Exiled from Earth

8

In a way, Lou felt almost glad that his running was over. It was like the time he had an inflamed appendix, but didn’t know it. For weeks he nursed the sullen pain in his abdomen, worried over it, but told no one. Until he nearly collapsed at the Institute and some of the other computer engineers physically dragged him to the clinic. From then on he didn’t have to make any decisions. And he found that he didn’t worry, either. The doctors did the deciding, and the worrying.

Now Lou sat in the back of a car, surrounded by Federal marshals. All the decisions were out of his hands. He stopped worrying, almost without realizing it. He was far from being happy, but for the time being he had nothing to worry over.

They drove to the jetport, past the terminal building, out to a sleek, white, twin-engined executive jet parked well away from all the hangars and commercial planes. The sky-blue insignia of the world government was painted on its tail.

Standing beside the plane, next to the open hatch, was the Norseman Lou had narrowly escaped from at the UN building.

He looked Lou over carefully as the Federal marshals escorted him to the plane.

“I see you made it through New York and then some,” said the Norseman. “Congratulations. We were afraid you’d be killed.”

Lou said nothing.

“Please, Mr. Christopher, my job is to bring you safely to Messina. No more adventures, eh? We’ll only have to come and get you again.”

He gestured toward the hatch. With a shrug, Lou climbed into the plane. The Norseman followed him and locked the hatch shut, then went forward, into the control compartment. The jet was luxuriously furnished with big, deep swivel seats at the four forward windows. Back of them there was a couch on one side, and a full-sized desk on the other, complete with viewphones.

The Norseman re-emerged from the control compartment. “Pick any chair you like. This flight is exclusively for you.”

Within minutes they were airborne and streaking supersonically across the country. They landed briefly at New Washington for fuel, then headed out across the Atlantic with the setting sun at their back. Lou slept as the plane sped into the gathering night.

The Norseman woke him when they were ready to land. It was black and moonless outside, and the only lights Lou could see below outlined a landing strip. Once on the ground, Lou was taken to a waiting car and driven away from the airfield. The Norseman sat silently beside him while two swarthy men spoke Italian to each other up in the front seat. All Lou could see was the narrow strip of road lit by the car’s headlights, but he got the impression of hills and farmlands and wind-tossed trees swaying out there in the darkness. It was warm outside, and the night had that special softness that comes from the sea, very different from the desert of New Mexico.

Before long they drove past a gateway that was flanked by two live guards. After a few minutes more, the car pulled onto a driveway that swung up to an ornately decorated entrance, lit by antique lanterns. It even had an awning overhead to keep off the sun and rain. It was hard to tell how big the building was, but in the darkness it gave the impression of rambling on hugely. A villa, Lou guessed as the car stopped in front of the entrance.

The Norseman got out first and held the car door open as Lou slid along the seat and stepped out. From far off he could hear the sighing roar of the sea rolling in on a beach.

“This will be your home for the time being,” the Norseman said, pointing to the baroquely carved door. “I believe you’ll find many of your friends there.”

He stood there while Lou slowly, hesitantly, went up the stone walkway and tried the door. It opened at his touch. Lou looked back and saw the Norseman smiling and nodding at him.

“Your job’s done now, is that it?”

“Yes,” he answered. “You were the last one on the list.”

What list? Lou wanted to ask, but he knew that he wouldn’t get an answer. He stepped into the entryway of the villa and the door swung shut by itself behind him. Lou knew somehow that it locked automatically. He didn’t bother to try it.

He stood alone in a wide, long hall. At the far end a grand flight of stairs swept in a gentle curve to the next floor. There were heavy doors of real wood on both sides of the hall, and the walls were lined with paintings. Portraits, mostly. Old and original. A stately grandfather’s clock back by the stairs chimed once. One A.M.

Lou walked down the hall slowly, his footsteps echoing on the intricate geometry of the parqueted floor. No other sound—no, wait. Voices, muted, from behind a door. He went over and opened it.

A half-dozen men were sitting around a table in the middle of the room. It must have been a library or study; books lined the walls except for a pair of French doors that stood open at the far end of the room. Their filmy curtains billowed softly in the breeze coming in off the sea. The room was dimly lit and most of the men at the table had their backs to the door and to Lou. One of them looked up.

“Lou! They dragged you in finally.”

It was Greg Belsen.

Now the others turned to face him. They were all from the Institute: Ron Kurtz, Charles Sutherland, Jesse Maggio, Bob Richardson. And at the head of the table, Dr. Adrian Kaufman, Director of the Institute. Dr. Kaufman was a handsome, vigorous man, with strong leonine features topped by thick gray hair. But right now he looked very weary and unsure of himself.

“Christopher,” said Dr. Kaufman, frowning slightly. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Despite himself, Lou grinned, “It wasn’t my idea to come, believe me.”

Lou walked to the table. There were no more chairs in the room, so he remained standing.

“Why did they bring you here?” Dr. Kurtz asked. He was about Lou’s age, but his bushy brown beard made him look older. “So far the only people here are the scientists.”

By scientists, Lou understood, Kurtz meant geneticists and biochemists.

“That’s right,” Dr. Maggio agreed. “Only the technical staff has been brought here. They let the secretaries and others go free.”

“I am on the technical staff,” Lou reminded them.

“But as a computer engineer, not a geneticist,” said Dr. Kurtz.

“Or biochemist,” added Dr. Richardson, a biochemist.

“Maybe the people who arrested us don’t know the difference between computer engineers and geneticists,” Lou said, feeling anger simmering inside him. “Maybe they just had orders to bring in the whole technical staff. They sure didn’t stop and ask to see my diploma.”

“Well,” Greg Belsen said, “there goes the neighborhood. If they start letting computer people in, God knows what’ll happen next.”

The scientists all laughed. Lou realized that Greg was trying to smooth over the rift between the scientists and himself. It was an old wound, this caste system. Under ordinary circumstances at the Institute it hardly ever became noticeable. But here, in this strange place, it surfaced immediately. And it hurt.

Dr. Richardson changed the subject. “Does anyone have any idea of why we’re here?”

“You used the word ‘arrested,’ ” Dr. Kaufman said to Lou. “As far as I know, no one has arrested us. We’ve been brought here against our will, true enough. But no one has charged us with a crime.”

“More like being kidnapped.”

“I was arrested by Federal marshals,” Lou said. “No charges, but they were ready to shoot if I tried to get away. And the Institute’s been closed permanently, I found out.”

“Permanently!” The word went around the table like a shock wave.

“I don’t get it,” Dr. Maggio said, frowning. “Who’s doing this? And why?”

“It’s pretty obviously the world government,” Richardson said.

“But why?”

“Because they’re frightened out of their wits over genetic engineering. They’re afraid of what might happen when we succeed.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Oh no? Well, take a look around you.”

Greg Belsen said, “The real question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“What can we do?”

Looking down at the polished tabletop, Dr. Kurtz mumbled in his beard, “Try to get out. Escape.”

“How?” Sutherland asked. “Where to?”

Lou said, “They chased me all across the country and back. It may be the world government that’s doing this, but they had plenty of Federal marshals helping them.”

Dr. Kaufman folded his hands over his midsection. “We’re several thousand miles from home, on an island where we’d be very quickly spotted as strangers. Even if we escaped from this villa we wouldn’t get very far.”

Lou had a sudden thought. “Maybe we don’t have to get far. Just to some newsmen. Whoever’s behind this, they’re trying to keep it quiet. They didn’t even notify the local police when they were chasing me. And I didn’t hear a word about the Institute’s closing on any newscasts.”

With a sarcastic grin, Sutherland answered, “So you volunteer to go over the wall and find us a newsman. And he’ll tell the world we’ve been kidnapped or something.”

“Something like that,” Lou snapped.

“So what?” Sutherland replied. “Suppose the newsman believes you. Suppose, even, he gets to broadcast the story and the world government doesn’t stop him. What happens? Some government officials say that he’s wrong, he’s sensation-mongering. They say that we’re a small group of scientists who’ve been brought here for a special project. End of story. The world doesn’t care about twenty-five scientists. We’re not news. We’re not important people—like Tri-V stars or soccer players.”

“Now wait, Charles,” Dr. Kaufman said, his eyes brightening. “Christopher may have something. After all, they have tried to do this quickly and quietly. Maybe some publicity would break up this whole affair—”

Sutherland made a sour face. “Look at it objectively. We’re just a handful of scientists—”

“Oh!” Lou remembered. “They got Dr. Kirby, too.”

“Kirby? From Columbia?”

Nodding, Lou answered, “They had him in New York. They were taking him here.”

“But he’s not here in this villa.”

Sutherland waved a finger at them. “You see? There’s more to it than just us. I thought so. We’re only a part of a bigger picture. And the world government is behind this, whatever it is. Publicity isn’t going to hurt them. Either they’ll clamp down on any news about this, or they’ve already figured out what to tell the newsmen.”

“Then what can we do?” Kaufman demanded.

“Nothing.” Sutherland shrugged. “We wait and see what happens. That’s all we can do.”

Dr. Richardson suddenly asked, “Say, what about Big George? Is he…”

“I saw him this morning… yesterday, that is,” Lou said. “He was scared, but I guess somebody’s taking care of him. I hope…”

“They can’t stick him in a zoo,” Greg said. “He’ll die of loneliness.”

“Or fright.”

“Maybe we can ask…”

The door from the hall opened and Lou turned to see Mrs. Kaufman standing there, her portly frame tightly wrapped in a nightrobe.

“I finally got the children to sleep,” she said to her husband. “Are you coming up soon?”

With a sigh, Dr. Kaufman answered, “In a few minutes, dear.”

She nodded and shut the door. Lou stood there by the table, open-mouthed.

Greg said, “Didn’t you know! The wives and children were brought here too. For every married member of the staff. It’s a family affair.”