Sight of Proteus (7 page)

"What do you think it is, Doctor?" asked Bey. "I know you can't tell us exactly, but can you get even a rough idea?"

Morris looked dubious. "I'll be reading it out of context, of course. It looks like a straightforward delay loop. The effect is to make each program instruction execute for a pre-set number of times before moving on to the next one. So everything would be slowed down by that same factor, set by the user."

"But what would it do?"

"Heaven knows. These programs are all realtime and interactive, so it would be nonsensical to slow them all down." He paused for a second, then added, "But remember, these programs were presumably designed by Robert Capman. He's a genius of the first rank, and I'm not. The fact that I can't understand what is being done here means nothing. We need Capman's own notes and experimental design before we can really tell what he was doing."

Wolf was pacing the control room, eyes unfocussed and manner intent.

"That's not going to be easy. Capman has left the hospital, I'll bet my brains on it. Why else would he have given us free run of the place? I don't understand why he did that, even if he knew we were onto him. Somehow he must have tracked what we were doing, and decided he couldn't stop us. But unless we do trace him, we may never know what he was doing here."

He turned to Larsen in sudden decision. "John, go and get a trace sensor. It's my bet that Capman has been here, in this room, in the past hour. We have to try and go after him, even if it's only for his own protection. Can you imagine the public reaction if people found out he had been stealing human babies for form-change experiments? They'd tear him apart. He must have got the children by faking the results of the humanity-tests. That's why their I.D.'s aren't on file."

Larsen hurried out of the vault. As he left, Morris suddenly looked hopeful.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Suppose that Capman were working with subjects that had failed the humanity-tests. That wouldn't be as bad as using human babies."

Wolf shook his head. "I had that thought, too. But it can't work. Remember, the whole point of the humanity-test is that non-humans can't perform purposive form-change. So they must be humans he's using, by definition. Not only that, remember that the liver we found came from a twelve year old. Capman didn't just have experiments, he had failed experiments, too. The organ banks were a convenient way of disposing of those, with small risk of discovery."

He continued to pace the room impatiently, while Morris sat slumped in silent shock and despair.

"God, I wish John would hurry up," said Wolf at last. "We need that tracer. Unless we can get a quick idea where Capman went, we're stuck."

He continued his pacing, looking at the fittings of the control room. The communicator set next to the control console looked like a special purpose unit, one of the old models. All the response codes for setting up messages had changed since they were used—which meant any dial-code might key different responses. Bey thought for a moment, then entered the eight-digit dial-code that had been left for him by Capman at the main lobby. This time, instead of the earlier message requesting cooperation with Form Control, a much longer message scrolled steadily into the viewer. Bey read it with steadily increasing amazement.

'Dear Mr. Wolf. Since you are reading this, you are in the private vault and have, as I feared after our first meeting, deduced the nature of my work here. I have known for many years that this day must come eventually, and I have resigned myself to the fact that this work will probably not be completed under my direction. Mr. Wolf, you may not know it yet, but you and I are two specimens of a very rare breed. It was apparent to me very quickly that this work would probably end with your investigation. I regret it, but accept it.

'Long ago, I decided that I would prefer to live out my life in quiet anonymity, should this work be discovered, rather than endure the extensive and well-meaning rehabilitation program that would be inflicted on me as punishment for my criminal acts. To most, these deeds must appear unspeakable. To you, let me say that my work has always had as its objective the benefit of humanity. To that end, a small number of human lives have unfortunately been sacrificed. I fully believe that in this case the end justifies the means.

'In order to achieve the anonymity I desire, it will be necessary for Robert Capman to vanish from the Earth. It is unlikely that we will meet again. The risk for me would be too great, since I suspect that you and I would always recognize each other. As Homer remarks, such know each other always. Mr. Wolf, learn more form-change theory. Your gift for the practical is astonishing, but its true potential will be wasted until you master the theoretical also. Do that, and nothing will be beyond you.

'This morning I completed all the necessary plans for my departure, and now I must leave. Believe me, there is a point where fame is a burden, and a quiet life among my recordings and holo-tapes is devoutly to be wished. I have reached that point. Sincerely, Robert Capman.'

That was the end. Wolf and Morris watched the screen intently, but nothing further appeared.

"I'm beginning to understand why you people in the hospital regard him as omniscient," said Wolf at last. "But I'm sure you realize that I can't let him get away. If I can track him down, I have to do it. As soon as John Larsen gets here, we'll try and follow him—no matter where he's gone."

Morris did not reply. He seemed to have had more shocks than he could take in one day. He remained at the seat of the control console, slack-jawed and limp, until Larsen appeared at last through the great vault door.

"Sorry that took so long, Bey," he said. "I thought I'd better go by Capman's apartment and train the sensor on a couple of his clothing samples. It should be pretty well tuned now to his body chemistry. We can go any time, as soon as we get a faint scent. The sensor kept pointing this way, so somehow he must have been able to exit from here. See any signs of a concealed way out?"

The two men began to search the wall areas carefully, while Morris looked on listlessly and uncomprehendingly. Finally, John Larsen found the loose wall panel behind an air-conditioning unit. Working together, they lifted it aside and found that beyond it lay a long, narrow corridor, faintly lit with green fluorescence. Larsen held the trace sensor in the opening and the monitor light glowed a bright red. The trace arrow swung slowly to point along the corridor.

"That's the way he went, Bey," said Larsen. He turned to Morris. "Where will this lead?"

Morris pulled himself together and looked around him. "I'll have to think. The elevator was in the west corner of the study. So that would mean you are facing just about due east."

Bey Wolf pinched thoughtfully at his lower lip. "Just about what I expected," he said. "Where else?" He turned to Larsen. "That's the way we'll have to go, John, if we want to catch Capman. See where we'll be heading?—straight into the heart of Old City."

Chapter 7

Take the toughest and seediest of the twentieth century urban ghettos. Age it for two hundred years, and season it with a random hodge-podge of over- and under-ground structures. Populate it with the poorest of the poor, and throw in for good measure the worst failures of the form-change experiments. You have Old City, where the law walked cautiously by day, and seldom by night. Bey Wolf and John Larsen, armed with cold lights, stun-guns and trace sensor, emerged from the long underground corridor just as first dusk was falling. They looked around them cautiously, then began to follow the steady arrow of the tracer, deeper into Old City.

The evidence of poverty was all around, in the cracked, garbage-strewn pavements, the neglected buildings, and the complete absence of slideways. Travel was on foot, or in ancient wheeled vehicles, without automatic controls or safety mechanisms.

"Let's agree on one thing, John," said Wolf, peering about him with great interest. "While we're hunting Capman, we'll not be worrying too much about the usual forbidden forms. For one thing, I expect we'll see more of them here than we've ever seen before. Look there, for example."

He pointed down the side alley they were passing. Larsen saw a hulking ursine form, standing next to a tiny, rounded man, not more than two feet tall. They had a reel of monofilament thread, which they were carefully unwinding and attaching to a frame of metal bars. Wolf kept walking.

"Run into that", he said, "and it would shear you in two, before you knew you'd been cut. They're obviously setting a trap. It's not for us, but we'd better watch how we go in here."

Larsen needed no reminding of that fact. His eyes tried to move in all directions at once, and he kept his hand close to his stun-gun.

"They don't look much like failed attempts at the usual commercial forms, Bey," he said. "I suppose that's what happens when some poor devil who's really twisted in the head gets hold of a form-change machine."

Wolf nodded. "They probably try and fight against taking those forms with their conscious minds, but something underneath dictates their shapes. Maybe in another hundred years we'll understand what makes them do it."

As he spoke, Wolf was coolly assessing all that he saw, and storing it away for future reference. Old City was off-limits for all but real emergencies, and he was making the most of a rare opportunity. They hurried on through the darkening streets, becoming aware for the first time of the absence of streetlights. Soon, it was necessary to use the cold lights to show their path. The tracer arrow held its steady direction. As night fell, the inhabitants of Old City who shunned the day began to appear. Larsen held tighter to the handle of his gun as the sights and sounds around them became more alien.

They finally reached a long, inclined ramp, leading them again below ground level. Larsen checked the tracer, and they continued slowly downward. Their lights lit up the tunnel for ten yards or so, and beyond that was total blackness. A grey reptilian form with a musty odor slid away from them down a side passage, and ahead of them they heard a chitinous scratching and scuttling as something hurried away into the deeper shadows. Wolf stopped, startled.

"That's one to tell them about back at the office. Unless I'm going mad, we've just seen someone who has developed an exoskeleton. I wonder if he has kept a vertebrate structure with it?"

Larsen did not reply. He lacked Wolf's clinical attitude, and he was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their quest. They moved on, and the surroundings became damp and glistening as the ramp narrowed to an earth-walled tunnel with a dirt floor. Ahead of them, a slender figure mewled faintly and slithered away with a serpentine motion down another side passage.

Wolf suddenly stopped, and fingered the metal shaft of the tracer he was holding. "Damn it, John, is it my imagination, or is this thing getting hot?"

"Could be. I think the same thing is happening to the gun and the flashlight. I noticed it a few yards back."

"We must have run into an induction field. If it gets any stronger, we won't be able to carry metal with us. Let's keep going for a few more meters."

They moved on slowly, but it was soon apparent that the field was strengthening. They backed up again for a counsel of war.

"The tracer signal is really strong now, John," said Wolf. "Capman can't be far ahead of us. Let's leave all the metal objects here and scout ahead for another fifty meters. If we don't spot him after that, we'll have to give up."

Both men were feeling the strain. In good light, Wolf would have seen the reaction that his suggestion had produced in Larsen. As it was, he heard a very faint assent, and leaving guns, lights and trace sensor behind they went on into the darkness, yard by cautious yard.

Suddenly, Larsen stopped. "Bey." His voice was a faint whisper. "Can you hear something up ahead?"

Wolf strained his ears. He could hear nothing.

"It sounded like a groan, Bey. There, again. Now do you hear it?"

"I think so. Quietly now, and carefully. It's only a few yards in front of us."

They crept on through the musty darkness. They heard another low groan, then heavy and painful breathing. Suddenly, a weak voice reached them through the gloom.

"Who's there? Stay where you are and for God's sake don't come any closer."

"Capman? This is Wolf and Larsen. Where are you?"

"Down here, in the pit. Be careful where you tread. Wait a second. I'll show you where it's safe to go."

A thin beam of light appeared, coming from the floor in front of them. They moved hesitantly forward and found themselves standing at the edge of a twelve-foot drop. At the base of it they could see Capman lying helpless, limbs contorted. He was holding a small flashlight and shining it towards them.

"This pit wasn't here a couple of days ago," he said faintly. "It must have been dug by one of the modified forms that live in these tunnels. A big one, I think. It came this way a few minutes ago, then went away again. That way."

He shone the flashlight along the bottom of the pit. They could see a large tunnel running away from the base of it. Capman seemed weak and obviously in pain, but he was still perfectly rational and composed.

"If it survives down here it's probably carnivorous," he said. "I wonder what the basic form is?"

Wolf was astonished to hear a note of genuine intellectual curiosity in Capman's tone. He advanced closer to the edge and tried to see further along the tunnel in the pit.

"I don't know what you can do to help me," went on Capman calmly. "If you can't get me out, it's vital that I give my records to you. I should have left them at the hospital. They are a crucial part of the description of the work I've been doing. Make sure they get into the right hands."

He broke off suddenly and swung the light back along the wall of the pit. "I think it's coming back. Here, I'm going to try and throw this spool up to you. Step nearer to the edge. I'm not sure how well I can throw from this position."

Capman shone the flashlight on the wall of the pit, to give a diffuse light above, and threw a small spool awkwardly upward. Reaching far out, almost to the point of over-balancing, Larsen managed to make a snatching, one-handed catch. Capman sighed with relief and pain, and sank back to the dirt floor. They could hear a deep grunting, and a scrambling noise was approaching along the pit tunnel. While they watched in horror, Capman remained astonishingly cool.