Arcadian's Asylum (16 page)

Whichever way it was looked at, this wasn’t a situation from which an easy solution presented itself.

It was Ryan who eventually broke the silence.

“This coldheart revels in his little world, and I figure his trade-off with Toms to make us part of it is because he has definite roles in mind for us,” he said coldly. “So we need to find out what they are. No way he wants us to buy the farm yet. Wouldn’t even chill us if we tried to break out, not unless it was necessary.”

“I am not so sure about his chief boy, Schweiz,” Doc interjected.

Ryan grinned. “I figure he’d love it, but he’s far too scared of Arcadian. We can’t break now, so we’ll have to bide our time, watch our backs, and wait for the chance.”

“If gives one,” Jak muttered sullenly.

“He will,” Ryan stated. “He wants something from us, even if he’s not sure what it is just yet. He’s got to give us some rope to find that out. We’ve just got to make sure we wrap it around his neck, not our own.”

J.B. scratched his head, took off his glasses and polished them in a gesture that always denoted he was deep in thought.

“Guess you’re right,” he said slowly, “though it isn’t like the bastard is giving us any choice.”

“Won’t be the first time we’ve had to just follow the stream and hope we can pull ourselves out,” Ryan concluded. “Best thing we can do now is try to get some rest, so we’re ready when it starts.”

Easier said than done. Each of them retreated into his or her own private worlds and tried rest in preparation for what was to come. But the not knowing, both in terms of time scale and event, was unsettling. They could face any fight if they knew who or what they were fighting.

But the unknown? How could you prepare for that?

THEY DIDN’T HAVE to wait long. It seemed like days, but was only a matter of a few hours before they heard the door to the room being unlocked. Schweiz appeared in the doorway, flanked by a phalanx of heavily armed men.

“Okay, time for you to move,” he snapped. Then a grin split his weasel-thin, unpleasant features. “Arcadian’s got plans for you that he wants to talk about. He still ain’t had your blasters off you, as a show of faith, but you must know that any attempt to go for them will get you blasted out of the building. And don’t think I wouldn’t welcome the excuse.”

“My dear boy, I would expect nothing less from you. Although I notice you only have the temerity to say it when your lord and master is not within earshot.”

Schweiz was fuming as he and his men parted to allow them through, and Ryan shot Doc a warning glance. Arcadian may not want anything to happen to them yet, but Ryan didn’t trust the sec chief’s temper to hold.

The short walk from the room in which they had been held to the baron’s quarters was conducted in an uneasy silence. Schweiz ushered them into Arcadian’s presence, then stepped back, flanked by four of his men, so that they maintained a presence that was a respectful distance from their leader, but close enough to act swiftly if any of the companions looked as though they were about to act.

Arcadian was sitting as they entered, leafing through a sheaf of papers. He beckoned them to sit, almost without looking up, then finished what he was doing before lifting his head to survey them in silence. It may have
been genuine, but to Doc it seemed like an act designed to unnerve them, to soften them up for what he was about to say.

“So,” Arcadian said finally, “I have little doubt that Dr. Tanner has told you what goes on in Arcady. Or, at least, a part of what goes on. He doesn’t know the whole of it, as he hasn’t seen all of our experiments at work. But he does have some notion of what we’re aiming for. I won’t bandy words with you, nor seek to be untruthful. I wanted you here, and I’m glad you are here. Your reputations precede you, and give me cause to believe that your skills and capabilities can do little but enhance the progress of my ville as we work toward the perfect society. I want you to work with me, not against me. And I want you to work of your own free will.”

“Do we really have a choice?” Ryan asked. “We’re here. Surrounded by your sec,” he added, indicating the men at their rear.

Arcadian considered this. “You may have a point. Certainly, if you made a break for freedom, it would be simple to stop you. The fact that we found Dr. Tanner proves we can sweep this ville with relative ease. But if you choose to run, then a firefight would only take out some of my men and lead to your demise. After all, we outnumber you too heavily for such an option to be viable.”

The manner in which he considered their fate was grimly amusing, but Ryan pressed on.

“So if we say no?”

“Then you’ll be held until you see sense. And you will.”

Ryan looked the baron in the eye. There was a steel
and ice there that betrayed a will that wouldn’t be refused.

“What do you have in mind for us?”

All were curious to hear what Arcadian had to say. With little option other than to go along with him, they would need to make their own plans as soon as possible.

But what they did hear was surprising. With the ville broken up into sectors, the baron proposed to split up the group, so that they would be sent to those sectors in which their attributes would best serve the whole. Jak was to be sent to Sector Three, which specialized in the study of instinctual behavior, and how this may be modified to fit a structured social order. Jak’s face didn’t change, but a warning sounded in his head. Modification sounded suspiciously like something that would try to force him against his own will and better instinct. Triple red for that.

Doc and Mildred were to be billeted together in the sector dealing with psychological and behavioral experimentation. Doc’s momentary relief at not being sent back to Andower and his whitecoat hell was tempered by the notion of brainwashing that went along with the notion of psychological experimentation. He looked across to Mildred, whose own expression was shielded from the baron by her plaits as she inclined her head. Only Doc could see that she was also uncertain. But as their eyes locked for a second, he knew that they were in a better position than Jak, as at least they had each other should the need for backup arise.

Ryan and Krysty were to be sent to that sector of the ville that dealt with selective breeding programs.

“I do this not just because of the superb physical con
dition that both of you share,” Arcadian emphasized. “Some of the people in this sector are muties, like yourself,” he directed toward Krysty, “and we’re very interested in harnessing certain genetic traits. Also, I feel that your physical prowess can useful in the training of adolescent specimens that need coaching to the pitch of perfection.”

It didn’t sound the kind of thing that either of them felt comfortable with; it did, however, betoken a certain amount of physical freedom that could be turned to their advantage.

Which only left J.B. After expressing how difficult it had been to place him according to his talents, the baron merely stated that he would be positioned where it was the most appropriate. His failure to be more explicit was noted by all of them. J.B. fought hard not to let his concern show, but feared he may be getting the rawest deal in terms of immediate danger.

“Now, as you agree to my terms, Schweiz and his men will allot you to your new quarters. I hope our work together will be productive,” Arcadian said before dismissing them by dint of returning to his papers.

As they followed the sec out of the room, all thought the same thing—no matter which sector they were in, their first move would be to find a way of keeping in contact with the others.

Question was, how hard would that prove to be?

Chapter Twelve

They were given no chance to communicate before they were separated. The sec that flanked the companions were joined by Schweiz as they moved down the staircase and into the lobby of the old building, guided through the display cases by the sec chief as he indicated that more of the heavy guard swarming the building be added to the group. Any attempt to speak was silenced by the barking of the sec chief, who was obviously relishing the power given to him by the baron. They had to endure the stares of those who worked on the ground floor of the building. It was a small thing, but to be viewed like caged animals rankled all the more because they could do nothing about it.

It was only when they were at the open space in front of the huge double doors that Schweiz stopped them. Quickly and efficiently, eyeing all the while their weaponry and their stance, he separated the group into its constituent parts of two duos and two singles, allotting to each a small sec party.

“This is where you get to say your goodbyes,” he said to the still assembled group. “If I was sector leader, I’d take those bastard weapons off you as soon as you arrive. They have the authority. While you’re still in this sector, then Arcadian has the final say. I’d give you no
chances. He might take your compliance at face value, but I don’t. So this is where you part company, and we take you to your sectors.” Then, as he could see that the friends were about to communicate, he held up his hand and added, “Hey, guess what, people? I changed my mind. Take them out.”

Before they had a chance to actually speak, the sec guards assigned to them muscled them apart. Jak bridled visibly, but a subtle gesture from Ryan stayed him. Time for that later. Right now, they were outnumbered. They would have to allow it.

Schweiz followed onto the steps of the building while the four groups of outlanders and sec parted company.

“You have a nice time, you hear? Don’t forget to write. Nah, mebbe just don’t bother.”

The sec chief was enjoying his moment of power. Each of the companions filed it away for the future. For when they had a chance to gain revenge. Right now, it was more important to look ahead to where they were each headed.

The ville was in the middle of a usual morning—trading and business as on any day. But the sight of four sec parties separating and leading—what, prisoners? Guests?—through the center of the ville brought it to a standstill, just as the previous day, when the group had been led in en masse. The center of the ville came to a momentary standstill while the citizens viewed the strange sight. They were the lucky ones. In this central sector, whether by luck, selection or a combination of both, they were subject to less in the way of experimentation and subjugation. Perhaps there wouldn’t be that
luxury in the sectors that the separated companions were headed.

From the center of the ville, the four groups parted, each headed in a different direction out of the main square. With just the barest of glances back, all that was allowed to them by their sec escorts, they headed off to their respective fates, hoping that the chance to establish lines of communication would arise, and that escape could be planned.

If not, then what?

J AK COULD BARELY CONTROL his temper. It was as if his skin itched with the frustration that boiled in his veins. His natural instincts—the ones that he was aware were about to be tested in some way—told him to make a break. His rational mind told him that that would be stupe. But the thought of being constrained and experimented on rankled. Never the most garrulous of people, Jak now kept a silence that wouldn’t be broken.

Not that the sec men leading him through the center of the ville showed any sign of wanting to strike up a conversation. They barely looked at him, except to check that he wasn’t readying himself for an escape attempt. It gave Jak a chance to concentrate on the route they took. He had already worked out that the roads in this part of the ville ran on straight lines, intersecting at right angles. It was a very neat, very old piece of construction, and the change in buildings from the three-story center of the ville through the two- and single-story buildings that radiated out gave him plenty in the way of landmarks. The people milling the streets thinned out, and those who did pass by weren’t inclined to stare.

In a short while they reached a gated fence, with a strip of empty land separating it from another fence. The buildings on the far side differed little.

“Sector Three,” the lead sec man intoned, looking at Jak for the first time. “Your new home, boy. Better settle in. It’ll be easier for you.”

There was note in his voice that intrigued the albino youth, almost as if he felt uncomfortable with the situation. Were there many that harbored that feeling? It wasn’t important now; it may well be in the near future.

They passed through the gate, using the well-trodden path. Once again Jak wondered if the fence was booby-trapped in some way, or if the land that lay on either side of the path was mined. Could it be, as they had all wondered earlier, that the barriers between the sectors were as much psychological as physical? If so, then it was the strength of the sec force in each sector that could determine the difficulty of escape.

As this passed through Jak’s mind, they marched through the sector. Although the buildings were similar to those on the other side of the wire, it was much quieter. There were far fewer people on the streets, and those who were seemed subdued, pointedly not looking at the sec party as it passed, as though punishment would follow if any dared.

A people cowed and frightened didn’t say much for any of the baron’s experiments if Jak was any judge. But he would find out soon enough. They wheeled right, and Jak found himself standing in front of a building that looked much like the ones that surrounded it on either side: brick built, scarred by the rigors of skydark, but rebuilt much like those around it. With one difference,
perhaps: this building had opaque glass windows, behind which—Jak guessed as he couldn’t see—were bars or guards of some kind. It was bland, and apart from the opacity said nothing about what may occur within. But a cold prickling on his scalp told him that it wasn’t a good place. It had a smell about it that differed from the buildings on either side. He couldn’t identify the precise elements of that smell, but knew that they added up to nothing that was good.

As they came to a halt, the doors of the building opened and three men walked out. One was a black-clad sec man, with a Lee Enfield .303 longblaster slung over his shoulder. The other two were dressed normally, but carried with them an air of authority. The smaller of the two, a slight and balding man of greater age, peered at Jak short-sightedly, his head craning forward as he halted at the top of the three steps that led to the entrance.

“Hmm, I think he’s everything that we’ve been led to believe, Pulaski,” he said in a voice as cracked and desiccated as his skin.

The taller, heavier-set man who had gray-streaked hair brushed back from his forehead and a thick beard that obscured the bottom half of his face, grunted.

“You say so, Foxx. I say we test him first, get some accurate readings, before we start any procedures.”

“Well, okay. Though I don’t think you’ll find it necessary. Still, if you must be a stickler.”

Jak didn’t care much for the way that they spoke about him as though he wasn’t there. Even when they turned away and walked into the building, they gave no indication that he should follow. It was only when the
sec man beckoned to him with the barrel of his rifle, and his guard stepped back, that he realized what they wanted from him.

“Good luck,” the lead sec man muttered under his breath in a tone that was sardonic and tinged with sorrow. Jak frowned, and briefly glanced at him. The sec man’s face was impassive, but the voice had been unmistakable.

Without looking back, Jak walked up the steps and in front of the sec man from the sector building, who held the door back for him to enter. He realized that the building was soundproofed when the door shut with a hiss, sealing out the world beyond.

Inside, the corridor ahead was lit in a fluorescent glare. There were no windows along this passage, only a succession of doors. The sec guard prodded Jak without a word. As the two men who had greeted him were some distance ahead, passing through the double doors at the end of the corridor, his meaning was clear. Jak quickened his pace. There was little he could do at the moment except follow and discover their intentions.

Through the double doors and a sharp right brought him to an open set of double doors, inset with glass. Pulaski and Foxx were already busy, preparing a series of wires and cables that were linked to an old, blue-gray metal console. Speakers were positioned around the room, at different angles and heights. The console was at one end of the room, and at the other stood a screen, currently blank. As Jak entered, the smaller, older man looked up.

“Ah, here he is.” He beckoned Jak to the chair, moving over to it with a bundle of wires and pad ter
minals in his free hand. “Come, my friend, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I wouldn’t bother with this process myself, but Pulaski is a stickler for precision from the very start. This won’t take long, and it won’t hurt.”

Jak kept his usual impassive visage, but some involuntary twitch of a muscle had to have betrayed him.

Foxx smiled and said over his shoulder. “You see, Pulaski? He doesn’t trust us. This will surely affect your precious readings. Reflexes and instincts, time distorted by fear and mistrust. Only a practical situation gives a true reading. Only when we get this young man out there on the ranges will we have a true idea. But still, if you must have your precious data.”

Jak figured from what the old man said that this part would be simple, and wouldn’t threaten him in any way. Fine. Submit to that and let them think he was compliant, at least for now.

But he didn’t like the sound of the thing—whatever it may be—that they called “the range.”

AS THEY CROSSED the wire and found themselves at their intended destination, the first thing to strike Ryan and Krysty was the manner in which the people of this sector were working. Lots between the old and rebuilt dwellings had been flattened, and were being used as areas for grain and vegetable cultivation. Scattered around the lots, either bent over the earth or almost hidden by the height of the crop, were a number of people. Men and women alike, all looked as though they were in good health, and at the peak of physical condition. Toned and muscled, with no flab in sight. All were
fairly tall—the variation in height was noticeable by its absence.

However Arcadian put his theories about selective breeding into operation, at first glance it appeared to be bearing fruit. By comparison, their sec guard seemed to be misshapen and mismatched.

As they were marched toward the center of the sector, the people milling around on the streets were also of a uniform height, musculature and fitness. Sure, some of them were dark and some blond; some were black, some of Native American descent and some Caucasian; some were broader than others, who tended toward a more wiry build. But within this range of types, the common features suggested not just breeding programs, but regimes of training that were designed to aid nature to maximum effect.

The passersby eyed Krysty and Ryan speculatively. It was unsettling, as there was no hostility or even curiosity in their glare. It was more a kind of assessment that made Krysty wonder just what was in store for them. The way in which they were coolly studied made Ryan aware of his scar and missing eye. These people were perfect physical specimens in every way, or so it seemed. As was Krysty. As was Ryan himself, except in that particular area. He wondered if that would mark him for trouble when they were let loose in this sector. It wasn’t a genetic fault, but rather one made by man. Nonetheless, it set him apart from the others, even Krysty.

However, no one spared them much beyond an initial glance. They seemed too busy to spare the time. What their activities may be, beyond those they had already witnessed, they could only wonder.

When they reached the center of the sector, they found themselves in front of a three-story building that stood out from those around it. A vacant lot on either side was left barren, which was unusual in comparison to all else they had seen. The reasons why would no doubt become clear in time. Through the windows of the building, as they looked up, they could see that there were whitecoats walking around, engaged in unknown tasks. There were also men and women stripped to the waist or in very little, some of whom seemed to be running on the spot. Others flashed back and forth in front of the windows, engaged in some kind of unspecified and, from this remove, unfathomable activity.

They were expected. A tall, sun-bronzed man stood alone in front of the building. His hair was lustrous and wavy, brushed back from his forehead. He wore a short-sleeved shirt that emphasized his well-developed biceps and pecs, and his pants were pulled in tight at the waist by a belt, as if to emphasise the development of his upper body as opposed to the slimness of his lower. It was only as they got closer that part of the reason for such obvious vanity became apparent. His sun-bleached hair was heavily streaked with gray, and his face was lined, the skin wrinkled at his eyes and neck. He may have had the physique of a young man, but his face betrayed that his real age was much greater.

“Took your time getting here,” he said in a loud, hearty voice, stepping forward to greet them. “You boys can fuck off now, we don’t need you here,” he said dismissively to the sec escort.