Mercury Man (15 page)

Water glugged slowly down the slow drain. Tom stared at the green walls, the cracked plaster of the tiny bathroom. His daydreams vanished suddenly and a terrible thought came into his mind: suppose somebody had sent him the ring as a joke? Maybe the kids were making fun of him? The only beautiful girl he knew was the disgusting Maggie!

In the morning mirror his face looked white, strained, and ugly. He hated his haircut, almost everything about himself. He felt powerless, retarded: other kids were driving cars and going to casinos and he was frigging around with crackerjack toys.

He drifted out of the bathroom and flopped on the couch. He sat there a minute, rubbing his eyes, swallowing hard, and thinking,
Everything is hopeless
. Then suddenly he realized he was starving. In the kitchen, he pulled some bread and bacon from the fridge and began, with a kind of desperation, to make himself a sandwich. The phone rang just as the toast popped and the smoking bacon had begun to crisp and darken in the pan.

Tom swore and pulled the pan off the heat.

“Dr. Tarn speaking,” the voice said, after Tom had mumbled a hello. Hearing the voice he stiffened; his fingers tightened around the receiver.

“Yes, sir. … My mother said you called.”

“Tom — I need you and your grandfather to come to Fabricon today. I'm sorry, but I have other engagements
next week. I hope you can make it at one o'clock this afternoon?”

“But, Dr. Tarn …”

“I don't want to be unpleasant about this, but we're doing you a favour, you may recall. We have every right to prosecute you for breaking in.”

Tom pressed the receiver hard against his ear.

“I've already explained the situation to your grandfather. I believe that he'll be coming to pick you up. I just want to be sure that you wait for him.”

“Yes, sir. I'm right here.”

“That's excellent. See you at one o'clock then.”

Tom put the receiver down slowly. The smell of bacon filled the apartment. He went into the kitchen and ate the slices from the pan, wiping his greasy fingers on his sleeping shorts.

The food seemed to quell his panic.

He tried to call his grandfather, but there was no answer. It was eleven o'clock. He warmed up the toast, buttered it, and ate it. Then he hopped into the shower, towelled himself dry, and changed into his favourite khaki pants and a green T-shirt. He slicked his hair in various unsatisfying ways, his mind racing through what seemed a million difficult questions.

The man in black had warned them about Tarn. Now Tarn was pressuring them to go over to Fabricon. They would have to be careful, very careful …

While he was trying to decide whether or not it would be good luck to wear his ring, he heard a knock on the door and opened it to find his grandfather
standing in the hallway, shifting his feet and looking uncomfortable.

“Those stairs get steeper every day,” Jack mumbled, puffing a little and wiping his forehead with a large white handkerchief.

The old man was jacketless, dressed in khaki slacks and sporting a red T-shirt, decorated all over with green parrots. It seemed to Tom that he wore the expression of a reluctant truant officer.

“I see you got Tarn's message,” he said, stepping inside, taking in Tom's spruced-up look, and heading straight for the kitchen. He poured himself several glasses of water, sniffed at the bacon smells, and wiped his face repeatedly with the handkerchief.

“He called me, too — this is damned sudden! I wonder why he's pressuring us right now? I have an eerie feeling he might have guessed I'm checking up on him — or else he assumed I would. Remember what the man in black told us?”

“To watch out for the Pavlov Room.”

“Right! And we will. Now let's get out of here and plan our strategy in a cooler place.”

Tom ducked into his bedroom, took off his ring, and shoved it back in his dresser drawer. He locked the apartment and they walked along Morris Street toward the Hollis intersection. Tom was relieved to see that no one was around. Could his friends be going to that company softball game tomorrow? In that case they would see his mother with Reichert.

“What's the matter, pal? You don't want to let Tarn
get you down. I don't think he's going to try to brainwash us in broad daylight, do you? We have to keep our eyes and ears open, that's all.”

Jack laughed, coughed a little, and reached into his pocket for his pipe.

They turned down Hollis and walked toward the harbour.

“It's not that, Grandpa …” Tom took a deep breath and fixed his gaze on the traffic lined up in the direction of Market Square. “I wanted to ask you … Do you think … Do you think my mother's going to marry Chuck Reichert?”

Jack cleared his throat but didn't answer. They kept on walking. The old man struck a match on his fingernail and got his pipe alight. Tom felt his glance come around slowly.

“She hasn't talked to me about it, son. You don't like Chuck very much, do you?”

Tom didn't look at his grandfather. He kept his eyes on a delivery truck from which two men were unloading cases of soda water. “He's an idiot. I can't stand the guy. I'm moving out if he hangs around much longer.”

“Well, I can't say he's the catch of the season — but there are worse fish in the pond. Anyway, you have to keep your cool about it. Your mom has a right to lead her own life. She's taken good care of you for a long time. You ought to give her credit for having some good instincts.”

“She's just taken in by that guy! Girls and women sometimes go for guys who are totally creepy, Grandpa, you know that!”

Jack guffawed so loudly that a few shoppers turned in their direction.

“Well, I know a few ladies who've gone for me, and that sure wasn't smart! I wouldn't underestimate any gal's instincts when it comes to relationships, son. Even their mistakes sometimes have a side to them that makes us guys look like fools and innocents. When you've got one of your own you'll find out all right!”

Tom felt a kind of fury boiling up inside him. He couldn't stand it when his mother or grandfather referred to his potential wife or girlfriend. It was as if they were trespassing on the most secret territory of his imagination.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, bent his head toward the pavement, and refused to look at his grandfather all the rest of the way.

The Fabricon building loomed above them down Harbour Street. Tom was painfully aware of its sunlit tower, reaching up into the blue noon sky. So here was the scene of his crazy antics of a few days before! Fabricon seemed the end point of a series of mistakes, the miserable conclusion to his life in that claustrophobic apartment, where his father had left them to the mercy of people like Reichert.

They stopped in the little park opposite the company building. It was the place where Tom had first seen the man in black, but today it seemed pleasantly busy, transparent, and innocent. Two shirt-sleeved men occupied one of the large street benches near the bus stop — they might have been on a lunch break from Fabricon.

Jack bought hot dogs and soft drinks from a vendor who had parked his cart at the fountain, then led the way to a seat underneath the tall poplars that enclosed the place at the rear.

“Don't talk too loud here,” the old man cautioned. Tom didn't want to talk at all; he was busy gulping the delicious food. Not far away, a couple of women had parked their strollers; they sat smoking, in close conversation, watching three small children who were playing in the sandbox beside them.

When they had finished the hot dogs and had ice cream to boot, Jack lit up his pipe again, looked around the park, and explained, “We have to go in there and I still haven't got the dope I need. But here's the game. We stick together. We avoid the Pavlov Room. We don't breathe a word about our friend in black. After we get out we can compare notes. This should fulfil your obligation to Tarn, and it wouldn't hurt if you seem to be — if we both seem to be — much happier about Fabricon when we walk out that door. Any questions?”

“No, Grandpa.”

“Hell, then, let's go!”

They crossed the street, pushed through the doors and into the building. Standing in the silent, brightly lit foyer Tom sensed at once that the place was relatively deserted — it was Saturday, after all, and even Fabricon must cut back a little on the weekend. Was that why Tarn had wanted them today?

They walked around the fountain and found the reception desk occupied by a slender woman wearing a
white lab jacket. She was giving most of her attention to a high-powered laptop and only slowly looked up at them through her shaded horn-rimmed glasses. Tom wasn't sure, but he thought he might have seen her on his earlier visit — he didn't remember the glasses, though.

“We have an appointment with Dr. Tarn,” Jack told her and gave her their names.

She nodded, picked up the phone, and dialled a number.

“Dr. Tarn is on his way down,” she said. She turned her attention back to the computer.

Minutes later, Tarn appeared at the inner door. He too was wearing a white lab jacket; his high-polished shoes clicked slightly on the corridor floor. He greeted them with a smile and a sharp blue-eyed glance that seemed to have more amusement than malice in it.

“So glad you could make it. Thanks very much, Marie,” he said, and led them into the bland hallway that Tom remembered vividly, as if from a nightmare or a past life. Yet everything seemed relaxed and easy and his grandfather winked reassuringly as they followed the scientist into the inner recesses of Fabricon.

Tarn led them straight into a spacious room, furnished with leather chairs and a sofa, expensive lamps, a huge carved table, oriental rugs, and a battery of sophisticated but elegant equipment. Fax machines, telephone, computers, monitors, and printers — all seemed to have been specially designed in matching dark green and black decor for that setting.

Tarn pointed them to seats on the sofa. A door opened and a man dressed in a suit and tie pushed out a cart loaded with coffee, pastries, and soft drinks.

“Thanks, Charles,” Tarn said, pouring a coffee for himself and selecting a Danish pastry. He indicated that they should help themselves, and patiently sipped his coffee while they did so.

When they had settled down, Tarn said, “I've brought you here to tell you that your little intrusion is forgiven, Tom. As I explained to you when we met, we operate this company according to the highest ideals. We're not a corporation that's indifferent to pressing social needs, and although we have a vision of the future, I'm not Dr. Frankenstein. I would like to get you on our side, and to do that I'm willing to show you what kind of problems we run into at Fabricon. That's why I've asked you here.”

Jack nodded amiably; Tom remembered the cynical laughter of the man in the parking lot.

“I won't repeat my comments on the Fabricon vision — I'm sure you've heard enough from me on that score.” Dr. Tarn smiled and sipped his coffee. “What I've done is had some important material prepared for you. Over there” — he indicated a small table near the doorway — “you'll find two portfolios giving all the relevant facts about the company. We don't mind admitting we've made some mistakes, and you might even find some evidence of that in the material I've provided. But I think on the whole it will be reassuring.”

“Well, that's just terrific,” Jack said. “I'll have a good read, then. Appreciate your providing that, Dr. Tarn.”

“No problem. But there's one more thing. I'd be very pleased if you both would watch a little visual presentation we've prepared for you. I think it may change your perspective on a few things.”

Tom cast a sharp look at his grandfather. Conditioning by film! The Pavlov Room! But the old man was smiling and nodding at Tarn.

“We'd be very pleased to take a look,” he said.

“Good! I'll have Marie hold the portfolios at the reception desk for you. Just follow me and I think you'll see something that will begin to help you understand some of Fabricon's corporate problems. Might even induce our young friend here to join the enterprise!”

Tarn laughed and gently patted Tom's shoulder. The boy took a deep breath and forced a smile. As Tarn led the way into the corridor, Jack gave him the high sign: everything is cool, his gesture seemed to say. Tom gritted his teeth and obediently followed Tarn toward the rear of the building.

A small elevator carried them up and into the heart of Fabricon. As they stepped out, Tom saw the robot sculpture, suspended above them like a parade balloon. He recognized the lounge space, with its chairs, tables, and magazines; directly above was the balcony that had given him access to the projection area.

Tarn led them across a carpeted space, then through heavy double doors, which swung inward as they entered. A brass plate identified this as Copernicus Hall.
They were being taken to the very place where he had seen his friends being conditioned!

I should have brought my ring
, Tom thought.
The ring would have protected me.

One part of Tom's mind saw this as a joke, or as pure superstition, yet his gut feeling was very different. The world was a strange place, full of fears and uncertainties, and he hadn't yet heard of anybody with all the answers. Sometimes not even money could save you. It was better to pay your respects to fate than to be sorry later.

As they walked up the centre aisle, he looked around the auditorium. It was dimly lit, spacious, plush, beautifully contoured, and silent. Except for the three of them, it was empty. The white screen looked as pure as an operating table. Rows of curving banked seats were decorous in dark green cloth. The balconies from which he had spied on Fabricon were enclosed by a brass rail. The usual plastic fittings seemed to have been banished from this temple of luxury and quiet elegance.

“This should be just about perfect,” Dr. Tarn told them, when they reached a point ten rows back from the small orchestra pit. “Why don't we sit here?”