Abduction (29 page)
Authors: Robin Cook
Tags: #Fiction, #Suspense, #Onbekend, #Unabridged Audio - Fiction, #Suspense & Thriller
wandered the full width of the World War II gallery. Some of the paraphernalia seemed in pristine
condition, other objects were barnacle-encrusted like the Corvette outside the museum. At the end of the aisle, he poked his head out a window facing east and caught a glimpse of the immense spires that served as supports for the Azores.
Perry glanced down at the courtyard below and did a double take. The
Oceanus,
the Benthic Marine submersible, was sitting on what appeared to be a flatbed attached to a large air taxi. "Hey, Suzanne!" Perry cried out. "Come look!" Suzanne hurried over to join him. Arak followed. Both leaned out the window and followed Perry's pointing finger.
"My gosh!" Suzanne said. "It's our submersible! What is it doing here?" "Oh, yes," Arak said. "I forgot to mention how much interest your ship has generated with the curators of the museum. I believe, with your permission, they intend to make it one of the exhibits." "Was it damaged?" Perry asked.
"Only minimally," Arak said. "Skilled worker clones have repaired the outside lights and manipulator arm. It's also been decontaminated, but is otherwise intact. Are you familiar with the boat's components?"
"Somewhat," Perry said. "But not from an operational perspective. Suzanne knows more than I. I've only been in it twice."
"Donald is the real expert," Suzanne said. "He knows the craft like the back of his hand." "Excellent," Arak said. "We do have some questions about the sonar, which we have found to be even more sophisticated than we'd imagined."
"He's the one to ask," Suzanne said.
"What's the submersible sitting on?" Perry asked. "That's an air taxi freighter," Arak said.
condition, other objects were barnacle-encrusted like the Corvette outside the museum. At the end of the aisle, he poked his head out a window facing east and caught a glimpse of the immense spires that served as supports for the Azores.
Perry glanced down at the courtyard below and did a double take. The
Oceanus,
the Benthic Marine submersible, was sitting on what appeared to be a flatbed attached to a large air taxi. "Hey, Suzanne!" Perry cried out. "Come look!" Suzanne hurried over to join him. Arak followed. Both leaned out the window and followed Perry's pointing finger.
"My gosh!" Suzanne said. "It's our submersible! What is it doing here?" "Oh, yes," Arak said. "I forgot to mention how much interest your ship has generated with the curators of the museum. I believe, with your permission, they intend to make it one of the exhibits." "Was it damaged?" Perry asked.
"Only minimally," Arak said. "Skilled worker clones have repaired the outside lights and manipulator arm. It's also been decontaminated, but is otherwise intact. Are you familiar with the boat's components?"
"Somewhat," Perry said. "But not from an operational perspective. Suzanne knows more than I. I've only been in it twice."
"Donald is the real expert," Suzanne said. "He knows the craft like the back of his hand." "Excellent," Arak said. "We do have some questions about the sonar, which we have found to be even more sophisticated than we'd imagined."
"He's the one to ask," Suzanne said.
"What's the submersible sitting on?" Perry asked. "That's an air taxi freighter," Arak said.
Michael made it a point to keep up with Donald, who was cruising through the museum as if he were out for exercise rather than studying the exhibits. Every few steps Michael had to run a couple of strides. Donald had long since left Sufa and Richard far behind. "Why the hell are you going so fast?" Michael panted. "What is this, a race?" "You don't have to stay with me," Donald shot back. He turned another corner and continued on. They were moving through a gallery containing Renaissance sculptures and paintings. "Richard and I think we should get out of Interterra ASAP," Michael managed. He was short of breath.
"You both made that clear over breakfast," Donald said jeeringly. He turned another corner and entered
a room hung with carpets.
"We're getting a little worried," Michael continued, trying to stay alongside the fast-moving ex-naval officer.
"About what, sailor?" Donald asked.
"Because . . . well . . . we have a problem," Michael said hesitantly. "It involves a couple of these Interterrans."
"I'm not interested in your personal problems," Donald snapped. "But there was an accident," Michael said. "Or actually, two accidents." Donald stopped short and Michael did the same. Donald stabbed the air in front of Michael's face. Donald's lips were pulled back in a sneer. "Listen, bonehead! You two decided to fraternize with these Interterrans. I don't want to hear about your difficulties getting along with them. Understand?" "But--"
"No buts, sailor!" Donald spat. "I'm trying to get us out of here, and I don't want to be distracted by either you or your half-wit buddy."
"Okay, okay," Michael said, raising his hand defensively. "I'm glad you're working on it. Getting out of here as soon as we can is all I'm concerned about. I mean, I'll help any way I can." "I'll keep that in mind," Donald said scornfully. "Do you have any ideas about how we're going to be able to do it?" "It'll be difficult," Donald admitted. "We're going to have to find someone besides Arak to get some real answers. Information is the key. The best thing, of course, would be to find someone who's not happy here, yet who's been around long enough to be knowledgeable about how to get out." "Nobody seems unhappy," Michael commented. "It's like they're living one big party." "I'm not talking about Interterrans," Donald said. "Arak has implied that a number of people from our world have ended up down here. Some of them must be homesick and not quite as chummy with the Interterrans as Ismael and Mary Black seem to be. It's human nature, or at least secondary-human nature, to resist constraint. That's the kind of person I'd like to find." "How do you propose to do it?"
"I don't know," Donald admitted. "We've got to keep our eyes open for when opportunity knocks. I can tell you I like being out in the city. We're surely not going to find such a person while we're sitting in that damn conference room."
"But this place is deserted," Michael complained. His eyes took a momentary detour up and down the empty corridors.
a room hung with carpets.
"We're getting a little worried," Michael continued, trying to stay alongside the fast-moving ex-naval officer.
"About what, sailor?" Donald asked.
"Because . . . well . . . we have a problem," Michael said hesitantly. "It involves a couple of these Interterrans."
"I'm not interested in your personal problems," Donald snapped. "But there was an accident," Michael said. "Or actually, two accidents." Donald stopped short and Michael did the same. Donald stabbed the air in front of Michael's face. Donald's lips were pulled back in a sneer. "Listen, bonehead! You two decided to fraternize with these Interterrans. I don't want to hear about your difficulties getting along with them. Understand?" "But--"
"No buts, sailor!" Donald spat. "I'm trying to get us out of here, and I don't want to be distracted by either you or your half-wit buddy."
"Okay, okay," Michael said, raising his hand defensively. "I'm glad you're working on it. Getting out of here as soon as we can is all I'm concerned about. I mean, I'll help any way I can." "I'll keep that in mind," Donald said scornfully. "Do you have any ideas about how we're going to be able to do it?" "It'll be difficult," Donald admitted. "We're going to have to find someone besides Arak to get some real answers. Information is the key. The best thing, of course, would be to find someone who's not happy here, yet who's been around long enough to be knowledgeable about how to get out." "Nobody seems unhappy," Michael commented. "It's like they're living one big party." "I'm not talking about Interterrans," Donald said. "Arak has implied that a number of people from our world have ended up down here. Some of them must be homesick and not quite as chummy with the Interterrans as Ismael and Mary Black seem to be. It's human nature, or at least secondary-human nature, to resist constraint. That's the kind of person I'd like to find." "How do you propose to do it?"
"I don't know," Donald admitted. "We've got to keep our eyes open for when opportunity knocks. I can tell you I like being out in the city. We're surely not going to find such a person while we're sitting in that damn conference room."
"But this place is deserted," Michael complained. His eyes took a momentary detour up and down the empty corridors.
"I didn't come here to meet anyone," Donald said. "I came to this damned museum with the hope of
coming across some weapons. I thought there'd be some, but I haven't seen a single one. Having a museum about human history without weapons is ridiculous. The pacifism of these Interterrans is driving me up the wall."
"Weapons!" Michael commented. He nodded. The idea hadn't dawned on him, but he immediately was intrigued. "Cool idea! To tell you the truth, I was wondering why you wanted to come here." "Well, now you know, sailor," Donald said. "And maybe you can even help, since this place is so enormous. If we spread out we can cover a lot more ground." No sooner had Donald uttered this suggestion than his eye caught something he'd not seen in any other exhibition hall: a closed door with the words RESTRICTEDENTRYwritten over its upper panel. Curious as to what it might conceal, he approached it, with Michael at his heels. As Donald got closer he could see that there were several other words in smaller letters: FORENTRY, APPLY TOCOUNCIL OFE LDERS.
"What the hell is the Council of Elders?" Michael asked over Donald's shoulder. "Some sort of governing body, I imagine," Donald said. He put his hand on the door and pushed. It was unlocked, like all doors in Interterra.
"Eureka!" Donald said as he caught a glimpse of some of the objects displayed in the room beyond. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped over the threshold. Michael entered behind him and whistled.
"No wonder we haven't seen any weapons," Donald said. "It looks like they got their own hidden gallery." The room was comparatively narrow but extremely long. On both sides were display shelves cluttered with arms.
The two men had entered the gallery approximately halfway along its length. On the shelf directly opposite the entrance was a medieval crossbow with a quiver of needle-sharp quarrels. Michael leaned over and lifted the crossbow from its resting place. He whistled again. He'd never handled such a weapon. "Jeez!" he commented. "What a fierce-looking contraption." He knocked the stock with his knuckle. The sound was a solid thunk. He twanged the bowstring. It was still sound. He held it up in the air and sighted along its shaft. "I bet this thing still works." Donald had started off to the right, but soon recognized he was going in the wrong chronological direction. The weapons were becoming older. Ahead he could see a collection of Greek and Roman short swords, bows, and spears. He turned and passed Michael, who was busy trying to bend the crossbow with a hand crank to slip the string into its locking device. "There's still a lot of strength in the bow," Michael said as he succeeded finally. He placed one of the bolts into the guide and held the loaded weapon up for Donald to see. "What do you think?" "It's got possibilities," Donald said vaguely while heading down the other way. He was encouraged when he saw the first examples of early harquebuses. "But I was hoping for something a bit more definitive than an arbalest."
"I thought this thing was called a crossbow," Michael said.
coming across some weapons. I thought there'd be some, but I haven't seen a single one. Having a museum about human history without weapons is ridiculous. The pacifism of these Interterrans is driving me up the wall."
"Weapons!" Michael commented. He nodded. The idea hadn't dawned on him, but he immediately was intrigued. "Cool idea! To tell you the truth, I was wondering why you wanted to come here." "Well, now you know, sailor," Donald said. "And maybe you can even help, since this place is so enormous. If we spread out we can cover a lot more ground." No sooner had Donald uttered this suggestion than his eye caught something he'd not seen in any other exhibition hall: a closed door with the words RESTRICTEDENTRYwritten over its upper panel. Curious as to what it might conceal, he approached it, with Michael at his heels. As Donald got closer he could see that there were several other words in smaller letters: FORENTRY, APPLY TOCOUNCIL OFE LDERS.
"What the hell is the Council of Elders?" Michael asked over Donald's shoulder. "Some sort of governing body, I imagine," Donald said. He put his hand on the door and pushed. It was unlocked, like all doors in Interterra.
"Eureka!" Donald said as he caught a glimpse of some of the objects displayed in the room beyond. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped over the threshold. Michael entered behind him and whistled.
"No wonder we haven't seen any weapons," Donald said. "It looks like they got their own hidden gallery." The room was comparatively narrow but extremely long. On both sides were display shelves cluttered with arms.
The two men had entered the gallery approximately halfway along its length. On the shelf directly opposite the entrance was a medieval crossbow with a quiver of needle-sharp quarrels. Michael leaned over and lifted the crossbow from its resting place. He whistled again. He'd never handled such a weapon. "Jeez!" he commented. "What a fierce-looking contraption." He knocked the stock with his knuckle. The sound was a solid thunk. He twanged the bowstring. It was still sound. He held it up in the air and sighted along its shaft. "I bet this thing still works." Donald had started off to the right, but soon recognized he was going in the wrong chronological direction. The weapons were becoming older. Ahead he could see a collection of Greek and Roman short swords, bows, and spears. He turned and passed Michael, who was busy trying to bend the crossbow with a hand crank to slip the string into its locking device. "There's still a lot of strength in the bow," Michael said as he succeeded finally. He placed one of the bolts into the guide and held the loaded weapon up for Donald to see. "What do you think?" "It's got possibilities," Donald said vaguely while heading down the other way. He was encouraged when he saw the first examples of early harquebuses. "But I was hoping for something a bit more definitive than an arbalest."
"I thought this thing was called a crossbow," Michael said.
"Same thing," Donald said without turning back.
Michael put his finger on the release lever and, without meaning to, discharged the weapon. The bolt hissed from its position in the guide, ricocheted off the basalt wall with a high-pitched scraping sound, shot past Donald's right ear, and buried itself into one of the wooden shelves. Donald had felt the wind from the missile as it sailed by.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Donald roared. "You almost nailed me with that goddamn thing!" "Sorry," Michael said. "I hardly touched the trigger." "Put it down before one of us gets hurt," Donald yelled. "At least we know it works," Michael said. Donald shook his head with disgust while he reached up with his hand to check his ear. Thankfully there was no blood. The bolt had come that close. Mumbling expletives about the clowns he'd gotten stranded with, he continued down the gallery. Soon he was looking at a collection of World War II rifles and handguns. To his chagrin, they were in sorry shape, having suffered the ill effects of salt water. He became progressively discouraged until he came across a German Luger near the room's end. At first sight it appeared to be in excellent condition. Unaware he was holding his breath, Donald reached for the pistol and hefted it. To his delight, the gun appeared pristine even under close scrutiny. With great anticipation he released the magazine. A smile spread across his face. The clip was full! "Did you find something good?" Michael asked. He'd come up behind Donald. Donald pushed the magazine home in the pistol's hand grip. It made a definitive, reassuringly solid mechanical sound. He held the gun aloft. "This is what I've been looking for." "Cool!" Michael said.
Lovingly Donald put the Luger back where he'd found it. "What are you doing?" Michael questioned. "Aren't you going to take it?" "Not now," Donald said. "Not until I know what I'm going to do with it."
Michael put his finger on the release lever and, without meaning to, discharged the weapon. The bolt hissed from its position in the guide, ricocheted off the basalt wall with a high-pitched scraping sound, shot past Donald's right ear, and buried itself into one of the wooden shelves. Donald had felt the wind from the missile as it sailed by.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Donald roared. "You almost nailed me with that goddamn thing!" "Sorry," Michael said. "I hardly touched the trigger." "Put it down before one of us gets hurt," Donald yelled. "At least we know it works," Michael said. Donald shook his head with disgust while he reached up with his hand to check his ear. Thankfully there was no blood. The bolt had come that close. Mumbling expletives about the clowns he'd gotten stranded with, he continued down the gallery. Soon he was looking at a collection of World War II rifles and handguns. To his chagrin, they were in sorry shape, having suffered the ill effects of salt water. He became progressively discouraged until he came across a German Luger near the room's end. At first sight it appeared to be in excellent condition. Unaware he was holding his breath, Donald reached for the pistol and hefted it. To his delight, the gun appeared pristine even under close scrutiny. With great anticipation he released the magazine. A smile spread across his face. The clip was full! "Did you find something good?" Michael asked. He'd come up behind Donald. Donald pushed the magazine home in the pistol's hand grip. It made a definitive, reassuringly solid mechanical sound. He held the gun aloft. "This is what I've been looking for." "Cool!" Michael said.
Lovingly Donald put the Luger back where he'd found it. "What are you doing?" Michael questioned. "Aren't you going to take it?" "Not now," Donald said. "Not until I know what I'm going to do with it."
Richard stopped dead in his tracks. He could not believe what he was seeing. It was a room chock full of treasure, mostly from ancient times. There were innumerable cups, bowls, and even whole statues made of solid gold, all dramatically lit with concentrated beams of light. In one corner was a series of chests filled with doubloons. The display was dazzling. What made the sight even more astounding for Richard was that the entire collection of inestimable value was all within easy grasp since the objects were out in the open and not behind protective glass barriers like he was accustomed to in all the museums he'd ever visited. And this was on top of the fact that the museum's front door had no guards.
"This is unbelievable," Richard managed. "God, this is fantastic. What I would do for a wheelbarrow of
this stuff!"
"You like these objects?" Sufa questioned. "Like them? I love them," Richard stammered. "I've never seen anything like this. I doubt there's this much gold in Fort Knox."
"We have storerooms filled with these things," Sufa said. "Ships have been sinking with gold for years. I can arrange to have a quantity of similar objects sent to your room for your own enjoyment if you'd like." "You mean stuff like we're seeing here?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "Do you prefer the large statues or the smaller objects?" "I'm not picky," Richard said. "But what about jewels? Does the museum have jewels, too?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "But most of it comes from your ancient times. Would you care to view it?" "Why not?" Richard answered.
On the way to the gallery of ancient jewelry, Richard caught sight of an artifact in a display of twentieth-century curios that brought a smile to his face. On a chest-high pedestal a Frisbee was carefully illuminated with a pencil of light, as if it, too, were as priceless as gold. "Well, I'll be!" Richard mumbled to himself as he stopped in front of the chartreuse disk. He noticed a few canine indentations along the Frisbee's edge. "What on earth is this here for?" he called ahead to Sufa.
Sufa came back to where Richard was standing to see what he was referring to. "We don't know exactly what that is," she admitted. "But some have suggested it might be a model of one of our antigravity vehicles like our air taxis or our interplanetary cruisers. We were afraid for a time that there had been a direct sighting."
Richard threw his head back and laughed. "You got to be kidding," he said. "No, I'm not joking," Sufa said. "Its shape is very suggestive, and it can be spun to capture a cushion of air that mimics an antigravity ship."
"It's not a model of anything," Richard said. "It's nothing but a Frisbee." "What is it used for?" Sufa asked.
"It's to play with," Richard said. "You spin it like you said and then someone else catches it. Let me show you." Richard picked up the Frisbee and gently flipped it up into the air on an angle. The toy reached an apogee then returned. He caught it in his palm between his thumb and fingers. "That's all there is to it," he said. "It's easy, don't you think?" "I suppose," Sufa said.
"Let me throw it to you and you catch it just like I did," Richard said. He trotted down the gallery about
this stuff!"
"You like these objects?" Sufa questioned. "Like them? I love them," Richard stammered. "I've never seen anything like this. I doubt there's this much gold in Fort Knox."
"We have storerooms filled with these things," Sufa said. "Ships have been sinking with gold for years. I can arrange to have a quantity of similar objects sent to your room for your own enjoyment if you'd like." "You mean stuff like we're seeing here?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "Do you prefer the large statues or the smaller objects?" "I'm not picky," Richard said. "But what about jewels? Does the museum have jewels, too?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "But most of it comes from your ancient times. Would you care to view it?" "Why not?" Richard answered.
On the way to the gallery of ancient jewelry, Richard caught sight of an artifact in a display of twentieth-century curios that brought a smile to his face. On a chest-high pedestal a Frisbee was carefully illuminated with a pencil of light, as if it, too, were as priceless as gold. "Well, I'll be!" Richard mumbled to himself as he stopped in front of the chartreuse disk. He noticed a few canine indentations along the Frisbee's edge. "What on earth is this here for?" he called ahead to Sufa.
Sufa came back to where Richard was standing to see what he was referring to. "We don't know exactly what that is," she admitted. "But some have suggested it might be a model of one of our antigravity vehicles like our air taxis or our interplanetary cruisers. We were afraid for a time that there had been a direct sighting."
Richard threw his head back and laughed. "You got to be kidding," he said. "No, I'm not joking," Sufa said. "Its shape is very suggestive, and it can be spun to capture a cushion of air that mimics an antigravity ship."
"It's not a model of anything," Richard said. "It's nothing but a Frisbee." "What is it used for?" Sufa asked.
"It's to play with," Richard said. "You spin it like you said and then someone else catches it. Let me show you." Richard picked up the Frisbee and gently flipped it up into the air on an angle. The toy reached an apogee then returned. He caught it in his palm between his thumb and fingers. "That's all there is to it," he said. "It's easy, don't you think?" "I suppose," Sufa said.
"Let me throw it to you and you catch it just like I did," Richard said. He trotted down the gallery about
fifty feet. He turned and tossed the Frisbee toward Sufa. She went through the motions as if she were
going to catch it, but she was too clumsy. Although it grazed her hand, she failed to grab it; it clattered to the floor. After rolling his eyes at her ineptness, Richard trotted back and showed her again how to do it. But his efforts were in vain. On the next toss she was even more awkward than on the first. "You people aren't into physical activity, are you?" Richard said scornfully. "I've never met anyone who couldn't catch a Frisbee."
"What's the purpose?"
"There's no purpose," Richard snapped. "It's just fun. It's a sport. Tossing this thing back and forth gives you a chance to run around."
"It seems pointless to me," Sufa said.
"Don't you people get any exercise down here in Interterra?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "We enjoy swimming particularly but also walking and playing with our homids. Of course there's always sex, as I'm sure Meeta, Palenque, and Karena have shown you." "I'm talking about a sport!" Richard complained. "Sex is not a sport." "It is for us," Sufa said. "And it's certainly a lot of exercise." "What about a sport in which you try to win?" Richard asked. "Win?" Sufa questioned.
"You know, competition!" Richard said with annoyance. "Don't you have any competitive games?" "Heavens, no!" Sufa said. "We stopped that kind of nonsense eons ago when we eliminated wars and violence."
"Oh, for chrissake," Richard blurted. "No sports! That means no ice hockey, no football, not even golf! Jeez! And to think Suzanne thinks this place is heaven!" "Please calm down," Sufa urged. "Why are you so agitated?" "Do I seem agitated?" Richard questioned innocently. "Indeed you do," Sufa said.
"I guess I need some exercise," Richard offered. With the Frisbee under his arm, he nervously cracked his knuckles. He knew he was strung out, and he knew why: in his mind's eye he kept picturing a worker clone stumbling onto Mura's corpse scrunched up inside his refrigerator. "Why don't you take the Frisbee?" Sufa suggested. "Perhaps Michael or one of the others will participate with you."
"Why not," Richard said, but without much enthusiasm.
going to catch it, but she was too clumsy. Although it grazed her hand, she failed to grab it; it clattered to the floor. After rolling his eyes at her ineptness, Richard trotted back and showed her again how to do it. But his efforts were in vain. On the next toss she was even more awkward than on the first. "You people aren't into physical activity, are you?" Richard said scornfully. "I've never met anyone who couldn't catch a Frisbee."
"What's the purpose?"
"There's no purpose," Richard snapped. "It's just fun. It's a sport. Tossing this thing back and forth gives you a chance to run around."
"It seems pointless to me," Sufa said.
"Don't you people get any exercise down here in Interterra?" "Certainly," Sufa said. "We enjoy swimming particularly but also walking and playing with our homids. Of course there's always sex, as I'm sure Meeta, Palenque, and Karena have shown you." "I'm talking about a sport!" Richard complained. "Sex is not a sport." "It is for us," Sufa said. "And it's certainly a lot of exercise." "What about a sport in which you try to win?" Richard asked. "Win?" Sufa questioned.
"You know, competition!" Richard said with annoyance. "Don't you have any competitive games?" "Heavens, no!" Sufa said. "We stopped that kind of nonsense eons ago when we eliminated wars and violence."
"Oh, for chrissake," Richard blurted. "No sports! That means no ice hockey, no football, not even golf! Jeez! And to think Suzanne thinks this place is heaven!" "Please calm down," Sufa urged. "Why are you so agitated?" "Do I seem agitated?" Richard questioned innocently. "Indeed you do," Sufa said.
"I guess I need some exercise," Richard offered. With the Frisbee under his arm, he nervously cracked his knuckles. He knew he was strung out, and he knew why: in his mind's eye he kept picturing a worker clone stumbling onto Mura's corpse scrunched up inside his refrigerator. "Why don't you take the Frisbee?" Sufa suggested. "Perhaps Michael or one of the others will participate with you."
"Why not," Richard said, but without much enthusiasm.
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