The Darkness on Diamondia, page 6
She turned and walked to the door. “I shall be back this evening—and you had better have some good answers.”
She opened the door and went out.
Seven hours ticked by on the pretty clock on the dresser. During their slow progression, the heat of the Diamondia day moved into the room. Great beads of sweat broke out on the face of the man on the bed, but he did not stir nor show signs of returning consciousness until evening.
…A sense of brightness—that was Morton’s initial awareness. For a long time that was all; but he realized that he was thinking or, rather, capable of thinking. Somewhere in there the numbness began to lift. First, his body tingled and tingled. Slowly the return of feeling spread along his limbs. And suddenly, he was able to open his eyes.
For the first time, he grew aware that he was lying on his side facing a window.
He had a strictly limited view of a tree just outside the window; and inside—a part of a room, an embroidery that hung on the wall beside the window, and a chair with a book lying on it, standing in the near corner under a floor lamp.
Maybe in about a minute, he thought, I can turn and see the rest of the room, including the door. And then—
He was having the vaguely hopeful thought that he would even recover the use of his limbs completely before anybody came… when behind him the door opened and somebody entered.
Morton tried to turn and couldn’t. There was muscular response but no strength. After a moment he accepted the defeat—and waited.
A pause. Then a woman’s rather sweet voice said, “I am Isolina Ferraris. I want to discuss your unconsciousness of yesterday.”
She completed the thought in a sterner tone, “We must know how that happened, sir—can you speak?”
Morton parted his lips, and to his surprise the word “Yes!” sort of burst forth.
Encouraged by that success, he tried once more to move, to turn. Nothing occurred.
But inwardly, he braced himself—for truth.
For the people of Diamondia, it was, so to say, a quarter of midnight. And there was no time to be devious. He had intended the previous afternoon to try to convince this young woman to give him straight answers about the peace delegation. And straightforwardness still seemed like a good thought. The question of whether or not she would believe his fantastic story was at issue.
Aloud he said, “I’ll be glad to tell you exactly what happened to me—except there’s a name I won’t give, at least not until I feel more trust in you—”
He told her his experience. He withheld the name of Lositeen. He didn’t know the name of the village.
When he had finished, there was a long pause. It was impossible even to surmise what her expression was. All he had to go by was a voice from somewhere behind him; and that voice was silent. He did wonder what a Diamondian might think of his fantastic account.
He couldn’t imagine.
He wondered aloud, tentatively. “Has anyone—any scientist—ever suggested that the physics of the space around this planet is different?”
That elicited a reply. “It’s only a kind of energy machine,” the woman said, “so that at least is a relief.”
It was one of those statements to which there was no obvious response. In those words she made nothing of a device which could render a man unconscious at a distance and transfer his awareness (self) into the mind of another being. If his perception was correct, it was actually an energy field so vast that it literally enveloped an entire planet. Contemplating that, he felt no relief.
He said, “A machine like that would have a colossal maintenance problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if the finite logic number was above a hundred, which is fantastic.”
Isolina wanted to know what finite logic was.
Morton shook his head. It was not the moment for a lecture on the history of the development of logic. So all he said was, “It’s a term that has to do with the difference between a mathematical logic system and the facts of nature. In mathematics they have the concept of the ‘set’: a collection of similar objects which are mathematically treated as duplicates. In nature there are no duplicates. The difference between members of a set is best illustrated by conceiving of a set of Diamondians.”
Isolina said with a shudder that she could see what he meant.
Morton concluded his analysis rather grimly. “It boils down to what instructions was that machine out there given? What must it do if breakdown threatens?”
The young woman was silent. So Morton said, “What that Irsk—in whose mind I was—said to his girl friend about a disaster to the peace delegation at the Gyuma Ravine—what about that?”
“I will call my father,” Isolina said drably. She added, as if a thought had come, “It doesn’t make complete sense. That meeting was not supposed to take place until early this morning, and yet your Irsk spoke of it as having happened yesterday.”
For that Morton had no explanation.
Another pause. Then the woman’s voice went on, defiantly, “I think I had better come to my special relation to all this. I am a woman, colonel, who tries to enlist the support of leading males in the Earth federation forces. I started close to the bottom with men like—well, never mind. But now I’m getting near the top, and this is where you come in.”
As she spoke, she came around the bed and stood between Morton and the window; stared down at him. Morton had seen several photographs of her, so there was no question. Here, indeed, was Isolina Ferraris.
A faint, cynical smile was on that patrician face. “Colonel,” she said, “what is your view of a woman who sleeps with a dozen men every month?”
Morton gazed up without criticism into eyes that dared him to be critical. Since he was not involved with her, not committed, he could notice that in the flesh she was a superior beauty—better looking than her pictures. Her features were even, her eyes blue and flashing, her skin very white. There was perhaps a little too much emotion in the eyes. The face was slightly flushed, somehow implying a buried shame. But it was a determined face. Here was a young woman with a beautiful body and a beautiful face, who intended to use those qualities for victory and survival.
He said, in a conciliatory voice, “Knowing that a woman’s desire is for true love, I find myself regretting that circumstances have denied you that outcome. However,” he continued, “I’m also reminded of a friend of mine, who observed a plain woman and a beautiful woman, both of whom are making the same compromise here on Diamondia as you are. For some reason he expressed concern about the future of the beautiful woman, but none about the future of the plain one. My feeling was that the plain one also craved love, nurtured the hope that someday it would be available to her.”
The young woman was frowning. Her eyes studied him, puzzled. “What is the point of that comparison?” she asked.
“Since you are beautiful, I notice in myself the same greater concern for your future, which is unfair to that plain woman. So I realize I am no better than my friend.”
She laughed. “Oh!” She added quickly, “I have discovered that men may be concerned about my future, but they don’t hesitate to contribute to my downfall. What I am trying to say is that as soon as you are able to function physically with your whole body—which should be in two or three hours—I shall crawl into bed there with you and hope that, in consequence, this will cause you to be a friend of the Diamondian people.”
Morton said nothing. He felt quite blank.
The young woman was speaking again. “Why don’t you try to sleep? Perhaps, when you awaken, it will be to a pleasant surprise.”
Morton said, “I’ll have to get to the bathroom. I can feel the pressure building.”
“Hmmm.” She frowned. “I’ll send George up with some kind of bedpan.”
“Good,” said Morton. “And tell him to hurry.”
“He can also help you get undressed,” she said.
And she went out.
Nine
Morton came to peacefully; and within the space of a few seconds, he grew aware of about eight things. He was lying on his back, and now he could see all of the old-fashioned Neapolitan bedroom, with its high ceiling and ornate wall decoration. He grew aware that he was in the bed under some very thin blankets with no clothes on, and lying next to him was a young, blond-haired, Diamondian woman.
He could see her bare shoulders protruding from under the blankets, and so he instantly surmised that she was naked also.
As he looked at her, she was lying in such a way that she was partially facing the other direction. But she must have heard his movement; for she turned and looked at him.
It was as he had, of course, analyzed, Isolina Ferraris.
For just a moment the tableau held. The two of them close together in the bed, not yet touching but gazing into each other’s eyes. And then—
The young woman said, “Your remarks about a woman wanting love have stirred feelings in me which I thought I had buried for the duration.”
Morton continued to gaze at her. He had been in bed with women before. When he was barely out of his teens he had accidentally discovered how to beat the women’s unions… The girl to whom he was engaged wouldn’t leave her family’s home planet when he was transferred. Being an experimenter, he had tested out the instant insight that brought him. Each time he had found himself an attractive home-attached girl, courted her, signed up to be her fiancé (which was actually a companionate marriage arrangement and not binding for two years). At the beginning of each relationship, the girl took it for granted that she would go along when he departed, but by the twentieth month the initial excitement was gone. She wouldn’t leave her family. She broke the engagement. Since there was never any suggestion of ill-treatment or of any of the male chauvinisms that had brought the women’s unions into existence, he was in the clear. No black mark against him. Free to find another fiancée on his new assignment.
Altogether, he played the game with nine fiancées.
Two things stopped the clever little scheme.
He began not to like what he was doing. That pure reaction was first, about four years ago. He had been sort of peacefully celibate for half a year when the second thing began to happen.
Women started accosting him on the street.
They actually connived to break through the union rules in order to have an affair with him.
Of course, he analyzed finally, my body has gradually changed because I’ve been reasoning by finite logic almost every waking minute for two decades.
It was one of several related phenomena known to a small but growing body of men and to a somewhat larger number of women.
The women who reached out to him in such a total fashion were finite logic females. And they were attracted to him because they recognized that he was becoming a finite logic male.
Unfortunately there were no such women on Diamondia.
But here was Isolina… He assumed from her intimate comment that velocity of lovemaking was not required of him.
She clearly wanted to establish a better image of herself in his mind.
While he permitted her to do so, maybe he could learn a few things.
Isolina was continuing, a faraway expression in her eyes, “When this war is over, I shall take the road to Damascus—do you know the allusion?”
Morton had to smile at her simplicity. It would never happen, of course. But he translated, “Back to morality and, I presume, to a lifetime of concealment of what is happening now. I suggest you move to Rome and get the bishop’s blessing.”
She laughed. It began as a tinkling, humorous sound, became slightly hysterical and ended on a bitter note. “I’m afraid my history is too widely known for concealment,” she said.
The look on her face had changed again. When she spoke next, she seemed to have recovered her original calm—except her color was higher than Morton recalled it. She said in a practical tone, “Colonel, let me call us back to our duty. I shall feel more secure when I free you, knowing that you are out there with a memory of having possessed me. So—that’s your situation. You can leave when you have done this thing.”
So swiftly they were back to a kind of realism.
It was not exactly the mood and moment Morton had waited for. But it was an approximation. He said, “What did you find out from your father about the Gyuma Ravine?”
Surprisingly, she did not hesitate. “I called his headquarters,” she said simply. “They say he’s gone to the ravine. I didn’t embarrass him by asking any questions of subordinates.”
It sounded like an evasion, and yet her expression was unhappy. Hard to believe that her father would not have left open a line that could reach him anywhere. And yet there was a convincing sadness in her eyes.
Nevertheless, he couldn’t leave such an important matter to mere surmise. He said, “If the disaster happened, what do you think of my friendly Irsk’s belief that something Diamondian went wrong?”
The question did instant, twisting things to that beautiful face and body. All the muscles that he could see… rippled. “Diamondian males—” she began. She stopped as if the words threatened to strangle her. Then: “You can’t imagine,” she continued, “what those men are like. They are—”
Once more she couldn’t go on. Again there was an automatic working of muscles deep in her body. “Oh, you can’t imagine—” she repeated.
It was so visibly a kind of lifetime anguish and despair that Morton brought up his right hand, placed it on her bare shoulder and tugged. “You’d better come over here,” he suggested gently.
The woman did not hesitate. She actually lunged at him. The skin to skin contact of their bodies literally started as a blow. The next moment her arms were around him, pulling at him. “I don’t know what you’ve done,” she whispered, “but you’ve made this seem personal. Maybe for a change I can get something out of it, too, instead of being a pretending prostitute.”
If her words were the scheme of a designing woman, it was skillfully done, indeed. Morton warmed at once, even in spite of having a cynical thought about it. As a result the act proceeded more naturally than he would have anticipated and came to its climax with him in a genuine state of excitement and the woman in an apparent one. He found himself actually reluctant to believe that her response was merely, as she had put it, the professional performance of a “pretending prostitute.”
Isolina separated herself from him with a sigh. “Now that,” she said, “I shall remember.”
If it was pretense, it was damned good.
“Well—” Morton began. And stopped.
From somewhere in the house below them, a man screamed hideously. The sound was cut off at once. In the momentary dead silence that followed, Morton was aware that the woman’s nude body had become rigid.
She was fast then. She flung the blankets aside and made a run for the dresser. And she actually was tugging at one of the drawers when the hall door burst open. All of the half-dozen Irsk, who glided through the opening in their equivalent of running, were armed with stubby little hand energy guns.
They could have burned her down. But one—obviously the leader—shouted, “Catch her! Hold her!”
What was astounding, then, was the speed of that getting. One moment, they were barely inside the door. The next two of the Irsk were beside the woman. And they had her, as they had been instructed. And held her.
Morton, who managed during those high speed movements to struggle into a sitting position, remembered Lositeen’s instantaneous going up the stairway of his house.
Is it possible these people can do that anywhere?
The Irsk leader had been glancing around. Now he walked over to a chair, looked over at Morton and said, “Here are your clothes, colonel. Get dressed, and quick!”
There was no arguing with that tone. Approximately three minutes, Morton estimated, from getting out of bed to being fully clothed and shod. Not exactly a record for him, but close.
“Colonel, you’re coining with us,” said the Irsk. He turned to the others. “Okay all you dyl, let’s go.”
“What about the woman?” said one of them. “We killed everybody else. You’re not going to leave her.”
“Can’t you see she’s the girl friend?” was the irritated reply. “Use your head.”
The other Irsk seemed to agree, but he said, “Don’t you think we should see what she was after in that drawer?”
The drawer, opened, revealed two small automatic pistols. The two Irsk each took one. As they turned away, Isolina, who had been standing tensely, looked up and said, “Colonel Morton has had an experience with something he calls the darkness, which apparently transferred his perception into the mind of an Irsk.”
Everybody had stopped. The Irsk leader said, “This is why we are taking Morton. He got more than anyone bargained for when that happened, and as a result we have a difficult problem to solve.”
“In all the years,” continued Isolina, “that the Irsk seemed to be friendly to the Diamondian people, there has never been the faintest inkling of such a phenomenon. What is this darkness? Why has it been kept a secret? And why did it place Colonel Morton’s perceptions in the brain of an Irsk who is friendly to the Diamondians?”
“When we find that out,” said the alien commander “we may have something to say to it, also.”
The young woman persisted. “Then this is something that can be spoken of?”
They were all staring at her. Finally the leader gestured at Morton with one tentacle. To Isolina he said, “We’re not giving you any information. The darkness is not for human beings.”
By the time those words were spoken, Morton was walking out of the door. He was preceded by two of his captors. The remaining four followed him. The last one closed the door.
Ten
Morton found himself in a hallway that was also a stairwell with a skylight. The whole place, with its high, central dome effect, was brightly lighted by a brilliant chandelier that hung over the down stairs.
