Shivers (35 page)

“Our tampering . . . woke it up,” Mr. Everson said.

The creature wasted no time taking over. While physically immobile for the most part, its mental powers were frighteningly acute. It could control minds. Before long the members of the committee—Peterson, Everson, Jessup, all experts in their various fields—were completely under its domination.

“On the surface everything was normal, more or less. But underneath . . .”

The creature’s mental influence was extended day by day, reaching out to capture each and every employee. The major efforts of HGC and Ruftins Labs went to carrying out the creature’s plans—anything else became obsolete.

“Worse, many of us were subjected to what we call ‘treatment’—a permanent mental bonding to the alien. It prohibits us from rebelling, from betraying it.”

Mr. Everson paused, holding his forehead. He looked terribly weak.

Steven felt a pang of fear. How was his father managing to resist this thing’s control, assuming his fantastic story was true? Yet he believed—as awful, as terrible, as outlandish as it was, he
believed
it. His father was
alive
in front of him—what more proof did he need?

Mr. Everson continued: “I was forced to engineer my own death so that I would be free from contact with any human beings outside the project. Believe me, I didn’t want to do it. But I had no choice.”

“Why you?” Steven asked. “Why not the other members of the committee?”

“The alien knew it might be a little
too
suspicious if so many were ‘to die’ at once. It has a fairly logical mind. After all, it is a computer—biological, alive—but a computer nonetheless. As for why me? It sensed I had psychic abilities, low-grade but potentially disruptive. It wanted to keep its eye on me. It was intrigued. Also, it wanted at least one of us to be at its beck and call at all times. I wouldn’t be free to carry on with my personal life as the others were. So I had to die.”

Steven shuddered. To think his father had been alive all this time, conscript of and consort to an extraterrestrial being, his mind not his own. It was beyond belief, and yet he believed it. What choice did he have?

Things moved slowly at first. There were a lot of things to do and much preparation required. The alien was moved to a new location. Everson and the others were finally permitted to learn what its mission entailed. They were appalled, but unable to do anything to stop it.

The biocomp had been created by a race of beings on a world a trillion light years away; the natural habitat of the race was under the planet’s surface, in caverns and tunnels. The biocomp also preferred such a habitat—the man-made caverns below the surface of Manhattan. And there its work would begin.

“The master’s purpose is colonization. It has come to prepare our world for
its
master, the star-spanning race that spawned it. There are thousands of these capsules traveling through space, or that have already landed on other worlds and remade them in their image. The race that created them is an ancient one, predating mankind by a million millennia. In our language, the closest word for the alien race would be
Marikai.

“Each biocomp functions in the same way. First it dominates every life-form it comes into contact with—it needs mobile drones to do its work for it. It builds itself a ‘nest’—a war room, so to speak—and commands its slaves from there. Then it . . .” Everson stopped suddenly, held his stomach.

“Father, are you all right?”

“I just need to rest, Steven. I have so little time. Tonight, tonight . . .”

Steven had to ask. “How does Joey fit into all this?”

Mr. Everson looked at his son helplessly, then turned his head away. “Later. I’ll tell you later.”

“Does it know what you’re doing now? That you’re here talking to me?”

“No.” He explained: “Steven, have you ever read crime stories in which masterminds rob a bank vault or museum under the noses of security guards by placing photographs over the closed-circuit camera lens—a
picture
of the vault or room that the guards see on their monitor while they steal the money or treasures out of the real room without even being seen?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s what I’ve done, in a way. The alien, as I’ve said, is part computer. It has preprogrammed commands. But it can be . . . tampered with, if you’re quick and careful. Through this careful tampering, I’ve been able to fool it into thinking I am where I’m not, freeing me for hours at a time to do as I wish. Friday I waited across the street for you most of the night. You must have come home while I was having coffee. I peeked into the window . . . but I had to get back, my time was almost up. It would have known that I was gone. I’ve also managed to hide
your
existence from the creature by tampering with its system.”

Steven could hardly digest all of this information. “Where have you been living all this time?”

“In the barracks under the streets with all the other slaves. All these months. Waiting and planning. Hoping the day would come when I could finally fight back. That day has come. But it’s right down to the wire. If we don’t act now, Steven, everything is lost. Joey’s life. All our lives.”

“Something’s going to happen tonight, isn’t it? Something that involves Joey?”

“Something that involves Joey
and
the entire city. The borough of Manhattan, at least.”

“What?”

“That’s the . . . hardest part to explain. I guess I’ll just come right out with it. The alien has chosen Joey . . . for its mate.”

“Mate?
Is it a female?”

“No. As I said, it has no sex, as we know it. It reproduces in a very different way—”

“But how could it be
compatible
with a human being?”

“That’s just it. This isn’t a question of fornication. It
absorbs
the entire body of its ‘mate’, reduces it to its basic chromosomal elements, and creates, spits out to put it crudely, a new life-form. Half-alien, and, in this case, half-human.”

“Why, for God’s sake?”

“Since the purpose of each biocomp is to subjugate a planet’s dominant life-form so that it will serve as drones to make the environment fit for the colonizers when they arrive, it figures that the task will be easier if the dominant life-forms are led by a ruler that is at least, in this instance, half-human. The other half, the alien half, will always be faithful to the biocomp, who will supervise, as always, from behind the scenes. The power behind the throne.

“Normally the biocomp would mate with me, or my counterpart on other planets—the human it has chosen to lead its slaves in the pre-offspring period. Unfortunately, all mates
die
during the process of ‘reproduction.’ “

“In other words,” Steven said, “you aren’t expendable.”

“No, I’m afraid there’s more to it than that. Once this ‘messiah’ is created, I
will
be expendable, so
my
sacrifice isn’t of relevance. The problem is that many mates, especially if they’re old and weak as I am, die even
before
the process is completed. And that won’t do. When that happens, very often the alien dies too. It’s very complicated. The master’s biological system is completely different from our own.”

“Why can’t it simply use some of Joey’s sperm, a tissue sample, a few cells from his skin? Why does it have to consume him?”

“It won’t work otherwise. Joey is young and strong. Joey shares my genetic heritage. He was the beast’s first choice.”

A bizarre thought flashed through Steven’s mind.
I was spared this fate because I, the firstborn, was second best.

“How can we stop it, Father?”

“That’s going to be my job. The reason I came to you tonight is because there’s something you must do while I try to save your brother.”

“Name it.”

“This alien culture, the
Marikai,
has its own ‘god’ to which it prays and makes sacrifices, as does the biocomp. Remember, Steven, to this alien being we are less than nothing. Tonight, so that its god will bless the union and its mission, it intends to make a sacrificial
offering.
That offering consists of every man, woman, and child on this island, Steven. Millions are going to die!”

It took a few seconds for the full impact of his father’s words to hit him.

“During the past few months it’s been commanding its human drones to build a complicated power grid under the city streets. The grid was completed a few days ago. There have been a few advance tests which have affected the weather and caused other odd phenomena. As work proceeded on the grid, we needed more and more workers. We got them by snatching people—first Bowery bums and derelicts, later anyone and everyone—right off the street. There is a conspiracy of silence in this city. You people up here live your lives, never even dreaming of what goes on beneath your feet. The whole city is dying and no one even knows it. No one is even missed. Even people in positions of authority are under the biocomp’s influence.”

The whole business was getting more petrifying and outrageous by the second. “Let me guess,” Steven said. “You want me to do something to destroy this grid, while you rescue Joey.”

“Yes. You’re the perfect choice. You see, you’re literally the ‘invisible man.’ When I surreptitiously managed to program the alien not to know of your existence any longer, I cut you off from all of its senses, and hence from the senses of all its slaves. No one will even be able to
see
you, even if you’re standing right in front of them. No one will be able to stop you.”

Steven would never understand how such a thing could be, but it sounded good to him.
I’m going to wake up,
he told himself.
Any second I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream.

“Remember, a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. I managed to build a weak link into the power grid. If it is destroyed, the entire system goes down. All you have to do is get to that link and throw a switch—one simple switch—and your part is over.”

“What exactly will this power grid do? How will it destroy the city?”

“The same way the biocomp destroys anyone who rebels. It dissolves them, literally. It does something to their molecules. The science of this alien culture is so advanced that it seems like
sorcery
to us.”

Had Steven heard correctly. “Everyone in Manhattan will dissolve?”

“Everyone. Destroyed. Every last living soul. But it needs tremendous power to pull it off. Power which it has siphoned from the city’s electrical system.”

“So that’s why there’s a blackout.”

“Yes. The grid is
warming up
now.”

Steven had absorbed the full implications. “Then that means—Brock; that man in the lifeguard station. God, it’s true. They really were
dissolved!”

“We’d better get going. At midnight—that’s when Joey will die and the city will be sacrificed. Twelve o’clock. Coincidentally, on the night of our Sabbath. This will not be a day of rest for us, I’m afraid.”

“But I have so many other questions . . .”

“On the way, Steven. I have a car outside. Get your hat and coat and
let’s go!”

In a car that was marked
Ruftins Laboratories,
Mr. Everson drove down the silent streets past rows of blacked-out buildings. It was eerie and unreal. The whole
thing
was unreal. Steven—to keep himself from getting scared shitless—rattled off one question after another while his father drove downtown.

“How did Vivian Jessup figure in all this? Was she really Joey’s lover?”

“Yes. Though that had not been her original intention. She only wanted to warn him, to protect him. A noble effort. It failed. She was punished. She lied to you only to protect you. She figured the less you knew the better.”

“Brock Madison. George Forrance? What were their .parts in it?”

“Both of them were foreman—two of several —overseeing the construction of the power grid. At first our workers consisted only of tramps and mental patients, people who wouldn’t be missed. They needed constant guidance. Some were driven mad by the alien’s insensitive mental persuasion. A whole slew of them run about through the subways causing mischief and making a nuisance of themselves. We call them ‘renegades.’ Others committed suicide.

“Anyway, George’s parents had both been lower-echelon employees of HGC many years ago. Both died before this ghastly business started, lucky them. But we thought it a good idea to bring George ‘into the fold.’ He’d once worked on subway maintenance, and his experience and knowledge of the system were invaluable.”

“I suppose he’s dead too.”

“I’m afraid so. The biocomp won’t tolerate betrayal or rebellion of any sort.”

“It can only kill people that have been ‘treated’, right?”

“If only that was true. No, I’m afraid it can kill anyone . . . whose existence it is aware of, at least. It can dissolve, erase from existence, only those who have been treated, true. But it can literally stop the hearts of anyone it sees as an enemy, anyone who even suspects what it may be up to. In
either
case, it can cause frightening, realistic hallucinations—that depends, however, on the mental state and susceptibility of the victim. It can also
control
the actions of people who have not been treated.”

“This thing prays to a god? It
is
a god.”

“Compared to us—yes!”

Mr. Everson turned the corner and headed downtown. Some people were out on the street, drunk and carousing, reveling in the blackout, any change in the dull status quo.
If only they knew,
Steven thought.

“As the time of the ‘union’ draws near,” Mr. Everson continued, “the biocomp is, for lack of a better word, becoming paranoid. In other words, it’s killing more and warning less. It sees everyone as a threat. After Friday night I erased all knowledge of your existence from its memory—believe me, I would have killed it if I could, but that’s a nearly impossible task—but I’m afraid it still retains knowledge of your friends and associates. Everything I see,
it
sees. It links up with, locks onto—on a psychic level —one mind after another after another. The question is: will it see any of your friends, anyone you’ve talked to, as a threat to its survival?”