Hunter's mind rocked. He felt himself falling down the long spiral
into unconsciousness. The blaster slipped from his hand and his knees
buckled. But he clawed blindly, with animal instinct, at the hands
closing on his throat.
His head cleared. He saw Eric Young's dark face close to his. Hunter
swung his fist into Young's stomach, and the hands slid away from his
throat. Captain Hunter sprang to his feet, crouching low to meet
Young's next attack. Young's swing went wild. Hunter's fist struck at
the flabby jaw. Eric Young backed away, reeling under the hammer
blows, until he came up against the laboratory table.
Suddenly he slashed at Hunter with a scalpel. The blade nicked Max's
shoulder and cut across his jacket. The cloth parted, sliding down his
arms and pinning his hands together. In the split-second it took
Hunter to free himself from the torn jacket, Young swung the scalpel
again. Hunter dodged. Miscalculating his aim, Eric Young tripped over
Hunter's outstretched leg and fell, screaming, upon the point of his
own weapon.
Hunter stood for an instant with his legs spread wide, looking down at
Young. Then he dropped to his knees and rolled the grievously wounded
man over on his back. The hand grasping the scalpel slowly pulled the
blade from the abdominal wound. Blood pulsed out upon the white tile.
Young was still barely alive.
Hunter walked toward the transmitter, where Ann stood, saying nothing,
her eyes wide and staring. A tremendous conflict was raging within
him. Running away was no solution, but what if he could destroy the
system itself? Break the mold and start anew.
He had the instrument that would do it, the hundreds of obedient
slaves Young had already turned loose on the streets. With Ann's
transmitter he could transform the disciplined strike of human
automatons into a civic disaster. Terror and violence uprooting the
foundations of the city.
But a moment's madness could not overthrow the enduring rationality of
Hunter's adjustment index. To loose that horror was to set himself in
judgment upon the dreams and hopes, the perversion and the sublimity,
of his fellow men. To play at God--a delusion no different from Eric
Young's.
Savagely Hunter lifted a chair and started to swing it at the
transmitter. Instantly, Ann Saymer turned to face him, the blaster
clasped tightly in her hand.
"No, Max."
"But, Ann, those people outside are in desperate danger--"
"I've gone this far. I _won't_ turn back." In her voice was the
familiar drive, the ambition he knew so well. But now it seemed
different, a twisted distortion of something he had once admired.
"We don't need Eric Young," she said. "He's bungled everything. You
and I, Max--" She caressed the transmitter affectionately. "With this,
we'll possess unlimited power."
"You mean, Ann--" He choked on the words. "You came here of your own
free will? You deliberately planned Mrs. Ames' murder?"
"She was dangerous, Max. She guessed too much. We knew that when we
monitored the call you made from the spaceport. But in the beginning
we weren't going to make you responsible. We thought the strangers in
the house--your attempt to expose the other woman who called herself
Mrs. Ames--would be enough to get you committed to a clinic. I didn't
want you to be hurt, Max."
"Why, Ann?" His voice was dead, emotionless. "Because you loved me? Or
because you wanted me to be your ace in the hole, if you failed to
manage Eric Young the way you thought you could?"
"That doesn't matter now, Max, dear. I thought Eric had what I
needed. But I was misjudging you all along."
"You're still misjudging me, Ann. I'm going to smash this machine and
afterward--"
"No you aren't, Max," she said coldly. "I'll kill you first."
Calmly she turned the dial on the blaster. He lifted the chair again,
watching her face, still unable to accept what he knew was true. This
was Ann Saymer, the woman he had loved. It was the same Ann whose
ambition had driven her from the general school to a First in
Psychiatry.
With a fighting man's instinct, Hunter calculated his chances as he
held the chair high above his head. It was Ann who had to die. He
would accomplish nothing if he smashed her transmitter. She knew how
to build another. If he threw the chair at her rather than the
Exorciser and if he threw it hard enough--
From the door a fan of flame blazed out, gently touching Ann. She
stood rigid in the first muscular tension of paralysis. Hunter dropped
the chair, shattering the transmitter. He turned and saw Dawn in the
doorway. Somewhere deep in his subconscious mind he had expected her.
He was glad she was there.
"We've known for a long time we would have to break up their little
partnership," Dawn explained. "After I talked to you this morning,
Captain, I persuaded the others to hold off for another day or so. A
clinical experiment of my own.
"It was unkind of me, I suppose, to make you the guinea pig. But I
wanted to watch your reactions while you fought your way to the truth.
Now you know it all--more than you bargained for. And you know what
we're trying to do. Are you willing to join us?"
He looked at her.
"In your third alternative--the cautious, rational rebuilding?"
"After men understand themselves. When we're able to answer one
question: why did you and Ann Saymer, with identical backgrounds, and
intelligence, and an identical socio-economic incentive, become such
different personalities? What gives you a zero-zero adjustment index
that nothing can shake? Not the psychiatric shock of war, Captain. Not
physical pain alone or the treachery of the girl you love. We need
you, Captain. We need to know what makes you tick."
"That 'we' of yours. Just what does that embrace?"
"A cross-section of us all," she told him. "Psychiatrists, executives
in both cartels, union officials. We've been working at this for a
good many years. We want to make our world over, yes. But this time
with reason and without violence--without sacrificing the good we
already have."
"And you yourself, Dawn. Who are you?"
"I represent that nonentity called the government, Captain."
"A nonentity wouldn't make you what you are, Dawn."
"My name, Captain--" She drew a long breath. "My name is Dawn Farren.
The rest of my family is dying out as the Von Rausches are. Unlimited
power has a way of poisoning the human mind. If wealth is our only
ethical goal, what do we really have when we possess it all? Madness.
Both cartels are shams, Captain Hunter, just as your frontier wars are
shams.
"Yes, you may as well know that, too. Neither fleet has actually
fought the other for a good many years. The planets you blast are
hulks already long dead. It's all a sham, but we have to keep it
alive. We have to make it _seem_ real--until we're sure we've found
something better and more workable for all of us."
The tension in Ann Saymer's muscles started to relax. Very slowly her
body began to slump, in the secondary stage of paralysis.
"What about her?" Hunter asked. "She can still make another
Exorciser--"
"The dream of enslaving mankind is _always_ insanity. We'll put her in
a public clinic, of course. We may have to use her own machine once
more to erase the memory of its structure from her mind. After that
the patent drawings will be destroyed. It's not a superficial cure for
maladjustment that we're after, Captain Hunter, but the cause. All of
Ann's research was up a blind alley--a brilliant waste."
Suddenly Dawn screamed a warning and leveled her blaster at Eric
Young. Hunter sprang back as Dawn fired. But her timing was a second
too late. In a last, blazing agony of life-before-death Young had
regained consciousness long enough to hurl the scalpel at Hunter's
back. Ebbing strength distorted his aim. The blade plunged into Ann's
heart as she slumped against the wall.
After a long pause, Max Hunter moved toward Dawn and took her arm. He
clenched his jaw tight and drew her quickly into the hall. "I want
out, Dawn. There's no healing here. I won't feel free again until I
can look up at the stars."
"The stars. Then you're going back to the service, Captain? You're
running away?"
He didn't answer her until they stood in Eric Young's garden.
"Sham battles for shadow cartels," he said. "That's a child's
subterfuge for the Tri-D space heroes. No, Dawn, the real war is here
in the struggle for information about ourselves so that we can build a
new world of freedom and human dignity. You say you need me. All
right, Dawn, you've enrolled a recruit."
"It will be a long, slow war, Captain," she said, her eyes shining.
"We may never see a victory, and--we can never make a truce. But at
least we've learned how to go about solving the problem--after ten
millennia of trial and error."
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's The Cartels Jungle, by Irving E. Cox, Jr.