Eric Frank Russell - Mindwarpers

VIP免费

2024-12-04 0 0 691.9KB 101 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

The Mindwarpers

By Eric Frank Russell

1965

WARNING: LOCK YOUR BRAIN

The government's most vital scientific laboratory. No enemy could steal its

secrets, because no enemy could possibly get in.

But men's minds were another matter.

It began with key scientists leaving-just quitting their jobs and drifting away.

Then master metallurgist Richard Bransome began to remember a past he had

completely forgotten--a past in which he had been a cold-blooded murderer. And

he set out on a strange, solitary mission to learn the facts-the facts about himself,

and the facts about America's most incredible enemy.

But how could he do either... when he couldn't even trust his own sanity?

Eric Frank Russell, England's great science-fiction writer, returns in this book

to the kind of theme he explored in his classic Sinister Barrier and Dreadful

Sanctuary. The result is an astonishing tour de force of science and suspense.

WHY HAD HE KILLED ARLINE?

The details of that act now shone vividly in his memory as if embossed

thereon a few days ago rather than twenty years back. But on preceding and

subsequent events he was decidedly hazy.

What had been her hold over him? A theft? An armed robbery? An

embezzlement or a forgery?

Wearily he rubbed his forehead, knowing that intense nervous strain can play

hob with rational thought. Was some latent abnormality-first evident twenty years

ago-now reasserting itself? Was he as sane as he believed himself to be?

He didn't know about THE MINDWARPERS . . . yet.

COMPLETE AND UNABRIDGED

THE MINDWARPERS

Eric Frank Russell

LANCER BOOKS

NEW YORK

A LANCER BOOK • 1965

THE MINDWARPERS

LANCER BOOKS, INC. • 185 MADISON AVE. • NEW YORK, N.Y. 10016

ONE

The governmental research establishment, the very heart of the country's

scientific effort, was huge and formidable by any standard, even that of the

technological twentieth century. By comparison, Fort Knox and Alcatraz, the

Bastille and the Kremlin were as frontier forts built with wood logs. Yet it was

vulnerable. Hostile eyes had examined what little could be seen of it, hostile

minds had carefully considered what little was known about it, after which the

entire complex became less safe than a moth-eaten tent.

The outer wall stood forty feet high. It was eight feet thick, of granite blocks

sealed and faced with aluminous cement. Satin-smooth, there wasn't a toe-hold

on it, not even for a spider. Beneath the base of the wall, thirty-six feet down, ran

a sensitive microphone system, wired in duplicate, intended to thwart any human

moles who might try to burrow their way inside. Those who had designed the wall

had been firmly convinced that fanatics are capable of anything and that nothing

was too far-fetched to justify counter-measures.

In the great length of this quadrilateral wall were only two breaks, a narrow

one at the front for the entry and exit of personnel, a wider one at the back for

trucks bringing supplies or removing products. Both gaps were protected by three

forty-ton hardened steel doors, as massive as dock gates, mechanically operated

and incapable of standing open more than one at a time. Each door was

attended by its own squad of guards, big, tough, sour-faced men who in the

opinion of all those who had dealings with them had been specially chosen for

their mean, suspicious natures.

Exit was less difficult than entry. Invariably armed with a pass-out permit, the

departer merely suffered the delay of waiting for each door to close behind him

before the one in front could open. Movement in the opposite direction, inward,

was the real chore. If one were an employee well-known to the guards one could

get through subject to tedious waits at three successive doors plus a possible

check on whether one's pass-the pattern of which was changed at unpredictable

intervals-bore the current design.

But the stranger had it tough no matter how high his rank, important his

bearing or authoritative the documents he presented. He would certainly suffer a

long and penetrating inquisition at the hands of the first squad of guards. If his

questioners were not thoroughly satisfied-and most times they were satisfied with

nothing in heaven or on earth-the visitor was likely to be searched right down to

the skin. Any protest on his part usually resulted in the search being extended to

include close inspection of his physical apertures. Anything found that was

deemed suspicious, superfluous, unreasonable, inexplicable or not strictly

necessary for the declared purpose of the visit was confiscated on the spot and

returned to the owner when he took his departure.

And that was only the first stage of this bureaucratic purgatory. At the next

door the second squad of guards specialized in concocting objections to entry

not thought up by the first guards. Its members were not above belittling the

security consciousness and search proficiency of the first guards and insisting

upon a second "more expert" search. This could and sometimes did include

removal of the dental plates and careful examination of the naked mouth, a tactic

inspired by the known development of a camera the size of a cigarette's filter-tip.

Guard squad number three had the worst skeptics of the lot. Its members

had an infuriating habit of detaining twice-passed incomers while they checked

with squads one and two was to whether this, that or the other question had been

asked and, if so, what replies had been given. They had a tendency to doubt the

truth of some replies, throw scorn upon the plausibility of others and seek

contradictions over which they could foam at the mouth. Full details of searches

were often demanded by them and any omission in search-technique was made

good then and there even if the victim had to strip himself stark naked for the

third time in thirty minutes. Guard squad number three also possessed but

seldom used an X-ray machine, a polygraph, a stereoscopic camera, a

fingerprinting outfit and several other sinister devices.

The great protective wall surrounding the plant was in keeping with what lay

within. Offices, departments, machine shops and laboratories were rigidly

compartmentalized with steel doors and stubborn guards blocking the way from

one well-defined area to another. Each self-contained section was identified by

the color of its corridors and doors, the higher up the spectrum the greater the

secrecy and priority in security assigned to a given area.

Workers in yellow-door areas were not allowed to pass through blue doors.

Toilers behind blue doors could "go slumming" as they called it by entering a

yellow or lower priority area but were strictly forbidden to stick their noses the

other side of purple doors. Not even the security guards could go beyond a black

door without a formal invitation from the other side. Only the black-area men and

the President and God Almighty could amble around other sections as they

pleased and explore the entire plant.

Throughout the whole of this conglomeration ran its intricate nervous system

in the form of wires buried in the walls, ceilings and, in some cases, under the

floors; wires linking up with general alarm-bells and sirens, door-locking

mechanisms, delicate microphones and television-scanners. All the watching and

listening was done by black-area snoopers. The plant's inmates had long

accepted the necessity of being continually heard and seen even when in the

toilet-for where better than the little room in which to memorize, copy or photo-

»ph classified data?

Such trouble, ingenuity, and expense was useless from the viewpoint of

outside and unfriendly eyes. The place was, in fact, a veritable Singapore, wide

open to attack from an unseen and unexpected quarter. There was no good

reason why its weak spot should have passed by unobserved except, perhaps,

that the apprehensive can be so finicky as to overlook the obvious.

In spite of hints and forewarnings the obvious was overlooked. The people at

the top of the research center's plant were highly qualified experts, each in his

own field and therefore ignorant of other fields. The chief bacteriologist could talk

for hours about a new and virulent germ without knowing whether Saturn has two

moons or ten. The head of the ballistics department could draw graphs of

complicated trajectories without being able to say whether an okapi belongs to

the deer, horse, or giraffe family. The entire place was crammed with experts of

every kind save one-the one who could see and understand a broad hint when it

became visible.

For example, nobody found any significance in the fact that while the plant's

employees bore security measures, searchings and snoopings with resigned

fortitude, most of them detested the color-area system. Color had become a

prestige symbol. The yellow-area man considered himself downgraded with

respect to his blue-area counterpart even though getting the same salary. The

man who worked behind red doors viewed himself as several cuts above a white-

door man. And so on.

Women, always the socially conscious sex, boosted this attitude to the

utmost. Female workers and the wives of male workers adopted in their outside

relations a farmyard pecking-order based upon the color of the area in which they

or their husbands worked. The wives of black-area workers were tops and proud

of it; those of white-area men were bottom and riled by it. The sweet smile and

cooing voice and feline display of claws was the normal form of greeting among

them.

Such a state of affairs was accepted by all and sundry as "just one of those

things." But it was not just one of those things; it was direct evidence that the

plant was occupied and operated by human beings who were not robots made of

case-hardened steel. The absent expert-a topflight psychologist-could have

recognized this fact with half an eye even though he might not know a venturi-

tube from a rocket nose-cap.

That was where the real weakness lay: not in concrete, granite or steel, not

in mechanisms or electronic devices, not in routines or precautions or paperwork,

but in flesh and blood.

* * *

Haperny's resignation caused more irritation than alarm. Forty-two years old,

dark-haired and running slightly to fat, he was a red-area expert specializing in

high-vacuum phenomena. All who knew him regarded him as clever, hard-

working, conscientious and as emotional as a plaster statue. So far as was

known little interested Haperny beyond his work. The fact that he was a stodgy

and determined bachelor was considered proof that he had nothing for which to

live outside of his work.

Bates, the head of his department, and Laidler, the chief security officer,

summoned him for an interview. They were sitting side by side behind a big desk

when he lumbered in and blinked at them through thick-lensed glasses. Bates

put a sheet of paper on the desk and poked it forward.

"Mr. Haperny, I've had this passed to me. Your resignation. What's the idea?"

"I want to leave," said Haperny, fidgeting.

"Obviously! But why? Have you found a better position someplace else? If

so, with whom? We are entitled to know."

Haperny shuffled his feet and looked unhappy. "No, I haven't got another job.

Haven't looked for one, either. Not just yet. Later on perhaps."

"Then why have you decided to go?" Bates demanded.

"I've had enough."

"Enough?" Bates was incredulous. "Enough of what?"

"Of working here."

"Let's get this straight," said Bates. "You're a valuable man and you've been

with us fourteen years. Up to now you appear to have been content. Your work

has been first-class and nobody has criticized it or you. If you could maintain that

record you'd be secure for the rest of your natural life. Do you really want to

throw away a safe and rewarding job?"

"Yes," said Haperny, dully determined.

"And with nothing better in prospect?"

"That's right."

Leaning back in his chair, Bates stared at him speculatively. "Know what I

think? I think you're feeling the wear and tear. I think you ought to see the

medic."

"I don't want to," declared Haperny. "What's more, I don't have to. And I'm

not going to."

"He might certify that you're suffering from the nervous strain of overwork. He

might recommend that you be given a good, long rest," urged Bates. "You could

then take an extended vacation on full pay. Go fishing somewhere quiet and

peaceful and come back in due course feeling like a million dollars."

"I'm not interested in fishing."

"Then what the devil are you interested in? What do you intend to do after

you've left here?"

"I want to amble around for a time. Wherever the fancy takes me. I want to

be free to go where I please."

Frowning to himself, Laidler chipped in with, "Do you plan to leave this

country?"

"Not immediately," said Haperny. "Not unless I have to."

"Have to? Any reason why you might have to?" Getting no answer, Laidler

went on, "Your personal record shows that you have never been issued a

passport. It's my duty to warn you that you may have to face some mighty

awkward questions if ever you do apply for one. You possess information that

could be useful to an enemy, and the government cannot afford to ignore that

fact."

"Are you implying that I might be persuaded to sell what I know?" growled

Haperny, showing ire.

"Not at all, not in present circumstances," said Laidler, evenly. "Right now

your character is above reproach. Nobody doubts your loyalty. But-"

"But what?"

"Circumstances can change. A fellow wandering aimlessly around without a

job, with no source of income, must eventually come to the end of his savings.

He then experiences his first taste of poverty. His ideas start altering. He has

second thoughts about a lot of things he once took for granted. See what I

mean?"

"I don't contemplate becoming a hobo. I'll get a job sometime, when I'm good

and ready."

"Is that so?" interjected Bates, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "What do you

think the average employer is going to say when you walk in and ask could he

use a high-vacuum physicist?"

My qualifications don't prevent me from washing dishes," Haperny pointed

out. "If you don't mind, I'd like to be left to solve my own problems in my own

way. This is a free country, isn't it?"

"We want to keep it that way," put in Laidler.

Bates let go a deep sigh and opined, "If a fellow insists on suddenly going

crazy, I can't stop him. So I'll accept this resignation and pass it along to

headquarters. No doubt they'll take a grim view of it. If they decide that you are to

be shot at dawn it'll be up to them to tend to it." He waved a hand in dismissal.

"All right, leave it with me."

Haperny departed and Laidler said, "Did you notice his expression when you

made that crack about being shot at dawn? He knew you were kidding, of

course, but all the same he seemed to go sort of strained looking. Maybe he's

scared of something."

"Imagination," Bates scoffed. "I was watching him myself. He looked normal

enough in his stubborn, owl-eyed way. I think he's belatedly jumpy because

Nature's caught up with him."

"Meaning?"

"He's been sexually retarded but at last has outgrown it. Even at forty-two it's

not too late to do something about it. Bet you he leaves here at full gallop, like an

eager bull. He'll keep running until he finds a suitable mate. Then he'll get

coupled and cool down and want his job back."

"You may be right," conceded Laidler, "but I wouldn't care to put money on it.

I feel instinctively that Haperny is badly worried. It would be nice to know what's

causing it."

"Not the worrying type," Bates assured. "Never has been and never will be.

What he wants is a roll in the hay. No law against it, is there?"

"Sometimes I think there ought to be," said Laidler, mysteriously. "Anyway,

when a high-grade expert suddenly decides to take off into the blue we can't

safely assume that today's date marks the opening of his breeding season. There

may be a deeper and more dangerous reason. We need to know about that."

"So?"

"He'll have to be watched until we're satisfied that he's doing no harm and

intends none. A couple of counter-espionage agents will have to keep tab on

him. That costs money."

"Will it come out of your wallet?"

"No."

"Then what do you care?"

"Since you put it that way," said Laidler, "I'll admit that I don't give a damn."

* * *

The news about Haperny drifted around the plant, causing a few raised

eyebrows and some perfunctory discussion. In the canteen Richard Bransome, a

green-area metallurgist, talked about it with his co-worker Arnold Berg. In the

future both men were to be the unwilling subjects of greater mysteries, though, of

course, neither suspected it at this time.

"Arny, have you heard that Haperny is getting out?"

"Yes. Told me so himself a few minutes ago."

"H'm! Has he become bored with the scenery? Or has someone offered him

more money?"

"His story," said Berg, "is that he's become sick of regimentation and wants

to run loose a while. It's the gypsy in him."

"Strange," mused Bransome. "I never thought of him as a fidget. Seemed to

me as stolid and as solid as a lump of rock."

"Wanderlust does look out of character for him," Berg admitted. "But you

know the old saying: still waters run deep."

"You may be right. I have moments of getting tired of routine-but not tired

enough to throw up a good job."

"You have a wife and two kids to keep," Berg pointed out. "Haperny has

nobody to consider but himself. He's free to do as he likes. If he wants to switch

from scientific research to garbage collecting, I say good luck to him.

Somebody's got to move our garbage, else we'd be stuck with it. Have you ever

thought of that?"

"My mind dwells on higher things," said Bransome, virtuously.

"It'd drop to lower levels if the junk were piling up in your backyard," Berg

retorted.

Ignoring that, Bransome said, "Haperny is stodgy but no dope. He's got a

plodding but brilliant mind. If he's taking off it's for a reason better than the one

he's seen fit to make public."

"Such as?"

"I don't know. I can only guess. Maybe he's been given another official job

elsewhere and is under strict orders to keep his mouth shut."

"Could be. In this uncertain world anything is possible. Someday I may

vanish myself-and make good as a strip-teaser."

"What, with that paunch?"

"It will add to the interest," said Berg, patting it fondly.

"Have it your own way." Bransome pondered a short time, then went on,

"Now that I come to think of it, this place has been getting its knocks of late."

"Anything regarded as a burden upon the taxpayer is sure to be kicked from

time to time," offered Berg. "There is always somebody ready to howl about the

expenditure."

"I wasn't considering the latest cost-cutting rigmarole. I was still thinking

about Haperny."

"His departure won't wreck the works," asserted Berg. "It'll be no more than a

darned inconvenience. Takes time and trouble to replace an expert. The supply

of specialists isn't unlimited."

"Precisely! And it seems to me that these days the time and trouble are taken

more often."

"How d'you mean?"

"I've been here eight years. For the first six of those our staff losses were no

more or less than one would expect. Fellows reached the age of sixty-five and

exercised their right to retire on pension. Others agreed to continue working but

fell ill or dropped dead sometime later. A few young ones pegged out from

natural causes or got themselves killed in accidents. Some people were

transferred to more urgent work elsewhere. And so on. As I said, the losses were

reasonable."

"Well?" prompted Berg.

"Take a look at the last couple of years and you'll see a somewhat different

picture. In addition to the normal sequence of deaths, retirements, and transfers

we've had sudden disappearances for unusual reasons. There was McLain and

Simpson, for example. Took a vacation up the Amazon, evaporated into thin air

and no trace of them has been found."

"That was eighteen months ago," Berg contributed. "It is a good bet that

they're dead. Could be anything: drowning, fever, snake-bite or eaten alive by

piranhas."

"Then there was Jacobert. Married a wealthy dame who had inherited a big

cattle spread in Argentina. He goes there to help manage the place. How's that

for a round peg in a square hole? As an exceptionally able chemical engineer he

wouldn't know which end of a cow does the mooing."

"He can learn. He'd be doing it for love and money and I cannot imagine

better reasons. I'd do the same myself, given the chance."

"And Henderson," continued Bransome. "Another case like Haperny's. Took

off on a whim. I heard a rumor that some time later he was found operating a

hardware store out west."

"And I heard another rumor that immediately he was found he took off again,"

said Berg.

"Which reminds me, talking about rumors: there was that one about Muller.

Found shot. The verdict was accidental death. Rumor said it was suicide. Yet

Muller had no known reason to kill himself and definitely he wasn't the type to be

careless with a gun."

"Are you suggesting he was murdered?" asked Berg, giving the other a

quizzical look.

"I'm suggesting only that his death was peculiar, to say the least. For the

matter of that, so was Arvanian's a couple of months ago. Drove his car off a

dockside and into forty feet of water. They said he must have suffered a blackout.

He was thirty-two, an athletic type, and in excellent health. The blackout theory

doesn't look plausible to me."

"What are your medical qualifications?"

"None," Bransome admitted.

"The fellow who came up with the blackout notion was a fully qualified doctor.

Presumably he knew what he was talking about."

"Not saying he didn't. What I am saying is that he made an intelligent guess

and not a diagnosis. A guess is a guess is a guess, no matter who makes it."

"Could you offer a better one?"

"Yes-if Arvanian had been a heavy drinker. In that case I'd think it likely he

met his end as result of driving while drunk. But he wasn't a boozer as far as I

know. Neither was he a diabetic. Maybe he fell asleep at the wheel."

"That could happen," Berg agreed. "I did it myself once. It wasn't brought on

by tiredness, either. It was caused by the sheer monotony of driving on a long,

lonely road in the dark, hearing the steady hum of the tires and watching the

headlight beams swaying. I yawned a few times, then-ker-rash! Found myself

sprawled in a ditch with a large lump on my head. The experience shook me up

for weeks, I can tell you!"

"Arvanian hadn't done a long, monotonous drive. He'd covered exactly

twenty-four miles."

"So what? He could have been drowsy after a hard day's work. Possibly he

hadn't been sleeping well of late. A few spoiled nights can make a man muddle-

minded and ready to bed down anywhere, even behind a wheel."

"You're right about that, Amy. As the father of two kids I've had a taste of it.

Lack of sleep can pull a man down. It shows in the way he does his work."

Bransome tapped the table by way of emphasis. "It didn't show in Arvanian's

work."

"But-"

"Furthermore, he was supposed to be on his way home. The dockside was

out of line from his direct route by three miles or more. He must have made a

detour to get there. Why?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. It looks rather like suicide. Quite possibly it wasn't. Nobody

knows what it was. I feel entitled to say there was something decidedly strange

about it and that's as far as I go."

"You've got a prying mind," said Berg. "Why don't you set up in business as a

private investigator?"

"More hazards and less security," responded Bransome, smiling. He glanced

at his watch. "Time we returned to the treadmill."

* * *

Two months later Berg disappeared. During the ten days preceding his

vanishing he had been quiet, thoughtful and uncommunicative. Bransome, who

worked closest to him, noticed it and for the first few days put it down to a spell of

moodiness. But as the other's attitude persisted and grew into something more

like wary silence, he became curious.

"Sickening for something?"

"Eh?"

"I said are you sickening for something? You've become as broody as an old

hen."

"I'm not aware of it," said Berg, defensively.

"You're aware of it now because I've just told you. Sure you feel all right?"

"There's nothing the matter with me," Berg asserted. "A fellow doesn't have

to yap his head off all the time."

"Not saying he does."

"Okay, then. I'll talk when I feel like it and keep shut when I feel like it."

After that the silence increased. On his last day at the plant Berg uttered not

a word other than those strictly necessary. The next day he failed to appear. In

the mid afternoon Bransome was summoned to Laidler's office. Laidler greeted

him with a frown, pointed to a chair.

"Sit down. You work along with Arnold Berg, don't you?"

"That's right."

"Are you particularly friendly with him?"

"Friendly enough but I wouldn't say especially so."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"Bransome and Berg Incorporated is what the others jokingly call us,"

Bransome explained. "We get on very well together at our work. I understand him

and he understands me. Each knows he can depend upon the other. As partners

in work we suit each other topnotch-but that's all it amounts to."

"Purely an industrial relationship?"

"Yes."

"You have never extended it into private life?"

"No. Outside of our work we had little in common."

"Humph!" Laidler was disappointed. "He hasn't reported today. He hasn't

applied for official leave. Have you any idea why he's not here?"

"Sorry, I haven't. Yesterday he said nothing to indicate that he might not turn

up. Maybe he's ill."

"Doesn't seem so," said Laidler. "We've had no medical certificate from him."

"There hasn't been much time for that. If one has been mailed today you

wouldn't get it until tomorrow."

"He could have phoned," Laidler insisted. "He knows how to use a telephone.

He's grown up now and has the right to wash his own neck. Or if he's bedbound

somewhere he could have got someone to phone for him."

"Perhaps he's been rushed to the hospital in no condition to give orders or

make requests," Bransome suggested. "That does happen to some people

occasionally. Anyway, the telephone operates both ways. If you were to call him-"

"A most ingenious idea. It does you credit." Laidler sniffed disdainfully. "We

called his number a couple of hours ago. No answer. We called a neighbor who

went upstairs and hammered on the door of his apartment. No reply. The

neighbor got the super to open up with his master key. They had a look inside.

Nobody there. The apartment is undisturbed and nothing looks wrong. The super

doesn't know what time Berg went out or, for the matter of that, whether he came

home last night." He rubbed his chin, mused a bit. "Berg's a divorcee. Do you

know if he has a girl friend currently?"

Bransome thought back. "A few times he's mentioned meeting some girl he

liked. About four or five in all. But his interest didn't seem to be more than casual.

As far as I know he didn't pursue them or go steady with any of them. He was

rather a cold fish in his attitude toward women; most of them sensed it and

reciprocated."

"In that case it doesn't seem likely that he s overslept in a love-nest." Laidler

thought again and added, "Unless he has resumed relations with his former

wife."

"I doubt it."

"Has he mentioned her of late?"

"No. I don't think he has given her a thought for several years. According to

him they were hopelessly incompatible but didn't realize it until after marriage.

She wanted passion and he wanted peace. She called it mental cruelty and

heaved him overboard. A couple of years afterward she married again."

"His personal record shows that he has no children. He has named his

mother as next of kin. She's eighty years old."

"Perhaps she has cracked up and he's rushed to her bedside," Bransome

suggested.

"As I said before, he's had all day to phone and tell us. He hasn't phoned.

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

TheMindwarpersByEricFrankRussell1965WARNING:LOCKYOURBRAINThegovernment'smostvitalscientificlaboratory.Noenemycouldstealitssecrets,becausenoenemycouldpossiblygetin.Butmen'smindswereanothermatter.Itbeganwithkeyscientistsleaving-justquittingtheirjobsanddrifti\ngaway.ThenmastermetallurgistRichardBransom...

展开>> 收起<<

Eric Frank Russell - Mindwarpers.pdf

共101页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Eric Frank Russell - Mindwarpers

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: