Isaac Asimov (5 page)

It was then that Grant had his worst stab of surprise.

“Benes?” he whispered.

“Benes,” said General Carter, bleakly.

“What happened to him?”

“They got to him after all. Our fault. We live in an electronic age, Grant. Everything we do, we do with our transistorized servants in hand. Every enemy we have, we ward off by manipulating an electron flow. We had the route bugged in every possible way, but only for electronified enemies. We didn’t count on an automobile with a man at the controls and on rifles with men at the triggers.”

“I suppose you got none of them alive.”

“None. The man in the car died on the spot. The others were killed by our bullets. We lost a few ourselves.”

Grant looked down again. There was the look of blank emptiness on Benes’ face that one associated with deep sedation.

“I assume he’s alive so that there’s hope.”

“He’s alive. But there isn’t much hope.”

Grant said, “Did anyone have a chance to talk to him?”

“A Captain Owens—William Owens—do you know him?”

Grant shook his head, “Just a glance at the airport of someone Gonder referred to by that name.”

Carter said, “Owens spoke to Benes but got no crucial information. Gonder spoke to him, too.
You
spoke to him more than anyone. Did he tell you anything?”

“No, sir. I would not have understood if he had. It was my mission to get him into this country and nothing more.”

“Of course. But you talked to him and he might have said more than he meant to.”

“If he did, it went right over my head. But I don’t think he did. Living on the Other Side, you get practice keeping your mouth shut.”

Carter scowled. “Don’t be unnecessarily superior, Grant. You get the same practice on this side. If you don’t know that … I’m sorry, that was unnecessary.”

“It’s all right, general,” Grant shrugged it off, tonelessly.

“Well the point is, he talked to no one. He was put out of action before we could get what we wanted out of him. He might as well never have left the Other Side.”

Grant said, “Coming here, I passed a place cordoned off …”

“That was the place. Five more blocks and we would have had him safe.”

“What’s wrong with him now?”

“Brain injury. We have to operate—and that’s why we need you.”

“Me—?” Grant said, strenuously. “Listen, general, at brain surgery, I’m a child. I flunked Advanced Cerebellum at old State U.”

Carter did not react and to Grant his own words sounded hollow.

“Come with me,” said Carter.

Grant followed, through a door, down a short stretch of corridor and into another room.

“Central Monitoring,” said Carter, briefly. The walls were covered with TV panels. The central chair was half-surrounded by a semi-circular console of switches, banked on a steep incline.

Carter sat down while Grant remained standing.

Carter said, “Let me give you the essence of the situation. You understand there’s a stalemate between Ourselves and Them.”

“And has been for a long time. Of course.”

“The stalemate isn’t a bad thing, altogether. We compete; we run scared all the time; and we get a lot done that way. Both of us. But if the stalemate must break, it’s got to break in favor of Our side. You see that, I suppose?”

“I think I do, general,” said Grant, dryly.

“Benes represents the possibility of such a break. If he could tell us what he knows …”

“May I ask a question, sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“
What
does he know? What sort of thing?”

“Not yet. Not yet. Just wait a few moments. The exact nature of the information is not crucial at the moment. Let me continue … If he could tell us what he knows, then the stalemate breaks on Our side. If he dies, or even if he recovers but without being able to give us our information because of brain damage, then the stalemate continues.”

Grant said, “Aside from humanitarian sorrow for the loss of a great mind, we can say that maintaining the stalemate isn’t too bad.”

“Yes, if the situation is just as I have described, but it may not be.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Consider Benes. He is known as a moderate but we had no indication that he was having trouble with his government. He had shown every sign of being loyal for a quarter of a century, and he’d been well-treated. Now he suddenly defects …”

“Because he wants to break the stalemate on Our side.”

“Does he? Or could it be that he revealed enough of his work, before realizing its full significance, to give the Other Side the key to the advance. He may then have come to realize that, without quite meaning to, he had placed world dominion securely into the hands of his own side, and perhaps he wasn’t sufficiently confident in the virtues of his own side to be satisfied with that. —So now he comes to us, not so much to give us the victory, as to give no one the victory. He comes to us in order to maintain the stalemate.”

“Is there any evidence for that, sir?”

“Not one bit,” said Carter. “But you see it as a possibility, I presume, and you realize that there is not one bit of evidence against it, either.”

“Go on.”

“If the matter of life or death for Benes meant a choice between total victory for us or continued stalemate—well, we could manage. To lose our chance of total victory would be a damned shame, but we might get another chance tomorrow. However, what might be facing us is a choice between stalemate and total defeat, and there one of the alternatives is completely unbearable. Do you agree?”

“Of course.”

“You see, then, that if there is even a small possibility that Benes’ death will involve us in total defeat, then that death must be prevented at any price, at any cost, at any risk.”

“I take it you mean that statement for my benefit, general, because you’re going to ask me to do something. As it happens, I’ve risked my life to prevent eventualities considerably short of total defeat. I’ve never really enjoyed it, if you want a confession—but I’ve done it. However, what
can I do in the operating room? When I needed a band-aid over my short-ribs the other day, Benes had to put it on for me. And compared to other aspects of medical technique, I’m very good at band-aids.”

Carter didn’t react to that, either. “Gonder recommended you for this. On general principles, in the first place. He considers you a remarkably capable man. So do I.”

“General, I don’t need the flattery. I find it irritating.”

“Darn it, man. I’m not flattering you. I’m explaining something. Gonder considers you capable in general, but more than that, he considers your mission to remain incomplete. You were to get Benes to us safely, and that has not been done.”

“He was safe when I was relieved by Gonder himself.”

“Nevertheless, he is not safe now.”

“Are you appealing to my professional pride, general?”

“If you like.”

“All right. I’ll hold the scalpels. I’ll wipe the perspiration from the surgeon’s forehead; I’ll even wink at the nurses. I think that’s the complete list of my competencies in an operating room.”

“You won’t be alone. You’ll be part of a team.”

“I somehow expect that,” said Grant. “Someone else will have to aim the scalpels and push them. I just hold them in a tray.”

Carter manipulated a few switches with a sure touch. On one TV screen, a pair of dark-glassed figures came into instant view. They were bent intently over a laser beam, its red light narrowing to threadlike thinness. The light flashed out and they removed their glasses.

Carter said, “That’s Peter Duval. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Sorry, but no.”

“He’s the top brain surgeon in the country.”

“Who’s the girl?”

“She assists him.”

“Hah!”

“Don’t be single-tracked. She’s an extremely competent technician.”

Grant wilted a bit. “I’m sure of it, sir.”

“You say you saw Owens at the airport?”

“Very briefly, sir.”

“He’ll be with you, too. Also our chief of the Medical Section. He’ll brief you.”

Another quick manipulation and this time the TV screen came on with that low buzz that signified soundattachment two-way.

An amiable bald head at close quarters dwarfed the intricate network of a circulatory system that filled the wall behind.

Carter said, “Max!”

Michaels looked up. His eyes narrowed. He looked rather washed out. “Yes, A1.”

“Grant is ready for you. Hurry it on. There isn’t much time.”

“There certainly isn’t. I’ll come get him.” For a moment, Michaels caught Grant’s eye. He said, slowly, “I hope you are prepared, Mr. Grant, for the most unusual experience of your life. —Or of anyone’s.”

In Michaels’ office, Grant found himself looking at the map of the circulatory system open-mouthed.

Michaels said, “It’s an unholy mess, but it’s a map of the territory. Every mark on it is a road; every junction is a crossroad. That map is as intricate as a road map of the United States. More so, for it’s in three dimensions.”

“Good Lord!”

“A hundred thousand miles of blood vessels. You see very little of it now; most of it is microscopic and won’t be visible to you without considerable magnification, but put it all together in a single line and it would go four times around the Earth or, if you prefer, nearly halfway to the Moon. —Have you had any sleep, Grant?”

“About six hours. I napped on the plane, too. I’m in good shape.”

“Good, you’ll have a chance to eat and shave and tend to other such matters if necessary. I wish I had slept.” He held up a hand as soon as he had said that. “Not that I’m in bad shape. I’m not complaining. Have you ever taken a morphogen?”

“Never heard of it. Is it some kind of drug?”

“Yes. Relatively new. It’s not the sleep you need, you know. One doesn’t rest in sleep to any greater extent than one would by stretching out comfortably with the eyes open. Less, maybe. It’s the dreams we need. We’ve got to have dreaming time, otherwise cerebral coordination breaks down and you begin to have hallucinations and, eventually, death.”

“The morphogen makes you dream? Is that it?”

“Exactly. It knocks you out for half an hour of solid dreaming and then you’re set for the day. Take my advice, though, and stay away from the stuff unless it’s an emergency.”

“Why? Does it leave you tired?”

“No. Not particularly tired. It’s just that the dreams are bad. The morphogen vacuums the mind; cleans out the
mental garbage-pit accumulated during the day; and it’s quite an experience. Don’t do it. —But, I had no choice. That map had to be prepared and I spent all night at it.”

“That map?”

“It’s Benes’ system to the last capillary and I’ve had to learn all I could concerning it. Up here, almost centrally located in the cranium, right near the pituitary, is the blood clot.”

“Is that the problem?”

“It certainly is. Everything else can be handled. The general bruises and contusions, the shock, the concussion. The clot can’t be, not without surgery. And quickly.”

“How long has he got, Dr. Michaels?”

“Can’t say. It won’t be fatal, we hope, for quite a while, but brain damage will come long before death does. And for this organization, brain damage will be as bad as death. The people here expect miracles from our Benes and now they’ve been badly rattled. Carter, in particular, has had a bad blow and wants you.”

Grant said, “You mean he expects the Other Side will try again.”

“He doesn’t say so, but I suspect that’s what he fears and why he wants you on the team.”

Grant looked about. “Is there any reason to think this place has been penetrated? Have they planted agents here?”

“Not to my knowledge, but Carter is a suspicious man. I think he suspects the possibility of medical assassination.”

“Duval?”

Michaels shrugged. “He’s an unpopular character and the instrument he uses can cause death if it slips a hairbreadth.”

“How can he be stopped?”

“He can’t.”

“Then use someone else; someone you can trust.”

“No one else has the necessary skill. And Duval is right here with us. And, after all, there is no proof that he isn’t completely loyal.”

“But if I’m placed near Duval as a male nurse and if I am assigned the task of watching him closely, I will do no good. I won’t know what he’s doing; or whether he’s doing it honestly and correctly. In fact, I tell you that when he opens the skull, I’ll probably pass out.”

“He won’t open the skull,” said Michaels. “The clot can’t be reached from outside. He’s definite about that.”

“But, then …”

“We’ll reach it from the inside.”

Grant frowned. Slowly, he shook his head. “You know, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Michaels said, quietly, “Mr. Grant, everyone else engaged in this project knows the score, and understands exactly what he or she is to do. You’re the outsider and it is rather a chore to have to educate you. Still, if I must, I must. I’m going to have to acquaint you with some of the theoretical work done in this institution.”