“That’s lucky for him,” said Stormgren, still somewhat aggrieved. “And by the way, have you had any word yet from your superiors-about showing yourself to us? I’m sure now
40
that it’s the strongest argument your enemies have. Again and
again they told me: ‘We’ll never trust the Overlords until we
can see them.’”
Kardilen sighed.
“No. I’ve heard nothing. But I know what the answer must be.”
Stormgren did not press the matter. Once he might have done so, but now for the first time the faint shadow of a plan was beginning to take shape in his mind. The words of his interrogator passed again through his memory. Yes, perhaps instruments could be devised….
What he had refused to do under duress, he might yet attempt of his own free wilL
4
IT would never have occurred to Stormgren, even a few days before, that he could seriously have considered the action he was plnnning now. This ridiculously melodramatic kidnapping, which in retrospect seemed like a third-rate TV drama, probably had a great deal to do with his new outlook. It was the first time in his life that Stormgren had ever been exposed to violent physical action, as opposed to the verbal battles of the conference room. The virus must have entered his bloodstream: or else he was merely approaching second childhood more quickly than he had supposed.
Sheer curiosity was also a powerful motive, and so was a determination to get his own back for the trick that had been played upon him. It was perfectly obvious now that Karellen had used him as a bait, and even if this had been for the best of reasons, Stormgren did not feel inclined to forgive the Supervisor at once.
Pierre Duval showed no surprise when Stormgren walked unannounced into his office. They were old friends and there was nothing unusual in the Secretary-General paying a personal visit to the Chief of the Science Bureau. Certainly Karellen would not think it odd, if by any chance he-or one of his underlings-turned his instruments of surveillance upon this spot.
For a while the two men talked business and exchanged
41
political gossip; then, rather hesitantly, Stormgren came to the point. As his visitor talked, the old Frenchman leaned back in his chair and his eyebrows rose steadily, millimetre by millimetre, until they were almost entangled in his forelock. Once or twice he seemed about to speak, but each time thought better of it.
When Stormgren had finished, the scientist looked nervously around the room.
“Do you think he’s listening?” he said.
“I don’t believe he can. He’s got what he calls a tracer on me, for my protection. But it doesn’t work underground, which is one reason why I came down to this dungeon of yours. It’s supposed to be shielded from all forms of radiation, isn’t it? Karellen’s no magician. He knows where I am, but that’s all.”
“I hope you’re right. Apart from that, won’t there be trouble when he discovers what you’re trying to do? Because he will, you know.”
“I’ll take that risk. Besides, we understand each other rather well.”
The physicist toyed with his pencil and stared into space for a while.
“It’s a very pretty problem. I like it,” he said simply. Then he dived into a drawer and produced an enormous writing-pad, quite the biggest that Stormgren had ever seen.
“Right,” he began, scribbling furiously in what seemed to be some private shorthand. “Let me make sure I have all the facts. Tell me everything you can about the room in which you have your interviews. Don’t omit any derail, however trivial it seems.”
“There isn’t much to describe. It’s made of metal, and is about eight metres square and four high. The vision screen is about a metre on a side and there’s a desk immediately beneath it-here, it will be quicker if I draw it for you.”
Rapidly Stormgren sketched the little room he knew so well, and pushed the drawing over to DuvaL As he did so, he recalled, with a slight shiver, the last time he had done this sort of thing. He wondered what had happened to the blind Welsh-man and his confederates, and how they had reacted to his abrupt departure.
The Frenchman studied the drawing with a puckered brow.
“And that’s all you can tell me?”
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Duval snorted in disgust.
“What about lighting? Do you sit in total darkness? And how about ventilation, heating…
Stormgren smiled at the characteristic outburst.
“The whole ceiling is luminous, and as far as I can tell the air comes through the speaker grille. I don’t know how it leaves; perhaps the stream reverses at intervals, but I haven’t noticed it. There’s no sign of any heater, but the room is always at normal temperature.”
“Meaning, I suppose, that the water vapour has frozen out, but not the carbon dioxide.”
Stormgren did his best to smile at the well-worn joke.
“I think I’ve told you everything,” he concluded. “As for the machine that takes me up to Kardllen’s ship, the room in which I travel is as featureless as an elevator cage. Apart from he couch and table, it might very well be one.”
There was silence for several minutes while the physicist embroidered his writing-pad with meticulous and microscopic doodles. As he watched, Stormgren wondered why it was that a man like Duval-whose mind was incomparably more brilliant than his own-had never made a greater mark in the world of science. He remembered an unkind and probably inaccurate comment of a friend in the U.S. State Department. “The French produce the best second-raters in the world.” Duval was the sort of man who supported that statement.
The physicist nodded to himself in satisfaction, leaned forward and pointed his pencil at Stormgren.
“What makes you think, Rikki,” he asked, “that Karellen’s vision-screen, as you call it, really is what it pretends to be?”
“I’ve always taken it for granted: it looks exactly like one. What else would it be, anyway?”
“When you say that it looks like a vision-screen, you mean, don’t you, that it looks like one of ours?”
“Of course.”
“I find that suspicious in itself. I’m sure the Overlord’s own apparatus won’t use anything so crude as an actual physical screen-they’ll probably materialize images directly in space. But why should Karellen bother to use a TV system, anyway?
The simplest solution is always best. Doesn’t it seem far more probable that your ‘vision-screen’ is really ?wtluizg mon cornplico4ed than a sheet of one-way glass?”
43
Stormgren was so annoyed with himself that for a moment
h~ sat in silence, retracing the past. From the beginning, he j~id never challenged Rardllen’s story-yet now he came to
look back, when had th~ Supervisor ever told him that he was using a TV system? He had simply taken it for granted: the
whole thing had been a piece of psychological trickery, and he
had been completely deceived. Always assuming, of course, that Duval’s theory was correct. But he was jumping to conclusions again: no one had proved anything yet.
“If you’re right,” he said, “all I have to do is to smash the glass-”
Duval sighed.
“These unscientific laymen! Do you think it’ll be made of anything you could smash without explosives? And if you succeeded, do you im~agine that Karellen is likely to breathe the same air that we do? Won’t it be nice for both of you if he flourishes in an atmosphere of chlorine?”
Storrogren felt a little foolish. He should have thought of that.
“Well, what do you suggest?” he asked with some exasperation.
“I want to think it over. First of all we’ve got to find if my theory is correct, and if so learn something about the material of that screen. I’ll put a couple of my men on the job. By the way, I suppose you carry a brief-case when you visit the Supervisor? Is it the one you’ve got there?”
“Yes.”
“It should be big enough. We don’t want to attract attention by changing it for another, particularly if Karellen’s grown used to it.”
‘What do you want me to do?” asked Stormgren. “Carry a concealed X-ray set?”
The physicist grinned.
“I don’t know yet, but we’ll think of something. I’ll let you know what it is in a fortnight’s time.”
He gave a little laugh.
“Do you know what all this reminds me of?”
“Yes,” said Stormgren promptly, “the time you were building illegal radio sets during the German occupation.”
Duval looked disappointed.
“Well, I suppose I have mentioned that once or twice before. But there’s one other thiug-”
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“What’s that?”
“When you are caught, I didn’t know what you wanted the gear for.”
“What, after all the fuss you once made about the scientist’s social responsibility for his inventions? Really, Pierre, I’m ashamed of you!”
Stormgren laid down the thick folder of typescript with a sigh of relief.
“Thank heavens that’s settled at last,” he said. “It’s strange to think that these few hundred pages hold the future of mankind. The World State! I never thought I would see it in my lifetime!”