Screaming Science Fiction (15 page)

As a direct result of Goodwin’s massive loss of muscular tissue and skeletal support, however, his prosthetic adjunct—a device fashioned in an atmosphere of the utmost urgency—is of an unconventional, indeed unique design. An adaptation of a small power-loader’s tractor, and equipped with a neural interface, a certain element of the grotesque was obviously unavoidable. Goodwin is aware that a lightweight and more esthetically pleasing model is currently under construction.

However, while Goodwin makes excellent physical progress by virtue of his renewed mobility and rapid mastery of his adjunct, his aversion to hypodermics and similarly sharp implements—symptomatic as it is of his extremely deep-seated psychosis—continues to be of great concern. And since the psychoactive drug Exaxavin is best delivered intravenously, it has now become necessary to introduce mild sedatives into his food as a means of premedication.

In general:

It appears that I was correct in my optimism regards ex-shuttle pilot Goodwin’s prosthetic: the positive affect it might have on his well-being. We can now be fairly certain that in large part it was his loss of mobility—the sheer fact of his hospitalization and protracted recuperation, resulting in what must have seemed to someone of Goodwin’s previous astronavigational skills, his agility, spatial coordination, and employment on the permanently low gravity United Earth Station IV, an interminable and claustrophobic confinement—it was that rather than his actual, physical truncation that was aggravating his mental condition and further delaying his recovery.

Therefore and in conclusion, I insist that the following transcript be read in the light of all the above information, and hasten to point out that despite the unsatisfactory culmination of the interview definite progress
is
being made as I probe ever more deeply into Goodwin’s psychosis.

SPECIFICS:
the following interview was recorded in Goodwin’s quarters with the subject in a state of hypnotic regression, having reacted positively to an injection of fifteen milligrams of the drug Exaxavin. His trunk was upright in the upper frame of the prosthetic, giving him a standing elevation perhaps seven inches taller than my own. I therefore carried out the interview standing, the better to observe his expressions and speak to him “face to face,” as it were.

Interrogating Officer:

Dr. Gardner L. Spatzer,

Space Central, Arizona.

3rd Nov. 2407.

RECORDED INTERVIEW

Dr. S: “Jim, do you remember where you were when last you heard my voice?”

Goodwin, without hesitation: “Sure. I was trying to look in through the window of this alien ship or probe, whatever it was. Couldn’t see a thing—the glitter was blinding—which was odd because the sun was on the other side. Like it wasn’t reflected light.”

NOTE:—
At this point during the
previous
interview, Goodwin had showed considerable irritability and signs of recovery from a seven milligram dose of Exaxavin. He was therefore instructed to sleep; and shortly, upon displaying normal REM, was awakened and the interview terminated.

CONTINUATION

Dr. S: “Well, that’s where you are right now, trying to look in through the alien vessel’s window. Can you see anything?”

Goodwin: “Nope, I’m still dazzled. But here comes Rafferty, so if I just give her a little room…there we go. She’s something else, Susannah Rafferty: a really sweet thing. Damn it to hell, these pressure suits really piss me off! ‘Hey, Sue—how come we never get this close aboard the UES, in atmosphere?’”

Dr. S: “And does she answer?”

Goodwin: “Yeah—something about regulations. And now she’s got her flashlight ready. Maybe if we both shine our torches at this thing together the light will cancel out the dazzle. Okay, here we go. ‘Lights, action, camera…
eh
?’”

Dr. S: “Jim? Are you okay? What’s happening now?”

Goodwin, after a long pause: “Blinded! I’m blind as a fucking bat! And scared shitless! Weightless, too, but it’s a different kind of weightlessness. And now…now I think I
can see something. Yes, I believe I can see…something?”

Dr. S: “But where are you? What do you see?”

Goodwin: “This can’t be real. I mean, I have to be dreaming this. I’m…I’m looking
down
on the universe—on everything—and its spinning like a top! It’s like a globe of the Earth, except it’s the whole damn universe…spinning.
Whoah!
”

Dr. S: “Jim, what is it?”

Goodwin: “Now it’s stopped spinning and I think…I
think
I’m on the other side of…of the universe? And the light…there’s that brilliant light again! A single flash of light…and now…the darkness returns. Utterly empty darkness; emptier than the void. I feel…nothing, no sensation whatsoever, it’s like sleeping without dreaming, without even being asleep! Hard to explain or describe…”

Dr. S: “And the darkness? How long does this darkness last? Do you remember, Jim? Are you conscious in the darkness?”

Goodwin: “No idea. Weightless. Timeless. Totally lacking in any and all kinds of sensation. It’s like…like I’m paralyzed in everything but my thoughts. I’m trying to call out to Sue…but it doesn’t work. Nothing is working except my mind. And I’m thinking: maybe I’m badly hurt, in a sick-bay bed on UES IV. Some kind of trauma. But now—now, all of a sudden—all of a s-s-sudden….”

Dr. S: “Be calm now, Jim. It’s okay. Everything is okay. So then, are you emerging from the darkness? Is that what’s happening?”

Goodwin, becoming very agitated: “I…I think so. But…but I don’t
want
to! And…and I’m not
going
to! I
won’t
!
So you can forget it, and I’ll just stay right here in…in the d-d-dark.”

Dr. S: “But Jim, I—”

Goodwin, arms and hands twitching, fists knotting, perspiration forming on forehead: “The darkness…is clearing. But I can’t let it! Because I know…I know what’s there behind it! I know…know…no…no…n-n-
oooooo
! Get the fuck away from me!”

Dr. S: “Jim! Listen to my voice now—”

Goodwin: his voice rising to another terrified shriek: “No, no, no,
noooooooooo!
”

(At this point Goodwin’s arms began flailing, his hand inadvertently activating the neural interface switch situated on the console to his right. In short, as his tractor undercarriage hummed into life, he became somnambulistically mobile and commenced jerking to and fro, trundling forward, and advancing upon me however involuntarily. Goodwin was not threatening me; on the contrary, he was trying to escape from a resurgent situation. )

Dr. S, in a louder tone of voice but as calmly and steadily as possible in the circumstances: “James Goodwin, the next time you hear me say ‘stop,’ you will at once disconnect your neural interface and fall peacefully asleep!”

Goodwin, beginning to froth at the mouth and swaying in his frame as his prosthetic lurched forward: “Ach-ach-
arrrggghhh
!”

And finally Dr. S:
“STOP!”

Session ends.

X

NO DUFF MSG!

URGENT! URGENT! URGENT!

On this day, 12th Nov 2407, at 2244 Hrs, Cmdr. Abel Berresford, Darkside Luna Base, requests immediate voice contact with Cmdr. Space Central, AZ.

“Abel? This is Frankie Zazarro. What the
hell
is happening up there? Man, I was at Liz’s birthday party, and if this is one of your practical…. Are you talking over the
top
of me?”

“Frankie, shut up and listen! I’m really sorry about Liz’s party but we have an anomaly. In fact we have five of them. My meteor cannons are locked on them right now and I need to know what to do. I mean, hell, I
know
what to do but SOPs won’t let me, not without your say-so.”

“An ‘anomaly’? Five anomalies? You mean like Anomaly 13?”

“Exactly like that, Frankie! Now let me tell you about it. All nine hundred of us, we’re situated in our three interconnected crater domes in a rough triangle of some five acres…but you already know all that; you were the Officer Commanding up here way before me! I’m just putting you in the picture, is all. Anyway, these things appeared out of nowhere maybe twenty or twenty-five minutes ago. They’re something like a mile away, in the hills to the north and on the plain in the south, completely encircling the base. And they just sit there like small silver pyramids. They’re not doing anything, but their pattern—the way we’re surrounded—I mean, this has
got
to be about us! And Frankie, I don’t like it at all.”

“Abel, General Sellway and my security people are on their way into HQ right now. And meanwhile I’m told we can’t get you on screen. Now why the hell is that?”

“Because our comsats are down, that’s why.”

“Down?”

“Either taken out or blocked in some way. Never mind visuals, you wouldn’t be getting voice if not for our surface cable to Earthside! But these things are like sitting ducks, Frankie! And with our cannons…you just say the word and this time we won’t simply be firing at chunks of space rock!”

“Abel, listen: you’ll do no such thing! Don’t even shine a light on those pyramids! You’re not the only one with SOPs, you know. Mine are pretty much like yours and while we’ve been talking I’ve glanced through them. Know what happened the last time someone flashed a light at one of those things?”

“Yes, I know. Anomaly 13. But I wasn’t thinking in terms of flashlights, Frankie. I was thinking in terms of guns that fire so fast and hard they can vaporize incoming meteorites!”

“Abel, hold it a minute. The General is here, and he’s been listening in.”

“Abel, Gordon Sellway here. When our security people get in we’ll look at our options. There’s too much history—too much of a situation here—for any one man’s decision. Do you copy?”

“
Shit!
I copy, but it looks like one of my gunners doesn’t!”

“What?”

“Some trigger-happy jerk has just opened up!
Ah! That 1ight…leaping from one pyramid to the next…reaching up like a wall of brilliant white fire, and….
“ (Transmission ends.)

XI

“
Ahem!
Voice record of Dr. G. L. Spatzer, at—ummm, let’s see—0845 hours on the 13th of November, 2407:

“Just had a call from James Goodwin. He’s coming to see me. Puzzling—in fact amazing! Until recently I was the one man he least wanted anything to do with! But bad timing, because right now the HQ is a madhouse—and I don’t just mean the psychiatric ward! All of the top brass, the military and their minions, and droves of civil servants rushing to and fro; I daren’t step out in the corridor for fear of getting trampled underfoot!

“Understandable in the current circumstances, I suppose. Apparently some idiot paparazzi hack was tuned in on an insecure Earth/Darkside Luna conversation last night and patched it through as an ‘exclusive’ to his patron news channel…since when it’s spread like wildfire!

“This morning it’s on the airwaves, the TV screens, and in the papers all over the planet! Two shuttles on course for the moon from UES II, grav-drive
Spirit of Space
inbound from the asteroid belt, and the untried gunship
Sir Galahad
ordered up into Earth orbit. I didn’t catch it all: something about ‘anomalies’—like Jim Goodwin’s, I wonder?—and a total Darkside-Luna shutdown. Space Central working desperately hard, even too hard, to put it about that it’s some kind of ‘freak power failure’ and nothing to be concerned about. Frankly I can’t see it. If it’s nothing to be concerned about, why is this place in an uproar?

“I can hear Goodwin come purring down the corridor…I’ll leave the recorder running. Maybe he’ll have something interesting for me. High time, too! I admit I’m beginning to despair of ever getting through to him….”

(The hiss of pneumatic doors opening and the deep-throated purr of a powerful electric motor. Dr. Spatzer’s voice warning, “Mind your head, Jim!” And a high-pitched whine quickly fading into silence as the motor shuts down.)

Goodwin’s voice: “Surprise, surprise, Doc!” 

Dr. S: “Good morning, Jim. You seem in fine spirits!” 

Goodwin: “Cheerful, you mean? In a way, I suppose. Not much good feeling down; not any longer, anyway. Fact is I’m ready to talk—about everything. I’ve remembered everything, Doc—and it’s stopped hurting!”

Dr. S, indeed sounding surprised, and perhaps not a little alarmed: “Stopped hurting? But how can that be, Jim? The drugs? I mean even the best painkillers can’t—”

Goodwin: “No, it’s not my backside, what little is left of it; I’m talking about my head! I can think it through now without it shuts me down every time.”

Dr. S: “And you believe you can talk about it? About, well, everything, did you say?”

Goodwin, most eagerly: “That’s right. It was the library—the archives, all the restricted stuff that I’ve been reading—and then to top it off this morning’s news. That’s what finally did the trick. You see Doc, until now I couldn’t figure it out. But now…now I’m pretty sure I know what it was all about.”

Dr. S: “The archives? Ah, yes! You’ve been spending quite a lot of time in the library, haven’t you? Your newfound freedom and unrestricted access? We’ve tried to make everything as easy and as normal as possible for you. Not everyone has that kind of access to the archives. As for this morning’s news: do you mean the problem on Darkside?”

Goodwin: “That’s what I mean all right—but it isn’t just Darkside Base that’s got a problem, Doc. No, not at all. So, do you want to hear about it—about everything?”

Dr. S, cautiously: “An unscheduled session, you mean? Right here in my office?”

Goodwin: “Relax, Doc. I’m not going to bite you. That’s all over and done with now. Fact is, everything is done with now. I just thought you’d like to know about it before…well before they get here, is all. Then you can make up your mind like I’ve made up mine.”

Dr. S, warily: “But you know, Jim, that’s a rather peculiar smile you’re wearing. Also…well, you’re not making too much sense either. I mean, we’ve had our little problems, and—”