Transit

THREE

He awoke with the feeling that he was not really waking at all, that he was merely re-entering a dream within a dream. But, he asked himself, what was the original dream? Answer: Kensington Gardens, London, teaching, the monotony of years without meaning. This dream at least was more vivid. It had an element of the absurd that was beginning to appeal to him.

He got up and inspected the cell. The remains of the meal had been cleared away, the contents of the trunk had been re-packed, and the trunk itself was back under his bed! There was one small change, however. His toilet things had been placed by the wash-stand. He decided there might be some virtue in freshening himself up.

Having used the lavatory with some relief and the oblique satisfaction of performing such simple animal' functions, he stripped to the waist, gave himself a thorough wash in very hot water and shaved. After that, he felt ready for anything. More or less.

The packet of cigarettes he had opened was lying on the table. An ash-tray had been provided. He reached for the packet, took a cigarette, lit it and inhaled deeply. He began to think back.

But thinking back didn’t seem to provide any useful information. He was at a loss. Eventually he seated himself beside the conversational typewriter, determined to get something out of it.

Question: How long have I been here?

Response: No comment.

Question: Who the hell are you?

Response: No comment.

Statement: I think you are mad.

Response: No comment.

Statement: I don’t really believe you exist.

Response: No comment. A series of questions has been prepared, to which it is hoped you will provide written answers. If you do, you will be rewarded.

Statement: To hell with your questions! I want a pot of tea. No food, just a pot of tea.

Response: It will be provided. Do you take sugar and milk?

Statement: Both.

Avery began to pace about restlessly. The joke—if it was a joke—or the dream—if it was a dream—was getting just a shade too elaborate. He glanced at his watch, then he held it to his ear. It had stopped, of course. He felt totally disorientated. He might have been in the cell hours or days. He had no means of knowing.

He was about to ask what he knew was another ‘no comment’ question when the serving hatch opened. In the recess was a tray with a pot of tea, cup, saucer and spoon, milk and sugar. There was also a small sheaf of quarto sheets of paper and a pencil.

Avery took the tray to the table, sat down, poured himself a cup of tea and studied the papers. He snorted with disgust. He had seen papers like that before—hundreds of them. They contained fifty questions relating to number manipulation, spatial relationships, pattern recognition and verbal facility.

Suddenly, he was amused. It seemed poetic justice that, after so many years of inflicting them upon children, he should be faced with an intelligence test himself.

Do not agitate yourself, said the instructions at the top of the first sheet. These questions are designed only to provide information. Your performance will not affect your future adversely or otherwise. Answer each question as quickly as possible. Do not return to any question you have failed to answer. Your co-operation will be appreciated.

Do not agitate yourself! Avery laughed aloud. It sounded like some phrase from a foreign language smatter-book. Your co-operation will be appreciated! The devil it will, he thought cynically.

Then he remembered the bit about being rewarded, and wondered curiously what kind of reward they could possibly have in mind. The only worthwhile reward he could have would be freedom—but he was oddly sure that freedom was not even a remote possibility.

‘Humour the bastards,’ he told himself. ‘Play it their way and see what happens. After all, there isn’t much else to do.’ He picked up the pencil.

Then he put it down again. First of all there was the small matter of providing himself with a time reference. He wound up his watch, set the fingers arbitrarily at twelve o’clock, silently declared the existence of midday on Day One (he had to begin somewhere) and at the same time resolved that he would create a time-sheet/ calendar by making a mark on a piece of paper for every twelve hours that passed. There was writing paper in the trunk. As soon as he had finished the fool intelligence test that was what he would do. It might not be a bad idea if he kept a diary as well. Just in case he was in for a rather long stay.

Avery sighed and picked up the pencil once more. He looked at the first problem. Routine stuff. A number sequence. 5 8 12 17. He wrote down 23 in the space provided for the answer.

He did the first ten in about three minutes. Then he began to slow down.

Mingled with the increasing difficulty of the routine stuff were one or two that struck him as odd.

Sex is to Life as Fire is to: Furnace, Forest, Fluid, Fulfilment, Flame.

After some hesitation, he wrote: Furnace.

Then again, a little later.

Mountain is to Hill as Man is to: Ape, Woman, Child, Foetus.

He wrote: Ape.

And then, after half a dozen more conventional problems, another joker.

Power is to Wisdom as Religion is to: Devil, Hope, God, Salvation, Love.

God seemed to be the answer to that one.

There were several mathematical and pattern problems that Avery could not solve—or, at least, that he was not prepared to give the time and energy to solve—and he skipped them as instructed. Altogether, it took him a little over three-quarters of an hour to work through the questions. At the end of which he found that he had attempted to solve thirty-three of the problems—more or less satisfactory, he thought.

But the last one was the most intriguing of all. It was divided into three parts.

(a) If you were the Supreme Being, it said, would you endow living things with infinite potential or would you set a limit upon their evolution?

(b) If you were the Supreme Being, do you think you would understand the meaning of death?

(c) If you were the Supreme Being, would you care more for the death of a virus or the birth of a galaxy?

Avery wrote: (a) endow with infinite potential, (b) no, (c) the death of a virus.

And when he had put his pencil down, he came to the conclusion that the joke was very subtle. Very subtle indeed.

He lit another cigarette, then went to the talkative typewriter and punched out: The monkey has earned its banana, gents. Test completed, IQ lamentable. I now claime the priceless reward.

Back came the response: Please return the test papers and tray to the recess.

Suppose I don’t?

You will be anaesthetized while they are collected. In that case it is recommended that you adopt a comfortable posture.

Goons! tapped Avery. He put the tea things back on the tray, childishly screwed the question papers into a tight ball and placed them in the recess. The panel closed.

Then he sat on the bed waiting for something to happen.

Nothing happened for about ten minutes.

Then suddenly, almost instantaneously, one metal wall of his cell disappeared, revealing another cell exactly like his own. Except for one thing.

This one contained a woman.