The Devastators

chapter TWENTY-ONE

I woke up in a cage, like a rat. I mean, the mesh was bigger and the wire was stronger, but it was a cage just the same. I was lying on a kind of sagging chain-link shelf crimped into one side of it, about eighteen inches off the stone floor. There was no mattress, no blanket, and no other furniture except a unit of basic plumbing, quite primitive, in the back corner. The place stunk of insect spray and strong disinfectant, that was not, however, strong enough to cover up various other odors reminiscent of a public john. I seemed to be wearing a suit of crude white cotton pajamas and nothing else.

I managed to get this much information without using anything but my eyes and nose. I stirred cautiously, to give anybody hanging around plenty of warning that I intended to wake up. It seemed unlikely that surprise could gain me anything except a crack with a gun-butt, and the back of my neck was quite tender enough already.

I sat up unmolested, and found that I had the cage or cell to myself. There were others, however, down both sides of the long, narrow hail carved out of the rock. The next cage down the line on this side was empty. There was a woman, judging by the hair, asleep in the one beyond. The hair was gray and frizzy and unfamiliar. Elsewhere, a few faces were turned my way incuriously. I knew none of them.

I decided that I was in the observation ward, the door of which Madame Ling had pointed out to me, the one with the guard. It looked pretty much like the animal room she'd shown me, except that the cages were larger, the specimens wore a certain amount of rudimentary clothing, and there were no fancy gadgets for opening the doors.

"Feeling better, old chap?"

I looked around. In the next cage toward the door- the last one that way-stood Sir Leslie Alastair Crowe-Barham, watching me through the strong wire mesh. He was wearing pajamas, too, and a pair of cheap rubber thong sandals. Looking down, I found a similar pair under my cot. I put my feet into them and stood up; rubbing my aching neck. I felt pretty groggy-not surprising, considering that I'd been rendered unconscious in two different ways within the space of an hour or two.

"I'll live," I said.

"Fortunate man," said Les. "To be so certain."

I grinned at him weakly. "Well, let's say I'll live until somebody decides otherwise. I gather they're shooting me full of their high-powered culture soon, after which it's up to Lady Luck. But, hell, sixty-forty is better odds than you often get in this racket, or so I keep trying to tell myself. Besides, I…" I glanced around. "Is it safe to talk?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "There is nothing elaborate about this place. No microphones or closed-circuit television. They just pop their heads in now and then to see if we're behaving ourselves; and they have a full-scale inspection twice a day to check us for symptoms and drag out the positives-that is, the ones who have developed the disease."

I suppose I should have shown a friendly curiosity about the hair-raising adventures he'd undoubtedly been through since we'd parted company in London, but the fact that he was here spoke for itself. The details weren't important. He didn't seem to be particularly interested in my harrowing experiences, either.

"What happens to the so-called positives?" I asked.

"For a while, I'm told, they were kept in another ward below, but that experiment has been discontinued. Madame Ling apparently decided she didn't have the time, facilities, or personnel to follow each case to its gruesome conclusion. Now, I understand, the positives are simply disposed of at sea."

"Tidy," I said. "I suppose you've checked the locks and studied the guard routine and all that jazz."

"Certainly. There is not much else to do here. I have found no tempting weaknesses. I'm told that one man managed to escape some time ago-one of your people- but he got away from the burial squad somehow after being taken out of here as a positive. My considered opinion, old chap, is that without outside help escape from in here is not really feasible." He moved his shoulders ruefully. "Perhaps I was a little hasty in allowing myself to be captured so easily in London. I'm rather good at escaping, don't you know? It has been a specialty of mine. I had a notion that if I allowed myself to be brought into this place…" He sighed. "Ah, pride."

I said, "Well, that makes two of us. I had kind of the same notion. However, I had a chance to use a little psychology on McRow while he was sticking me full of his number-one-goop. Give him a few hours to think it over, and he may be open to a proposition when he comes in to give me shot number two. Anyway, it's a hope. What's the time now?"

"I can't really 'tell you, old fellow. There are no timepieces in here. However, you were unconscious for over an hour. You had me quite worried."

"That long?" The various injections must have combined with the blow to keep me under longer than normal. "Well, that still gives us a while to wait. Of course, if we miss here, we may have a chance on their damn ship or submarine."

"That will be too late, I'm afraid," Les said.

I glanced at him. "You've figured it, too? I don't think there's much doubt she'll turn one batch of infected animals loose when she leaves here, but at least we may be able to keep her from distributing the rest. And this is a pretty deserted stretch of coast, and if we can get the warning out in a reasonable time, your people may still be able to seal off the area and exterminate the lousy little plague-carrying beasts before they get clear away. There are some pretty potent and penetrating war gases nowadays. I guess they'll work on rats."

"Yes," he said quietly, "but that is not exactly what I meant, old boy. You may have noted that I am standing well away from you, and that I have not offered to shake your hand in greeting, or even as many fingers as we might get through the wire."

I looked at him for a moment. His long horse face seemed the same as usual, except for a few days' growth of beard. I drew a long breath.

"You're sure, amigo?"

"Quite sure. I managed to conceal the symptoms at the morning inspection, but they'll be bound to notice them when they're sorting us out this afternoon. Rather nasty-looking swellings, don't you know? So I will be no help to you on the vessel, whatever it may be. I will not be there. They are taking only negatives on board. Anything you accomplish with my help will have to be done before embarkation."

There were no helpful comments I could make. At least I couldn't think of any. I said, "Well, we'll just have to hope that I threw a big enough scare into McRow. After all, the man's searching for Utopia, not Armageddon. After thinking it over, he may well be ready for a deal."

"It's a weak reed. I wouldn't count on it too much, old chap.." After a moment, Les said in a different tone: "You look pretty rocky. If you want to sleep some more, I'll watch, for whatever good it will do. Should the gates to freedom spring open miraculously, I promise to awaken you."

I hesitated, but I was still feeling half-doped and shaky; and I was going to need a very clear head when the time came, if it came. I lay down on the metal shelf again. Before I dozed off, I lay for a while listening to the stirrings and whisperings of the occupants of the other cages. I heard the slap of Crowe-Barham's rubber sandals as he paced thoughtfully back and forth along the narrow space beside his berth. Well, that was the way the virus wiggled. I might be doing a little similar pacing in a day or two, with similar thoughts for company, if I lived that long.

I woke abruptly, with Les's voice in my ear, "Time to rise, old boy."

As I sat up, I heard the sound of a key in the lock, and of voices outside the hall door, speaking a language I did not understand.

I said, "Give me a rundown, quick. What's the procedure?"

"The guard makes a preliminary inspection. You stand at the back of your cell if you don't want trouble. Then the guard backs off with his machine-pistol ready and the medical gent comes in and examines one prisoner at a time, usually starting with me. However, in this case, since there is an injection to be given, he may do you first. There is never more than one cell open at any time, and the guard is quite alert… Oh, just one thing more. This medical chap of whom I spoke. It will not be Dr. McRow."

I glanced at him sharply. "But-"

"Dr. McRow is not expendable, old fellow. He is therefore not permitted in here. Some patient might seize him and try to use him for a shield or a hostage. The work is therefore done by a young technician. The guard has orders to shoot instantly in case of trouble; to cut down the rebellious prisoner on the spot, even if it means killing the technician as well. It happened once when I first arrived. The guard did not hesitate. He used the full clip, like a man putting out a fire with a hose, regardless of what might get wet. The final score was one technician and four prisoners. No one has attempted resistance since. I mean, the way those 7.63 bullets ricocheted in here was rather unnerving, don't you know?"

"But why didn't you tell me-"

"My dear fellow, why should I spoil your happy, hopeful dreams? Shhh. On your feet, here he comes. Back in the cell. No more talking."

The door opened. There was a kind of unanimous rustle as the prisoners took up their positions. A short, broad-faced, slant-eyed man with a submachine gun stepped inside, ran his gaze down the rows of cells, and then came down the line, checking each lock carefully. When he had worked his way clear around the ward, he spoke to someone outside. A man in a white coat entered.

He was a slender Chinese youth with big hornrimmed glasses, definitely not McRow. He carried a stainless-steel tray like the one McRow had used in Madame Ling's office. He paused inside the door, looked down at something on the tray, and looked at the door of my cage, apparently checking a number. Then he came inside to set his tray on my cot. The guard backed off, holding his machine pistol ready.

"Bare your left arm, if you please," said the young technician politely, in good English.

I pulled up the loose pajama sleeve and offered him the arm. Helm, the human pincushion. He went through the cotton-and-alcohol routine. I didn't watch the final operation.. if he wanted to think I simply couldn't bear to look at needles going into my flesh-after all, strong men have fainted at the sight-that was fine.

Actually, I was trying not to watch the muddy, swaying apparition that had materialized in the hall doorway behind the guard. It had a dirty chiffon scarf in its hands, twisted to form the old thuggee noose.