Mercury Man (10 page)

Why are you watching Fabricon
? it said.

Jack Sandalls gave a low whistle, walked over, and opened the diner door. He peered up and down the street, as if he were trying to conjure the man back by some magic.

“So that's what he looked like,” he said, returning slowly to the counter. He patted Tom reassuringly on the shoulder. “Well, at least we've got his number now. He won't surprise us again.”

Tom shook his head. He felt miserable. He knew a threat hung over him and he could only look nervously from side to side and wonder what Fabricon would do next. His grandfather's calm was not reassuring; it almost made things worse. The old man seemed to be out of it. Neither of them would be a match for the company once they started moving in.

And it seemed they had already started.

Tom had a sudden fantasy of running away. He had a cousin he barely knew in northern Minnesota.
That might be far enough away. Maybe it was time to think of leaving West Hope. But his mother — what would she think about all this? He had a vision of her marching over to Fabricon and telling them bluntly to leave her son alone. But of course she would blame him for sneaking in there; she would tell him just to forget his suspicions. They couldn't really be doing anything to his friends. It was just his imagination, like all that stuff about portholes, other realities, space beings.

“We have to work out a plan,” Jack said. He had seated himself at the counter, facing Tom, and helped himself to another cup of coffee. He looked very wrinkled and old, red-eyed, and much too unshaven, and his white hair was a tousled mess. Tom found his cool manner almost maddening.

“It's hard to know what to do,” Jack said. “First the company sends the card through Pete and Estella, and now this guy comes snooping around. It's clear that they have something to hide. I have to hand it to you, Tom, you seem to be on to something.”

“You didn't believe me before, Grandpa?”

“Oh, it's not that I didn't believe what you told me. It's just that I thought your interpretation might be wrong. Now I wonder. They seem mighty anxious to get to you. I can't figure out why they sent this guy over here, though. They haven't even given you time to answer their invitation.”

“I don't want to see Tarn, Grandpa. I don't want to go to Fabricon.”

“I can understand that, but you can't just put your head in the sand. I was thinking — what about you call Tarn's office and invite him over here? You and I can see him together and find out what's on his plate. Maybe everything has a simple explanation. Maybe he's somehow doing all your friends a favour. Maybe you'll want to hook up with him yourself.”

“Never! I hated that place!” Tom's voice was suddenly too loud. Hester the waitress and a few patrons looked over.

“Easy does it,” Jack said. “You can do what you want, but with somebody like that jogger fellow on your track, I suggest you get right on that phone and talk to Tarn's office. If he's really got something on his mind he'll come here, and then maybe we can get everything settled. You can't go around with this guy shadowing you all the time.”

“God, what am I going to tell Mom?”

“The truth — or else nothing. You might want to wait until we've seen Tarn. That might save her quite a bit of worry. See if he can come over this afternoon.”

Tom set the card on the counter and stared at it as if it might give him the courage to take some action. The shiny cardboard with its raised lettering looked so clean and neat and professional. It made him feel unimportant and powerless. He hated calling official places — schools and stores and offices. And now he had to call the famous Dr. Tarn. And there was no telling what would happen when he did.

He moved along the counter to where the phone was. All the customers were oblivious of his fears, drinking
coffee, smoking, and chattering together, jogging steadily through life. He could hear Willy singing away to himself in the kitchen. For him, too, everything was smooth and normal. And for Hester, and his mother, and even his poor brainwashed friends, who couldn't remember what they'd seen in that Fabricon film.

Was it such a big deal to dial a number? It was. His grandfather was watching him. He dialled.

A couple of rings, then a smooth-voiced secretary said, “Fabricon Computers. Dr. Tarn's office. How can I help you?”

Tom told her who he was, and she went on in the same smooth manner. “Oh, yes, Dr. Tarn wanted to see you. May I make an appointment for later today? What time? Right. Where? Damato's Cafe? I'll have to check on that. Is there a number there I could call?”

Ten minutes later the counter phone rang and the smooth voice confirmed that Dr. Tarn would be dropping by Damato's at two-thirty. He looked forward to meeting Mr. Tom Blake and Mr. Sandalls.

When Tom explained this, his grandfather rubbed his hands together.

“Now we have to plan some strategy,” he said.

He disappeared into the back of the diner and came back with a pen and some sheets of paper.

“Let's sit down and work things out,” he said. “Willy is going to take over the counter for you, just so long as you can help with the lunch crowd.”

They found a table by the door, and Jack began to make a kind of log sheet. Carefully, he set down “known
facts,” and beside this “possibilities,” and in another column “actions and possible results.”

Tom was amazed at the old man's thoroughness. He usually thought of his grandfather as pretty eccentric, forgetting that he had been a sea captain and sailed good-sized ships in and out of some of the world's biggest seaports.

After they had everything down on paper and had gone over it a few times, Tom felt much better. By that time the diner was filling up with the lunch crowd — couriers and drivers, river guys, local storekeepers, and the usual array of hairdressers, off-duty waitresses, and a few cool women shopping for bargains in the charity stores.

Tom was kept busy; he had almost no time to think. Then, suddenly, the crowd was gone, the hands of the clock had turned ‘round, and it was nearly time for the arrival of Dr. Tarn. Tom took a last look at the notes his grandfather had made and kept his glance expectantly on the street outside.

The counter phone rang suddenly and he grabbed it.

“Is that you, Tom?”

It was Estella. Tom quickly explained that they would be seeing Tarn in a few minutes.

“That's great. You see, I told you he was an OK guy. Since when do big executives and scientists show up in diners to talk to teenagers?”

“It might mean he has something to be afraid of.”

“Hey, Tom. Everything's going to be cool now, right? You know there's a little thing tonight at Bim's. Why don't you come over? You could give us the scoop
on Tarn and we could fill you in on Fabricon. How about it?”

Tom winced. He was glad to be invited but he knew he wouldn't go. He liked hanging around with his friends for things like movies and conversation — but the whole girl-boy party scene made him scared and uncomfortable. On that circuit nobody seemed natural: everything was crazy, loud, and competitive, and even the girls he liked were hard to take. And since he didn't smoke dope there was nothing to smooth things out. This was how he felt, although his feelings embarrassed him. He felt left out and bit like a failure.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he said. “Maybe I'll come — but right now I have to concentrate on Tarn.”

“OK. Sure …” She sounded a little disappointed. “Hey, Tom. You know that film showing you mentioned? I almost forgot, but there
was
something kind of funny about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, they did a kind of test before the whole thing. They showed us some swirls and patterns and played some music, and some kids were chosen to watch the film while others were taken off to do something else. I don't know why they did that.”

“Neither do I. Thanks for telling me that.”

“See you tonight, Tom.”

“Yeah … maybe. Thanks.”

As he put down the phone he remembered that his mother wanted to give him dinner that evening. He had no idea what he would say to her. Of course Reichert
might show up and spoil things — he seemed to be doing that a lot recently.

Tom took off his apron, glanced at himself in the mirror, pushed his hair back. His grandfather, ensconced at a corner table, waved to him.

A blue Mercedes convertible had just pulled up at the diner door.

Tom recognized Dr. Tarn immediately. Despite the heat he was wearing a dark blue suit, sunglasses, and a panama hat, and he carried the same small black briefcase that Tom had seen the previous night.

Shutting the car door, Tarn paused to look up and down the street, after which his glance roved over Damato's, seeming to take in the whole place, right down to the missing letter in the old neon window sign. Tom wondered if anyone had ever cast such a sharp look at the diner.

Tom waved at his grandfather, walked around the counter, and met the scientist as he pushed through the heavy door.

“Ah, you must be the young Mr. Blake,” the man said, holding out his hand. He was not very tall, but he seemed strongly built, with broad shoulders and restless, massive hands. When he took off his sunglasses Tom saw that he had penetrating dark blue eyes.

“Willis Tarn of Fabricon. I'm glad to meet you.”

Tom shook hands with the scientist and Tarn greeted Jack, who had come over to join them.

“Let's sit down over here,” Jack said. “Can I get you some coffee, Dr. Tarn?”

102

“No thank you, but a glass of juice would be nice.”

Tarn sat down, took off his hat, and set it on the table. He wiped his forehead decorously with the palm of his hand. His balding head, Tom noticed, was bullet-shaped and large, while his cheeks seemed to bloom with rosy health.

“Interesting place,” the scientist said, looking around at Damato's.

Jack brought over an orange juice and Tarn proceeded to ask them both a few polite questions. Did they live together? How was Tom getting on in school? Did he want to go to university? How was his mother doing?

The questions were nothing unusual, but Tom felt restless and uneasy. He longed for the scientist to get to the point. Then, without any transition, between one sip of juice and the next, he did.

“Now what on earth caused a fine young fellow like you to break into Fabricon?” Tarn asked. The question was gently put, but the man's eyes were unsmiling.

Tom and his grandfather had rehearsed this one carefully. They had decided not to mention the stranger in the jogging suit. “Never let the other side know what you know,” his grandfather had said. They hoped that Tarn would let something slip that would reveal whether or not the dark stranger was really a company hireling.

“I was walking down Harbour Street to the amusement park,” Tom said, “and I saw a bunch of my friends come up in a van in front of Fabricon. I was kind of shy to go right up to them, but when they disappeared inside I decided to go in and have a look.”

“Aaah. … And you were too shy to announce yourself at the front desk, I suppose. Just wandered into the place, is that it?”

“That's it. When I got in there I got scared and thought somebody might arrest me for trespassing. So I put on a cleaner's outfit and tried to sneak out, but I went into the wrong place.”

“You went into Copernicus Hall. A funny place to choose. And what did you see there?”

Tom swallowed hard. “There was some kind of movie. I guess it was one of your training promos. I've heard a lot about your training program.”

“Only you don't want to be part of it! Why is that, Thomas?”

Tom shook his head. “I don't know. I really don't know.”

“You haven't heard bad things about Fabricon?”

“No, sir. Not at all.”

“Nobody's come to you and complained about Fabricon? None of your friends? No stranger?”

“No, sir.”

“You just decided to take a look and got in over your head, is that it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, Thomas, when you caught a glimpse of the training film — did it arouse your interest in Fabricon? Did you like what you saw?”

“I didn't actually see much of the film,” Tom told him. He felt that there was a trap in this question somewhere, but he couldn't exactly figure where.

He looked at his grandfather and detected a slight nod of encouragement — he wasn't sure if Tarn had seen it also.

“It was dark and I got scared,” he went on. “A couple of guys came after me. I just caught a glimpse of these funny patterns. It was like some kind of modern cartoon thing.”

“Did you listen to the narrative?”

“I — I can't remember. There was a lot of stuff about Fabricon, about the future of the company — then the guys came and grabbed me.”

“Did you catch a glimpse of your friends at all? Were they enjoying the presentation?”

“I didn't see them — I just saw the screen. It was dark and I was scared.”

Dr. Tarn peered at him. “Interesting. It was reported to me that you were there long enough to get a good look at the film and the audience.”

Jack shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and looked pointedly at Tarn.

The scientist didn't return his glance, but his tone suddenly changed.

“You have to understand, young man, that Fabricon operates in a very competitive industry. We pay huge sums to hire people with ideas and we expect them to be loyal. Corporate espionage isn't unknown in the industry, and we're quite upset when we feel that one of our special programs might be compromised.”

Jack laughed harshly and shifted in his chair. “You don't think our Tom's been paid by somebody to spy
on you, do you, Dr. Tarn? Why, he wouldn't know the first thing about ripping off your secrets! And if you're inviting all the teenage kids in the city in, why should you care about one more?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling, as if protesting this absurdity.