared up at him, face tear-streaked. "Do you think I care
about status at a time like this?"
"A dangerous question, my dear." The Security chief studied her for
a long, long moment. "Now I find myself wondering if I can trust you
further--and no matter how I phrase it, the answer comes back, 'No'."
Dane felt Nelva's fingers stiffen on his cheek. A tremor ran through
her.
Abruptly, his desire to leave the arena ebbed. He sat up. "What happens
when you get no for an answer, Jessup?"
"_Mister_ Jessup, you chitza!" Pfaff snarled. But the hairless man
himself only smiled faintly.
"A wise man knows when not to talk, Dane," he observed. "For you, this
is one of those times. You've done well. I like you. So human or not,
I'll look after you so long as you behave."
"And Nelva?"
"She's no concern of yours, Dane. And as I said once, a wise man knows
when not to talk." A pause. "I may not repeat that again."
And from Nelva: "Please, Clark. Let it go."
Dane eyed her soberly. "Why?"
The panic flaring in her eyes was more than enough answer.
To no one in particular Dane said, "Everything that can happen to
me has already happened. That gives me leeway to take care of a few
things."
He started to rise.
Jessup's twisted smile was gone now. All gone. Sharp and hard, he
rapped, "Get him, Pfaff!"
The squat Security rep whipped out a pelgun.
Dane went flat on the ground in the same instant. Clawing out, he
caught Pfaff's ankle and jerked the leg from under the thick body.
Pfaff crashed to the ground. Twisting, he fired a pellet.
It went wild. Before the Security rep could trigger off a second shot,
Dane swung up a ten-pound chunk of broken masonry in both hands and
brained him with it.
Jessup's voice echoed, shouting to the guard. The man-creature raced
towards Dane and Nelva.
* * * * *
Wrenching the pelgun from Pfaff's dead hand, Dane shot for his new
attacker's knees.
The guard spilled headlong; lay moaning.
Pelgun at the ready, Dane swung to Jessup.
But the Security chief's voice stayed calm, even though his hairless
skull was glistening. "You can't shoot, Dane. You can't." And then,
forceful and vibrant: "Remember? I'm your master. You're my slave!"
Dane stopped in his tracks.
Deftly, while Dane stood as if paralyzed, Jessup took the pelgun. "You
see, I'm still master, Dane. I created you. That's why you're going to
stay here. You and Nelva Guthrie. Together. Dead."
Sweat came to Dane's forehead. In an agony of desperate tension, he
tried to drag up his hand.
But it was like being thrown back through time into a nightmare. Once
again, it was as on that other, dark-remembered day. The control, the
conditioning--they gripped him in spite of all his efforts; bound him
tight.
"Can you guess why you two will die, Dane?" Jessup taunted. "Is there
any reason you can see?"
Mumbling, Dane said, "Because ... we know ... too much?"
"That's right. But what about?"
"About the Kalquoi wanting peace? About the way you sent me to activate
the shaft, so they'd think men were all against them?"
"Very good, Dane. Now tell me why."
"Because you ... run things ... so long as there's trouble ... with the
Kalquoi. But if peace comes ... you'll be just another man."
"Correct." Jessup's hairless face set in a death's-head grin. "And now,
to get on to the business at hand...."
He moved towards Nelva. Face chalky with fear, she stumbled backward,
behind Dane, out of his view.
Again Dane strained. Again he failed.
Was it true, then? Was he really Jessup's slave?
Numb, aching, he prayed for some power to break the deep-conditioned
trance into which Jessup's cue-words had thrown him.
Behind him, then, Jessup said something too low to catch. A blow
thudded.
Like an echo, Nelva screamed.
Dane never knew what happened in that moment.
Yet within him, it was as if some tight-confining band had snapped. The
new stimulus overrode the old. Whirling, leaping over Nelva's crumpled
form, Dane threw himself bodily at Jessup.
The Security chief's voice, half-choked, gasping the cue-words: "Dane!
Remember! I'm your mas--"
The voice cut off as Dane wrenched the hairless head back and jammed a
hand down the yawning throat.
Jessup, arms flailing. Jessup, eyes bulging. Jessup, face purpling.
A final jerk, with every ounce of strength left in Dane's sagging
muscles. The _crack_ of bone snapping.
Jessup limp. Jessup dead.
Dane knelt beside Nelva. Hands shaking, he felt for her pulse.
Her eyes opened; grew tender. Slowly, she smiled. Her slim hand clasped
his big one.
A shudder ran through him. Face averted, he pulled his hand from hers
and drew back.
"Clark--!" She caught at his elbow. "Dane, it's all right. I'm not
hurt, not badly...."
Wordless, again he tried to pull away.
Nelva came close now; clung to him. "Clark, what is it? What's wrong?
What have I done?"
Dane choked. "It's not you. It's me; what I am."
"What you are--?" She tugged him around and stared at him, grey eyes
ever so wide. "What are you, Clark?"
"You heard Jessup say it: I'm ... not human." Miserably, Dane forced
himself to meet her gaze. "Don't you understand, Nelva? I don't even
dare to think about--you and me. I'm--different. Like no one, not even
Jessup's Zombie guards."
A moment of silence. A long, echoing moment, while the girl sat with
eyes downcast.
Then, slowly, she looked up at Dane once more. "I know, Clark. Better
than you. Because I've had longer to be lonely."
"To be lonely--?"
"Yes, Clark." Nelva's grey eyes suddenly were tear-filled, her voice a
whisper. "You see, I was the first--the very first the lab made with a
real mind, and free will. That was why I had to find you, even though
I didn't dare tell you anything for fear I'd distort your reaction
pattern, put you in danger." A smile, slow and shy, tremulous through
the tears. "That's over now, Clark. We ... don't have to be lonely any
more...."
The pickup ship came much too soon.