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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..750a0c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60362 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60362) diff --git a/old/60362-h.zip b/old/60362-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ac87de9..0000000 --- a/old/60362-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/60362-h/60362-h.htm b/old/60362-h/60362-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d08e6bc..0000000 --- a/old/60362-h/60362-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1761 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=us-ascii" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Dark Windows, by Bryce Walton. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; font-weight: bold; } -.ph1 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dark Windows, by Bryce Walton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Dark Windows - -Author: Bryce Walton - -Release Date: September 26, 2019 [EBook #60362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARK WINDOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="345" height="500" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>DARK WINDOWS</h1> - -<h2>BY BRYCE WALTON</h2> - -<p class="ph1"><i>Sooner or later it would happen, and<br /> -after that he wouldn't ever have to<br /> -worry again. He'd be dead, or worse,<br /> -one of the silent living dead.</i></p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1957.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I was suddenly wide awake and listening. A gray light the color of -wet charcoal lay over the chilled room. There it was again. Plain and -sharp through the thin wall separating my room from that of old man -Donnicker, the shoe-maker.</p> - -<p>Maybe he was sick. No, that wasn't it. Another muted cry of pain, then -a choking sound, and the unmistakable thud of a falling body. An odd -whirring sound clicked off. Then a voice said, "Grab the verminous legs -of this subversive, Marty. Let's get him in the wagon."</p> - -<p>"You gave him too much bip. He looks deader than Einstein."</p> - -<p>"I said grab his legs."</p> - -<p>A door shut. I went to the window. I was shivering in the morning -chill. A black car moved away down the broken pavement. It swerved to -miss a large mudhole in the middle of the street and an old woman with -burlap wrapped around her feet didn't move fast enough. She flew across -the sidewalk like a ragged dummy and lay in a heap.</p> - -<p>Goodbye, Donnicker. I had seen the black car before. Donnicker was -dead. But it didn't bother me. I never had anything to do with -neighbors, anybody I didn't know had a top clearance. I was clear and -intended to stay that way.</p> - -<p>You just never knew. Donnicker had seemed like a true patriot. My -carefully distant and casual observations of him had led me to believe -he was as happily stupid as I was. But he had been hiding something.</p> - -<p>I turned from the window and started the day's routine that had been -the same for as long as I could remember. I warmed up some mush on -the gas burner. At seven, as always, the Tevee warmed up, and Miss -Info with the lacquered lips smiled at me. "... and so don't worry, -citizens. The past is dead. The future is assured, and tomorrow will -only be another today. And today we are safe and care-free."</p> - -<p>Amen. She said it every morning, but it was nice hearing it again. -Then the news came on. There was a pile of junked tractors, trucks -and harvesting machines, smashed and rusting. Then a line of farmers -working with hoes and hand-guided ploughs drawn by horses.</p> - -<p>"Machines took away sacred routine work from citizens. Eggheads built -the machines to disrupt and spread the disease of reason. We are now -replacing machines at the rate of a million a week. Soon, all of us -will again be united in the happy harmonious brotherhood of labor. And -when you see a rusting machine, what you are seeing is another captured -Egghead, frothing and fuming in its cage...."</p> - -<p>At a quarter to eight I walked ten blocks to work. There were the -usual hectic early morning traffic jams. Wagon-loads of produce and -half-starved horses blocking the streets. The same man was beating a -nag with a board. A wagon piled with fruit and vegetables was stuck in -a pot hole in the pavement. Two men were carrying a spinning wheel into -the front of an apartment building. A peddler was selling oil lanterns, -wicks and kerosene out of a barrel. The same women and boys in dirty -sheepskin jackets were hauling rickshaws.</p> - -<p>I really didn't see anyone or speak to anyone. I didn't know anyone. I -knew I was safe and had nothing to worry about. Once a week I used up -my GI liquor chit at a bar with a Security seal on the window. Twice -a week, I slept over at a GI brothel, where every girl had a Security -clearance number tattoed on her thigh.</p> - -<p>I had nothing to worry about.</p> - -<p>I was passed through three gates by guards and went to my little cage -inside Pentagon Circle, local headquarters of the Department of -Internal Security.</p> - -<p>Until that Tuesday morning I couldn't remember ever having done -anything but sort colored cards. My chief qualification for my job: -I wasn't color blind. When a green card with figures on it meaning -nothing to me came out of a slot in the wall, I pushed it into a green -slot that led somewhere into a filing department. When a red card came -out, I pushed it into a red slot, and so forth. There were cards of -fifteen colors.</p> - -<p>Another qualification: my unconscious efficiency. I never had even a -hint of an abstract thought. I never remembered yesterday, let alone -the day before. And until that Tuesday morning I never made even a tiny -mistake.</p> - -<p>I had no idea what I was doing. Nor was I at all curious. Curiosity was -highly suspect. Curiosity was dangerous in the best of all possible -worlds. It was ridiculous in a state where people had never had it so -good.</p> - -<p>Cards sped from my hands always into correct slots. Care-free hours -slipped painlessly by into the dead past. I was sure I was safe and not -thinking at all. I was a blessed blank. And then all at once—</p> - -<p>"<i>The eyes are the windows of the soul.</i>"</p> - -<p>The thought meant nothing to me, except it was wrong, it didn't belong -in the routine. The routine flew to pieces. My efficiency blew up. -I felt like a shiny bottle in a row of bottles with a sudden crack -running down the middle. Red cards hit blue slots. Green cards hit -yellow slots. Cards piled up, spilled over the floor. The more I tried -to return to my efficiency, the worse everything was.</p> - -<p>My suit was wet with sweat. I thought of Mr. Donnicker. If a man's -routine broke, it could only be because some inner guilt was disrupting -his harmony. A happy person is an efficient person. Inefficiency is the -symptom of a guilty conscience.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Fredricks," a voice whispered. "You're replaced here."</p> - -<p>A cold paralysis gripped me.</p> - -<p>"Get up, Fred."</p> - -<p>I jumped out of my chair. A thin, stooped little man in a cheap gray -suit and dull eyes took my place. In no time at all he had straightened -out my mess. Cards were blurs moving into the right slots.</p> - -<p>A wide, fattish man in a wrinkled dark suit was watching me out of -curiously shining eyes. He carried a black briefcase. I had seen the -black briefcases before. Special Police Agent.</p> - -<p>He opened the door of my cage and motioned for me to go out ahead of -him. "Say goodbye to all this, Fred."</p> - -<p>I felt the smile on my wet face as I nodded and tried to feel grateful -while at the same time trying to suppress the flood of fear coming up -through me and turning to sickness in my throat.</p> - -<p>I simply couldn't be afraid. I had nothing to hide. And if I was hiding -something inside me I didn't know about, I should feel glad to have it -detected and get it all cleaned out.</p> - -<p>"My name is John Mesner," he said as we walked down the corridor. I -couldn't say anything. I felt like a string someone was beginning to -saw on with a rusty knife.</p> - -<p>Mesner's office somewhere upstairs was a dingy room with a dusty desk -and a couple of chairs. The walls were made of cracked concrete lined -with dusty filing cabinets. The window was so soiled I could barely see -the shadows of bars through the panes.</p> - -<p>Mesner sat down, put his feet on the desk. He took an apple out of his -desk drawer and started peeling it slowly with a small penknife.</p> - -<p>"You scared, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"Of course not."</p> - -<p>He smiled, held out a long ribbon of apple peel and dropped it on the -floor. "You're scared, Fred."</p> - -<p>I put my Personology Card on his desk right in front of him. "I just -had a quarterly brain-check a week ago. There it is."</p> - -<p>I stopped myself somehow from yelling out wildly as he stabbed the card -with his penknife, then tore it in little pieces and dropped them on -the floor.</p> - -<p>"You've got nothing to be afraid of, Fred. But it'll probably take you -a while to realize it." He went on peeling the apple. He had thick -hands, stubby fingers, and the nails were dirty. He had a round pale -face, a receding chin, thinning hair, and an absurd little red cupid -bow mouth.</p> - -<p>I tried not to hear the moaning sound that seemed to come from the -other side of a door to Mesner's right. He got up, went to the door, -opened it. "Shut that guy up," he said. He shut the door and sat down -again. He sliced off a bite of apple and pushed it into his mouth.</p> - -<p>"To make it short, Fred. I've investigated you thoroughly. And I can -use you here in SPA. You're being transferred."</p> - -<p>My throat was constricted. I leaned against the desk. "I don't -understand, sir. I don't know anything about Police Work. I'm only a -clerk, a card-sorter. I don't have any qualifications. And you can -see—my card."</p> - -<p>"A couple of field-trips with me, Fred, and you'll be a veteran."</p> - -<p>"But why me?"</p> - -<p>"You're already in the Security Department for one thing. That makes it -convenient. Also, your Intelligence Quotient."</p> - -<p>"It's a low eighty," I said. "That's the average. I'm well below -normal, and this brain-check showed I was lower this time than the -last. So how could my IQ make any difference?"</p> - -<p>"Curiosity killed the cat, Fred."</p> - -<p>I managed to sit down before I fell down. It was impossible that -I should really become an agent in the SP, the most powerful and -feared organization in the state. What then was Mesner really up to? -One work error shouldn't have snagged me. I'd never been guilty of -thinking above a rudimentary and socially acceptable level. My IQ -was unquestionably low. I was little more than a moron. So why was I -frightened. Why did I feel guilty? Why was Mesner interested?</p> - -<p>Mesner stood up and dropped the apple core on the floor.</p> - -<p>"We're going on a field-trip now, Fred. Your indoctrination as an SPA -man is beginning."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mesner piloted the heliocar. Mesner said the only heliocars left in -operation belonged to SPA. He dropped it on a plot of dried grass -on the side of a forested hill in the Tennessee Mountains. Until we -got out of the heliocar, I didn't know Mesner had a gun. I couldn't -remember having heard of a gun or seen one before, but Mesner told me -all about guns. He slid the rifle out of a canvas case, checked it, -called it his favorite little field piece. Then he handed me his black -briefcase.</p> - -<p>He led the way down a narrow path. It was a quiet sunny day. Squirrels -ran between the trees. Birds hopped and sang up in the leaves.</p> - -<p>In front of a gray, dilapidated shack was a rickety wagon. Two men were -lifting a sack out of the rear of the wagon. They wore ragged overalls -and no shirts and they were both barefoot.</p> - -<p>Mesner yelled. "You. Dirksons! This is a security check."</p> - -<p>The shorter one started to run. Mesner shot him in the back of the -head. The tall man grabbed up a piece of iron with a hooked end and -started yelling as he ran toward us.</p> - -<p>"Open the briefcase," Mesner said calmly.</p> - -<p>I opened it. Mesner leaned the rifle against a tree. He knelt down, -brought a metal disc out of the briefcase attached to a wire. He turned -a dial on a bank of controls inside the case. I heard a whirring hum. -The tall hillbilly screamed. He stretched up on his toes, strained his -arms and neck at the sky, then fell twitching on his face.</p> - -<p>Mesner walked toward the hillbilly and I stumbled after him. I was -going to be sick, very sick. The sun worked like pins in my eyeballs.</p> - -<p>Mesner drew a round metal cap which he called a stroboscope from the -case, fitted it on the hillbilly's head. The metal strip had a disc -hanging down in front of the hillbilly's eyes and about two inches away.</p> - -<p>Mesner worked the dials and the flicker began blinking off and on, -faster and faster, then slower, then faster again as the hillbilly's -eyes stared into it unblinkingly. His muscles began to twitch. He beat -the ground with his flat hands. Grasshoppers jumped across his face.</p> - -<p>Mesner pointed out to me that I was watching an on-the-spot -brain-probe. The brain-prober, or bipper, as Mesner called it, was so -effective he hardly ever had to use the other items in the case such -as the psychopharmaceuticals, drugs, brain shock gadgets, extractors, -nerve stretchers and the like.</p> - -<p>Mesner sat on his haunches, worked the flicker and lit a cigarette. -"These brain-wave flickers correspond to any desired brain-wave rhythm. -You play around and you'll get the one you want. They talk. What they -don't say comes out later from the recorder. With this bipper you can -get anything out of anyone, almost. If you don't get the info you want -it's only because they don't have it. It burns them out considerably in -the process, but that's all to the good. They're erased, and won't do -any meddlesome thinking again."</p> - -<p>The hillbilly wasn't moving now as the flicker worked on his eyes and -activated desired mental responses.</p> - -<p>"Dirkson," Mesner said. "What happened to your sister, Elsa?"</p> - -<p>"Don't know. She runned away."</p> - -<p>"She was blind wasn't she? Wasn't she born blind?"</p> - -<p>I felt an icy twist in my stomach.</p> - -<p>"That's right. Borned blind as a bat."</p> - -<p>"What happened to her?"</p> - -<p>"Runned away with some river rat."</p> - -<p>"You've hidden her somewhere, Dirkson. Where?"</p> - -<p>"I ain't hid her nowhere."</p> - -<p>Mesner turned a dial. The hillbilly screamed. His body bent upward. -Blood ran out of his mouth. He was chewing his tongue. Mesner stood up -and frowned. "Guess he didn't know. If he knew he'd have told us. He's -no disguised Egghead. Just a damn collaborating, bottle-headed jerk."</p> - -<p>I went over behind some brush and was sick. The hillbilly would never -answer any more questions, I knew that much. Now he was laughing and -babbling and crawling around on his hands and knees.</p> - -<p>"It's rough at first, Fred. No matter how patriotic you are, and how -much you hate Eggheads, it's always rough at first. But you should get -used to it."</p> - -<p>"What—I mean why—?"</p> - -<p>"The Dirksons didn't show for their quarterly brain-check. You assume -they're hiding something. It turns out they're not, then you haven't -lost anything. Of course you have to burn them out a little to -question them. But better to burn one innocent bottlehead than let one -double-dome slip away." Mesner turned and looked at me. "Isn't that -right, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"Of course it's right," I said quickly. Mesner smiled at me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the way back to Washington, Mesner piloted the heliocar casually. He -leaned back, smoking cigarettes, the ashes streaming down the front of -his soiled lapels.</p> - -<p>"I think you'll work out fine in SPA, Fred."</p> - -<p>I was still sick. I had a throbbing ache in my head and sweat kept -stinging in my eyes. I nodded numbed agreement with Mesner.</p> - -<p>"I appreciate your trying to make an SPA man out of me," I finally -managed to say. "But could you have made some mistake? Gotten the wrong -file or something?"</p> - -<p>"No. Your IQ is a nice low eighty, Fred. But you're just not aware that -you have what is technically known as a quiescent IQ."</p> - -<p>"What's that?"</p> - -<p>"You're a true patriot, Fred. We both know that. So don't be scared. -You know the sick and evil danger of a high IQ and so you've put an -unconscious damper on your own intelligence. You're not really so dumb, -Fred."</p> - -<p>"But I am," I said quickly.</p> - -<p>"No, Fred. You think you are, and you look and act normally stupid -and believe me, Fred, I admire your patriotic suppression of your -intelligence, even from yourself. But a fact is a fact, and you're not -so dumb."</p> - -<p>"I'm not pretending. I'm not a a subversive—"</p> - -<p>"Easy now," Mesner said. "You're not a subversive, that's right. A -real subversive knows he's smart, is proud of it and consciously -tries to hide it from others. But you loathe your own inherent mental -ability, and you've been able to freeze its operation, conceal it even -from yourself. Now realize this, Fred. The only place we can allow -intelligence to operate is inside the Government. The Government must -have a slightly superior thinking capacity in order to run things—for -the present anyway."</p> - -<p>"But any IQ above eighty is subversive. It says in the—"</p> - -<p>"That's an ideal, a goal for the future, Fred. When the transition's -been made, when the last Egghead is captured and put away, then all of -us will be normal. We'll get ourselves bipped, and burn our excessive -intelligence down to the eighty mark. But until that time, Fred, -some of us—especially the SPA—have to keep our wits about us. An -unfortunate necessity that we pray will soon be ended."</p> - -<p>I gazed numbly out through the plastic canopy at the white clouds -streaming past. He was trying to get some admission out of me, I -thought. That was the only explanation. Working some subtle game with -me. But that was absurd on its face, because I was way below normal.</p> - -<p>"My IQ's no good for you then," I said. "I just don't see—"</p> - -<p>Mesner interrupted with an impatient laugh. "You're a hell of a lot -brighter than you let yourself admit that you are, Fred. That's all -I'm saying. You know it's a terrible thing to be smart, so you keep it -under wraps. But now you know there's nothing to be afraid of. You know -it's legal for a while longer to be smart as long as you're in SPA. Now -you can start opening up, releasing your mental capacity. Believe me, -Fred, it's for the good of the state. I know it sounds like a paradox, -but that's how it is."</p> - -<p>"How can it be good when it's such an evil thing?"</p> - -<p>"Because right now it's a necessary evil. SPA has problems, Fred. There -are still a lot of Eggheads running loose, causing trouble. And the -doubledomes still loose are the toughest ones to catch, and that's -our job. We've got to track down the old maniac physicists, chemists, -engineers, professors, psyche-boys and the like who are still working -underground. Until they're all caught Fred, we've got to live with our -own filthy brains. Because you see it takes brains to catch brains."</p> - -<p>"But I have hardly any brains at all," I insisted.</p> - -<p>"You'll see, Fred. You'll see."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Before I left his office that evening he gave me an SPA identity card. -My name and face were on it. Suddenly it seemed impossibly official. -All at once, I was one of the most feared and powerful men in the -State. Only I knew that the only one I really feared was me.</p> - -<p>That card supposedly gave me a free hand. It could take me anywhere, -even into top-secret departments in Security. With it, I was immune -to curfew laws, to all social restrictions and regulations. But when -I went for a walk that evening, I knew I was being followed. Wherever -I went, eyes watched me constantly. Shadows moved in and out of gray -doorways and dissolved around corners.</p> - -<p>After nine, after the curfew sirens howled down the emptied streets, I -walked fast toward the ancient rooming house in which I thought I had -always lived. Hundreds of silent gray women and children came out onto -the streets and began cleaning them with brooms. One by one, the gas -lights along the rubbled streets went out. I started to run through -shadows, and footsteps moved behind me.</p> - -<p>A drunken man came out of an alley and staggered down the broken -pavement where weeds grew. A black car whisked him away. But no black -car stopped for me. I saw no one with a black briefcase either. I saw -only shadows, and felt unseen eyes watching me.</p> - -<p>The old woman who had been run down by a black car still lay there -on the sidewalk. No one dared approach that corpse to get it off the -streets. No one knew who it was, or why it was dead. No one would take -any chances. One was just as suspect from associating with a guilty -corpse as a living neighbor named Donnicker.</p> - -<p>Upstairs, I saw a splotch of blood on the hall floor. This time I knew -it was Donnicker's. It reminded me of the Dirksons now. And of who -could say how many others?</p> - -<p>I lay down and took all three of tomorrow's tranquitabs. We were -allotted a month's supply of tranquitabs at a time, and we were all -compelled by law to take three a day. They knocked out worry and -anxiety usually. But now they didn't seem to do me much good. I -couldn't seem to go to sleep. This had never happened to me before.</p> - -<p>Maybe Mesner was right. Maybe I did have a high IQ but wasn't -consciously aware of it. This being true, then I <i>had</i> to be in SPA. -SPA was the only place a high IQ could be tolerated.</p> - -<p>What really bothered me the most, of course, was why I should be -worried about anything. If my IQ was useful, I ought to be glad of -it. A true patriot should be glad also to have unconscious subversive -elements detected. A true patriot would be grateful for whatever -treatment could cleanse him. What was the matter with me? Didn't I want -to be purified, cleansed? Didn't I want to be bipped a little?</p> - -<p>I didn't trust Mesner. I didn't believe he really wanted me to help -him track down Eggheads. But so what? If he was trying to find out -something about me, I ought to be glad to cooperate.</p> - -<p>Only I wasn't.</p> - -<p>I had bad dreams. I dreamed of Dirkson babbling and crawling and -smiling at me with his bloody mouth. He kept smiling and whispering to -me: "I never did know nothing, and now I'm just all burned out."</p> - -<p>I dreamed of old man Donnicker being dragged down the stairs.</p> - -<p>Then I dreamed that Mesner came in and looked down at me sleeping. A -light bulb came down from the ceiling. It turned bright, then dull, -then bright, then dull.</p> - -<p>Mesner smiled as he lit a cigarette. "That really bothered you didn't -it, Fred. Bipping the Dirkson boy."</p> - -<p>"It made me sick."</p> - -<p>I wanted to wake up. I tried my best to wake up because I felt that if -I didn't wake up now, I never would. I would die in my sleep.</p> - -<p>"Let's talk about it, Fred. I'm uneasy about it myself sometimes. I've -bipped so many of them, maybe my conscience bothers me. You think it -might bother a man's conscience, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"What do you mean, conscience?"</p> - -<p>"Maybe you think there's something immoral about bipping a man."</p> - -<p>"If the State does it, it's right," I said. "If it helps bring about -the Era of Normalcy and absolute and permanent stability, then any -method is right."</p> - -<p>Was that the correct answer? I was beginning to feel confused. -Thoughts, words all jumbling up. There was an orthodox thought and -an orthodox answer for everything. I'd learned them all. But had I -answered this one correctly?</p> - -<p>"That's right, Fred. But the old crackpot Egghead moralists used to say -that the end doesn't necessarily justify the means. They would claim -that bipping a man was wrong, and that no good results could ever come -from it. They would say that a destructive means would always create a -destructive end. Violence, they said, could only create more violence. -What do you think of that, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"That's wrong," I said. "That's confusing, double-dome stuff."</p> - -<p>"I know. But we've got to identify with Egghead thinking if we can. No -matter how repulsive it is, we've got to understand how they think if -we're going to track them down and put them away. Now think hard, Fred. -Have you ever heard a man say, 'Better that the whole world should die -than that one man's brain should be invaded against his will.'"</p> - -<p>"No, no, that's subversive," I screamed.</p> - -<p>There was more dream, more questions, more and more confused answers. I -woke up in a cold sweat. I found several electronic spy-eyes concealed -about the room. Just outside my door I saw one of Mesner's cigarette -butts. It was yellowed with spittle, twisted and pinched in the way his -always were.</p> - -<p>I didn't know if all of that night, or only part of it had been a -dream. I didn't know if Mesner had actually been questioning me in my -sleep or not. The spy-eyes could do that. But I knew Mesner had been -outside my door. Probably he had been questioning my dreams.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That day was worse than the night. Mesner had said to wait until I -heard from him, but there was no word from him that day. I tried more -tranquitabs. The hell with tomorrow's supply. They didn't help me. A -blinding headache hit me at regular intervals.</p> - -<p>What was Mesner using me for? What did he want from me? What was I -supposed to know?</p> - -<p>The Educational Tevee came on also at regular intervals.</p> - -<p>"... so if you might think, Citizens, that a machine could do your -simple work better, just remember what a terrible thing the machines -did to us during the cataclysmic age of reason. As you know, the -machines were invented to replace human labor by Eggheads who have -always tried to destroy normal, comfortable and simple ways of life. -The disease of free-thought was only possible after the machines -replaced human beings, gave us the time to develop excessive and -self-destructive thinking...."</p> - -<p>I watched the light outside my window turn a duller gray then black, -and after that an edge of white moon slid partly across the pane.</p> - -<p>Why should I care what Mesner was trying to get out of me? If it was -subversive then I should be glad to get rid of it. If I was clear and -clean, then I had nothing to worry about. Why wasn't I simply bipped -like Donnicker and Dirkson had been? Why should a true patriot care?</p> - -<p>I shivered and stared into the darkness. Something horrible had -happened to me. For the first time I realized I was entertaining -unpatriotic thoughts. I didn't want to be bipped. And I knew that when -Mesner finished with me, I would be bipped. When he found out whatever -I was supposed to know, I'd join Dirkson and the rest of them. It had -been all right, going along with the routines, as long as I actually -hadn't seen what happened to a man if he didn't.</p> - -<p>I didn't want to be erased. Whatever I was, I suddenly wanted to stay -me, guilty or not. Maybe this attitude was all that Mesner wanted to -be sure of. But I doubted it. Because a simple bipping would have -determined that.</p> - -<p>I didn't think I could stomach any more of Mesner's field-trips. On the -other hand I had to go along. It all seemed to boil down to whether I -wanted to get bipped now or later.</p> - -<p>"Bipping isn't bad at all," Mesner had said yesterday. "After you're -bipped, you can do routine work like everyone else, never worry again -about worrying. That guy who replaced you, for example. He was bipped. -He's never made a mistake for 20 years. He never will."</p> - -<p>I closed my eyes. I thought of all the happy bottleheads walking -the streets, out on the farms, doing their routine work, happy and -care-free as long as they didn't worry. Human vegetables, the erased -ones, and the terrified ones who didn't know they were even scared. -Cities full of dull-eyed ciphers, and now that I was outside it a -little, I could see them with an awful clarity.</p> - -<p>And I thought—how many are as dumb as they appear to be? How many -were just too frightened and numbed to think? How many would stay -frightened and numb so long that they would never be able to think even -if they sometime decided to try?</p> - -<p>It was easy enough to assume that too much intelligence was an evil, -a virus to be burned out. Was it better to have too little and become -like the hillbilly?</p> - -<p>Oh, Mesner had set my so-called quiescent IQ going all right. But how -far would it go before it had gone far enough for his purpose?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night I had another bad dream. Only it didn't really seem so bad -as it should have been. A blind man was talking to me. Then I dreamed -that a blind girl with a seeing-eye dog was looking at me. She was -about fifteen, maybe younger, dressed in a plain flowered dress tied -in back with a ribbon. She had a soft round face and her eyes were -wide and opaque. The girl and dog seemed to come out of a mist and -they whispered to me. It was frightening, but important, and I didn't -remember what it was.</p> - -<p>I woke up shivering. I seemed to smell wet hair, and the window was -open. I couldn't remember whether I had shut the window before I went -to sleep or not.</p> - -<p>Mesner called me early the next morning.</p> - -<p>He looked the same in his wrinkled suit with the food stains on the -lapels, and peeling an apple.</p> - -<p>"Fred, have you ever heard a phrase sounding like '... and the blind -shall lead them?'"</p> - -<p>I appeared to be trying to think about it, then said I had never heard -anything like that.</p> - -<p>"You're positive about that?"</p> - -<p>"I don't remember it."</p> - -<p>"You mean you might have, but you just can't remember it."</p> - -<p>"I didn't say that. I doubt if I ever heard such a phrase."</p> - -<p>"What about this one, '... and the blind shall see again.'"</p> - -<p>"No, I said.</p> - -<p>"You're sure?"</p> - -<p>I looked directly at him and he stopped peeling the apple. "If I'm -supposed to have such a damn high quiescent IQ, why not let me in on a -few things?"</p> - -<p>"What few things?"</p> - -<p>"These references to the blind. The Dirksons. Some blind girl named -Elsa. What are you trying to find out?"</p> - -<p>"I thought maybe you remembered something, that's all. I'm pretty much -in the dark myself. All I have are a few clues and theories."</p> - -<p>"Clues, theories, about what?"</p> - -<p>"Eggheads. Sabotage. What the crackpots could build, they can best -destroy. They're blowing up factories, manufacturing and power plants, -machines, production."</p> - -<p>"That's sabotage? I thought the whole idea in bringing about the Era of -Normalcy was to do away with all mechanization. Do everything with the -hands, like in the good old days."</p> - -<p>"That's an ultimate goal, Fred. Drudges don't think. They're happier. -But the transition has to be more gradual. The Eggheads want to take -away all mechanization at once, create chaos and anarchy. They figure -that will cause the bottleheads to revolt against the Government. We -can't catch the saboteurs. The saboteurs inside a blown-up factory, for -example, we never know who they are. We bip every worker, not a sign of -a saboteur. So whoever does the dirty work is a mindless tool of the -Egghead underground, having no memory of having committed sabotage. Who -are the couriers, the ones who make vital contact between the Egghead -underground and the saboteurs? The dumb saboteur has to get his highly -complex directives from the Eggheads. Who are the couriers?"</p> - -<p>"Why ask me?"</p> - -<p>"I know this much, Fred. Blind people are used as couriers."</p> - -<p>My knees felt weak. I couldn't say anything. All I could think about -was my dreams.</p> - -<p>"I want to show you something, Fred." Mesner led me through the other -door. A bleak concrete cubicle, no windows, a damp walled gray cell. -Two naked men lay on slabs. Stroboscopes on their heads. Behind them, -styluses recorded brain-wave patterns on moving white strips. One of -the men, the one on the left, was blind. His eyes staring up into the -flicker were opaque.</p> - -<p>"Look at those brain-wave recordings, Fred. They're getting the same -stimulus. We can give a thousand bottleheads this stimulus with the -flicker, and get identical responses. But not the blind boys. We can't -successfully bip a blind boy. The brain-waves are radically different -and we've never figured out a way of codifying them. A blind bastard's -never <i>seen</i> anything. The seeing eyes are trackers, like radar. But a -blind boy takes in reality and records it and keeps it in a different -way. We can't get at the code easily. But I'm getting it. I've bipped -plenty of blind boys and I'm getting it, Fred. The blind are used for -couriers. I know that much. For the simple reason that we can't bip -meaningful info out of their scrambled think-tanks."</p> - -<p>The naked men on the slabs moaned. One of them opened his mouth and a -bloody foam spread over his chin.</p> - -<p>"What I'm looking for now is a known courier who is also blind. Then I -can bip him, and check the info with the code I've worked out."</p> - -<p>He unbuttoned his coat and took a black hand-gun out of a holster -strapped beneath his arm. "Meanwhile, Fred, these bottleheads have had -it. They're burned out."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus.jpg" width="650" height="247" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>I heard the two sharp echoing reports as Mesner shot them in the head. -One of them beat his heels on the slab. Mesner pointed the smoking -revolver. "Even dead, the blind brain records differently. See there?"</p> - -<p>I leaned against the wall. Through a crumbled hole down in the corner -of damp concrete, I saw two red eyes and heard the rat squealing.</p> - -<p>"Let's go, Fred. We've got some important field-trips on today's -schedule. And you still have a lot to learn."</p> - -<p>We went to Chicago. We set up some hidden electronic spy-eyes in a -big apartment building. They were to be checked later for evidence of -someone there who was hiding an IQ of over a hundred.</p> - -<p>And that afternoon we ran down a renegade bio-chemist hiding in a -tenement. He had disguised himself for a number of years as a plumber. -Mesner bipped him, and an official Security heliocar came down from -Washington to take him away.</p> - -<p>When Mesner finished with the old man he was hopping around like a -monkey, making grotesque faces, giggling and yelling. Tevee cameramen -were on hand. A reporter was commenting on the capture of another, "... -insane crackpot who has been living here under an assumed name while -plotting and planning and building some diabolical machine with which -to blow up the city. Our department of Internal Security excercising -its eternal vigilance, captured him in time...."</p> - -<p>Mesner and I took the heliocar back up into a clear blue sky and headed -for Sauk City.</p> - -<p>"Do you wonder, Fred, why we just don't kill them after they're bipped?"</p> - -<p>"What could it matter?"</p> - -<p>"It doesn't to them, but to us it matters. Public likes their -scapegoats alive. More satisfying to hate live people. Public likes -to see their dragons behind bars, humiliated, treated like crackpots. -Makes a bottlehead feel good to see an Egghead dancing like a monkey. -Also prevents martyrs. Living men are never martyrs."</p> - -<p>"So why are we going to Sauk City?" I asked. I wanted to change the -subject.</p> - -<p>Mesner had information that an ex-professor from some long-extinct -University had been concealing a high IQ after having supposedly purged -himself of it years before. He was supposed to have been caught by a -brain-probing spy-eye and was reported to have an IQ of over 160.</p> - -<p>Mesner talked of such an IQ as though it was a living time-bomb that -might go off any minute and blow Sauk City and the entire State to -hell. He shot the heliocar along at 500 miles an hour. He held the -T-Bar in one hand and lit cigarettes with the other.</p> - -<p>"What upset you so much, Fred? I mean that morning when I interrupted -you sorting cards?"</p> - -<p>I felt a warning click in my head. I remembered it. <i>The eyes are the -windows of the soul.</i></p> - -<p>Mesner, I thought, couldn't look into the windows of a blind man. Could -I?</p> - -<p>It hadn't been my own thought that had disrupted my idyllic, care-free -life sorting cards. Mesner had said it to me.</p> - -<p>"Just the unexpected break in the routine," I said. You've already -explained it. My quiescent IQ is just too high to be a successful -card-sorter."</p> - -<p>"It wasn't <i>what</i> I said?"</p> - -<p>"What did you say? I've forgotten."</p> - -<p>"The eyes are the windows of the soul. But I was only quoting, Fred. -Some crackpot said that long ago."</p> - -<p>"Why probe me about blind people? I never knew any."</p> - -<p>"Ninety percent of a human being's mental activity is underground, -like most of an iceberg is under water. How much of your past can you -remember, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"Very little. The past is dead. Why should I remember it?"</p> - -<p>"Because a good intelligence depends on the past. Memory is a part -of it. Without a past, you don't have a brain. And we've got to -release our brains, Fred, for awhile. Until we can catch saboteurs and -Eggheads."</p> - -<p>"I guess I've just been a patriot too long," I said.</p> - -<p>"Remember attending Drake University ten years ago, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"Sure," I said, fast, as though it was unimportant. I was really -beginning to sweat. "I can remember if you keep prodding me. Sure, I -can. So what? I purged myself. I forgot it. Schools weren't illegal -then."</p> - -<p>"But we've got to reawaken all those past memories, Fred. Make our -brains work better, even if a lot of double-dome stuff comes up. You -remember a psyche prof named O'Hara?"</p> - -<p>I felt suddenly dizzy, sick. A wavering wheel started turning in my -head. I managed to stop it from turning so fast. "I don't remember that -at all," I said.</p> - -<p>"Then of course you wouldn't remember that he was blind?"</p> - -<p>In the darkness behind closed lids I could see patterns of light begin -to flicker and threatening whispers dug at a fogging curtain.</p> - -<p>"Don't push it, Fred. It'll come. I'm patient. If I weren't, then by -this time I would be bipped myself and safely put away."</p> - -<p>He would get it all right, I knew. Sooner or later he would tap it. -First I would tap it, then Mesner would tap it. And after that I never -would worry again. I'd never worry about remembering or forgetting -anything. I wouldn't even be me. A body with a bipped brain would walk -around doing routine work, and looking like me. But I'd be dead. I -didn't want to die that way. Genuine physical death would be all right. -But not that, not that bipping treatment.</p> - -<p>Mesner turned quickly and caught me staring at the outline of the -hand-gun under his coat. He smiled. "You want one of these, Fred?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," I said. "I don't remember enough yet. I'm not smart enough -yet."</p> - -<p>"Tell me when you're ready."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By the time we closed in on the professor in an old deserted house -on the outskirts of Sauk City, he had managed to hang himself to a -waterpipe in the basement. He wore a pair of ragged pants. He was -terribly thin and his hair was white, and his toothless mouth gaped -open and his jaws sucked in. I had never seen anyone appear so pitiful -and so harmless as that old man hanging there.</p> - -<p>We untied the rope and the body fell to the floor. Mesner took a small -disc from his case and put it over the dead man's heart, then stood up. -"He's too dead. We should have gotten here a few minutes earlier."</p> - -<p>He seemed tired as he sat down on a soggy box. His hands were dirty -with coal dust and a smudge of it was on his face.</p> - -<p>This is it, I thought. Now was as good a time for it as any, because -there wasn't any good time for it. He had all the advantage. And the -longer it went on, the greater advantage he would have. It was only a -question of time anyway, and I couldn't stand waiting.</p> - -<p>I lunged at him. I heard the faint whining sound, saw the flash and -the glint of the disc coming out of his pocket. A sudden, painless -paralysis hit me and I was helpless on my knees looking at Mesner. He -just stared at me morosely, tired, irritated a little.</p> - -<p>"You should know better, Fred. You're smart."</p> - -<p>"Go to hell," I said.</p> - -<p>He shook his head. "Not now, Fred. Nor you either. It isn't me you want -to get, Fred. You just don't want to get bipped. You ought to trust -me. I don't want to bip you, now or ever. I mean it. We need brains to -catch Eggheads and that's my job. You're valuable. Everybody getting -bipped, it isn't easy to get smart people these days."</p> - -<p>"Bip me now then, you bastard. Get it over with."</p> - -<p>"You'd better trust me. I'm being honest. Some of these other orthodox -jerks in Security, they wouldn't fool with you. They would bip you -sooner than look at you."</p> - -<p>"Why don't you?"</p> - -<p>"I've told you, for God's sake. You're a bright guy, and I'm eager to -learn. And I don't want to burn up any important info."</p> - -<p>Then I got it. Then I knew why he was keeping the bipper off me.</p> - -<p>I thought about it all the way back to Washington while Mesner fed -himself apples. I was supposed to have valuable unconscious info. -Mesner wanted it. But the old crackpots were right. The means not only -created the ends, but could destroy the ends if the means were bad -enough. You probe and pry into a man's brain deep and hard enough and -you come up with nothing. Your methods have destroyed the end. You've -burned out the truth you're trying to get.</p> - -<p>Mesner was trying to get info from me without burning it up.</p> - -<p>The bastard was trying to have his bloody cake and eat it. But the -insight didn't make my position any easier. He was going to get it some -way. His talking and hinting and probing was designed to awaken vital -memory in me, get it up into total consciousness where he could get at -it with his instruments without the danger of burning it up.</p> - -<p>Soon as he got what he wanted he would bip me. I couldn't keep him -from getting it because I didn't know what it was. I couldn't keep on -suppressing something if I didn't know what it was, and I knew that no -one can consciously suppress knowledge in himself in any case.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For two more days I didn't hear from Mesner. I indulged in feverish -and ridiculous escape fantasies. There could be no escape for me. The -educational voices from the Tevee drifted in and out.</p> - -<p>"... the greatest threat to man's happy survival is reason. Man was -never intended to go above a certain mental level and become thereby a -victim of his own imagination and complex fears. This disease of reason -has been carried to its final suicidal limit by Eggheads...."</p> - -<p>No mention of sabotage. The care-free public must not hear of such -disquieting things. All the public heard 24 hours a day was a voice -telling them about the evils of reason. The destructiveness of -overly-developed brains, and the vicious criminality of Eggheads.</p> - -<p>After listening to that long enough, and having all subversive level -IQs purged, who could believe otherwise? How many believed otherwise -now? Did I? What in hell did Mesner want to dig out of me? Who, what, -why was I?</p> - -<p>I was still a bottle. But now there were countless cracks appearing in -it.</p> - -<p>Then Mesner called, said we were going on another field-trip that next -afternoon. All right, I said. Someway or other, I knew, I would make -this my last trip with Mesner.</p> - -<p>He had located a blind man, he said, who he knew had been a courier, -a blind man definitely linked up with a recent sabotaging of a motor -parts plant somewhere in Illinois.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Mesner looked down on the shanty town from a high bluff above the -river. The river rats' shanties were built half in, half out of the -water, some of them on stilts, some of them actually consisting of -dilapidated houseboats.</p> - -<p>Mesner said river rats were worse rebs even than hillbillies. They -drifted up and down the rivers. You staged a raid and they dissolved -away into the river like rodents. Many of them skipped quarterly -brain-checks, but no one knew how many. Birth and death records weren't -kept by river rats.</p> - -<p>I walked ahead of Mesner down a winding gravel path into rotting reeds -by the river, then we followed another muddy path toward the shanties. -Frogs and insects hummed. A path of moonlight moved across the water. -A ribby hound dog slunk away from me. A ragged kid looking wilder than -the hound, ran across the path and slipped soundlessly into the muddy -water.</p> - -<p>Mesner pointed out the blind man's shack. Then he looked at me and -smiled with that absurd little cupid bow mouth. "This isn't the time -either, Fred. If you think we're not covered, you're wrong. You -couldn't run fifty feet before they burned you down."</p> - -<p>We walked nearer the loosely boarded and sagging shack.</p> - -<p>"You take the back, Fred. Just remember, better later than now. And be -careful. When these river rats get stirred up, they can cause a hell of -a row. The entire goon squad would have to move in and there would be a -mass bipping spree."</p> - -<p>Mesner crept nearer, then whispered. "No light. You can't even tell if -one of them's at home after dark. Why do they need a light? Go on, -watch the back door, Fred. And don't let this one slip by."</p> - -<p>I heard the front door crash inward. A man wearing only tattered pants -ran out. He was thin and ribby like the dog, and I could see the -moonlight shining on the opaque whiteness of his eyes.</p> - -<p>He ran directly at me. And I knew I wasn't going to try to stop him. -But I didn't know why. Then Mesner came out and fired a small gun, -smaller than the one under his coat. It wasn't the same. This was a -nerve-gun and it curled the synaptic connections between neurons.</p> - -<p>The blind man collapsed and lay like a corpse at my feet. I knelt down -and felt of him. Mesner whispered for me to drag the old man inside. I -hooked my hands under his shoulders and pulled him into the shack. It -didn't matter to me now, nor to the blind man, I thought.</p> - -<p>He hardly weighed anything. His eyes were fixed in a white silence as -Mesner shone a small flashlight into them. Then Mesner shut both doors -and pulled a ragged cloth across the single window.</p> - -<p>He opened his case. He put the stroboscope on the blind man's head. The -bluish light began to flicker over the staring opaque eyes. I saw the -nerve-gun lying on the floor beside Mesner's hand.</p> - -<p>"You're too late," I said. "He's dead. I wouldn't have dragged him in -here if I hadn't known he was dead."</p> - -<p>Mesner was breathing thickly. His fat round face was pale and shiny -with sweat. "I know he's dead. He must have gulped a fast-action poison -soon as I came in the door. Maybe even the blind boys are deciding -things are getting too hot."</p> - -<p>Mesner worked the stroboscope.</p> - -<p>"But he's dead," I said.</p> - -<p>"Brain cells are the last to die," Mesner said. "Maybe I can pick up a -little info yet."</p> - -<p>It burst out of me then as from an abscess. The bottle cracked into a -thousand fragments. I lunged at Mesner. He seemed to roll away from me, -and then he squatted there in the flickering light. He leveled the gun -at me.</p> - -<p>"So you're beginning to wake up, Fred!"</p> - -<p>Probing a dead man. Questioning the dead. Even a corpse was sacred no -longer. The vile and horrible bastards, all of them.</p> - -<p>"I don't care what happens to me," I said.</p> - -<p>"That's noble of you."</p> - -<p>"I'm going to kill you."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>"You wouldn't understand."</p> - -<p>"Maybe I wouldn't agree, but I'll understand, Fred. I know what you're -thinking. What I'm doing now is just too much. Right? The final -indignity one human being could inflict on another, right? A human mind -should be sacred, even if it's dumb. Even if it's dead. Especially if -it's dead. Right, Fred?"</p> - -<p>I started around the rickety table toward him.</p> - -<p>"Now it's set off, Fred. You're fired up now. That's what I've been -waiting for. You were planted to sabotage Security itself, Fred, and -I always knew that. Now we're going to find out all the rest of it. -Now it's squeezing out of your unconscious, and we can drain it, empty -it all out. They put a lid on your mind, Fred, and I've taken it off. -Put on the ethical pressure, put it heavy on your idealistic Egghead -morality, steam it up hot, blow the lid off. It's working, Fred."</p> - -<p>"Is it?" I said. "I don't remember anything that would do you any -good. I just know that it's wrong, the final horrible fraud. It isn't -intelligence you guys want to wipe out, Mesner. Not your own, not the -big wheels in power. It's only certain kinds of thinking, undesirable -thoughts, attitudes you don't like. Those are what you have to purge."</p> - -<p>"Right, Fred. Only the wrong kind of Eggheads. Me, hell I'm an Egghead -too. Remember the prize pupil in your psych class at Drake University, -Fred?" Mesner laughed. "That was me."</p> - -<p>"You can kill people," I said. "You can't burn a sense of what's right -or wrong out of people. That old dead blind man there has preserved -something you can't touch."</p> - -<p>"Too bad you won't be around to see how wrong you are, Fred. We can -make people whatever we damn well want them to be. Your old ethical -pals worked out the methods. We're using it for a different end."</p> - -<p>The front door squeaked. I felt a moist draft on my face, and a whisper -in my brain. A few words. I don't remember what they were. But they -were a key that opened floodgates of self-understanding and awareness. -I remembered a lot then, a lot of things and feelings that warmed me. I -had a wonderful sense of wholeness and I was no longer afraid of being -bipped, or afraid to die.</p> - -<p>There was an expression of complete triumph on Mesner's face, and -he knew what had happened to me and he wanted it, all of it, sucked -away into his briefcase. Just the same, the whisper from the doorway -distracted his attention and I went for him.</p> - -<p>In that second of time, I saw the little blind girl who had whispered -that triggering phrase for my release, and behind her, the seeing-eye -dog. She was utterly unafraid and smiling at me. Courage she was -saying. And I could share it with her.</p> - -<p>She had sealed her own death in order to make me whole again.</p> - -<p>I smashed the flashlight off the table into the wall and my weight -drove Mesner onto the floor. I managed to grab his arm and we lay there -in the dark straining for the nerve-gun. I began to hear the whir -of heliocars. I twisted Mesner's arm up and around and released the -nerve-gun's full charge directly into his face. A stammering scream -came out of him. It was the scream of something not human. A full -charge of that into the brain, it must have curled up the intricate -connections and short circuited his brain into an irreparable hash.</p> - -<p>I took the blind girl's hand and we ran toward the river. The sky was -crossed with search beams. And in the deep darkness by the river I -was suddenly as blind as the girl who held my hand. We kept running -and stumbling through the reeds. I felt her hand slip from mine. Then -something hit me.</p> - -<p>It wasn't a localized impact, but something seemed to have hit me all -over and moved through me as though my blood suddenly turned to lead.</p> - -<p>I tried to find the girl. I tried to crawl to the river, into the -river. And near me I heard the girl say softly, "Goodbye now, Mr. -Fredricks. Don't worry, because you'll be brave."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," I said. "Little girl, what's your name?"</p> - -<p>She didn't answer. I tried to call out to her again in the darkness, -but I couldn't move my lips. Paralysis gripped me, and after that -blackness, with the lights sometime later beginning to flicker against -my tearing eyes, and then the horror.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The inquisition ended sooner than I thought it would. After the awful -intrusion, there isn't any farther awareness of time. After you are -thoroughly invaded, after your private soul, every naked cell of your -brain is peeled open, exposed to the raw glaring light, after that you -no longer care. What is you has been obliterated the way a shadow is -eaten by the burn of cold light.</p> - -<p>Your identity is gone. They take it. You are theirs, all of you belongs -to them. You feel them pouring out your mind down to the pitiful dregs -as though they are pouring cups of coffee.</p> - -<p>The pain is a shredding, ripping, raveling horror. After that there is -no feeling at all, and this is worse.</p> - -<p>I told them everything I knew. What I couldn't tell, they tapped, -tearing chunks out the way you would rip pages and chapters out of a -book.</p> - -<p>The responsible humanists, scientists, intellectuals had known what -was coming. They prepared for it, and set up the plan before the last -days of the Egghead purge. They set up the future saboteurs by a long -intricate process of psychodynamic conditioning. They did it in the -Universities before the schools were purged. Promising students were -selected, worked on.</p> - -<p>Fredricks, a psychology student, was subjected to repeated hypnotic -experiments. A blind Professor named O'Hara did most of it. It was -all there finally in Fredrick's head, but then it was all suppressed -and finally Fredricks himself forgot that he knew. A delayed hypnotic -response pattern, an analogue, is set up. Later it will be triggered -off by a phrase, a word, a series of words repeated at conditioned -response intervals.</p> - -<p>Ten years later he was working inside, inside Security itself. When -circumstances were right, a blind courier was to have triggered off -Fredrick's suppressed knowledge allowing him to sabotage the entire -Department of Records and Scientific Method. So many scientists and -intellectuals had already been purged that few remained among the -available personnel of Security who could have repaired a simple -gasoline motor without a step-by-step chart taken from the Department -of Records.</p> - -<p>It would have been a master coup for the underground.</p> - -<p>But Mesner had traced Fredrick's identity back to Drake University, -back to O'Hara. He had gotten suspicious, and removed Fredricks from -Security.</p> - -<p>The blind girl had whispered the key phrase just the same, in order -that Fredricks might face the ordeal of the inquisition with as much -pride, strength, and courage as possible.</p> - -<p>"Only a free man, a man who fully respects himself as an individual and -a human being," Fredricks told his inquisitors, "only a man who has -learned why he is living, can die like a man."</p> - -<p>Then they killed me.</p> - -<p>They tried to get more out of me, but what they wanted to know, I knew -nothing whatever about. I knew nothing about the underground, or the -headquarters of the Eggheads.</p> - -<p>But by then I was dead, and what they did was of no importance. I was -no longer me. There was no awareness of being me. I had joined Dirkson -and the renegade bio-chemist and all the others.</p> - -<p>I was hopping up and down in a cage before the Tevee cameras, and a -reporter was talking to millions of smiling, care-free citizens and -telling them how another vicious crackpot had been captured just in -time to avert some terrible disaster which would have disturbed the -status quo.</p> - -<p>Then I was taken away.</p> - -<p>"Are you awake now, Mr. Fredricks?"</p> - -<p>I opened my eyes. I was in a clean white room lying near a barred -window. An attractive nurse smiled at me. She was holding a clipboard -and making notations on a report pad.</p> - -<p>"How do you feel now, Fred?" Painfully, I turned and saw several ghosts -standing and sitting on the other side of the bed. I could see a door -behind them, partly opened onto a softly lit corridor.</p> - -<p>There was Dr. Malden, a famous anthropologist whom I had last seen in -a newspaper headline during the purge. And Dr. Marquand, Nobel Prize -winner in electrobiology. And Dr. Martinson, one time head of the UN -Research Foundation. Dr. Rothberg, social psychologist. All dead, all -purged, bipped and confined years ago. All ghosts.</p> - -<p>Only they were there. And they were alive, and they seemed glad to see -me. All I knew was that I was alive again. I was aware of being me. And -somehow I knew that these forgotten names were also alive again.</p> - -<p>Rothberg handed me a cigarette and the nurse lit it for me. I -remembered that once I had liked cigarettes.</p> - -<p>"So what's happened," I said. My voice was weak. My insides felt as -though they were filled with grinding pieces of broken razor blades.</p> - -<p>"You're in Zany-Ward No. 104," Dr. Rothberg said.</p> - -<p>"I don't believe I quite understand," I said carefully.</p> - -<p>"You will," Dr. Rothberg said. "Let's just say for a starter that when -a man is bipped and brought here, we try to put him back together -again. It's a long painful process. Sometimes he's not quite the same, -but we've done pretty good work. We rebuild burned-out circuits. We -have to know exactly what you were before you were bipped, and we try -to duplicate the pattern. Regeneration is slow and rough. You'll be all -right."</p> - -<p>They shook hands with me and smiled down at me and went out. The pretty -nurse gave me a pill and I lay back and thought about it. It was -logical enough, and I started to laugh. During the months after that -while the slow process of re-learning and regeneration continued, I -learned more about the Zany-Wards. Serious as it was, and as much as -there was yet to be done, it was always amusing.</p> - -<p>As Eggheads were apprehended and confined, they were rehabilitated, put -back together again, in a way you could say fissioned. The Eggheads are -the inmates. They run the Zany-Wards which are used also as bases of -operation in a continuing attempt to disrupt the Era of Normalcy. Great -scientific labs are concealed underground.</p> - -<p>When Security inspection committees appear on the scene, we all put on -our acts. We dance, make faces, act like monkeys and giggle.</p> - -<p>Doctor Rothberg told me yesterday that if our sabotage work doesn't -soon cause people to rebel against the Era of Normalcy, it won't be -long before we'll be the only sane people left in the world.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dark Windows, by Bryce Walton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARK WINDOWS *** - -***** This file should be named 60362-h.htm or 60362-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/6/60362/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: Dark Windows - -Author: Bryce Walton - -Release Date: September 26, 2019 [EBook #60362] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARK WINDOWS *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - DARK WINDOWS - - BY BRYCE WALTON - - _Sooner or later it would happen, and - after that he wouldn't ever have to - worry again. He'd be dead, or worse, - one of the silent living dead._ - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1957. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -I was suddenly wide awake and listening. A gray light the color of -wet charcoal lay over the chilled room. There it was again. Plain and -sharp through the thin wall separating my room from that of old man -Donnicker, the shoe-maker. - -Maybe he was sick. No, that wasn't it. Another muted cry of pain, then -a choking sound, and the unmistakable thud of a falling body. An odd -whirring sound clicked off. Then a voice said, "Grab the verminous legs -of this subversive, Marty. Let's get him in the wagon." - -"You gave him too much bip. He looks deader than Einstein." - -"I said grab his legs." - -A door shut. I went to the window. I was shivering in the morning -chill. A black car moved away down the broken pavement. It swerved to -miss a large mudhole in the middle of the street and an old woman with -burlap wrapped around her feet didn't move fast enough. She flew across -the sidewalk like a ragged dummy and lay in a heap. - -Goodbye, Donnicker. I had seen the black car before. Donnicker was -dead. But it didn't bother me. I never had anything to do with -neighbors, anybody I didn't know had a top clearance. I was clear and -intended to stay that way. - -You just never knew. Donnicker had seemed like a true patriot. My -carefully distant and casual observations of him had led me to believe -he was as happily stupid as I was. But he had been hiding something. - -I turned from the window and started the day's routine that had been -the same for as long as I could remember. I warmed up some mush on -the gas burner. At seven, as always, the Tevee warmed up, and Miss -Info with the lacquered lips smiled at me. "... and so don't worry, -citizens. The past is dead. The future is assured, and tomorrow will -only be another today. And today we are safe and care-free." - -Amen. She said it every morning, but it was nice hearing it again. -Then the news came on. There was a pile of junked tractors, trucks -and harvesting machines, smashed and rusting. Then a line of farmers -working with hoes and hand-guided ploughs drawn by horses. - -"Machines took away sacred routine work from citizens. Eggheads built -the machines to disrupt and spread the disease of reason. We are now -replacing machines at the rate of a million a week. Soon, all of us -will again be united in the happy harmonious brotherhood of labor. And -when you see a rusting machine, what you are seeing is another captured -Egghead, frothing and fuming in its cage...." - -At a quarter to eight I walked ten blocks to work. There were the -usual hectic early morning traffic jams. Wagon-loads of produce and -half-starved horses blocking the streets. The same man was beating a -nag with a board. A wagon piled with fruit and vegetables was stuck in -a pot hole in the pavement. Two men were carrying a spinning wheel into -the front of an apartment building. A peddler was selling oil lanterns, -wicks and kerosene out of a barrel. The same women and boys in dirty -sheepskin jackets were hauling rickshaws. - -I really didn't see anyone or speak to anyone. I didn't know anyone. I -knew I was safe and had nothing to worry about. Once a week I used up -my GI liquor chit at a bar with a Security seal on the window. Twice -a week, I slept over at a GI brothel, where every girl had a Security -clearance number tattoed on her thigh. - -I had nothing to worry about. - -I was passed through three gates by guards and went to my little cage -inside Pentagon Circle, local headquarters of the Department of -Internal Security. - -Until that Tuesday morning I couldn't remember ever having done -anything but sort colored cards. My chief qualification for my job: -I wasn't color blind. When a green card with figures on it meaning -nothing to me came out of a slot in the wall, I pushed it into a green -slot that led somewhere into a filing department. When a red card came -out, I pushed it into a red slot, and so forth. There were cards of -fifteen colors. - -Another qualification: my unconscious efficiency. I never had even a -hint of an abstract thought. I never remembered yesterday, let alone -the day before. And until that Tuesday morning I never made even a tiny -mistake. - -I had no idea what I was doing. Nor was I at all curious. Curiosity was -highly suspect. Curiosity was dangerous in the best of all possible -worlds. It was ridiculous in a state where people had never had it so -good. - -Cards sped from my hands always into correct slots. Care-free hours -slipped painlessly by into the dead past. I was sure I was safe and not -thinking at all. I was a blessed blank. And then all at once-- - -"_The eyes are the windows of the soul._" - -The thought meant nothing to me, except it was wrong, it didn't belong -in the routine. The routine flew to pieces. My efficiency blew up. -I felt like a shiny bottle in a row of bottles with a sudden crack -running down the middle. Red cards hit blue slots. Green cards hit -yellow slots. Cards piled up, spilled over the floor. The more I tried -to return to my efficiency, the worse everything was. - -My suit was wet with sweat. I thought of Mr. Donnicker. If a man's -routine broke, it could only be because some inner guilt was disrupting -his harmony. A happy person is an efficient person. Inefficiency is the -symptom of a guilty conscience. - -"Mr. Fredricks," a voice whispered. "You're replaced here." - -A cold paralysis gripped me. - -"Get up, Fred." - -I jumped out of my chair. A thin, stooped little man in a cheap gray -suit and dull eyes took my place. In no time at all he had straightened -out my mess. Cards were blurs moving into the right slots. - -A wide, fattish man in a wrinkled dark suit was watching me out of -curiously shining eyes. He carried a black briefcase. I had seen the -black briefcases before. Special Police Agent. - -He opened the door of my cage and motioned for me to go out ahead of -him. "Say goodbye to all this, Fred." - -I felt the smile on my wet face as I nodded and tried to feel grateful -while at the same time trying to suppress the flood of fear coming up -through me and turning to sickness in my throat. - -I simply couldn't be afraid. I had nothing to hide. And if I was hiding -something inside me I didn't know about, I should feel glad to have it -detected and get it all cleaned out. - -"My name is John Mesner," he said as we walked down the corridor. I -couldn't say anything. I felt like a string someone was beginning to -saw on with a rusty knife. - -Mesner's office somewhere upstairs was a dingy room with a dusty desk -and a couple of chairs. The walls were made of cracked concrete lined -with dusty filing cabinets. The window was so soiled I could barely see -the shadows of bars through the panes. - -Mesner sat down, put his feet on the desk. He took an apple out of his -desk drawer and started peeling it slowly with a small penknife. - -"You scared, Fred?" - -"Of course not." - -He smiled, held out a long ribbon of apple peel and dropped it on the -floor. "You're scared, Fred." - -I put my Personology Card on his desk right in front of him. "I just -had a quarterly brain-check a week ago. There it is." - -I stopped myself somehow from yelling out wildly as he stabbed the card -with his penknife, then tore it in little pieces and dropped them on -the floor. - -"You've got nothing to be afraid of, Fred. But it'll probably take you -a while to realize it." He went on peeling the apple. He had thick -hands, stubby fingers, and the nails were dirty. He had a round pale -face, a receding chin, thinning hair, and an absurd little red cupid -bow mouth. - -I tried not to hear the moaning sound that seemed to come from the -other side of a door to Mesner's right. He got up, went to the door, -opened it. "Shut that guy up," he said. He shut the door and sat down -again. He sliced off a bite of apple and pushed it into his mouth. - -"To make it short, Fred. I've investigated you thoroughly. And I can -use you here in SPA. You're being transferred." - -My throat was constricted. I leaned against the desk. "I don't -understand, sir. I don't know anything about Police Work. I'm only a -clerk, a card-sorter. I don't have any qualifications. And you can -see--my card." - -"A couple of field-trips with me, Fred, and you'll be a veteran." - -"But why me?" - -"You're already in the Security Department for one thing. That makes it -convenient. Also, your Intelligence Quotient." - -"It's a low eighty," I said. "That's the average. I'm well below -normal, and this brain-check showed I was lower this time than the -last. So how could my IQ make any difference?" - -"Curiosity killed the cat, Fred." - -I managed to sit down before I fell down. It was impossible that -I should really become an agent in the SP, the most powerful and -feared organization in the state. What then was Mesner really up to? -One work error shouldn't have snagged me. I'd never been guilty of -thinking above a rudimentary and socially acceptable level. My IQ -was unquestionably low. I was little more than a moron. So why was I -frightened. Why did I feel guilty? Why was Mesner interested? - -Mesner stood up and dropped the apple core on the floor. - -"We're going on a field-trip now, Fred. Your indoctrination as an SPA -man is beginning." - - * * * * * - -Mesner piloted the heliocar. Mesner said the only heliocars left in -operation belonged to SPA. He dropped it on a plot of dried grass -on the side of a forested hill in the Tennessee Mountains. Until we -got out of the heliocar, I didn't know Mesner had a gun. I couldn't -remember having heard of a gun or seen one before, but Mesner told me -all about guns. He slid the rifle out of a canvas case, checked it, -called it his favorite little field piece. Then he handed me his black -briefcase. - -He led the way down a narrow path. It was a quiet sunny day. Squirrels -ran between the trees. Birds hopped and sang up in the leaves. - -In front of a gray, dilapidated shack was a rickety wagon. Two men were -lifting a sack out of the rear of the wagon. They wore ragged overalls -and no shirts and they were both barefoot. - -Mesner yelled. "You. Dirksons! This is a security check." - -The shorter one started to run. Mesner shot him in the back of the -head. The tall man grabbed up a piece of iron with a hooked end and -started yelling as he ran toward us. - -"Open the briefcase," Mesner said calmly. - -I opened it. Mesner leaned the rifle against a tree. He knelt down, -brought a metal disc out of the briefcase attached to a wire. He turned -a dial on a bank of controls inside the case. I heard a whirring hum. -The tall hillbilly screamed. He stretched up on his toes, strained his -arms and neck at the sky, then fell twitching on his face. - -Mesner walked toward the hillbilly and I stumbled after him. I was -going to be sick, very sick. The sun worked like pins in my eyeballs. - -Mesner drew a round metal cap which he called a stroboscope from the -case, fitted it on the hillbilly's head. The metal strip had a disc -hanging down in front of the hillbilly's eyes and about two inches away. - -Mesner worked the dials and the flicker began blinking off and on, -faster and faster, then slower, then faster again as the hillbilly's -eyes stared into it unblinkingly. His muscles began to twitch. He beat -the ground with his flat hands. Grasshoppers jumped across his face. - -Mesner pointed out to me that I was watching an on-the-spot -brain-probe. The brain-prober, or bipper, as Mesner called it, was so -effective he hardly ever had to use the other items in the case such -as the psychopharmaceuticals, drugs, brain shock gadgets, extractors, -nerve stretchers and the like. - -Mesner sat on his haunches, worked the flicker and lit a cigarette. -"These brain-wave flickers correspond to any desired brain-wave rhythm. -You play around and you'll get the one you want. They talk. What they -don't say comes out later from the recorder. With this bipper you can -get anything out of anyone, almost. If you don't get the info you want -it's only because they don't have it. It burns them out considerably in -the process, but that's all to the good. They're erased, and won't do -any meddlesome thinking again." - -The hillbilly wasn't moving now as the flicker worked on his eyes and -activated desired mental responses. - -"Dirkson," Mesner said. "What happened to your sister, Elsa?" - -"Don't know. She runned away." - -"She was blind wasn't she? Wasn't she born blind?" - -I felt an icy twist in my stomach. - -"That's right. Borned blind as a bat." - -"What happened to her?" - -"Runned away with some river rat." - -"You've hidden her somewhere, Dirkson. Where?" - -"I ain't hid her nowhere." - -Mesner turned a dial. The hillbilly screamed. His body bent upward. -Blood ran out of his mouth. He was chewing his tongue. Mesner stood up -and frowned. "Guess he didn't know. If he knew he'd have told us. He's -no disguised Egghead. Just a damn collaborating, bottle-headed jerk." - -I went over behind some brush and was sick. The hillbilly would never -answer any more questions, I knew that much. Now he was laughing and -babbling and crawling around on his hands and knees. - -"It's rough at first, Fred. No matter how patriotic you are, and how -much you hate Eggheads, it's always rough at first. But you should get -used to it." - -"What--I mean why--?" - -"The Dirksons didn't show for their quarterly brain-check. You assume -they're hiding something. It turns out they're not, then you haven't -lost anything. Of course you have to burn them out a little to -question them. But better to burn one innocent bottlehead than let one -double-dome slip away." Mesner turned and looked at me. "Isn't that -right, Fred?" - -"Of course it's right," I said quickly. Mesner smiled at me. - - * * * * * - -On the way back to Washington, Mesner piloted the heliocar casually. He -leaned back, smoking cigarettes, the ashes streaming down the front of -his soiled lapels. - -"I think you'll work out fine in SPA, Fred." - -I was still sick. I had a throbbing ache in my head and sweat kept -stinging in my eyes. I nodded numbed agreement with Mesner. - -"I appreciate your trying to make an SPA man out of me," I finally -managed to say. "But could you have made some mistake? Gotten the wrong -file or something?" - -"No. Your IQ is a nice low eighty, Fred. But you're just not aware that -you have what is technically known as a quiescent IQ." - -"What's that?" - -"You're a true patriot, Fred. We both know that. So don't be scared. -You know the sick and evil danger of a high IQ and so you've put an -unconscious damper on your own intelligence. You're not really so dumb, -Fred." - -"But I am," I said quickly. - -"No, Fred. You think you are, and you look and act normally stupid -and believe me, Fred, I admire your patriotic suppression of your -intelligence, even from yourself. But a fact is a fact, and you're not -so dumb." - -"I'm not pretending. I'm not a a subversive--" - -"Easy now," Mesner said. "You're not a subversive, that's right. A -real subversive knows he's smart, is proud of it and consciously -tries to hide it from others. But you loathe your own inherent mental -ability, and you've been able to freeze its operation, conceal it even -from yourself. Now realize this, Fred. The only place we can allow -intelligence to operate is inside the Government. The Government must -have a slightly superior thinking capacity in order to run things--for -the present anyway." - -"But any IQ above eighty is subversive. It says in the--" - -"That's an ideal, a goal for the future, Fred. When the transition's -been made, when the last Egghead is captured and put away, then all of -us will be normal. We'll get ourselves bipped, and burn our excessive -intelligence down to the eighty mark. But until that time, Fred, -some of us--especially the SPA--have to keep our wits about us. An -unfortunate necessity that we pray will soon be ended." - -I gazed numbly out through the plastic canopy at the white clouds -streaming past. He was trying to get some admission out of me, I -thought. That was the only explanation. Working some subtle game with -me. But that was absurd on its face, because I was way below normal. - -"My IQ's no good for you then," I said. "I just don't see--" - -Mesner interrupted with an impatient laugh. "You're a hell of a lot -brighter than you let yourself admit that you are, Fred. That's all -I'm saying. You know it's a terrible thing to be smart, so you keep it -under wraps. But now you know there's nothing to be afraid of. You know -it's legal for a while longer to be smart as long as you're in SPA. Now -you can start opening up, releasing your mental capacity. Believe me, -Fred, it's for the good of the state. I know it sounds like a paradox, -but that's how it is." - -"How can it be good when it's such an evil thing?" - -"Because right now it's a necessary evil. SPA has problems, Fred. There -are still a lot of Eggheads running loose, causing trouble. And the -doubledomes still loose are the toughest ones to catch, and that's -our job. We've got to track down the old maniac physicists, chemists, -engineers, professors, psyche-boys and the like who are still working -underground. Until they're all caught Fred, we've got to live with our -own filthy brains. Because you see it takes brains to catch brains." - -"But I have hardly any brains at all," I insisted. - -"You'll see, Fred. You'll see." - - * * * * * - -Before I left his office that evening he gave me an SPA identity card. -My name and face were on it. Suddenly it seemed impossibly official. -All at once, I was one of the most feared and powerful men in the -State. Only I knew that the only one I really feared was me. - -That card supposedly gave me a free hand. It could take me anywhere, -even into top-secret departments in Security. With it, I was immune -to curfew laws, to all social restrictions and regulations. But when -I went for a walk that evening, I knew I was being followed. Wherever -I went, eyes watched me constantly. Shadows moved in and out of gray -doorways and dissolved around corners. - -After nine, after the curfew sirens howled down the emptied streets, I -walked fast toward the ancient rooming house in which I thought I had -always lived. Hundreds of silent gray women and children came out onto -the streets and began cleaning them with brooms. One by one, the gas -lights along the rubbled streets went out. I started to run through -shadows, and footsteps moved behind me. - -A drunken man came out of an alley and staggered down the broken -pavement where weeds grew. A black car whisked him away. But no black -car stopped for me. I saw no one with a black briefcase either. I saw -only shadows, and felt unseen eyes watching me. - -The old woman who had been run down by a black car still lay there -on the sidewalk. No one dared approach that corpse to get it off the -streets. No one knew who it was, or why it was dead. No one would take -any chances. One was just as suspect from associating with a guilty -corpse as a living neighbor named Donnicker. - -Upstairs, I saw a splotch of blood on the hall floor. This time I knew -it was Donnicker's. It reminded me of the Dirksons now. And of who -could say how many others? - -I lay down and took all three of tomorrow's tranquitabs. We were -allotted a month's supply of tranquitabs at a time, and we were all -compelled by law to take three a day. They knocked out worry and -anxiety usually. But now they didn't seem to do me much good. I -couldn't seem to go to sleep. This had never happened to me before. - -Maybe Mesner was right. Maybe I did have a high IQ but wasn't -consciously aware of it. This being true, then I _had_ to be in SPA. -SPA was the only place a high IQ could be tolerated. - -What really bothered me the most, of course, was why I should be -worried about anything. If my IQ was useful, I ought to be glad of -it. A true patriot should be glad also to have unconscious subversive -elements detected. A true patriot would be grateful for whatever -treatment could cleanse him. What was the matter with me? Didn't I want -to be purified, cleansed? Didn't I want to be bipped a little? - -I didn't trust Mesner. I didn't believe he really wanted me to help -him track down Eggheads. But so what? If he was trying to find out -something about me, I ought to be glad to cooperate. - -Only I wasn't. - -I had bad dreams. I dreamed of Dirkson babbling and crawling and -smiling at me with his bloody mouth. He kept smiling and whispering to -me: "I never did know nothing, and now I'm just all burned out." - -I dreamed of old man Donnicker being dragged down the stairs. - -Then I dreamed that Mesner came in and looked down at me sleeping. A -light bulb came down from the ceiling. It turned bright, then dull, -then bright, then dull. - -Mesner smiled as he lit a cigarette. "That really bothered you didn't -it, Fred. Bipping the Dirkson boy." - -"It made me sick." - -I wanted to wake up. I tried my best to wake up because I felt that if -I didn't wake up now, I never would. I would die in my sleep. - -"Let's talk about it, Fred. I'm uneasy about it myself sometimes. I've -bipped so many of them, maybe my conscience bothers me. You think it -might bother a man's conscience, Fred?" - -"What do you mean, conscience?" - -"Maybe you think there's something immoral about bipping a man." - -"If the State does it, it's right," I said. "If it helps bring about -the Era of Normalcy and absolute and permanent stability, then any -method is right." - -Was that the correct answer? I was beginning to feel confused. -Thoughts, words all jumbling up. There was an orthodox thought and -an orthodox answer for everything. I'd learned them all. But had I -answered this one correctly? - -"That's right, Fred. But the old crackpot Egghead moralists used to say -that the end doesn't necessarily justify the means. They would claim -that bipping a man was wrong, and that no good results could ever come -from it. They would say that a destructive means would always create a -destructive end. Violence, they said, could only create more violence. -What do you think of that, Fred?" - -"That's wrong," I said. "That's confusing, double-dome stuff." - -"I know. But we've got to identify with Egghead thinking if we can. No -matter how repulsive it is, we've got to understand how they think if -we're going to track them down and put them away. Now think hard, Fred. -Have you ever heard a man say, 'Better that the whole world should die -than that one man's brain should be invaded against his will.'" - -"No, no, that's subversive," I screamed. - -There was more dream, more questions, more and more confused answers. I -woke up in a cold sweat. I found several electronic spy-eyes concealed -about the room. Just outside my door I saw one of Mesner's cigarette -butts. It was yellowed with spittle, twisted and pinched in the way his -always were. - -I didn't know if all of that night, or only part of it had been a -dream. I didn't know if Mesner had actually been questioning me in my -sleep or not. The spy-eyes could do that. But I knew Mesner had been -outside my door. Probably he had been questioning my dreams. - - * * * * * - -That day was worse than the night. Mesner had said to wait until I -heard from him, but there was no word from him that day. I tried more -tranquitabs. The hell with tomorrow's supply. They didn't help me. A -blinding headache hit me at regular intervals. - -What was Mesner using me for? What did he want from me? What was I -supposed to know? - -The Educational Tevee came on also at regular intervals. - -"... so if you might think, Citizens, that a machine could do your -simple work better, just remember what a terrible thing the machines -did to us during the cataclysmic age of reason. As you know, the -machines were invented to replace human labor by Eggheads who have -always tried to destroy normal, comfortable and simple ways of life. -The disease of free-thought was only possible after the machines -replaced human beings, gave us the time to develop excessive and -self-destructive thinking...." - -I watched the light outside my window turn a duller gray then black, -and after that an edge of white moon slid partly across the pane. - -Why should I care what Mesner was trying to get out of me? If it was -subversive then I should be glad to get rid of it. If I was clear and -clean, then I had nothing to worry about. Why wasn't I simply bipped -like Donnicker and Dirkson had been? Why should a true patriot care? - -I shivered and stared into the darkness. Something horrible had -happened to me. For the first time I realized I was entertaining -unpatriotic thoughts. I didn't want to be bipped. And I knew that when -Mesner finished with me, I would be bipped. When he found out whatever -I was supposed to know, I'd join Dirkson and the rest of them. It had -been all right, going along with the routines, as long as I actually -hadn't seen what happened to a man if he didn't. - -I didn't want to be erased. Whatever I was, I suddenly wanted to stay -me, guilty or not. Maybe this attitude was all that Mesner wanted to -be sure of. But I doubted it. Because a simple bipping would have -determined that. - -I didn't think I could stomach any more of Mesner's field-trips. On the -other hand I had to go along. It all seemed to boil down to whether I -wanted to get bipped now or later. - -"Bipping isn't bad at all," Mesner had said yesterday. "After you're -bipped, you can do routine work like everyone else, never worry again -about worrying. That guy who replaced you, for example. He was bipped. -He's never made a mistake for 20 years. He never will." - -I closed my eyes. I thought of all the happy bottleheads walking -the streets, out on the farms, doing their routine work, happy and -care-free as long as they didn't worry. Human vegetables, the erased -ones, and the terrified ones who didn't know they were even scared. -Cities full of dull-eyed ciphers, and now that I was outside it a -little, I could see them with an awful clarity. - -And I thought--how many are as dumb as they appear to be? How many -were just too frightened and numbed to think? How many would stay -frightened and numb so long that they would never be able to think even -if they sometime decided to try? - -It was easy enough to assume that too much intelligence was an evil, -a virus to be burned out. Was it better to have too little and become -like the hillbilly? - -Oh, Mesner had set my so-called quiescent IQ going all right. But how -far would it go before it had gone far enough for his purpose? - - * * * * * - -That night I had another bad dream. Only it didn't really seem so bad -as it should have been. A blind man was talking to me. Then I dreamed -that a blind girl with a seeing-eye dog was looking at me. She was -about fifteen, maybe younger, dressed in a plain flowered dress tied -in back with a ribbon. She had a soft round face and her eyes were -wide and opaque. The girl and dog seemed to come out of a mist and -they whispered to me. It was frightening, but important, and I didn't -remember what it was. - -I woke up shivering. I seemed to smell wet hair, and the window was -open. I couldn't remember whether I had shut the window before I went -to sleep or not. - -Mesner called me early the next morning. - -He looked the same in his wrinkled suit with the food stains on the -lapels, and peeling an apple. - -"Fred, have you ever heard a phrase sounding like '... and the blind -shall lead them?'" - -I appeared to be trying to think about it, then said I had never heard -anything like that. - -"You're positive about that?" - -"I don't remember it." - -"You mean you might have, but you just can't remember it." - -"I didn't say that. I doubt if I ever heard such a phrase." - -"What about this one, '... and the blind shall see again.'" - -"No, I said. - -"You're sure?" - -I looked directly at him and he stopped peeling the apple. "If I'm -supposed to have such a damn high quiescent IQ, why not let me in on a -few things?" - -"What few things?" - -"These references to the blind. The Dirksons. Some blind girl named -Elsa. What are you trying to find out?" - -"I thought maybe you remembered something, that's all. I'm pretty much -in the dark myself. All I have are a few clues and theories." - -"Clues, theories, about what?" - -"Eggheads. Sabotage. What the crackpots could build, they can best -destroy. They're blowing up factories, manufacturing and power plants, -machines, production." - -"That's sabotage? I thought the whole idea in bringing about the Era of -Normalcy was to do away with all mechanization. Do everything with the -hands, like in the good old days." - -"That's an ultimate goal, Fred. Drudges don't think. They're happier. -But the transition has to be more gradual. The Eggheads want to take -away all mechanization at once, create chaos and anarchy. They figure -that will cause the bottleheads to revolt against the Government. We -can't catch the saboteurs. The saboteurs inside a blown-up factory, for -example, we never know who they are. We bip every worker, not a sign of -a saboteur. So whoever does the dirty work is a mindless tool of the -Egghead underground, having no memory of having committed sabotage. Who -are the couriers, the ones who make vital contact between the Egghead -underground and the saboteurs? The dumb saboteur has to get his highly -complex directives from the Eggheads. Who are the couriers?" - -"Why ask me?" - -"I know this much, Fred. Blind people are used as couriers." - -My knees felt weak. I couldn't say anything. All I could think about -was my dreams. - -"I want to show you something, Fred." Mesner led me through the other -door. A bleak concrete cubicle, no windows, a damp walled gray cell. -Two naked men lay on slabs. Stroboscopes on their heads. Behind them, -styluses recorded brain-wave patterns on moving white strips. One of -the men, the one on the left, was blind. His eyes staring up into the -flicker were opaque. - -"Look at those brain-wave recordings, Fred. They're getting the same -stimulus. We can give a thousand bottleheads this stimulus with the -flicker, and get identical responses. But not the blind boys. We can't -successfully bip a blind boy. The brain-waves are radically different -and we've never figured out a way of codifying them. A blind bastard's -never _seen_ anything. The seeing eyes are trackers, like radar. But a -blind boy takes in reality and records it and keeps it in a different -way. We can't get at the code easily. But I'm getting it. I've bipped -plenty of blind boys and I'm getting it, Fred. The blind are used for -couriers. I know that much. For the simple reason that we can't bip -meaningful info out of their scrambled think-tanks." - -The naked men on the slabs moaned. One of them opened his mouth and a -bloody foam spread over his chin. - -"What I'm looking for now is a known courier who is also blind. Then I -can bip him, and check the info with the code I've worked out." - -He unbuttoned his coat and took a black hand-gun out of a holster -strapped beneath his arm. "Meanwhile, Fred, these bottleheads have had -it. They're burned out." - -I heard the two sharp echoing reports as Mesner shot them in the head. -One of them beat his heels on the slab. Mesner pointed the smoking -revolver. "Even dead, the blind brain records differently. See there?" - -I leaned against the wall. Through a crumbled hole down in the corner -of damp concrete, I saw two red eyes and heard the rat squealing. - -"Let's go, Fred. We've got some important field-trips on today's -schedule. And you still have a lot to learn." - -We went to Chicago. We set up some hidden electronic spy-eyes in a -big apartment building. They were to be checked later for evidence of -someone there who was hiding an IQ of over a hundred. - -And that afternoon we ran down a renegade bio-chemist hiding in a -tenement. He had disguised himself for a number of years as a plumber. -Mesner bipped him, and an official Security heliocar came down from -Washington to take him away. - -When Mesner finished with the old man he was hopping around like a -monkey, making grotesque faces, giggling and yelling. Tevee cameramen -were on hand. A reporter was commenting on the capture of another, "... -insane crackpot who has been living here under an assumed name while -plotting and planning and building some diabolical machine with which -to blow up the city. Our department of Internal Security excercising -its eternal vigilance, captured him in time...." - -Mesner and I took the heliocar back up into a clear blue sky and headed -for Sauk City. - -"Do you wonder, Fred, why we just don't kill them after they're bipped?" - -"What could it matter?" - -"It doesn't to them, but to us it matters. Public likes their -scapegoats alive. More satisfying to hate live people. Public likes -to see their dragons behind bars, humiliated, treated like crackpots. -Makes a bottlehead feel good to see an Egghead dancing like a monkey. -Also prevents martyrs. Living men are never martyrs." - -"So why are we going to Sauk City?" I asked. I wanted to change the -subject. - -Mesner had information that an ex-professor from some long-extinct -University had been concealing a high IQ after having supposedly purged -himself of it years before. He was supposed to have been caught by a -brain-probing spy-eye and was reported to have an IQ of over 160. - -Mesner talked of such an IQ as though it was a living time-bomb that -might go off any minute and blow Sauk City and the entire State to -hell. He shot the heliocar along at 500 miles an hour. He held the -T-Bar in one hand and lit cigarettes with the other. - -"What upset you so much, Fred? I mean that morning when I interrupted -you sorting cards?" - -I felt a warning click in my head. I remembered it. _The eyes are the -windows of the soul._ - -Mesner, I thought, couldn't look into the windows of a blind man. Could -I? - -It hadn't been my own thought that had disrupted my idyllic, care-free -life sorting cards. Mesner had said it to me. - -"Just the unexpected break in the routine," I said. You've already -explained it. My quiescent IQ is just too high to be a successful -card-sorter." - -"It wasn't _what_ I said?" - -"What did you say? I've forgotten." - -"The eyes are the windows of the soul. But I was only quoting, Fred. -Some crackpot said that long ago." - -"Why probe me about blind people? I never knew any." - -"Ninety percent of a human being's mental activity is underground, -like most of an iceberg is under water. How much of your past can you -remember, Fred?" - -"Very little. The past is dead. Why should I remember it?" - -"Because a good intelligence depends on the past. Memory is a part -of it. Without a past, you don't have a brain. And we've got to -release our brains, Fred, for awhile. Until we can catch saboteurs and -Eggheads." - -"I guess I've just been a patriot too long," I said. - -"Remember attending Drake University ten years ago, Fred?" - -"Sure," I said, fast, as though it was unimportant. I was really -beginning to sweat. "I can remember if you keep prodding me. Sure, I -can. So what? I purged myself. I forgot it. Schools weren't illegal -then." - -"But we've got to reawaken all those past memories, Fred. Make our -brains work better, even if a lot of double-dome stuff comes up. You -remember a psyche prof named O'Hara?" - -I felt suddenly dizzy, sick. A wavering wheel started turning in my -head. I managed to stop it from turning so fast. "I don't remember that -at all," I said. - -"Then of course you wouldn't remember that he was blind?" - -In the darkness behind closed lids I could see patterns of light begin -to flicker and threatening whispers dug at a fogging curtain. - -"Don't push it, Fred. It'll come. I'm patient. If I weren't, then by -this time I would be bipped myself and safely put away." - -He would get it all right, I knew. Sooner or later he would tap it. -First I would tap it, then Mesner would tap it. And after that I never -would worry again. I'd never worry about remembering or forgetting -anything. I wouldn't even be me. A body with a bipped brain would walk -around doing routine work, and looking like me. But I'd be dead. I -didn't want to die that way. Genuine physical death would be all right. -But not that, not that bipping treatment. - -Mesner turned quickly and caught me staring at the outline of the -hand-gun under his coat. He smiled. "You want one of these, Fred?" - -"Not yet," I said. "I don't remember enough yet. I'm not smart enough -yet." - -"Tell me when you're ready." - - * * * * * - -By the time we closed in on the professor in an old deserted house -on the outskirts of Sauk City, he had managed to hang himself to a -waterpipe in the basement. He wore a pair of ragged pants. He was -terribly thin and his hair was white, and his toothless mouth gaped -open and his jaws sucked in. I had never seen anyone appear so pitiful -and so harmless as that old man hanging there. - -We untied the rope and the body fell to the floor. Mesner took a small -disc from his case and put it over the dead man's heart, then stood up. -"He's too dead. We should have gotten here a few minutes earlier." - -He seemed tired as he sat down on a soggy box. His hands were dirty -with coal dust and a smudge of it was on his face. - -This is it, I thought. Now was as good a time for it as any, because -there wasn't any good time for it. He had all the advantage. And the -longer it went on, the greater advantage he would have. It was only a -question of time anyway, and I couldn't stand waiting. - -I lunged at him. I heard the faint whining sound, saw the flash and -the glint of the disc coming out of his pocket. A sudden, painless -paralysis hit me and I was helpless on my knees looking at Mesner. He -just stared at me morosely, tired, irritated a little. - -"You should know better, Fred. You're smart." - -"Go to hell," I said. - -He shook his head. "Not now, Fred. Nor you either. It isn't me you want -to get, Fred. You just don't want to get bipped. You ought to trust -me. I don't want to bip you, now or ever. I mean it. We need brains to -catch Eggheads and that's my job. You're valuable. Everybody getting -bipped, it isn't easy to get smart people these days." - -"Bip me now then, you bastard. Get it over with." - -"You'd better trust me. I'm being honest. Some of these other orthodox -jerks in Security, they wouldn't fool with you. They would bip you -sooner than look at you." - -"Why don't you?" - -"I've told you, for God's sake. You're a bright guy, and I'm eager to -learn. And I don't want to burn up any important info." - -Then I got it. Then I knew why he was keeping the bipper off me. - -I thought about it all the way back to Washington while Mesner fed -himself apples. I was supposed to have valuable unconscious info. -Mesner wanted it. But the old crackpots were right. The means not only -created the ends, but could destroy the ends if the means were bad -enough. You probe and pry into a man's brain deep and hard enough and -you come up with nothing. Your methods have destroyed the end. You've -burned out the truth you're trying to get. - -Mesner was trying to get info from me without burning it up. - -The bastard was trying to have his bloody cake and eat it. But the -insight didn't make my position any easier. He was going to get it some -way. His talking and hinting and probing was designed to awaken vital -memory in me, get it up into total consciousness where he could get at -it with his instruments without the danger of burning it up. - -Soon as he got what he wanted he would bip me. I couldn't keep him -from getting it because I didn't know what it was. I couldn't keep on -suppressing something if I didn't know what it was, and I knew that no -one can consciously suppress knowledge in himself in any case. - - * * * * * - -For two more days I didn't hear from Mesner. I indulged in feverish -and ridiculous escape fantasies. There could be no escape for me. The -educational voices from the Tevee drifted in and out. - -"... the greatest threat to man's happy survival is reason. Man was -never intended to go above a certain mental level and become thereby a -victim of his own imagination and complex fears. This disease of reason -has been carried to its final suicidal limit by Eggheads...." - -No mention of sabotage. The care-free public must not hear of such -disquieting things. All the public heard 24 hours a day was a voice -telling them about the evils of reason. The destructiveness of -overly-developed brains, and the vicious criminality of Eggheads. - -After listening to that long enough, and having all subversive level -IQs purged, who could believe otherwise? How many believed otherwise -now? Did I? What in hell did Mesner want to dig out of me? Who, what, -why was I? - -I was still a bottle. But now there were countless cracks appearing in -it. - -Then Mesner called, said we were going on another field-trip that next -afternoon. All right, I said. Someway or other, I knew, I would make -this my last trip with Mesner. - -He had located a blind man, he said, who he knew had been a courier, -a blind man definitely linked up with a recent sabotaging of a motor -parts plant somewhere in Illinois. - - * * * * * - -Mesner looked down on the shanty town from a high bluff above the -river. The river rats' shanties were built half in, half out of the -water, some of them on stilts, some of them actually consisting of -dilapidated houseboats. - -Mesner said river rats were worse rebs even than hillbillies. They -drifted up and down the rivers. You staged a raid and they dissolved -away into the river like rodents. Many of them skipped quarterly -brain-checks, but no one knew how many. Birth and death records weren't -kept by river rats. - -I walked ahead of Mesner down a winding gravel path into rotting reeds -by the river, then we followed another muddy path toward the shanties. -Frogs and insects hummed. A path of moonlight moved across the water. -A ribby hound dog slunk away from me. A ragged kid looking wilder than -the hound, ran across the path and slipped soundlessly into the muddy -water. - -Mesner pointed out the blind man's shack. Then he looked at me and -smiled with that absurd little cupid bow mouth. "This isn't the time -either, Fred. If you think we're not covered, you're wrong. You -couldn't run fifty feet before they burned you down." - -We walked nearer the loosely boarded and sagging shack. - -"You take the back, Fred. Just remember, better later than now. And be -careful. When these river rats get stirred up, they can cause a hell of -a row. The entire goon squad would have to move in and there would be a -mass bipping spree." - -Mesner crept nearer, then whispered. "No light. You can't even tell if -one of them's at home after dark. Why do they need a light? Go on, -watch the back door, Fred. And don't let this one slip by." - -I heard the front door crash inward. A man wearing only tattered pants -ran out. He was thin and ribby like the dog, and I could see the -moonlight shining on the opaque whiteness of his eyes. - -He ran directly at me. And I knew I wasn't going to try to stop him. -But I didn't know why. Then Mesner came out and fired a small gun, -smaller than the one under his coat. It wasn't the same. This was a -nerve-gun and it curled the synaptic connections between neurons. - -The blind man collapsed and lay like a corpse at my feet. I knelt down -and felt of him. Mesner whispered for me to drag the old man inside. I -hooked my hands under his shoulders and pulled him into the shack. It -didn't matter to me now, nor to the blind man, I thought. - -He hardly weighed anything. His eyes were fixed in a white silence as -Mesner shone a small flashlight into them. Then Mesner shut both doors -and pulled a ragged cloth across the single window. - -He opened his case. He put the stroboscope on the blind man's head. The -bluish light began to flicker over the staring opaque eyes. I saw the -nerve-gun lying on the floor beside Mesner's hand. - -"You're too late," I said. "He's dead. I wouldn't have dragged him in -here if I hadn't known he was dead." - -Mesner was breathing thickly. His fat round face was pale and shiny -with sweat. "I know he's dead. He must have gulped a fast-action poison -soon as I came in the door. Maybe even the blind boys are deciding -things are getting too hot." - -Mesner worked the stroboscope. - -"But he's dead," I said. - -"Brain cells are the last to die," Mesner said. "Maybe I can pick up a -little info yet." - -It burst out of me then as from an abscess. The bottle cracked into a -thousand fragments. I lunged at Mesner. He seemed to roll away from me, -and then he squatted there in the flickering light. He leveled the gun -at me. - -"So you're beginning to wake up, Fred!" - -Probing a dead man. Questioning the dead. Even a corpse was sacred no -longer. The vile and horrible bastards, all of them. - -"I don't care what happens to me," I said. - -"That's noble of you." - -"I'm going to kill you." - -"Why?" - -"You wouldn't understand." - -"Maybe I wouldn't agree, but I'll understand, Fred. I know what you're -thinking. What I'm doing now is just too much. Right? The final -indignity one human being could inflict on another, right? A human mind -should be sacred, even if it's dumb. Even if it's dead. Especially if -it's dead. Right, Fred?" - -I started around the rickety table toward him. - -"Now it's set off, Fred. You're fired up now. That's what I've been -waiting for. You were planted to sabotage Security itself, Fred, and -I always knew that. Now we're going to find out all the rest of it. -Now it's squeezing out of your unconscious, and we can drain it, empty -it all out. They put a lid on your mind, Fred, and I've taken it off. -Put on the ethical pressure, put it heavy on your idealistic Egghead -morality, steam it up hot, blow the lid off. It's working, Fred." - -"Is it?" I said. "I don't remember anything that would do you any -good. I just know that it's wrong, the final horrible fraud. It isn't -intelligence you guys want to wipe out, Mesner. Not your own, not the -big wheels in power. It's only certain kinds of thinking, undesirable -thoughts, attitudes you don't like. Those are what you have to purge." - -"Right, Fred. Only the wrong kind of Eggheads. Me, hell I'm an Egghead -too. Remember the prize pupil in your psych class at Drake University, -Fred?" Mesner laughed. "That was me." - -"You can kill people," I said. "You can't burn a sense of what's right -or wrong out of people. That old dead blind man there has preserved -something you can't touch." - -"Too bad you won't be around to see how wrong you are, Fred. We can -make people whatever we damn well want them to be. Your old ethical -pals worked out the methods. We're using it for a different end." - -The front door squeaked. I felt a moist draft on my face, and a whisper -in my brain. A few words. I don't remember what they were. But they -were a key that opened floodgates of self-understanding and awareness. -I remembered a lot then, a lot of things and feelings that warmed me. I -had a wonderful sense of wholeness and I was no longer afraid of being -bipped, or afraid to die. - -There was an expression of complete triumph on Mesner's face, and -he knew what had happened to me and he wanted it, all of it, sucked -away into his briefcase. Just the same, the whisper from the doorway -distracted his attention and I went for him. - -In that second of time, I saw the little blind girl who had whispered -that triggering phrase for my release, and behind her, the seeing-eye -dog. She was utterly unafraid and smiling at me. Courage she was -saying. And I could share it with her. - -She had sealed her own death in order to make me whole again. - -I smashed the flashlight off the table into the wall and my weight -drove Mesner onto the floor. I managed to grab his arm and we lay there -in the dark straining for the nerve-gun. I began to hear the whir -of heliocars. I twisted Mesner's arm up and around and released the -nerve-gun's full charge directly into his face. A stammering scream -came out of him. It was the scream of something not human. A full -charge of that into the brain, it must have curled up the intricate -connections and short circuited his brain into an irreparable hash. - -I took the blind girl's hand and we ran toward the river. The sky was -crossed with search beams. And in the deep darkness by the river I -was suddenly as blind as the girl who held my hand. We kept running -and stumbling through the reeds. I felt her hand slip from mine. Then -something hit me. - -It wasn't a localized impact, but something seemed to have hit me all -over and moved through me as though my blood suddenly turned to lead. - -I tried to find the girl. I tried to crawl to the river, into the -river. And near me I heard the girl say softly, "Goodbye now, Mr. -Fredricks. Don't worry, because you'll be brave." - -"Thanks," I said. "Little girl, what's your name?" - -She didn't answer. I tried to call out to her again in the darkness, -but I couldn't move my lips. Paralysis gripped me, and after that -blackness, with the lights sometime later beginning to flicker against -my tearing eyes, and then the horror. - - * * * * * - -The inquisition ended sooner than I thought it would. After the awful -intrusion, there isn't any farther awareness of time. After you are -thoroughly invaded, after your private soul, every naked cell of your -brain is peeled open, exposed to the raw glaring light, after that you -no longer care. What is you has been obliterated the way a shadow is -eaten by the burn of cold light. - -Your identity is gone. They take it. You are theirs, all of you belongs -to them. You feel them pouring out your mind down to the pitiful dregs -as though they are pouring cups of coffee. - -The pain is a shredding, ripping, raveling horror. After that there is -no feeling at all, and this is worse. - -I told them everything I knew. What I couldn't tell, they tapped, -tearing chunks out the way you would rip pages and chapters out of a -book. - -The responsible humanists, scientists, intellectuals had known what -was coming. They prepared for it, and set up the plan before the last -days of the Egghead purge. They set up the future saboteurs by a long -intricate process of psychodynamic conditioning. They did it in the -Universities before the schools were purged. Promising students were -selected, worked on. - -Fredricks, a psychology student, was subjected to repeated hypnotic -experiments. A blind Professor named O'Hara did most of it. It was -all there finally in Fredrick's head, but then it was all suppressed -and finally Fredricks himself forgot that he knew. A delayed hypnotic -response pattern, an analogue, is set up. Later it will be triggered -off by a phrase, a word, a series of words repeated at conditioned -response intervals. - -Ten years later he was working inside, inside Security itself. When -circumstances were right, a blind courier was to have triggered off -Fredrick's suppressed knowledge allowing him to sabotage the entire -Department of Records and Scientific Method. So many scientists and -intellectuals had already been purged that few remained among the -available personnel of Security who could have repaired a simple -gasoline motor without a step-by-step chart taken from the Department -of Records. - -It would have been a master coup for the underground. - -But Mesner had traced Fredrick's identity back to Drake University, -back to O'Hara. He had gotten suspicious, and removed Fredricks from -Security. - -The blind girl had whispered the key phrase just the same, in order -that Fredricks might face the ordeal of the inquisition with as much -pride, strength, and courage as possible. - -"Only a free man, a man who fully respects himself as an individual and -a human being," Fredricks told his inquisitors, "only a man who has -learned why he is living, can die like a man." - -Then they killed me. - -They tried to get more out of me, but what they wanted to know, I knew -nothing whatever about. I knew nothing about the underground, or the -headquarters of the Eggheads. - -But by then I was dead, and what they did was of no importance. I was -no longer me. There was no awareness of being me. I had joined Dirkson -and the renegade bio-chemist and all the others. - -I was hopping up and down in a cage before the Tevee cameras, and a -reporter was talking to millions of smiling, care-free citizens and -telling them how another vicious crackpot had been captured just in -time to avert some terrible disaster which would have disturbed the -status quo. - -Then I was taken away. - -"Are you awake now, Mr. Fredricks?" - -I opened my eyes. I was in a clean white room lying near a barred -window. An attractive nurse smiled at me. She was holding a clipboard -and making notations on a report pad. - -"How do you feel now, Fred?" Painfully, I turned and saw several ghosts -standing and sitting on the other side of the bed. I could see a door -behind them, partly opened onto a softly lit corridor. - -There was Dr. Malden, a famous anthropologist whom I had last seen in -a newspaper headline during the purge. And Dr. Marquand, Nobel Prize -winner in electrobiology. And Dr. Martinson, one time head of the UN -Research Foundation. Dr. Rothberg, social psychologist. All dead, all -purged, bipped and confined years ago. All ghosts. - -Only they were there. And they were alive, and they seemed glad to see -me. All I knew was that I was alive again. I was aware of being me. And -somehow I knew that these forgotten names were also alive again. - -Rothberg handed me a cigarette and the nurse lit it for me. I -remembered that once I had liked cigarettes. - -"So what's happened," I said. My voice was weak. My insides felt as -though they were filled with grinding pieces of broken razor blades. - -"You're in Zany-Ward No. 104," Dr. Rothberg said. - -"I don't believe I quite understand," I said carefully. - -"You will," Dr. Rothberg said. "Let's just say for a starter that when -a man is bipped and brought here, we try to put him back together -again. It's a long painful process. Sometimes he's not quite the same, -but we've done pretty good work. We rebuild burned-out circuits. We -have to know exactly what you were before you were bipped, and we try -to duplicate the pattern. Regeneration is slow and rough. You'll be all -right." - -They shook hands with me and smiled down at me and went out. The pretty -nurse gave me a pill and I lay back and thought about it. It was -logical enough, and I started to laugh. During the months after that -while the slow process of re-learning and regeneration continued, I -learned more about the Zany-Wards. Serious as it was, and as much as -there was yet to be done, it was always amusing. - -As Eggheads were apprehended and confined, they were rehabilitated, put -back together again, in a way you could say fissioned. The Eggheads are -the inmates. They run the Zany-Wards which are used also as bases of -operation in a continuing attempt to disrupt the Era of Normalcy. Great -scientific labs are concealed underground. - -When Security inspection committees appear on the scene, we all put on -our acts. We dance, make faces, act like monkeys and giggle. - -Doctor Rothberg told me yesterday that if our sabotage work doesn't -soon cause people to rebel against the Era of Normalcy, it won't be -long before we'll be the only sane people left in the world. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dark Windows, by Bryce Walton - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DARK WINDOWS *** - -***** This file should be named 60362.txt or 60362.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/3/6/60362/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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