Memoirs Of An Invisible Man (14 page)

“Of course, we have to assume that he won’t survive long in this condition. Still, even in a very short period of time, he could be of incalculable value.”

“He’d make a hell of a field agent too,” offered Clellan. “Think what it would be like running
him.
He could go
anywhere! Anywhere!
You could have any information in the world. Or at least a whole hell of a lot more than anyone else. Jesus! You could about write your own budget — whatever damn thing you wanted. Wouldn’t anybody say ‘boo.’ Jesus! We’d be running half the damn government.”

Clellan seemed to be having trouble getting a firm grasp on the opportunities my existence suddenly presented. As he tried to articulate them, they kept expanding faster than his imagination could accommodate them.

“Jesus. There’s just no limit—”

“That’s enough, Clellan,” said the Colonel very quietly. He was looking pensively at the horizon. “At this point our only concern is to locate the man as quickly as possible.”

“But, Jesus,” continued Clellan, his enthusiasm uncheckable, “think of what this guy could do!”

“The question is what he
would
do, what we could persuade him to do. The same question as always. You would have all the usual problems in enlisting his cooperation, together with some altogether unusual difficulties… Although you might have some advantages as well.”

“Would we really have to turn him over to the scientists?” asked Clellan.

There was a pause before the Colonel answered. “Probably. But we might be able to keep control of him ultimately. The question is whether we can keep this whole thing secret. So far no one really knows with certainty that there is anything more interesting here than a hole in the ground…”

“You mean we might get him back when the scientists were done?” asked Clellan hopefully. “Not that there would be much left after they were through with him,” he added.

“In any case,” the Colonel said, “we have no idea about either his physical condition or his state of mind. He may be lying unconscious a few feet away from Morrissey and Tyler. He may equally well be physically sound but mentally incapacitated. He may be thoroughly deranged, incapable of making a rational judgment or taking a responsible decision. That would be almost likely, under the circumstances.”

“Well, the scientists would still get plenty out of him, I suppose,” said Clellan glumly.

“Or he may be simply hostile,” the Colonel continued. “It is probable that he was one of the demonstrators. He did choose to enter or remain in the building without authorization after it had been evacuated. The people who organized the demonstration like to call themselves Marxists, at least when they are talking to each other. It might be worth considering what it would be like having him working against us.”

Clellan’s little eyes widened, and his mouth opened and then closed again. This thought seemed genuinely to distress him. The Colonel was pursing his lips again and staring through narrowed eyes into the distance. I waited quietly. All of us waited — Tyler, Morrissey, Clellan, and I — while he thought out what direction he would give to the day’s events.

And while I waited to see what he would do, I tried feverishly to decide what direction my own efforts should take. I was by now thoroughly terrified at the prospect of finding myself in the care of these people. The thought of the awesome contribution I might make to science had quite overwhelmed me. I tried to imagine some of the very useful experiments that might be performed on “a totally invisible, complete, living human body.” Several things came to mind, such as brightly colored fluids being forced through vital organs, but nothing I wanted to make a firm commitment to right then.

On the other hand, I was just as terrified by my grotesque physical condition. I desperately wanted to be cared for. By qualified people, with my interest at heart. And I had the sense that the longer I delayed in turning myself over, the worse things would be ultimately. The Colonel was probably right, I thought: I was not able to take a responsible decision. I needed a little more time to think things through. But it seemed that my choices were about to be radically narrowed. If these people got hold of me now, it was likely that I would not be making very many decisions at all. More qualified people, better able to assess my value to humanity, would be helping me out with the decisions. I had no doubt that they would have my best interests and those of all humankind constantly before them. They would know what was important and what not.

What was important to me was to get away.

“Have those men work their way through the rest of the building, as fast as they can,” the Colonel said suddenly.

“We could make better time with more men,” Clellan suggested.

“We’ll work with the men we already have. I don’t want anyone else to know what’s happening in here. We’ve got to try to keep control of this situation. We want first of all to find that man and secondly to make a complete inventory of whatever it is we have here.”

Clellan put his headset back on and began giving instructions to Morrissey and Tyler. The Colonel turned abruptly in place and stepped directly towards me. I jumped awkwardly out of his way, stumbled, and fell to the ground, crushing and denting the lawn. My heart pounded with terror, but if he noticed anything at all, it must have seemed the slightest flicker of shadow in the corner of his eye. His gaze was still focused on the horizon as he strode past me to the large van. I thought of heading straight for the gate to see whether and how I could get through it, but first I wanted to find out what he planned to do.

A few minutes later he reemerged from the van holding a cordless telephone set. As he spoke he looked appraisingly at the fencing.

“… That’s exactly right. I want the guards at ten-yard intervals around the entire perimeter… Immediately. You can start on the alarms and the rest of it once they’re deployed… Bring in as many men as you need… That’s right. Tell them that literally nothing — not so much as a squirrel — is to get over that fence in either direction… Yes, that’s right. Tell them that there may be contaminated animals here. If they see
any
movement whatever in the fence, they are to fire, even though they can’t see what is causing it… No, I do not want to take down the screening to give them a better view. You might remind them that we are inside: they should try to angle their fire, but they should shoot at any movement… Yes, I am aware of the risk… The gate is not to be opened under any circumstances except on my orders. We’ll be following new procedures…”

As he spoke, there was an ear-shattering explosion of amplified static behind us. I turned and saw that a turret composed of loudspeakers pointing in four directions had appeared magically through the roof of the van. It emitted three echoing reports like gunshots — someone tapping a microphone to test the system.

“Attention all personnel!’
The words came booming out in a lightly Hispanic monotone at extraordinary volume.
“Attention all personnel. Do not approach the perimeter fence. The perimeter is under continuous surveillance by armed guards who have been ordered to fire upon any movement or breach of the perimeter. This is for your protection. Any unauthorized persons in the area are instructed to make their location known to us immediately so that we can come to their assistance. Repeat. Any unauthorized persons in the area are instructed to make their location known to us immediately so that we can come to their assistance.”

This message was repeated. The Colonel continued to dial his telephone and issue instructions, although I could not understand anything he said over the din. When the loudspeaker had completed the message for the third time and had ceased transmission with a final, shattering pop of static, the Colonel, holding the receiver to his ear, looked up at Clellan.

“Clellan, who has a copy of the list of the people in the building yesterday?”

“We have one in the van, sir.”

“No, I want one outside the perimeter.”

“Simmons has one.”

The Colonel spoke into the phone again.

“You can get the list of known names from Simmons down here. Start with the demonstrators. We may not have all their names. The ones we’ve talked to are terrified out of their wits: two people are dead and a building has been destroyed, and they aren’t used to taking responsibility for things like this. Get to all of them before they calm down and find out if anyone is missing besides the one called Carillon. Then go to work on the employees — and any colleagues, students, friends, or family who might have been familiar enough with the place to be comfortable about staying in the building when everyone else had been evacuated. Then go through the rest of the list. We know that someone remained inside the building, and we have to determine as soon as possible who it was… No, no description. Probably an adult male, but we don’t have adequate confirmation of that.”

Clellan, meanwhile, was watching Tyler and Morrissey crawl through the air, exploring an invisible bathroom. With his finger on the plan, he traced a path for Morrissey from the toilet to the shower and monotonously discussed each step of it with him over the radio.

I turned and walked away, across the thick, soft lawn. I think I owe my freedom in large part to the absolutely splendid weather that day. The sun shone brilliantly, and the spring foliage was a vivid green against the clear blue sky. It may have been the most beautiful day of the year, although I never quite took it in at the time, since I was sweating with fear from morning to night. I was like a mountain climber scaling a sheer rock wall: my mind was absolutely concentrated on each minute contour of the problem I faced, on each potential handhold, on each potential error, so that it never would have occurred to me to turn my head to take pleasure in the beauty of the view — even though the view was a large part of what had set me off on the climb and kept me going. A cloudy, oppressive sky might have tipped the balance the other way: I might have waited passively to be rescued. But as it was, beneath the clammy trembling fear I felt something approaching exhilaration as I walked across the lawn. It would be, after all, a good game. The risk was unpleasant to contemplate. On the other hand, if I was careful, if I survived, I would have not only my freedom but the additional pleasure of outwitting these people. Even then that childish thought was part of the calculation. And although the terms might get worse the longer the game went on, presumably I could always surrender on some terms. The important thing was to stay alive and stay free, to keep the choice for myself. The important thing was to get away.

I set out across the grass toward the gate, hoping that I would see some way to slip through it. When that proved hopeless — as I knew in my heart it would — I intended to make my way along the fence looking for some opening or some unguarded stretch. Very likely that would yield nothing either; still, the thing would only grow more difficult the longer I put it off. Whatever the odds, I might as well make my assault on the fence now. But as I watched my footprints appear magically on the lawn like the diagram of a dance step, I began to comprehend my situation with a new clarity. My understanding of it opened up like a wound. If you have ever as a child had daydreams of invisibility, you will surely have imagined it as a state of extraordinary, almost limitless freedom. You never left a trace. You could go anywhere, take anything. You could listen to forbidden conversations, find out anything. No one could stop you, because no one knew you were there. No one could set rules or limits for you.

Well, surveying the visible record of my fox trot across the lawn, I could already see some limits. And I had just spent nearly half an hour with two other human beings, watching them every moment for any indication of a movement that could result in a collision with me. The entire time some part of my mind had been thinking how pleasant it would be to clear my throat, and I had found it necessary to take continuous and excruciating care not to sneeze or sniff. Invisibility would be difficult. Rather than a magical state of extraordinary freedom, it would be a series of tedious practical problems. Like life under any other set of conditions, come to think of it. Still, if I hoped to maintain my freedom, I could never make a noise, I could never carry or wear anything in the presence of other people.

Except that I could, of course, carry the things I already had on my person — because they were invisible too. And anything else I might salvage from the building. That was it. The remains of the MicroMagnetics building were the only store of invisible objects in existence, and anything I might ever in my life want to carry or wear or use without betraying myself would have to come from here. And almost surely, I would have to get it right now. I should assume that I would never have another chance. If, indeed, I really had a chance even now. I turned back across the lawn toward the building. It was, as they say, a unique opportunity, a once-in-a-lifetime offer, for one day only. I would provision myself for the rest of my life. It might not turn out to be a very long life, but for once it seemed prudent to base my plans on the most optimistic assumption.

As I approached the building entrance, I came directly into Clellan’s line of vision, and I watched him and the Colonel carefully as I walked, so that I would know immediately if they noticed my footprints. That they never did that day was, I suppose, because they had not yet thought through what sorts of signs they should be looking for. When I stepped onto the charred rim, I dragged my feet a bit to make sure I didn’t leave a recognizable track there. I noted again with relief that neither grass stains nor ashes were adhering to the soles of my shoes. Tyler and Morrissey, in contrast, seemed to carry a great deal of dirt and ashes on their soles: they had left enough smudges at the entrance to the building so that I could now see where the steps and the threshold were.

The two of them were in the reception room again. Morrissey had a large red felt-tipped marking pen, with which he was trying to make a line on the wall. He was having difficulty holding the pen in his bulky glove, and the ink was not adhering well. It was as if he were trying to write on a pane of glass: each stroke of the pen left only intermittent streaks glistening mysteriously in the air where the wall was, and when he swept his hand back over the streaks, all the ink came off on his glove. Tyler was down on his hands and knees trying the same procedure on the carpet with much the same results. I wondered what in the world they could be trying to accomplish. They looked like children in a nursery school.