The Exiles Trilogy Page 4

  “Oh, that was real all right,” he said. “I was trying to figure out some way to get your white hide out of there. But I wasn’t coming up with any answers. Looked like I was going to let them take you out...”

  “You’d’ve let them?”

  Another shrug. “Couldn’t figure out what else to do, until you started talking tough. Gave me the out I needed.”

  “Well... thanks, I guess.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Felix replied, grinning.

  Within half an hour, Lou was walking with hardly a limp. He showered, shaved, and put on a disposable summer suit and loafers that he picked out at the clothing store. Felix and Zonk had outfitted themselves, too. Felix went in for grander tastes, complete with cape and boots. Zonk leaned toward electric colors and the latest, form-fitted, sprayed-on styles.

  “You look almost decent,” Felix said to Lou. “Mouth’s still swollen and you’ve got a nice blue lump coming along over your eye. But you’ll be okay.”

  Felix drove them through the main gates of JFK just as the sun showed itself over the distant skyline. The white-helmeted security guards at the gates eyed the battered old car, but let it pass. Up the sweeping ramp of the once-grand terminal building they went, with Felix steering carefully to avoid potholes.

  He stopped in front of the terminal and Lou got out, then ducked his head back in and put his hand in Felix’s huge paw. “Thanks. For everything. And good luck.”

  “Nothing to it,” Felix said, grinning. “Hope you make out okay.” Then he turned to Zonk and said, “C’mon up front. Le’see what jet planes look like up close.”

  The clattering car drove off. Lou stood there for a moment in the growing light of dawn watching them disappear down the other side of the ramp. Then he turned and went inside the decaying terminal.

  The first flight that connected with Albuquerque wasn’t until seven. An hour to wait. His insides fluttering from hunger as much as nerves, Lou went to the autocafeteria and had powdered eggs, reconstituted milk, and a man-made slice of something called protosteak. It tasted like plastic.

  No one stopped him or even noticed him as he went to the flight departure lounge, verified his ticket on the jet, went aboard, and took his seat. The plane was ten minutes late getting away from the terminal, and Lou expected each second to see the same Federal marshal come up the aisle and clap a hand on his shoulder.

  But finally they were airborne. As soon as Lou heard the wheels pull up, he fell asleep.

  He woke up with a start when the flaps and wheels went down again. Out the window he could see the familiar flat greenery of the New Mexico irrigated farmlands. Off in the distance, Sandia Peak stuck its rocky brown mass up in the sky.

  I wonder if Bonnie’s home. Maybe she never left for Charleston. Then another thought hit him. What if they’re waiting for me when I get off the plane?

  The plane landed and taxied up to the terminal. Lou put himself in the middle of the ninety-some people who were getting off and tried to look invisible in the crowd. He stayed in the crowd until he was well into the terminal, then headed straight for the exit, looking over his shoulder a few times to see if anyone was following him. No one. Outside in the blazing sunlight, he wondered if his car was still in the parking lot. Better leave it alone. He waved for a cab, and one pulled away from its parking stall and glided to the curb where he stood.

  Inside, after he firmly shut the cab door, Lou told the autodriver, “Genetics Institute.”

  If Bonnie wasn’t picked up by the police, she’ll be at the lab. And Dr. Kaufman and the others... they'll help me.

  The cab drove out away from the city, into the farmlands, along one of the main irrigation lines. For the thousandth time, Lou tried to puzzle out why the police wanted him. The Federal marshal said he was under arrest. The Norseman at the UN building said he wasn’t. But they were going to take him to Messina. Why? Better check with Greg at the Institute and see if he knows a good lawyer.

  Finally, Lou could see the familiar white buildings of the Institute. Almost immediately, he could tell that something was wrong.

  The place looked deserted. The parking lot was empty. Nobody was walking around outside. Nobody was visible in the big glass-fronted lobby. And as the cab pulled up to the outer fence, the gate did not slide open automatically.

  Lou looked at his wristwatch. It was still on Albuquerque time; he hadn’t changed it. It said nine-thirty.

  Why is it... wait a minute! What day is it? Sunday or Monday? I took off... it must be Sunday, got to be.

  He thumbed the window button down and felt the heat of the outdoors invade the cab. To the gate control box he said, “Code one-five, Christopher. Open up.”

  The gate rattled open. The cab drove smoothly up to the lobby door. Just to be safe, Lou gave a phony name and credit number to the cab’s simple-minded computer. It had no camera equipment and therefore no way to check on who its passenger really was.

  As the cab drove away, Lou stood squinting in the brilliant sunshine. For a moment, a flash of fear knifed through him. Even for a Sunday the Institute seemed utterly deserted. Usually there was somebody around.

  “Well,” he said to himself in a deliberately loud, firm voice, “I can hide out here until some of the staff shows up tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll call Greg or one of the other guys—”

  The main doors into the lobby were locked also, but Lou’s name and code symbol were enough to open them. He stepped into the quiet, cool darkness of the lobby; the sun’s glare was screened out by the polarized windows. He hesitated a moment, then walked through the open doorway and into the building’s main corridor. His footsteps against the plastic flooring and the whisper of the air conditioning were the only sounds he could hear.

  First thing to do is call Bonnie, he thought, find out if she’s okay.

  His own office was down at the end of the corridor, next to Ramo, the big computer. Suddenly Lou realized, Not even Ramo’s making any noise! Usually, the computer was humming and chattering electronically; it was almost always working on something, even on weekends and late at night.

  Lou looked through the glass partition that surrounded Ramo. The computer was silent. No lights flashing on its main board.

  “Ramo, you awake?” Lou called.

  From a speaker in the ceiling overhead came Ramo’s baritone voice. “Yes, Lou. I’m fine. What can I do for you?” A single row of lights on the main board flickered to life.

  Lou breathed a relieved sigh. “You were so quiet—I thought somebody had shut you down.”

  “All programs are completed at present.” Ramo answered.

  “All programs? What about the zygote modeling calculations?”

  “That program was temporarily shut down by Dr. Kaufman.”

  “Shut down? Why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Lou stood there watching the flickering row of lights, uncertain, feeling something like panic forming in the pit of his stomach. He fought it down. “Okay... uh, get Bonnie Sterne on the phone for me, will you? Her home phone.”

  “Shall I place the call on your office phone?” Ramo asked.

  “No... I’ll be in the cafeteria. Anybody been in today?”

  “No one. Except for Big George, of course.”

  Shaking his head in puzzlement, Lou went back up the corridor and turned down a side hall to the cafeteria. His head was throbbing with pain, and despite his nap on the plane he felt dead tired. And hungry.

  Lou was surprised to see Big George sitting in the cafeteria, eating a huge plate of fruit salad.

  Big George was an eight-year-old mountain gorilla, taller than Lou, even in his hunched-over, ground-knuckling posture. No one had weighed him for several months, since he playfully ripped the big scales they had used out of the wall of his special quarters. His face was all ferocity—fanged mouth, low beetling brow, black muzzle, and blacker hair. His arms could reach across the table without his ever getting up from the chair he was sitting on. The plast
ic chair itself was sagging dangerously under his weight. It was hard to believe that Big George was a gentle, even a timid, animal.

  “Who let you in here?” Lou asked from the doorway.

  “Let myself in, Uncle Lou,” George whispered. “Got hungry. Nobody here to feed me. Opened the pen gate and came in for food.”

  Lou went over to the selector wall and punched buttons for a real steak dinner. “You mean nobody’s been around to feed you since yesterday?”

  “Nobody, Uncle Lou.” George stuffed half a cantaloupe into his toothy mouth. Big George was one of the Institute’s great successes. The geneticists had managed to give the gorilla a large measure of intelligence. George tested out to the intelligence level of a human six-year-old. It seemed that he would not go any further. The surgical team that worked with the Institute had altered George’s vocal equipment so that he could speak in a harsh, labored whisper. It was the best they could do.

  Lou carried his steaming tray to the end of the table where George was sitting. He was glad of some companionship, but it was best to give George plenty of room. Not that he was dangerous—just sloppy.

  Looking up at the ceiling, Lou called, “Hey, where’s that phone call, Ramo?”

  “There is no answer,” came the smooth reply.

  “She’s not home?”

  “Evidently not,” said Ramo.

  “What’s her phone say?”

  “Nothing. No reply whatsoever. No forwarding number, no request to leave a message.”

  Lou stared down at his steak. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

  “Ramo!” he shouted. “Where is everybody?”

  “All of the scientific staff has been taken into custody by Federal marshals,” Ramo said calmly. “Everyone else has been sent home.”

  Before it could really register on Lou’s mind, George growled, “Somebody coming in the hallway, Uncle Lou. Strangers.”

  “Federal marshals,” Ramo said. “I was programmed to call them when you returned to the Institute.”

  (7)

  Lou stood up, hot fear burning through him. “Federal marshals?”

  “They have locked all the doors and are searching the building for you,” Ramo said without emotion.

  “Uncle Lou, I’m afraid,” George whispered.

  “How many of them are there?” Lou asked Ramo.

  “Twelve.”

  Big George pushed off his chair and shambled over to stand beside Lou, so close that Lou could feel the warmth from his great hairy body. George was terrified. But the marshals don’t know how timid he really is. They might shoot as soon as they see him.

  “Is the door to the courtyard locked?”

  “Yes,” Ramo answered. “All the doors are.”

  There were footsteps in the hall now; Lou could hear them. He turned to George, snuffling fearfully beside him.

  “Can you knock that door open, Georgy?”

  “I can try, Uncle Lou.”

  Lou patted his massive shoulder. “Come on, quick.”

  George scampered toward the door, accidentally knocking a chair clattering out of his way. From out in the hall a voice called:

  “Hey... hear that? In here, quick, unlock it!”

  George was loping across the floor in full stride now, knuckles and big splayed feet slapping the tiles. Lou had to run to keep up with him. George didn’t stop or even slow down at the door. He simply crashed right through, his bulk and speed tearing the lock right apart and knocking both doors off their hinges with a blood-freezing shriek of ripping metal.

  Lou was right behind him in the sudden glare of the sunshine.

  “George... this way!”

  Now Lou took the lead, through the courtyard and out the access tunnel toward the back lot. Stopping, he pointed to the stand of trees off behind the parking area.

  “You... get back... to your pen,” he panted. “Safest place... for you. They won’t bother you... in there.”

  “But Uncle Lou, I want to go with you,” George argued hoarsely. “All the nice people went away. These new people scare me.”

  Lou took a deep breath and said, “They won’t hurt you. And you can’t come with me right now. But I’ll come back for you.”

  “When?”

  Lou could hear shouts out in the courtyard.

  “As soon as I can, Georgy.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise. Now get back to your pen and be a good boy. And don’t be afraid, they won’t hurt you.”

  With a troubled look, the gorilla moved off toward the trees.

  Lou sprinted for the parked cars. The lab’s electric wagons were lined up in the first row, and Lou knew their ignition locks were keyed to a simple voice code. He slid in behind the wheel of the first one in line.

  “DNA-RNA,” he said as he pressed the starter switch.

  The electric motor hummed to life. Never be able to outrun turbocars in this thing, Lou told himself. A man in a gray business suit ran out onto the parking lot. He had a gun in his hand. Lou grabbed the steering wheel, kicked off the brakes, and slammed the accelerator to the floor. The wagon lurched feebly, then started to gain momentum. Lou drove straight at the man. He jumped away and fired. Lou swung the wagon away and then cut back for the access tunnel, dived through its shadow, raced through the courtyard and past another handful of jumping, shouting men, into the front tunnel and out past the main lobby.

  The front gate was rolling shut, but Lou knifed the wagon through it and sped down the highway in the curiously quiet acceleration of the electric motor. He picked up the car radio microphone and called:

  “Ramo, this is Lou Christopher. Over.”

  “I recognize your voice pattern, Lou. Over.”

  “Basic program zero, Ramo. Suspend all housekeeping functions until further notice. Maintenance and repair mode only. Execute. Over.”

  “Executed. Over.”

  Lou grinned as he raced down the highway, one hand on the wheel. “Very good, Ramo. Now suspend all communications until my voice pattern orders resumption. Understood? Over.”

  “Understood and prepared to execute,” Ramo said tonelessly. But somehow Lou felt the computer didn’t like to shut itself off.

  “Execute. Over.”

  No answer. The computer was completely shut down. All the doors that were locked would remain locked until some of the Institute maintenance men could be brought in to open them manually. The front gate would stay locked too, and it was strong enough to keep the police cars inside even if they tried ramming it. All the lights, the air conditioning, everything, was off. Have a pleasant day! Lou thought grimly.

  He eased off the accelerator and coasted down the highway at the legal maximum speed. No sense getting picked up by a traffic patrol. His insides were fluttering, now that he had enough time to think.

  How long can I keep running? Where to now? Not my apartment. Ramo said everybody on the scientific staff was arrested. Did they take Bonnie, too? And why, why, for God’s sake? What's going on?

  He shook his head. It was like a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. Police don’t just march into a lab and arrest everybody. That was something out of the Dark Ages. People have rights, there are laws...

  And then he remembered New York, and realized that in some places the Dark Ages still existed.

  As he drove toward town, Lou switched on the radio and dialed to the police frequency. Plenty of chatter, but nothing about the Institute or himself. Why not? Why aren’t they calling for help? Or at least spreading an alert to pick me up?

  As if in answer, Lou saw a highway patrol cruiser gliding up behind him on the outside lane. He knew that the electric wagon could never outspeed a cruiser; the turbine-driven police car could even lift itself off the ground and literally fly on an air cushion for short distances, doing several hundred knots. But the cruiser zipped right past him, and the two white-helmeted officers in it never even looked at him.

  Maybe the police aren’t after me, Lou said to himself.


  Another part of his mind answered, Somebody is.

  But not the police. Then who are they?

  A few minutes later he found himself driving past Bonnie’s apartment building. Got to stop someplace. Got to have some time to figure this out. Even is she's been picked up, I can still use her apartment. And if she’s free, I can find out what’s going on from her.

  He drove the wagon halfway across town, parked it in a public garage, and then took a cab back to Bonnie’s. He gave the cab another false name and credit number. In the lobby of the apartment building, he told the door-computer:

  “I’m a friend of Miss Sterne’s, apartment 27-T.”

  “Name, please,” the computer’s flat voice replied.

  “Roy Kendall,” Lou lied, naming a mutual friend who lived in Denver.

  “Miss Sterne is not in at present. I am not programmed to admit anyone.”

  “Miss Sterne has left special instructions under Code V for visitors.”

  The computer hummed to itself for a second. Then, “Mr. Kendall, you may be admitted.” The door clicked open. Lou stepped through and went to the elevator.

  He had to go through the same routine with the lock computer at Bonnie’s door, but here the code symbol was SF for special friends. Finally, the door popped open and Lou stepped into Bonnie’s apartment.

  Shutting the door carefully behind him, Lou looked over the single room. Nothing seemed disturbed or moved. The closet next to the foldaway bed was open, and there were some clothes draped on a chair in front of it. Lou poked into the kitchenette alcove and found a pot of coffee still plugged in and warm. Bonnie was here this morning. Or at least, somebody was here.

  He took a bottle of milk from the refrigerator and downed half of it. He was just putting it back when the front door opened.

  Bonnie stood in the doorway, open-mouthed with surprise.

  “Lou!”

  She ran to him and threw herself into his arms. She felt warm and soft and safe.

  “Baby, is it ever good to see you,” he murmured into her ear as he held her. “You even smell great.”

  “Lou, what happened to you? Where’ve you been? We heard... Oh, Lou, your face!” She reached up and touched his swollen jaw. It hurt, but Lou didn't mind at all.