"Questor" - читать интересную книгу автора (Archibald Alaistair J.)

Chapter 4: Armitage

"Now that we have settled our small differences, there is no reason why we cannot eat and drink together as good friends should, is there?"

Armitage, wearing a broad, cheery smile on his face, raised his glass.

"Allow me to raise a toast: to Haven."

Grimm felt his hand moving towards the glass in front of him. Something at the back of his mind, some distant, inchoate memory, warned him against drinking any of the red liquid, but it seemed unreasonable to refuse such a decent man as his host.

"To Haven," was the dull, insipid, chorused answer to Armitage's toast. The five adventurers lifted their glasses as one and drank deeply. The Administrator nodded in an approving fashion.

"That's much better." Armitage turned to his left and raised his voice, addressing somebody Grimm could not see. "Thank you, Terrence, we can lose the ultrasonics now, I think."

A muffled voice replied, "They're off, Administrator."

The head of Haven reached into his left ear and withdrew a small, white plug, repeating the operation on the right and drawing a sigh of relief. "These aural filters are quite uncomfortable, you know," he said.

Grimm had a vague wish to say something, but he found his mind slow and sluggish. It seemed much easier to sit and listen to Armitage than to talk. He felt a tug at his sleeve and heard a faint, familiar voice coming from the direction of his pocket.

"Grimm! You are drugged. Give me your power so that I may aid you."

"Shut up, Thribble," the young mage mumbled. "I'm all right."

Armitage leaned forward, a look of utter fascination on his face. "My goodness, is that an extra-dimensional imp? I believe it is!

"I have never seen the like before. We may learn a great deal from this little one. Give him to me, Grimm."

Grimm fished in his pocket and withdrew the minuscule demon.

"Do not accede to this monster's demands, Questor Grimm!" the demon piped, struggling in Grimm's grasp. "Where is the mighty will for which you Questors are supposed to be renowned?"

"Shut up, Thribble," Grimm repeated in a sleepy monotone. "I'm sure Armitage just wants to take a look at you."

"I imagine that he wants to take a look at my vitals, with the aid of a scalpel, human!" Thribble shrilled, but Grimm handed over his grey friend without the least flicker of concern.

As the Haven man reached out to clutch the tiny underworld being, Grimm saw a blue flash, and Thribble disappeared.

Armitage howled; an unearthly, animal sound of frustration. "Where's he gone? Bring him back at once, Grimm."

The Questor managed to summon up sufficient energy for even a listless shrug. His mouth moved, but he gave up the effort to speak. Dumb passivity was far easier.

Armitage pounded his fist on the table. "Damn it all! I've been trying to get hold of one of those creatures for ages, and a small specimen like that would have been so easy to handle.

"Ah, here come our meals, at least."

A squat, metal thing with spindly arms slid into the room on small wheels and proceeded to distribute plates of meat and vegetables to the diners. A second machine served Armitage alone, but the significance of this fact meant nothing to the befuddled Grimm.

"Do eat, dear friends," Armitage said. "You don't want your food to get cold, do you?"

As if possessed of no more free will than Armitage's strange, metallic servants, Grimm and his companions began to eat, as if it were a chore to be completed.

"Ultrasonics are all very well," the Administrator mumbled through a large mouthful of food, "but, of course, the effects soon wear off when you deactivate them. Drugs aren't much good either, but they keep the subject nice and placid while one carries out the main business of Pacification; studying a brace of Questors promises to be really interesting. If you're as good as you say you are, the experience could be quite edifying."

Armitage's words washed over Grimm like a warm, heavy stream, without meaning or import, but soothing and relaxing.

The Administrator seemed to like the sound of his own voice, as well as the taste of his food, and he carried on, despite his impassive audience, rubbing his hands in evident, unalloyed pleasure. "A new humanoid species and a hypomelanic giant to study," he enthused, "and a young, fresh girl to add variety to our tired, limited gene pool, to boot! Marvellous!"

Despite his complete lack of appetite, Grimm found he had cleared his plate as if he had been starving, although he could not remember what he had eaten, or what it had tasted like. His companions had also finished their meals, and they sat as if in deep meditation, their eyes glazed and lifeless. The young mage could not bring himself to feel concern for them, or to acknowledge that there was anything unusual in the tableau.

Having finished his own meal, Armitage sat back and stretched luxuriantly. "Perhaps you would like to hear something of the history of our happy little commune of Haven. You would? That's excellent.

"You might not believe it, but there has been a scientific mission here for fifteen hundred years, since before the Final War that destroyed most of the rest of the world. Protected as we are by the mountains, we avoided the worst of the devastation. I like to think there are similar enclaves of Technology in similar locations throughout the world, and that we may eventually pool our resources and our learning."

Armitage took a few minutes to clean between his teeth with a length of fine white cord. Apparently satisfied with his dental hygiene, he continued, as if lecturing an attentive group of students rather than five drug-dulled semi-morons.

"At its inception, this establishment was set up as a criminal rehabilitation facility. Escape from this high, cold vantage point was all but impossible, and there were teams of devoted, dedicated psychologists and behavioural analysts on hand to counsel the inmates in an attempt to persuade them to see the clear light of pure reason.

"They failed, of course, despite their noble intentions. The criminals said what the analysts expected them to say, but not what they really believed or felt. Time and again, they broke the rules of the facility, and the members of the staff could do little but chide them or give them further sessions of futile counselling. Society was remarkably lax in those days: physical or mental punishment was forbidden, and the murderers and habitual thieves who found themselves here had known a lifetime of being cautioned and released. They had learnt that crime did pay, despite the contrary admonishment of a common adage of the time."

From the corner of his eye, Grimm saw that Drexelica had slumped face-first onto the table, but the urbane Armitage did not seem fazed in the least by this.

The Administrator took a large cigar from his pocket and lit it with a golden implement that produced flame without evident tinder or flint. He leaned back in his chair and took several serene puffs, his face a blissful mask of contentment.

"After a series of attempted insurrections and riots, the authorities of the time became desperate, and they gave the scientists here at Haven free rein to deal with their charges as they deemed fit; we became masters at manipulating the human mind. Crude initial experiments with mind-altering substances gave way to the use of ultrasonic bombardment, like the little burst you experienced earlier tonight. I'm sure you'd acknowledge the effectiveness of this technique if you weren't so heavily sedated."

He waved his cigar in a contemptuous manner at the display of bovine passivity from his captive audience.

"Anyway, the main trouble with both those control methods is that they don't last too long, and they don't make a permanent change in men's minds. We at Haven have raised the ancient techniques of subliminal suggestion and surgical brain Pacification to an art form. In ancient times, they used to slice through the connection between the two halves of the brain in an attempt to provoke docility; can you believe that? The result of this first attempts at surgical brain modification produced placid morons with no more willpower than you have now.

"We at Haven developed a far superior method. We discovered that a simple electronic implant could automatically control the levels of dopamine, serotonin and the other cerebral neurotransmitters, turning even the most animalistic criminal into a happy, rational and useful member of society. Were the governments of the world happy at this unprecedented advance? Did they hail us as the saviours of mankind? No! They took this as their rightful due, sending us increasing numbers of malcontents and incorrigibles in an attempt to ease the stench of rebellion from their cesspits of cities, without the least word of thanks."

Grimm heard a faint, double thump as first Crest, and then Xylox, succumbed to the massive dose of sedatives within them, surrendering to the welcoming arms of Morpheus.

Armitage continued, in full, indignant flight at the base ingratitude shown to his beloved Haven by the old-world authorities, and he would not be balked.

"The final triumph was ours, of course. The politicians and bean-counters of the world were blasted into radioactive dust, while we survived. It wasn't easy, by any means, but the constant, miserly penny-pinching of the powers-that-were had already driven us well down the road towards complete self-sufficiency long before the first bombs fell. The last laugh was ours."

The last sound Grimm heard before he lost consciousness was the sound of Armitage's satisfied chuckling at the memory of Haven's final victory over its old, despised masters.

Thribble, safely ensconced in a small underworld bubble only fractions of an inch away from the mortal frame, had heard every word of the Administrator's self-indulgent monologue. With his demon eyes, he had been able to peer through the thin veil that separated him from Haven, and watch in increasing despair as one after another of the human adventurers had lost consciousness. After Grimm succumbed to the narcotics he had taken, only the white giant was left.

The minuscule netherworld creature saw it as a tribute to Tordun's mighty physique that the swordsman had resisted for so long; he guessed that even a maddened bull would have collapsed long before, after such a huge pharmaceutical hammering. Even so, the muscular human lost his battle in the end, and Thribble felt desperately alone in a strange world.

Armitage carried on his valedictory oration to the genius of the men of Haven long after the human titan surrendered his consciousness. When he finished, he clapped his hands, and a pair of white-garbed men entered the dining hall.

The taller and older of the men, bald-headed and rail-thin, addressed the Administrator in business-like tones. "Do you want them prepped for surgery, Administrator? I can have a surgical team assembled by tomorrow night."

Armitage gave a languorous yawn, and he made a show of inspecting his immaculate fingernails. "Not just yet, Terrence. I think I'll start them off with the standard Loyalty subliminals, just to be on the safe side, but I certainly don't want to mess with the brains of these two mages just yet. Remember the General's reaction when I told him how we botched the job on that first couple of Illusionists? The fellows were fully sentient, but they couldn't cast even the simplest of spells.

"I don't want to tinker with the Questor's brains at all; we don't want to damage them. I think the General would be very, very grateful to have a Mage Questor in full working order. From what I've heard, these fellows are absolutely lethal. I think I'll pit them against each other, to see which one comes out on top; we can dissect the loser, and the General can have the victor. We don't want them fully Pacified, but you can give them maximum subliminal conditioning."

Terrence nodded. "As you wish, Administrator. What about the others?"

"I want the little one with the pointed ears left as he is for a while; a new sub-species should be studied with care, and I don't want to assume too much about his brain before I let you hack it apart."

The Technician snorted. "You make it sound like butchery, Armitage. We're a little more refined than that."

"As you will, Terrence." Armitage sighed and flipped his hand in a dismissive manner. "Nonetheless, you will leave him alone for the moment; is that clear?

"The big albino should make a good addition to our security forces if he's properly prepared; you can have him tomorrow."

"And the girl? What about her?"

"Keep your hands to yourself, Terrence!" the Administrator snapped. "She's mine, and mine alone. Anyone who touches her will end up as a happy, moronic broom-pusher: even you, old friend."

The Technician raised a roguish eyebrow.

"As the Administrator desires," he said in an arch, knowing voice.

Armitage sighed. "You are a dullard at times, Terrence!" he snapped. "We're in desperate need of fresh female genetic material. Spermatozoa are created every day by males; females are born with their full lifetime complement of eggs, and that's the cause of all our problems; we don't have the military force to take women from the townships by force, and inbreeding has weakened our genetic line. This girl is a gift.

"I just want to be sure that tampering with her neurotransmitters doesn't affect the various fertility hormones as well; it's as well to be prudent."

Terrence's partner, a short, rotund man with wispy, greying brown hair and a scrubby beard, spoke up: "Who gets the first crack at the girl when you've finished studying her, Administrator? I presume it's not going to be by lot."

"Never you mind who's first, Deeks!" Armitage snapped. "Don't worry; your zygotes will be joined with hers in good time."

"In a bloody test tube!" came Deeks' heated response. "I'm a man, not some damned robot, Armitage! I have desires; I have physical needs, like any other man. I'll bet you won't be standing in line to give a sodding sperm sample!"

Armitage raised his hand in admonishment and lowered his brows. "That's quite enough, Mr. Deeks. You seem ill at ease, and I fear you may be in need of some behavioural modification; for your own good, of course."

The Technician paled at the implicit threat in Armitage's words. "I apologise, Administrator Armitage, for my loss of temper. I will carry out your orders as required."

Armitage took up his cigar and puffed smoke into the rotund man's face. Deeks turned red as he tried not to splutter.

"Thank you, Mr Deeks, Mr Terrence," the Administrator intoned. "That will be all. Remember: maximum subliminals for the mages, standard dosage for the rest. The giant can undergo full Pacification tomorrow, but wait for my word about all the others."

The slender Terrence and the barrel-like, sweating Deeks nodded in unison. "It will be as you require, Administrator," Terrence said.

The tall man touched a stud on a band wrapped around his wrist. "Team B, kindly take the new visitors to their guest quarters from the Dining Hall. They have been subjected to Stage One Pacification; gurneys will be required. That is all."

Thribble watched as the dormant bodies were wheeled out of the room on padded, metal trolleys, and he felt a pang of demonic angst.

He had been excited by the prospect of gathering the material for many interesting stories with which to regale his impatient, jaded brethren by the simple expedient of following this unusual human, Grimm Afelnor. What would he do if the mortal youth became some mindless automaton? Not only would Thribble lose the chance to gain wonderful story matter, but he would be unable to return to his own world!

The tiny demon also had to acknowledge that he had gained a great, if grudging, respect for that tall, emotion-raddled, resourceful lump of human flesh. Had he been mortal, Thribble told himself, he might even have called the lanky Questor his 'friend'. He knew he was now the only hope the young mage had, and he swore to do his utmost to prove himself worthy of his mortal confederate.

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