A Maze of Death

14

A small—heartbreakingly small—group of men and women trudged wanly up to the parked squib as Seth Morley activated the electrical dehatching mechanism. They stared at him bleakly as he stumbled out, stood swaying, trying to get control of his waning vitality.

There they were. Russell, looking stern. His wife Mary, her face taut with alarm—then relief at seeing him. Wade Frazer, who looked tired. Dr. Milton Babble, chewing on his pipe in a reflexive, pointless way. Ignatz Thugg was not among them.

Neither was Glen Belsnor.

Leadenly, Seth Morley said, “Belsnor is dead, isn’t he?”

They nodded.

Russell said. “You’re the first of all of them to come back. We noticed late last night that Belsnor wasn’t guarding us. We got to him at the infirmary door; he was already dead.”

“Electrocuted,” Dr. Babble said.

“And you were gone,” Mary said. Her eyes remained glazed and hopeless, despite his return.

“You better get back into bed in the infirmary,” Babble said to him. “I don’t know how you could still be alive. Look at you; you’re drenched with blood.”

Together, they assisted him back to the infirmary. Mary fussily made up the bed; Seth Morley, swaying, stood waiting and then let them stretch his body out, propped up by pillows.

“I’m going to work on your shoulder some more,” Babble said to him. “I think the artery is allowing seepage out into the—”

Seth Morley said, “We’re on Earth.”

They stared at him. Babble froze; he turned toward Seth, then mechanically returned to his task of fumbling with a tray of surgical instruments. Time passed, but no one spoke.

“What is the Building?” Wade Frazer said, at last.

“I don’t know. But they say I was there, once.” So on some level I do know, he realized. Maybe we all do. Perhaps at some time in the past all of us were there. Together.

“Why are they killing us?” Babble said.

“I don’t know that either,” Seth Morley answered.

Mary said, “How do you know we’re on Earth?”

“I was at London a little while ago. I saw it, the ancient, abandoned city. Mile after mile of it. Thousands of decaying, deserted houses, factories and streets. Bigger than any nonterran city anywhere in the galaxy. Where at one time six million people lived.”

Wade Frazer said, “But there’s nothing on Terra except the aviary! And nobody except ostriches!”

“Plus Interplan West military barracks and research installations,” Seth Morley said, but his voice ebbed; it lacked conviction and enthusiasm. “We’re an experiment,” he said, anyhow. “As we guessed last night. A military experiment being carried out by General Treaton.” But he did not believe it either. “What kind of military personnel wear black leather uniforms?” he said. “And jackboots… I think they’re called.”

Russell, in a modulated, disinterested voice, said, “Aviary guards. A sop to keep up their morale. It’s very discouraging to work around ostriches; introduction of the new uniforms, three or four years back, has done a great deal of morale-boosting for the personnel.”

Turning toward him, Mary said searchingly, “How do you happen to know that?”

“Because,” Russell said, still calm. “I am one of them.” Reaching into his jacket he brought out a small, shiny erggun. “We carry this type of weapon.” He held the gun pointed toward them, meanwhile motioning them to stand closer together. “It was one chance out of a million that Morley got away.” Russell pointed to his right ear. “They’ve been periodically keeping me informed. I knew he was on his way back here, but I—and my various superiors—never thought he’d arrive.” He smiled at them. Graciously.

A sharp thump sounded. Loudly.

Russell half-turned, lowered his erggun and slumped down, letting the weapon fall. What is it? Seth Morley asked himself; he sat up, trying to see. He made out a shape, the shape of a man, walking into the room. The Walker? he thought. The Walker-on-Earth come to save us? The man held a gun—an old-fashioned lead slug pistol. Belsnor’s gun, he realized. But Ignatz Thugg has it. He did not understand. Neither did the others; they milled about incoherently as the man, holding the pistol, walked up to them.

It was Ignatz Thugg.

On the floor, Russell lay dying. Thugg bent, picked up the erggun, and put it away in his belt.

“I came back,” Thugg said grimly.

“Did you hear him?” Seth Morley said. “Did you hear Russell say that—”

Thugg said, “I heard him.” He hesitated, then brought out the erggun; he handed it to Morley. “Somebody get the tranquilizer gun,” he said. “We’ll need all three. Are there any more? In the squib?”

“Two in the squib,” Seth Morley said, accepting the erggun from Thugg. You’re not going to kill us? he wondered. The psychopathic countenance of Ignatz Thugg had relaxed; the strained attentiveness which had marked Thugg had relented. Thugg looked calm and alert; sanely so.

“You’re not my enemies,” Thugg said. “They are.” He gestured with Belsnor’s pistol toward Russell. “I knew someone in the group was; I thought it was Belsnor, but I was wrong. I’m sorry.” He was silent for a time.

The rest of them remained silent, too. Waiting to see what would happen. It would come soon, they all knew. Five weapons, Seth Morley said to himself. Pitiful. They have air-to-ground missiles, .88 millimeter cannon—God knows what else. Is it worth it, trying to fight them?

“It is,” Thugg said, evidently reading his expression.

Seth Morley said, “I think you’re right.”

“I think I know,” Wade Frazer said, “what this experiment is all about.” The others waited for him to go on but he did not.

“Say it,” Babble said.

“Not until I’m sure,” Frazer said.

Seth Morley thought, I think I know, too. And Frazer is right; until we know absolutely, until we have total proof, we had better not even discuss it.

“I knew we were on Terra,” Mary Morley said quietly. “I recognized the moon; I’ve seen Luna in pictures… a long time ago when I was a child.”

“And what did you infer from that?” Wade Frazer said.

Mary said, “I—” She hesitated, glancing at her husband. “Isn’t it a military experiment by Interplan West? As all of us suspected?”

“Yes,” Seth Morley said.

“There’s another possibility,” Wade Frazer said.

“Don’t say it,” Seth Morley said.

“I think we had better say it,” Wade Frazer said. “We should face it openly, decide if it’s true, and then decide whether we want to go on and fight them.”

“Say it,” Babble said, stammering from overintensity.

Wade Frazer said, “We’re criminally insane. And at one time, probably for a long time, maybe years, we were kept inside what we call ‘the Building.’” He paused. “The Building, then, would be both a prison and a mental hospital. A prison for the—”

“What about our settlement?” Babble said.

“An experiment,” Frazer said. “But not by the military. By the prison and hospital authorities. To see if we could function on the outside… on a planet supposedly far away from Terra. And we failed. We began to kill one another.” He pointed at the tranquilizing gun. “That’s what killed Tallchief; that’s what started it all off. You did it, Babble. You killed Tallchief. Did you also kill Susie Smart?”

“I did not,” Babble said thinly.

“But you did kill Talichief.”

“Why?” Ignatz Thugg asked him.

Babble said, “I—guessed what we were. I thought Tallchief was what Russell turned out to be.”

“Who killed Susie Smart?” Seth Morley asked Frazer.

“I don’t know. I have no clue to that. Maybe Babble. Maybe you, Morley. Did you do it?” Frazer eyed Seth Morley. “No, I guess you didn’t. Well, maybe Ignatz did it. But my point is made; any one of us could have done it. We all have the inclination. That’s what got us into the Building.”

Mary said, “I killed Susie.”

“Why?” Seth Morley said. He could not believe it.

“Because of what she was doing with you.” His wife’s voice was ultra calm. “And she tried to kill me; she had that replica of the Building trained. I did it in self-defense; she engineered it all.”

“Christ,” Seth Morley said.

“Did you love her that much?” Mary demanded. “That you can’t understand why I would do it?”

Seth Morley said, “I barely knew her.”

“You knew her well enough to—”

“Okay,” Ignatz Thugg broke in. “It doesn’t matter, now. Frazer made his point; we all might have done it, and in every case one of us did.” His face twitched spasmodically. “I think you’re wrong. I just don’t believe it. We can’t be criminally insane.”

“The killings,” Wade Frazer said. “I’ve known for a long time that everyone here was potentially homicidal. There’s a great deal of autism, of schizophrenic lack of adequate affect.” He indicated Mary Morley scathingly. “Look how she tells about murdering Susie Smart. As if it’s nothing at all.” He pointed at Dr. Babble. “And his account of Tallchief’s death—Babble killed a man he didn’t even know… just in case—in case!—he might be some kind of authority figure. Any kind of authority figure.”

After an interval Dr. Babble said, “What I can’t fathom is, Who killed Mrs. Rockingham? That fine, dignified, educated woman … she never did any harm.”

“Maybe nobody did kill her,” Seth Morley said. “She was infirm; maybe they came for her, the way they came for me. To remove her so she’d survive. That’s the reason they gave me for coming after me and taking me away; they said Babble’s work on my shoulder was defective and I would soon die.”

“Do you believe that?” Ignatz Thugg asked.

Truthfully, Seth Morley said, “I don’t know. It might have been. After all, they could have shot me here, the way they did Belsnor.” He thought, Is Belsnor the only one they killed? And we did the rest? It supported Frazer’s theory… and they might not have intended to kill Belsnor; they were in a hurry and evidently they thought their ergguns were set on stun.

And they were probably afraid of us.

“I think,” Mary said, “that they interfered with us as little as possible. After all, this was an experiment; they wanted to see how it would come out. And then they did see how it was coming out, so they sent Russell here… and they killed Belsnor. But maybe they saw nothing wrong with killing Belsnor; he had killed Tony. Even we understand the—” She searched for the word.

“Unbalance,” Frazer said.

“Yes, the unbalanced quality in that. He could have gotten the sword some other way.” Lightly, she put her hand on her husband’s injured shoulder. Very lightly, but with feeling. “That’s why they wanted to save Seth. He hadn’t killed anyone; he was innocent. And you—” She snarled at Ignatz Thugg, snarled with hatred. “You would have slipped in and murdered him as he lay here hurt.”

Ignatz Thugg made a noncommittal gesture. Of dismissal. “And Mrs. Rockingham,” Mary finished. “She hadn’t killed anybody either. So they saved her, too. In the breakdown of an experiment of this type it would be natural for them to try to save as—”

“All you’ve said,” Frazer interrupted, “tends to indicate that I’m right.” He smiled disdainfully, as if he were personally unconcerned. As if he were not involved.

“There has to be something else at work,” Seth Morley said. “They wouldn’t have let the killings go on as long as they did. They must not have known. At least until they sent Russell. But I guess by then they knew.”

“They may not be monitoring us properly,” Babble said. “If they relied on those little artificial insects that scurry around carrying miniature TV cameras—”

“I’m sure they have more,” Seth Morley said. To his wife he said, “Go through Russell’s pockets; see what you can find. Labels in his clothing, what kind of watch or quasiwatch he’s wearing, bits of paper stuck away here and there.”

“Yes,” she said, and, gingerly, began to remove Russell’s spick-and-span jacket.

“His wallet,” Babble said, as Mary lifted it out. “Let me see what’s in it.” He took it from her, opened it. “Indentification. Ned W. Russell, residing at the dome-colony on Sirius 3. Twenty-nine years old. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. Height: five eleven-and-a-half. Authorized to pilot class B and C vessels.” He looked deeper into the wallet. “Married. Here’s a 3-D photo of a young woman, undoubtedly his wife.” He rummaged further. “And this, pictures of a baby.”

No one said anything for a time.

“Anyhow,” Babble said presently, “there’s nothing of value on him. Nothing that tells us anything.” He rolled up Russell’s left sleeve. “His watch: Omega self-winding. A good watch.” He rolled up the brown canvas sleeve a little farther. “A tattoo,” he said. “On the inside of his lower arm. How strange; it’s the same thing I have tattooed on my arm, and in the same place.” He traced the tattoo on Russell’s arm with his finger. “‘Persus 9,’” he murmured. He unfastened his cuff and rolled back his own left sleeve. There, sure enough, was the same tattoo on his arm and in exactly the same place.

Seth Morley said, “I have one on my instep.” Strange, he thought. And I haven’t thought about that tattoo in years.

“How did you get yours?” Dr. Babble asked him. “I don’t remember getting mine; it’s been too long. And I don’t remember what it means… if I ever did know. It looks like some kind of identifying military service mark. A location. A military outpost at Persus 9.”

Seth looked around at the rest of the group. All of them had acutely uncomfortable—and anxious—expressions on their faces.

“All of you have the mark on you, too,” Babble said to them, after a long, long time had passed.

“Does any one of you remember when you got this mark?” Seth Morley said. “Or why? Or what it means?”

“I’ve had mine since I was a baby,” Wade Frazer said.

“You were never a baby,” Seth Morley said to him.

“What an odd thing to say,” Mary said.

“I mean,” Seth Morley said, “that it isn’t possible to imagine him as a baby.”

“But that’s not what you said,” Mary said.

“What difference does it make what I said?” He felt violently irritable. “So we do have one common element—this annotation chiseled into our flesh. Probably those who are dead have it, too. Susie and the rest of them. Well, let’s face it; we all have a slot of amnesia dug somewhere in our brains. Otherwise, we’d know why we got this tattoo and what it means. We’d know what Persus 9 is—or was at the time the tattoo was made. I’m afraid this confirms the criminally insane theory; we were probably given these marks when we were prisoners in the Building. We don’t remember that, so we don’t remember this tattoo either.” He lapsed into brooding introversion, ignoring, for the time, the rest of the group. “Like Dachau,” he said. “I think,” he said, “that it’s very important to find out what these marks mean. It’s the first really solid indication we’ve found as to who we are and what this settlement is. Can any of you suggest how we find out what Persus 9 means?”

“Maybe the reference library on the squib,” Thugg said.

Seth Morley said, “Maybe. We can try that. But first I suggest we ask the tench. And I want to be there. Can you get me into the squib along with you?” Because, he said to himself, if you leave me here I will, like Belsnor, be murdered.

Dr. Babble said, “I’ll see that you’re gotten aboard—with this one proviso. First we ask the squib’s reference libraries. If it has nothing, then we’ll go searching out the tench. But if we can get it from the squib then we won’t be taking such a great—”

“Fine,” Morley said. But he knew that the ship’s reference service would be unable to tell them anything.

Under Ignatz Thugg’s direction they began the task of getting Seth Morley—and themselves—into the small squib.

Propped up at the controls of the squib once more, Seth Morley snapped on REFERENCE. “Yezzz sirr,” it squeaked.

“What is referred to by the designated Persus 9?” he asked. A whirr and then it spoke in its vodor voice. “I have no information on a Persussss 9,” REFERENCE said.

“If it were a planet, would you have a record of it?”

“Yezzz, if known to Interplan West or Interplan East authorities.”

“Thanks,” Seth Morley shut off the REFERENCE service. “I had a feeling it wouldn’t know. And I have an even stronger feeling that the tench does know.” That, in fact, the tench’s ultimate purpose would be served by asking it this question. Why he thought that he did not know.

“I’ll pilot the ship,” Thugg said. “You’re too injured; you lie down.”

“There’s no place to lie down because of all these people,” Seth Morley said.

They made room. And he stretched himself out gratefully. The squib, in the hands of Ignatz Thugg, zipped up into the sky. A murderer for a pilot, Seth Morley reflected. And a doctor who’s a murderer. And my wife. A murderess. He shut his eyes. The squib zoomed on, in search of the tench.

“There it is,” Wade Frazer said, studying the viewscreen. “Bring the ship down.”

“Okay,” Thugg said cheerfully. He moved the control ball; the ship at once began to descend.

“Will they pick up our presence?” Babble said nervously. “At the Building?”

“Probably,” Thugg said.

“We can’t turn back now,” Seth Morley said. “Sure we can,” Thugg said. “But nobody said anything about it.” He adjusted the controls; the ship glided to a long, smooth landing and came to rest, bumping noisily.

“Get me out,” Morley said, standing hesitantly; again his head rang. As if, he thought, a sixty cycle hum is being conducted through my brain. Fear, he thought; it’s fear that’s making me this way. Not my wound.

They gingerly stepped from the squib onto parched and highly arid land. A thin smell, again like something burning, reached their noses. Mary turned away from the smell, paused to blow her nose.

“Where’s the river?” Seth Morley said, looking around.

The river had vanished.

Or maybe we’re somewhere else, Seth Morley thought. Maybe the tench moved. And then he saw it—not far away. It had managed to blend itself almost perfectly with its local environment. Like a desert toad, he thought. Screwing itself backward into the sand.

Rapidly, on a small piece of paper, Babble wrote. He handed it, when finished, to Seth Morley. For confirmation.

WHAT IS PERSUS 9?

“That’ll do.” Seth Morley handed the slip around; all of them soberly nodded. “Okay,” he said, as briskly as he could manage. “Put it in front of the tench.” The great globular mass of protoplasmic slush undulated slightly, as if aware of him. Then, as the question was placed before it, the tench began to shudder… as if, Morley thought, to get away from us. It swayed back and forth, evidently in distress. Part of it began to liquify.

Something’s wrong, Seth Morley realized. It did not act like this before.

“Stand back!” Babble said warningly; he took hold of Seth Morley by his good shoulder and propelled him bodily away.

“My God,” Mary said, “it’s coming apart.” Turning swiftly, she ran; she hurried away from the tench and climbed back into the squib.

“She’s right,” Wade Frazer said. He, too, retreated.

Babble said, “I think it’s going to—” A loud whine from the tench sounded, shutting out his voice. The tench swayed, changed color; liquid oozed out from beneath it and formed a gray, disturbed pool on all sides of it. And then, as they stared fixedly in dismay, the tench ruptured. It split into two pieces, and, a moment later, into four; it had split again.

“Maybe it’s giving birth,” Seth Morley said, above the eerie whine. By degrees, the whine had become more and more intense. And more and more urgent.

“It’s not giving birth to anything,” Seth Morley said. “It’s breaking apart. We’ve killed it with our question; it isn’t able to answer. And instead it’s being destroyed. Forever.”

“I’ll retrieve the question,” Babble knelt, whisked the slip of paper back from its spot close to the tench.

The tench exploded.

They stood for a time, not speaking, gazing at the ruin that had been the tench. Gelatin everywhere… a circle of it, on all sides of the central remains. Seth Morley took a few steps forward, in its direction; Mary and the others who had run away came slipping cautiously back, to stand with him and view it. View what they had done.

“Why?” Mary demanded in agitation. “What could there have been about that question that—”

“It’s a computer,” Seth Morley said. He could distinguish electronic components under the gelatin, exposed by the tench’s explosion, the hidden core—and electronic computer—lay visible. Wiring, transistors, printed circuits, tape storage drums, Thurston gate-response crystals, basic irmadium valves by the thousand, lying scattered everywhere on the ground like minute Chinese firecrackers… lady crackers, they’re called, Seth Morley said to himself. Pieces of it flung in all directions. Not enough left to repair; the tench, as he had intuited, was gone for good.

“So all the time it was inorganic,” Babble said, apparently dazed. “You didn’t know that, did you Morley?”

“I had an intuition,” Seth Morley said, “but it was the wrong one. I thought it would answer—be the only living thing that could answer—the question.” How wrong he had been.

Wade Frazer said, “You were right about one thing, Morley. That question is the key question, evidently. But where do we go from here?”

The ground surrounding the tench smoked, now, as if the gelatinous material and computer parts were starting into some kind of thermal chain reaction. The smoke had an ominous quality about it. Seth Morley, for reasons not understood, felt, sensed, the seriousness of their situation. Yes, he thought; a chain reaction which we have started but which we can’t stop. How far will it go? he wondered somberly. Already, large cracks had begun to appear in the ground adjacent to the tench. The liquid squirted from the dying, agonized tench, spilling now into the cracks… he heard, from far down, a low drumming noise, as if something immense and sickly-vile had been disturbed by the surface explosion.

The sky turned dark.

Incredulous, Wade Frazer said, “Good God, Morley; what have you done with your—question?” He gestured in a seizure of motor-spasms. “This place is breaking up!”

The man was correct. Fissions had appeared everywhere now; in a few moments there would be no safe spot to stand on. The squib, Seth Morley realized. We’ve got to get back to it. “Babble,” he said hoarsely, “get us all into the squib.” But Babble had gone. Looking around in the turbulent gloom, Seth Morley saw no sign of him—nor of the others.

They’re in the squib already, he told himself. As best he could he made his way in that direction. Even Mary, he realized. The bastards. He falteringly reached the hatch of the squib; it hung open.

A fast-widening crack in the ground, almost six feet wide, appeared crashingly beside him; it burgeoned as he stood there. Now he found himself looking into the orifice. At the bottom something undulated. A slimy thing, very large, without eyes; it swam in a dark, stinking liquid and ignored him.

“Babble,” he croaked, and managed to make the first step that led up into the squib. Now he could see in; he clambered clumsily up, using only his good arm.

No one was in the squib.

I’m Christ-awful alone, he said to himself. Now the squib shuddered and bucked as the ground beneath it heaved. Rain had begun; he felt hot, dark drops on him, acrid rain, as if it was not water but some other, less-pleasant substance. The drops seared his skin; he scrambled into the squib, stood wheezing and choking, wondering frantically where the others had gone. No sign of them. He hobbled to the squib’s viewscreen… the squib heaved; its hull shuddered and became unstable. It’s being pulled under, he said to himself. I’ve got to take off; I can’t spend any more time searching for them. He jabbed at a button and turned on the squib’s engine. Tugging on the control ball he sent the squib—with himself inside, alone—up into the dark and ugly sky… a sky obviously ominous to all life. He could hear the rain beating against the hull; the rain of what? he wondered. Like an acid. Maybe, he thought, it will eat its way through the hull and destroy both the squib and me.

Seating himself, he clicked on the viewscreen to greatest magnification; he rotated it, simultaneously sending the squib into a rotating orbit.

On the viewscreen appeared the Building. The river, swollen and mud-colored, angrily lapped at it. The Building, faced with its last danger, had thrown a temporary bridge across the river and, Seth Morley saw, men and women were crossing the bridge, crossing thereby the river, and going on into the Building.

They were all old. Gray and fragile, like wounded mice, they huddled together and advanced step by step in the direction of the Building. They’re not going to make it, he realized. Who are they?

Peering into the viewscreen he recognized his wife. But old, like the others. Hunched over, tottering, afraid… and then he made out Susie Smart. And Dr. Babble. Now he could distinquish them all. Russell, Ben Tallchief, Glen Belsnor, Wade Frazer, Betty Jo Berm, Tony Dunkelwelt, Babble, Ignatz Thugg, Maggie Walsh, old Bert Kosler—he had not changed, he had already been old—and Roberta Rockingham, and, at the end, Mary.

The Form Destroyer has seized them, Seth Morley realized. And done this to them. And now they are on their way back to where they came from. Forever. To die there.

The squib, around him, vibrated. Its hull clanged, again and again. Something hard and metallic was pinging off the hull. He sent the squib higher and the noise abated. What had done it? he wondered, again inspecting the viewscreen.

And then he saw.

The Building had begun to disintegrate. Parts of it, chunks of plastic and alloy bonded together, hurled as if in a giant wind up into the sky. The delicate bridge across the river broke, and as it fell it carried those crossing it to their death: they fell with the fragments of the bridge into the snarling, muddy water and vanished. But it made no difference; the Building was dying, too. They would not have been safe in it anyhow.

I’m the only one who survived, he said to himself. Moaning with grief he revolved the control ball and the ship puttputted out of its orbit and on a tangent leading back to the settlement.

The engine of the squib died into silence.

He heard nothing, now, but the slap-slap of rain against its hull. The squib sailed in a great arc, dropping lower each moment.

He shut his eyes. I did what I could throughout, he said to himself. There was nothing more possible for me. I tried.

The squib hit, bounced, threw him from his chair onto the floor. Sections of the hull broke off, ripped away; he felt the acrid, acid-like rain pour in on him, drenching him. Opening his pain-glazed eyes he saw that the downpour had burned holes in his clothing; it was devouring his body. He perceived that in a fragment of a second—time seemed to have stopped as the squib rolled over and over, skated on its top across the terrain … he felt nothing, no fear, no grief, no pain any longer; he merely experienced the death of his ship—and of himself—as a kind of detached observer.

The ship skidded, at last, to a halt. Silence, except for the drip-drip of the rain of acid on him. He lay half-buried in collapsed junk: portions of the control board and viewscreen, all shattered. Jesus, he thought. Nothing is left, and presently the earth will swallow the squib and me. But it does not matter, he thought, because I am dying. In emptiness, meaninglessness and solitude. Like all the others, who have gone before this fragment of the one-time group. Intercessor, he thought, intercede for me. Replace me; die for me.

He waited. And heard only the tap-tap of the rain.