An Island Called Moreau (14 page)

Warren put his arms akimbo, still hefting the wrench, and looked me in the eye. “You turn very threatening all of a sudden, Mac, when a man don't lay on a red carpet for you. That's the way folk are, I guess, and that's why I don't make you welcome. But just you tell me—who do you think these appropriate authorities are as is going to be surprised at what they come across on Moreau Island?”

“You're American, Warren, aren't you? From the Midwest. Well then, it's the American government that will be surprised at what they find here. Not to mention the Army, and the Co-Allies. When the media get on to what's happening here, they'll blazon it—and your part in it, whatever that part is—all round the civilized globe.”

He swung round unexpectedly and caught Bernie a smart blow on his haunches. “Beat it, Bernie! Go home to Master!”

Bernie gave a yelp of pain and started running. When he was some distance away, he turned and looked back. I called to him. But Warren made a stone-throwing motion with his hand, and the Dog Man disappeared into the bush.

Warren turned back to me. “Now we'll talk, Mac.”

“My name's Roberts, not Mac, Mr. Warren.”

“Now that creature is out of the way, we'll talk over what you just said to me. First off, we'll take a speedy look around my pitch. Maybe you'll learn something, maybe you won't.”

I would not let my anger show. Instead, I walked with him, believing that I might well see and learn more than he intended me to do.

It was a brief walk. He did no more than take me round the outside of the buildings. He had a sort of glorified junkyard out back, stacked with old oildrums and crates with U.S. naval markings, and piles of metal scrap. Warren evidently fancied himself an artist, for the rear of one bungalow had been painted with a crude fresco, while other large paintings, executed on board, stood about in the sun. There were also abstract figures built from the metal scrap, elaborate and tall. One of these, unfinished, stood by the back door. More distant was a pool with glass over it; I caught the glint of a fish in the water. We walked past the leading foot of the power lattice and returned to the front of the building.

“So you see, Mr. Roberts, there's quite a lot of junk around supplied direct by the U.S. Forces. One of their nuclear submarines calls here with fresh supplies every other month. Who do you think built this here power unit? Dart and me with our own bare hands?” He laughed. “Where do you think Dart gets all his finance from for his research? It ain't from me, I'll tell you that. It comes out of the long pocket of the American government, that's where it comes!”

The mind indulges in strange tricks. As soon as Warren began to tell me—no, just before he began to tell me—my mind released the truth to my consciousness. I had known for some while. It was impossible to believe that this island would remain unvisited and unsupervised. Yet I had managed to believe it because it was better than believing that Dart's unhallowed experiments had the backing of any nation, particularly a Co-Allied nation like the United States.

“Why should they support Dart?” I could hardly speak.

Warren laughed. “You can't have seen into his laboratories down there, or you wouldn't ask such a question. I ain't going to tell you. But I'll tell you this much—if you're aiming to let out word of what goes on on this island to the media, then you're the one who's going to be in trouble when the sub calls again. Oh boy, will you be in trouble! One word and you'll be behind bars for the duration. You'd better see the error of your ways, friend, and pretty soon, because that old sub'll be calling in a few days.”

I cleared my throat and looked at the scenery for a moment or two, while he stood and looked at me.

“Mr. Warren, I must tell you that I'm desperately appalled by what you tell me. You're claiming that all that goes on on this island is okayed—subsidized—by some government department?”

“That's what I'm saying.” He put the wrench down on the step to study me more comfortably. “There's a war on, as you know. What goes on here has been taken over as vital wartime research.”

“Mr. Warren, you seem a decent enough man—do you think the war is sufficient excuse for the cruelty and misery inflicted on the creatures here? Aren't we supposed to be fighting against just such hellish injury to life and spirit? Are you out of your mind up here?”

To do myself justice, I must say how empty my words sounded even to myself, even in that time of shock. As a trusted servant of my country, I was in a position to know how many projects were subsidized by the taxpayer and had to be kept secret from him, because of their dreadful nature. On a smaller scale, the same thing applied in my own government department; endless confidential projects were afoot, and I knew them only by code name, if at all. In war or peace, it makes no difference. I was one of the few people who knew of the dreadful weapons being stockpiled on the Moon, some of them destined for use in the Pacific theater. Yet one evil never canceled out another.

He dropped his gaze, saying nothing.

“Come on, Mr. Warren, tell me how you like being a part of this organized torture! You may reckon that I'm in a tricky position. Don't you think your own position is a whole lot nastier?”

He straightened up angrily, sticking out his bony chest.

“See here, I'm not a part of anything, so don't get any wrong ideas. You don't know my history, any more than I know yours. We're strangers, and strangers have no right to pry—”

“Speak to the point. What are you doing here? If what you say is true, then you're part of the payroll of Moreau Island, aren't you?”

“Look, mister, I never had no affection for society in any way. I was born in a big city, and, just so soon as I could read the signs, I lit out of there for the country as fast as I could get. I was a dropout, like so many others back then. A hippie, I was. Only most of my buddies got married or got a job or something and dropped back in again. Me, I stayed out. But they got me when the war came and conscription come in. I was so blamed antisocial in the Navy that they gave me a posting to work for Dart. I quarreled with him the very first week I was set down on the island, and I've lived solitary up here ever since. So you can't say I'm a part of anything that happens down below in his place. Am I now?”

“You maintain his power supply, you remain on the payroll. You're implicated all the way.”

He wiped his hand on his mouth. “You shouldn't say those things to me. I hate what goes on, same as you do. Only I seen lives being crushed out of shape everywhere, as long as I been around to see.… You better come inside. I need a drink. Maybe you could use one, too.”

“Thanks. I could. Any fruit juice would be fine.”

“You'll have to have what I got, Mr. Roberts.”

We went in. Everything went on in one cramped but neat room; Warren lived, slept, ate, and cooked there. He brought two beers from an old fridge. We pried open the cans, raised them to each other, and drank. I did not tell him how long it was since I had swallowed beer. It tasted wonderful.

“I agree that many aspects of human life have always been wretched. Sometimes it seems that the most promising advances of science merely leave us with more problems—just as the lowering of the infant mortality rate landed us with world overpopulation—but you have thrown your lot in with an experiment which promised nothing but misery from the outset. How can you possibly defend that?”

“Don't I keep telling you? I ain't defending anything. I opted out. Besides, what can one guy on his own possibly do?”

“I don't imagine anyone ever heard Jesus say that.”

“Well, so happens I ain't Jesus, mister, so let's leave him out of it! I do the best I can, and that's enough. I'm keeping out of the war, I ain't killing no one. If you want my opinion, the world's gone mad.”

“You could sabotage Dart's power supply.”

“He'd come up here with the Beasts and kill me, and the power would be working again within a week. Drink up, and you better be on your way. I'm sorry I ain't more hospitable, but you make me feel bad.”

“It's not me, it's your conscience.”

“No, it ain't. It's you and remarks like that one you just uttered. When I'm on my own, I'm perfectly dandy.”

Again, silence fell between us. I felt his resentment. My hand holding the beer can trembled. My thoughts were wild and troubled. So contaminated was I that it seemed as if I had lived all my life on Moreau Island, my initiative—despite my efforts—perpetually taken from me, as if I were no more than one of the Beast People. And I said to myself that when I returned to so-called civilization I would have to resign my government post and live privately. Of course, there was still the question of returning …

“Mr. Warren, you say a supply submarine calls here every two months. Tell me more about that.”

“I told you. It calls regular, leaves stores and anything special Dart has ordered. Brings mail. It's due again in four or five days.”

“Dart drove off, leaving me to fend for myself. He cannot be sure whether I am dead or alive. Is it possible for you to radio from here?”

“I got no radio, not even a receiver. All that kind of tackle is down the hill.”

“Then I want you to let me stay here until the sub comes. I will not get in your way. I won't even talk, if you want it that way. Just let me wait in safety for the sub. Dart will think the Beast People killed me and will not come searching for me.”

“Nobody on that sub's likely to agree with your line of talk. They'll tell you there's a war on, same as I tell you.”

“Mr. Warren, you aren't on anyone's side, are you? You aren't on Dart's side, and you certainly aren't on mine.”

He wiped his lips on the back of his hand before replying.

“Goddammit, Mr. Roberts, I'm on my own side. Dart'll never rest till he finds what happened to you. All I want is a peaceful life, and a man has to strive hard to get that. You're just the latest in a long, long line of people been interfering with me and trying to make me change my tack. I ain't having any, so that's final.”

“Are you afraid of what might happen to you?”

“There you go, another of them snide remarks! No, I ain't afraid. I'm just my own man, that's all. I believe in nature and beautiful things, which somehow don't include my fellow men. Besides—let me tell you, there's reason to be afraid here, if you happen to be disposed that way. You come on out the back before you get on your way, and I'll show you something to make your hair curl!”

This was a surprising break in his increasingly surly mood. I followed him out past the unfinished sculpture, and beyond the power lattice. He picked up a metal strut on the way, looking about as he did so, and saying that he never knew when he was being watched.

“The Beast People would not attack you unless provoked,” I said.

He made no answer.

The track narrowed, rising slightly, and we walked through a stand of bamboo, the leaves of which moved continually in a slight breeze. Then we were through them. Confronting us was a stupendous view.

Warren had led me to the extreme eastern tip of Moreau Island. We stood on a shoulder of rock from which we could survey uninterruptedly the eternal ocean, the compass of the horizon, and the great dome of sky overhead. The little top-knot of Seal Island was also visible, almost at our feet. The antique noise of ocean pounding on rock dulled in our ears.

Because the afternoon was far advanced, the sun was moving toward the western sky. It flooded the empty world with its radiance, and lit the sails of a ship far out to sea. My heart leaped at the sight: the vessel resembled an old sailing ship—yet that was mainly because the naked ocean allowed little hint of scale. The ship I watched was almost a mile long, its hull sectioned plastic, its sails metal foil. Those sails and their rig were controlled by computers, and the computers were checked out occasionally by a crew of two trade unionists.

I had sailed on one of those beautiful cargo vessels, years ago. My third wife's family owned a shipping line; the voyage had formed part of our honeymoon. That marriage had long been dissolved and was a thing of the past, like many of my personal friendships.

I became aware of a tension in Warren, and turned to find him staring fixedly at me.

He wet his lips. “You ain't feeling any compulsion to jump, by any chance?” he asked.

“To remember, but not to jump.”

He shrugged and looked away from me.

“Only a month back, one of Dart's experimental creatures escaped and headed up here same as you done,” Warren said. “Dart and Hans and George and some of the others come up in pursuit with guns and nets. I hid out in the bushes.”

“What happened to the creature?”

“Why it ran right to this very spot and then it stopped—'cause it couldn't get no further, could it? It was a cross between an ape and a man. The others closed in on it and—you know what it done? Rather than be captured, it threw itself right off the rock and down into the ocean. If you go out on to this promontory of rock, you'll see the cliff's so steep that a man might dive clear from here and end up safe in the ocean, given a bit of luck. Take a look for yourself.”

I worked my way along the narrow promontory, feeling that mixed dread and fascination for heights of which even space travel had never managed to cure me. The rock outcropped. As Warren said, it would be possible to take a leap and fall clear of the cliff into deep water. But that fall was all of a hundred meters; I would not have liked to try it.

“What happened to the creature that jumped?”

“Drowned. Hadn't got no arms to speak of.”

I turned, and he was coming at me with the strut raised, mouth set in a line.

He moved at the crouch, ready to strike. When our eyes met, he paused momentarily.