The Dark Mind - The Transfinite Man Part 2

The search came nearer, and pa.s.sed. A cursory spotlight swept beneath the truck but failed to find his back. Soon they would return more warily and search more thoroughly. If escape was possible it was now or never.

He dropped to the ground cautiously, the fall of his feet cushioned by the thick, dried oil-patch underneath. Swiftly crossing between one line of trucks and then another, he worked his way towards a large express truck. As he reached the cab a shout went ringing from the further side of the hall and feet came running. He prayed silently as he felt the little key beneath his fingers. For a second the engine failed to start, then coughed twice and broke into life with the noise of vibrant thunder.

Dalroi urged the vehicle into lumbering life and charged it across the intervening s.p.a.ce straight at the steel-shuttered doors. With the engine warming rapidly he felt his luck returning. Then impact! The truck was doing fifty when it hit the shutters, and the slam and the scream of tortured metal would have made a fitting prelude to the last days of the universe. The b.u.mper grid took most of the force, but the cab ripped open at the top and the safety-gla.s.s dissolved around him in a hail of patterned diamonds.

Then he was out of the building, the shutter torn and twisted like a cardboard mock-up. Only the gates now stood between him and the road. The gatekeeper stood square in the approach, dutiful anger pa.s.sing to screaming hysteria as he realised Dalroi's intention. Instinctively Dalroi swerved slightly to avoid the creature in his path. The manoeuvre stripped the gla.s.s canopy off the front of the gatehouse and centred the truck on a brick column between two gates. Too late to brake or change direction, Dalroi gritted his teeth and charged the vehicle forward.

The brick column went down like straw before a scythe, and the heavy gates disintegrated in a hail of fractured castings. The rear wheel bucked frenziedly over the debris, and the battered dreadnought churned a crazy corner and hurtled into the sleeping street.

Abruptly he realised his mistake. A vehicle the size of his could never pa.s.s except by the regular trucking route. The way down which he was moving was flanked by warehouses, with low interconnecting bridges across the street. He pa.s.sed under two granary conveyors without mishap before his frenzied braking fetched the truck up short with its load jammed under a narrow tunnel. With difficulty he forced open the door and dropped to the ground. He was greeted by the heated richness of leaking fuel from a fractured pipe. A car was shrieking up behind, the bullets whined and riccochetted off the tunnel walls.

He had scarcely started running when the truck burst into sheets of flame, effectively sealing the route behind him.

He cleared out of the district fast. The flame-watch circuits lacing the town had fire-tenders sounding in the distance within seconds. But no matter how swift the wheels of officialdom, the local population would always beat them to it, eager for the morbid excitement of a fire and perhaps a little looting on the side.

Dalroi stuck to the shadows and fly-paths, for his face was well known in the river district and he had no intention of being picked up on a relatively minor charge of arson and illegal entry. His car was still wherehe had left it, but he wandered watchfully about the area for many minutes before he was satisfied that no one was watching. Then he swung out fast.

A quarter of a mile away a group of cowled figures in an instrumented trailer bent over the displays which told the tale of his leaving, and nodded in dark unison. Dalroi was shaping neatly - in fact, very neatly indeed. There was n.o.body in the world quite like Ivan Dalroi.

The hills around Pa.s.sfields were bright after the morning showers. In the cutting the damp shadows clung heavily under the trees and the air was heavy-scented with fern and the blued wood-smoke from the cabin fire.

The ap.r.o.n in front of the cabin was occupied with Zdenka's car, so Dalroi turned his own car at the foot of the slope to a point where years of usage had worn a partial track amidst the silver birch. As he alighted he stopped in sudden dismay, for the track never used except by himself, was marked with fresh tyre tracks in the damp forest loam. He stooped to the ground for a careful examination. A medium-heavy vehicle had come and gone again, and footprints trailed up the hill in the direction of the cabin. Again the sweet smell of trouble.

He turned away into the trees and made a broad circuit to the rear of the cabin. Against the cabin wall he listened, hoping for some slight sound to confirm or reject his fears, but he heard nothing save for the wildlife in the brush beyond.

The blue wood-smoke rising gave him an idea. Silently he climbed the outhouse wall. A piece of flashing, left from an old repair, enabled him to stop the flue completely. Then he dropped to the ground and waited, gun in hand, for the opening of the door.

Nothing happened. In twenty minutes he knew the hut was untenable. Smoke issued thickly from the gaps under the eaves and round the windows. Finally he kicked open the door, gun raised, and peered into the smoky dimness of the room.

Harry Dever's body was on the bed, a wide wound where his forehead ought to be. Dalroi entered cautiously, fearful for Zdenka, but the rest of the cabin was empty and disordered. Of Zdenka there was no sign at all. The smoke, salty and acrid, drove him out again with smarting eyes and nostrils.

He broke some windows to clear the air and went back to Dever. The man was a rat and had been one all his life, but he had also been a mine of off-beat information. Dalroi felt the body, not yet cold. Perhaps two hours ago the murderers had struck. That was the last piece of information that Dever had to give.

No clues as to who or why.

Dalroi swore and kicked the sullen stove from its moorings, toppling it to the floor and scattering the hot embers. Paper rekindled the flame and the fire had gained irrevocable hold of timbers as he paid his last respects. Only as he turned did he notice on the door, scratched hastily in the paint, a single word: Gormalu. But this was the mystery rather than the answer, for Gormalu was blind and no more capable of committing this atrocity than of flying.

He was about to leave when he remembered the recorder in Zdenka's car. It was standard practice to record the transportation of clients and informers, and sometimes provided that little extra information which was forgotten at an interview. He reached in and pocketed the recorder then drove out of the woods as fast as he could.

A mile away he drew into a side track and started the recorder.

"h.e.l.l of a time to call a fellow out," said Dever's voice complainingly. "The streets aren't dry till aftereleven."

"Don't fret," Zdenka said. "All we need is a little cooperation. This is an information job and we pay well.

What do you know about the Cronstadt committee?"

"Are you mixed up with them?"

"No comment. Suppose you tell me about Cronstadt?"

"Ah! A pointed question. Cronstadt is a warrior of the old school, pig-headed and utterly ruthless. He made a bid for the Failway monopoly when it was first formed. Rumour has it that he's trying to stage a comeback."

"That sounds relevant. What about Presley?"

"A nut of the first order. Preached h.e.l.l-fire to his wife until she killed herself, then got even with her by refusing to sanction her burial in a churchyard. To h.e.l.l with your body, it's your soul he's after."

"Hildebrand?"

"A bit of an unknown quant.i.ty. Some queer rumours about the mental asylum he runs."

"And our old friend Gormalu?"

"Are you sure he's on your side?"

"I'm asking the questions. What do you know about Gormalu?"

"Enough to know how dangerous such information is. If you really want to know you'll have to make it worth the risk."

"You can discuss that with Dalroi. He should be following fairly soon. If the information's any good, he'll pay."

"And that's another thing," said Dever. "I never could understand how you could go on working for Dalroi. Too d.a.m.ned unhealthy. He's a professional trouble-man. If ever there's trouble you can bet your life he's in it somewhere - usually underneath. Even the government agents were asking questions about him a little while ago, and anyone who attracts that sort of attention from the Black Knights is usually on the short list for ... "

The tape came to an end and flapped uselessly around the spool. Dalroi cursed. The Black Knights were the top-level government security agents. They only handled a.s.signments from high-treason upward.

Then what had they wanted with Dalroi?

The scream of a police siren roused him from this line of speculation and vaguely through the bushes he saw the patrol cars jet past. It did not take much to work out the odds. Whoever had killed Dever had also tipped off the police. With a dead body in his burning cabin Dalroi would have a lot of explaining to do. Sufficient to keep him out of the way for a reasonable period - say fifteen or twenty years. The heat was really on.

He absorbed this information quietly, trying to restrain the burning fury which welled up inside him. He was trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. From the scrawled word on the cabin door and from the fragment of taped conversation there was a reasonable supposition that Gormalu was the weak link in the Cronstadt committee. The Black Knights' interest was a little difficult to see. Dever must have givenmore information than was recorded, for Zdenka would not have allowed a lead like that to die. He had to find Zdenka.

On his way through town Dalroi parked his car in an alley near the central station and hastened into a public telephone kiosk. He dialled his own number and coded the auto-sec which stored incoming messages. The message store was empty and a polite taped voice invited him to leave a short message.

Dalroi cut the connection swiftly. A low-pitched blurr from the auto-sec warned him that a line-tap was operating. It would take about five seconds for the call to be traced. Zdenka had not phoned in and that was a sure sign that she was not a free agent. Then he called Brian Regis.

"Dalroi? You're certainly in the news tonight."

"Don't rub it in," Dalroi said. "I'm in trouble up to my ears right now. Look, I want you to do something for me. Zdenka's missing, and I don't think she went of her own free will. It's my guess she's been kidnapped and I need to know by whom. I'll pay well for the information."

"It's a deal! If she's within fifty miles of the city I'll know by the morning. Where can I call you?"

"Don't try," said Dalroi. "My phone is being tapped. I'll call you."

"Right! If you want some advice, don't stay in one place too long. There's a whole lot of people looking for you."

The distant wail of a siren sent Dalroi running back to the car. It was obviously the police who had tapped his phone. Within seconds he was out of the alley and speeding precariously through the maze of turnings which const.i.tuted the downtown suburb. He lost the sound of sirens early and began to relax when he was confident that he had avoided the patrol. Two clues pointed to Gormalu. It was an unlikely lead but one which could not be ignored. Steadfastly he headed out of town.

FOUR.

Gormalu was blind, but the fact was not immediately apparent. The bat-call radar boxes on his shoulders guided his feet and hands with a precision which had unnerved many who had misjudged the disability.

No, it was not the blindness but the sheer ugliness of the man which left the undying impression: the hawk face with the taut yellowing skin, the sightless eyes peering through dark gla.s.ses, the slight, gaunt, skeleton frame. To those who knew him further, the more hideous facet was the terrifying h.o.a.rd of hatred which festered behind the blinding genius. To Dalroi he was the anathema of all that lived and breathed.

There was no love lost in any encounter between them.

This night especially, Dalroi was in no mood for charity. Gormalu, as a member of the Cronstadt committee, was the pivot of his whole plan of operation. He had the information which Dalroi needed to make an effective move against Failway, and he was somehow involved with the strange affair at Pa.s.sfields. Dalroi cursed. He who would trade with the Devil needs watch out for his own soul.

From previous visits Dalroi knew all he needed about the layout. He left his car nearly a mile from his destination and walked the rest of the way through the dark, sullen trees. Gormalu's henchmen would be wary and it was too easy to set a radar alarm on the approach road, but working in the shelter of the giant boles, nothing short of direct observation could detect his coming. Finally he circled the house, planning the best method of entry. The skylight gave rustily to the force of his fingers and seconds later he was standing in the dark laboratory. Nothing stirred. Silently he made his way to the dim inner-sanctum where Gormalu habitually held court.

The door opened quietly at his touch. Gormalu was there, his sightless eyes watching the door from theshadows of one small lamp.

"Don't move," said Dalroi. "Call for help and I'll kill you."

"Don't be theatrical, Dalroi. I've been expecting you. You should have known better than to try to take me by surprise."

"I have reasons for not advertising my visits in advance."

"Just so! The police are rather interested in you now."

"Don't let it give you ideas," said Dalroi. "I cut the phone wires before I entered. I don't exactly have a trusting nature. Kindly keep your hands where I can see them."

"As you wish." Gormalu leaned back into the shadows until only the thin, clawlike hands remained visible, resting on the table. "Now tell me what you want."

"I want information on Failway: what it is in a physical sense, where are the extra-spatial extensions, and what are its most vulnerable mechanisms?"

Gormalu was amused. "If you had a degree in about eight subjects and an I.Q. of about one hundred and eighty you could probably understand the answer in about five years."

"Perhaps!" said Dalroi. "But you know exactly what I need."

"Very well! I shall confine myself to words of one syllable. That you will still be ignorant when I have finished is entirely your affair."

"I'll take the risk."

"Do you know anything about the nP energy values for atomic nuclei? Perhaps not. Advanced neutrino study is not exactly popular science. Suffice it to say that all the atomic nP values for a given s.p.a.ce-time lattice fall within a certain spectrum of energy levels. Can you comprehend that?"

"No," said Dalroi, "but don't let that stop you."

"Well, it is the coincidence of the nP value in a given atom with respect to another which places the two in the same s.p.a.ce-time lattice. This correspondence is called actuality. If the values are too far apart the coincidence breaks down, and, viewed from the standpoint of one atom, the other can be proven not to exist."

"Yet it does still exist?"

"Certainly, in its own lattice or continuum. And as for atoms so for compounds and aggregates. The nP values are bunched in period steps, one step of the series being held by the atoms of this universe in which we now stand. Failway is based on the principle that atoms and thus matter, may be transposed from one energy level to another."

Dalroi nodded. "You mean from one universe to the next."

"No! Universe is too limited a term to apply to the status of an energy level. Some are simply theoretical planes. Two that we know of are five-dimensional abstractions, one is a straight line, and one is a small sphere containing nothing within and the inverse of nothing outside it, or vice-versa according to your mathematical standpoint.""All right," he said. "Let's concentrate on the levels that Failway use."

"Of an infinite series of levels," Gormalu said, "technology limits us to thirty-eight, of which the Failway apparatus can reach about twenty. Of this twenty they can populate only six, all rational planes or the internal surfaces of major spheres."

"Six," said Dalroi musingly. "I had always heard it was five - five places of pleasure starting with the prissy and descending in conscience as they increase in viciousness. I wonder what h.e.l.ls the sixth one contains."

"What terrible depths inhabit the human mind?" asked Gormalu. "Are you so afraid of shadows?"

"No," said Dalroi. "I was born in the shadows. I knew more about vice and viciousness at seven than most men comprehend at seventy. That sort of childhood leaves some rather ugly scars. I just don't want it to become a national characteristic"

"It never occurred to me that you were a humanitarian."

Dalroi ignored the sarcasm and moved the solitary lamp until the tired illumination fell full on the doctor's face, wishing the man had eyes to betray his moods. The dark gla.s.ses, forever turned precisely in his direction, radiated something more than sightlessness; something malignant - as if his very soul itself were dark, unfeeling gla.s.s.

"You give me the creeps," said Dalroi.

Gormalu's chin jutted forward with a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt. "What else did you wish to know about Failway?"

"Critical points for sabotage."

"Of course! The application of brute strength to problems of technical delicacy."

"I didn't ask you to approve my methods."

"But I like your methods. They have a crude simplicity which is rather refreshing in this complicated world. It's just that the destruction of any form of technology is repugnant to me."

"I feel the same way about the destruction of men," said Dalroi sourly.

"Very well, discounting ancillary equipment, most of which is duplicated, the key to Failway is the field matrix tuner. That is the device which controls the destination of the capsule when it leaves the potential gradient. Smash it, and n.o.body can enter or leave the outworld levels until it's repaired and re-calibrated; alter the settings and a capsule in transit would get lost somewhere between here and infinity."

"If I smash the tuner what would happen to people already on an outworld level?"

"They'd die." Gormalu pushed his chair back into the shadows as though the dim light burning pained his sightless eyes. "The levels are entirely dependent on supplies from Failway Terminal. Considering that it takes sixteen weeks to calibrate a new matrix tuner and there might be a visiting population of four million, you can sense the scale of the catastrophe that your interference would invoke. Let's face it, Dalroi, you're out of your cla.s.s when it comes to immobilising Failway. It's a task calling for a finesse you are never likely to acquire. Stick to murder and petty larceny."

"One more question," said Dalroi slowly. "What unholy gifts do Failway offer you in return for suchpoisonous allegiance?"

For the first time the death's-head was overtaken by the white cast of fear.

"Blast you, Dalroi! That's one question more than you're allowed."

"Is that why you had Dever killed?"

"I didn't. It was - somebody else."