Janus (40 page)

“I’m talking about potential, creative potential—or just simple, human normality and the prices it can exact. What you’re hearing is the best—as far as I know—and probably the final work of a composer who might have gone on to become famous.”

“Is this some kind of guessing game? Am I supposed to know what this mean?”

“Actually, we could make it a guessing game. For instance: why is this the composer’s last work? No idea? How about a clue? Is she happier being unable to compose or not?”

She stared at him. “It’s someone here, isn’t it? One of your— Someone here, now.”

“Would you like to try the next question? Yes, of course you would. The name. Think carefully while you listen.”

She shook her head angrily. “Fuck you and your games. Get on with whatever you’re doing.”

“I am getting on with it, please believe me. Another clue, then. But not too big a clue, because now you have to think it out for yourself. She had a child, one child.”

“God damn you, stop this.”

“Can you think of a name now?”

“It’s Barbara, isn’t it? Barbara, after what you did to her. I don’t know—how dare you—”

“That’s an interesting response. Let’s change direction for a while.”

“Fuck you! I’m here because of Barbara—we’ll talk about her! Was she onto you for the amnesia fakery or for what you did to Erika Frank? It doesn’t matter does it? She was, what, trying to set a trap, trying to follow a lead, and you got her first? Was it here? You drugged her, hypnotised her, and when you’d finished whatever you did to her, you found her recorder and erased the evidence, you dressed her up again and sent her out into the mountains.”

“Yes. Her and one or two others. A moment ago I was talking about prices. In my case, that means the price of maintaining normality, a functioning personality—means satisfying certain needs that periodically arise. When I am sane and in control, I am much as you see me now. I am calm and rational. I am also a good psychologist and a good administrator—in all modesty, I am of value to this society. But periodically, as I say, the need arises in me, and it rapidly becomes obsessive if unsatisfied. And then there is only one way to restore equilibrium. You understand what I mean.”

“No, I don’t understand! All right. Question and answer. Did some of the criminally insane come through the Knot?”

“I think you know they did.”

“All right. Then how many? How many are there?”

“You’re sure you want me to tell you?”

“
How many?
”

“About thirty percent, of course.”

“What do you mean? The Knot—”

“The Knot does practically nothing to the human mind.”

“Then what happens, the memory loss . . .”

“. . . is done on the other side, before the criminal leaves. Theirs is the simpler task. They just delete memories, wipe away areas of the psyche, sketch an outline of the replacement. Here we develop and integrate the new personality.

“This place is an experiment. You’re an experiment, I’m an experiment. Your friend the technician is particularly an experiment. We’re rehabilitating the psychically damaged. Recovering good from evil. But, of course, there mustn’t be any way to go back and find out that you really lived on a houseboat on a canal. Secrecy. And secrecy about secrecy, because if hints get out that something is being hidden, the whole starts to unravel. . . . So not everyone can know. Here or back there. And among those who know—here or there—not everyone approves.”

He stood up and began loosening his shoulders, flexing his fingers. “Of course secrecy also serves some of my own interests.”

She groped for something to keep him talking, to delay what was coming. “And Carlo?” she asked.

“A well-meaning simpleton. He knows just enough to keep his mouth shut.”

“Oh god, he’s covering for you, now.”

He shook his head, frowning as though she had questioned his professional judgement. “I don’t put my trust in simpletons.”

Even as her fear rose, Elinda felt one of the knots in her stomach loosen.

Henry put the heels of his hands together in front of his chest, and pressed until his arms quivered; he seemed unaware of the effort he was making.

“Security’s on our side naturally; she’d have to be. Here it’s not too bad in fact. People mostly either go along or understand they shouldn’t ask the wrong questions. Back there . . . well the wrong kind of publicity could be damaging to us.”

“But you, you’re just another of the monsters. You’ve said so. Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “Out here rather than safe in some gold-plated research complex back home?”

Henry got to his feet and began pacing back and forth with a pensive, withdrawn expression on his face.

“There were rumours,” he acknowledged. “A near-scandal, even, but no proof. I was offered a new appointment about as far away from my indiscretions as anyone could imagine. I do regret all this of course, but surely you see it is better to have a sane man in charge here than a ravening wolf—and the price, after all, is a life that would have contributed little to this or any other society.”

“What—what did you do to her?”

“Oh, I think you can imagine. Though you might be glad to know that my needs do not require inflicting much overt damage. . . .”

“To her mind! What did you do to her mind? One of your hypnotist’s games, was it, with your toys here to make it stick? So she walks into the woods and dies—with no overt damage. No one to accuse you, no corpse to dispose of, is that it? And the same with Erika Frank? My god, how many times have you done this? Sent someone crawling away to bury herself in the hillside like a dying animal? They must have known, the ones who sent you here, who set this place up. Were they still human back there, or had they plugged themselves so far in a datanet they didn’t need bodies and didn’t care about anyone who had a body? A field experiment—is that what we all are? Is that what I am to you, to them—a white rat to observe and play with and dispose of when you’re tired of? Tie off her tubes and see if we can turn her on to women? See if we can switch her back, make her fall? What else? Did you care what you ruined? And Barbara? What about her music? A life that wouldn’t have contributed, you said. What about the music you’re playing now?”

He stopped pacing and gazed at her, his hands at his sides, fingers gripping and kneading the empty air.

“Oh, now, please think a little,” he said. “Even without seeing her past profile, do you really believe your Barbara would have written that, or wanted to—or had a child? You know better.”

“What? What are you saying?” She raised her hands to ward off something she could not yet see. “You’re trying to tell me—” Her throat tightened, her cheeks were wet. “No. You’re lying. You’re lying to me to get yourself off the hook.” She choked, forced the words out. “You want to destroy me too, to save yourself. You want me to believe that, that I—drowned, my, my . . .”

“Elinda,
I
haven’t said any of that. . . .” He was watching her with interest. “But it was a fine piece of music.”

“Damn you!” Now words were helpless against her despair. “Oh, damn you, god damn you to hell!”

“Yes, certainly. That goes without saying. But how do you judge me now?”

“Unfit to rot in the same ground as her!”

“Like you?”

“Yes! Like me!”

From the direction of the landing field, the wail of a siren rose into the night.

Grebbel came back and waved Osmon aside. He wrapped his fingers in Martin’s hair and jerked his head back. “Come on. I can’t hear you.”

Martin retched. His face was bloodless, his lips like bruises. He mumbled and Grebbel shook him again. This time his words were audible. “Why couldn’t you take what you had? It would have worked. No prison, no punishment? No suffering.”

“No suffering?” Grebbel swung his scarred fist in front of the man’s eyes. “You know what it meant to me. Look at this. Scars the length of my arm, so I’d remember. I’d have done more if I could. So don’t think I’ll turn back now. I want the IFF code.”

Martin flinched, then shook his head.

“This is what you asked me for,” Grebbel said. “Osmon, hold his arms.”

“Pain does things to time, doesn’t it, Martin?” he whispered. “How long is a scream, Martin? Longer than the time it takes on a clock, isn’t it—much longer. But not as long as the time you helped them take from me. No, not a thousandth as long as that.”

Behind him, one of the crew blurted, “There’s no need for this. We can fly you out of here. The recognition system needs a new module—it won’t work whatever you get out of him. But we could get you to the inner valley. We could drop you there and you’d have a chance.”

Grebbel looked over his shoulder at the man. “You’re next.”

“Listen, it’s your only chance, we can fly you out—”

“Can you?” Grebbel said bitterly.

“—to the highlands if you want. An hour’s flight, hour and a half maximum. Or anywhere else you want. Just leave him here. He can’t hurt you now.”

“Except by being here. Except by living and pushing his treacherous face in front of me. They stole from me, and he helped them, they lied with my own voice. We’ll lift when we’re fuelled and loaded, not until.”

“Tank’s eighty percent now, full in about three minutes,” Davis called. “The others are coming on board.”

“We can run up the motors,” the crewman persisted.

“Then do it! Osmon—watch him.”

The cabin began to vibrate as the motors started. Boots thudded into the lower cabin. Then, from the corner of the landing field, the sirens began.

For the length of a breath, Grebbel froze, staring into the dark, a look of recognition on his face. Then he turned and snapped at the man at the controls. “Cut the lines. Let’s go.”

Martin rolled his head to one side and mumbled. Grebbel snarled and bent over him. “What? What now?”

“Don’t—don’t. It’s over, for you—that’s all. Was before you started. Seen it happen. You’ve been reprogrammed too long—split in two. You can’t carry it off any more. No—stop! Just hear me. You’re split in half, and there’s no way out for you like this. And inside you know it—saw your face when the alarm went off. You’re going to destroy yourself. Why else a suicide mission like this?”

The mooring grapple clanged and fell free. The beacon light swayed and sank beneath them. Under Grebbel’s hands Martin cried out once more and became silent.

“I’m getting pulse signals on the downlink,” Davis shouted. “One of the satellites is calling us.”

“I can see it,” someone said at the west port. “Above Glacier Peak. I’m going to lose it behind the gasbag in a minute.”

“It’s challenging!” one of the crew shouted. “I don’t know the countersign!”

“You knew it twenty minutes ago,” Grebbel snapped.

“Not to this. I’ve never seen it before. I tried the day password and the ship serial number, but it just keeps sending the same group.”

“What’s it looking for?” Grebbel barked at the crew. “Quick—or you’ll fry first.”

“The satellite IFF,” said the crewman who had tried to intercede for Martin. “It’s separate from the main module and the landing codes. We’ve only got seconds. There’s no time to teach it to you. I’d have to send it myself.”

Grebbel cursed, gesturing the man into the communications seat.

The crewman snatched up the headset and started keying in commands. He stopped abruptly. “They’re not challenging, they’re—”

There was a muted orange flash and a sound like thunder.

“Missed,” someone yelled. “They missed us!”

Grebbel shouted them down. “Warning shot. Send that counter-challenge.”

“They’re not responding. They expect us to land.”

“Let them expect. Send your signal.”

The man’s hands fumbled over the keys. Then the orange flash came again, and the thunder. But this time, the thunder continued and the lights went out. The cabin swayed, tipped—started to fall.

Grebbel drew his gun and clung to the door pillar as the floor tilted under his feet. The mountains spiralled upward across the ports.

As the sirens wailed, Henry and Elinda watched each other. Finally she muttered, “Well, aren’t you going to find out what’s happening?”

He moistened his lips, gave a thin smile. “That might be advisable.” He went to the window and rolled up the blind with a snap. “You’d better put out the lights if you want to see anything out there.”