World Out of Mind Page 2

  Sally Morris seemed a little surprised, but by no means startled.

  “Well, how did I do?” Raigmore asked, grinning a little anxiously, as he knew people did under these circumstances.

  She didn’t stall. “Quite well. It will come out in future Tests.”

  “Have I got this right — I have to take the Tests until you tell me to stop?”

  “I or some other operator. Those who drop out at each stage are told the positions open to them, and may take them or not as they wish. But there is nothing open, through the Tests, to anyone whose record is not complete. You may continue any time you wish, here or elsewhere, but to find your position you must continue. In any case, this is a preliminary Test and everyone takes further Tests.”

  He rose from the chair in the booth. “I may be here tomorrow. Is that all right?”

  The girl shrugged. “It’s entirely up to you. Today, tomorrow, next year. You obtained your present employment outside the Tests system?”

  “I have no present employment.”

  “Oh, I see. If you have some secret …” She paused and fixed him with her eyes, eyes that had a certain power he hadn’t noticed before. “It is only fair to warn you that sooner or later the Tests will discover it.”

  She gave him a green badge. It was an interim badge, to show that he was In Test, no more. Raigmore fixed it in his lapel.

  “I wonder,” he said.

  He had a little of the feeling of curiosity and a tiny flash, a mere impression, of fear. He didn’t examine them. He thought that for an instant there had been something wrong with one of the functions of his body. It didn’t occur to him then that that had been a moment of supreme significance.

  chapter three

  CONSIDERING HOW LITTLE RAIGMORE KNEW, IT WAS DANGEROUS to have anything to do with the Hevers. Raigmore knew that perfectly well. It was no autocracy, in which a man like Alexander Hever could be surrounded by men who could kill and get away with it. No, that wasn’t the danger.

  Alexander Hever and his daughter were both White Stars. It had never happened before like that; Hever’s child was likely to be a White or at least a Yellow, but no family previously had contained two White Stars in such close relationship.

  To take an important secret into the presence of White Stars was like carrying petrol through fire. A White Star had the kind of mind that could work out a whole history from a single clue. Where a Brown would correlate two facts and educe a theory, a White Star would link thousands of facts, accept and discard hundreds of theories, go out for and find precisely the facts he now needed, and come up with a whole which was stronger than any of its parts.

  Nevertheless, it was essential to Raigmore’s plans that he should bring his existence forcibly to the notice of Alison Hever and keep it there. She hadn’t forgotten him, he could be sure of that. As far as she was concerned he was, however, merely a Black with typical Black delusions. It was now necessary to demonstrate to her that he could plan and execute a plan, and to tell her he was In Test. Thereafter she would keep herself informed about him. How he accomplished this was unimportant, so long as it was successful.

  He watched the Hever house for the rest of the day. It wasn’t ostentatious. Just a house. The guard system, Raigmore noticed again, was only operated to ensure reasonable privacy.

  Getting into the house was easy enough for anyone who had the pattern. Anyone, at any rate, with Raigmore’s abilities. He had seen three people in the garden. Each of them, during the afternoon, had taken the same route — a curious route which could only mean that there was a selenium-cell network in operation. When it began to get dark Raigmore followed the same route, quickly and confidently, made the same gesture that everyone else had made before the door he had chosen, and went inside. There could have been something he had missed; there wasn’t. The essence of really good planning was that the execution was easy and unspectacular to the point of anticlimax.

  He spent the evening in Alison’s bedroom, waiting patiently. He might have been discovered then — if so, he would merely have identified himself casually as Eldin Raigmore, waiting for Alison, with no explanation as to how he got there, and played the rest as it came.

  But no one came near the bedroom. Alison was out at some party — he had seen her go before he walked into the house. She would be late. So much the better.

  He read a book until it became too dark. He couldn’t put on the light — someone might see it. In the gloom he prowled about, picking up things and peering at them. Anything he could learn about Alison might be useful.

  There was very little to learn, however. On one side of the bedroom was a dressing room, on the other a bathroom. Everything was spotless, well designed and comfortable, but there was no evidence of luxury. The homes of Reds, Raigmore knew, were generally full of labor-saving devices. Apparently Whites didn’t mind having to rummage in drawers for things instead of having them delivered by chute, or reaching out for light switches instead of controlling them by word commands, or having to soap and dry themselves instead of being washed and dried automatically, without effort, at the touch of a button.

  The clothes in the dressing room told him nothing. There were plenty of them, but not enough to indicate vanity or extravagance. No peculiarity of taste emerged. There was a preponderance of informal clothes and sports outfits, but after all Alison was athletic and only twenty-three, so that was to be expected. Even in colors she seemed to have no particular preference. Alison’s wardrobe was that of a beautiful girl who was entirely sane about clothes.

  Such books as there were about were merely reference books — dictionaries, directories, yearbooks, check lists. There were no odds and ends. The only thing that seemed a little out of place in a bedroom was a coffee percolator. But it was exactly what it seemed to be — Raigmore examined it to make sure.

  When at last he heard Alison, Raigmore went into the shower closet off the bathroom and waited there.

  After a while she came into the bathroom. He saw her vaguely through the frosted glass and heard her brushing her teeth.

  He stepped out silently. “Hello, Alison,” he said.

  She turned slowly. She was wearing a pale green negligee. Unhurriedly she rinsed her mouth. For all the surprise she showed, she might have known all the time that he was there.

  “I’ve seen you before,” she said coolly. “I wonder where?”

  But she was merely playing for time. She knew where.

  “Ah,” she said, admitting it. “The Black — Raigmore. But you’re not a Black any more. You’re In Test. I suppose you realize that means I can find you afterward?”

  He nodded. “Will you want to?”

  “Certainly, if only to demonstrate to you that you can’t walk into people’s houses and hide in their bathrooms like this.” She spoke reprovingly, an adult talking to a small, impudent boy. But there was a hint of interest and amusement in her voice. None of fear or anxiety.

  “That would need proof,” Raigmore observed. “It’ll only be your word against mine that I was here. That should count, I know. But in the eyes of the outmoded legal system the word of a White Star is still only the word of an individual.”

  “You won’t even get away.”

  “I don’t agree with you. If I ensure your silence I think I can get away quite easily. But I’d better reassure you. I’m here only to talk. Admittedly, if you screamed I should have to knock you unconscious. But I’m sure you’d scream only as a last resort.”

  She nodded. “True enough. Screaming ill-treats the vocal cords. Well, while you tell me what you want, let’s have some coffee.”

  “And leave evidence that I was here?”

  Alison grinned. “It was worth trying. You don’t mind if I have some, do you?”

  Raigmore decided she just liked drinking coffee. “Not in the least,” he said.

  “That’s very kind of you. Now what was it you wanted?”

  “I want you to take a good look at me. I also want to rem
ind you that one day you’ll marry me.”

  “Oh, Lord,” said the girl resignedly.

  “You aren’t expected to be impressed. You’re only supposed to remember.”

  “You should continue taking the Tests,” Alison told him, looking up from the coffee machine. “Then do as the operator recommends.”

  “That,” said Raigmore, “is exactly my intention. Whether psychiatric treatment will be recommended is another matter.”

  She glanced round at him shrewdly. “You mean there is a purpose behind this apparent insanity?”

  “I’ve given you all the information I intended to give you. Except this. I got in here undetected to speak to you, which is a matter of some difficulty. I am also going to get away without trouble, and you won’t be able to prove I was ever here. That’s a small demonstration that I’m not just an ordinary Black.”

  “I had a vague suspicion of that even at the time,” she admitted. “You interested me, for some reason. Something different about you. You realize I’ll take this as a challenge? If I can find some way of getting you arrested I will.”

  “Naturally. Don’t rely on a lie detector at any trial you can arrange, though. There are ways of getting around a lie detector. You know that.”

  “Yes, but I find it surprising that you know. Or that you think you can do it.”

  “It’s not the only thing about me that will surprise you. Now I must tie you up and gag you.”

  Alison laughed aloud. “In such a way that it will look as if I tied myself up?”

  “No. With myreline cord, soluble in air.”

  Myreline was stable for only a short time in air. Oxygen in any mixture, air included, turned it in a short time into a harmless, brittle oxide which fell to dust at a touch. It would leave evidence, but only of myreline — not that Alison had ever been tied by another person.

  Raigmore moved swiftly, and Alison opened her mouth to scream. But she was far too late. Raigmore was holding her mouth so that only strangled sounds came out. Most rooms were soundproof anyway.

  He had to use all his strength to gag her and bind her without leaving marks which would corroborate her story. He left her on the bed, tied so that she couldn’t throw herself to the floor.

  “That will hold you just long enough,” he said, “for your coffee to get ready.”

  He was startled when he saw she was trying to laugh. But there was nothing peculiar about the percolator. Apparently he had said something funny by mistake. He would have to study humor more closely.

  He got out of the house as easily as he had entered it. It was rather a silly game he had played out. But his whole plan was a game, a game that had to be played under several sets of rules at once, and under certain disadvantages that he had to keep to himself.

  chapter four

  THE NEXT DAY HE TOOK THE SECOND TEST. IT WAS AGAIN with the buttons; this time it was a memory test. Two hundred and twenty-four of the buttons had to be matched, and the last used to open the door. Sally Morris told him that some people took hours to get out of the booth. If he wished to give up the Test at any time, he was to press a button on the door.

  Each button now showed a number on the screen — quite independent of the numbers of the day before. Only one number appeared at a time, and when random or systematic pressing of numbers brought up a number previously noted, both were pressed together and both were eliminated from the test. The object was to eliminate the 112 pairs as quickly as possible, marks coming off when any button was touched more than twice. It was a simple game, but it was designed to reveal a lot.

  Raigmore finished it in a little over eleven minutes. He had no marks against him, for he had been patient, taking time to remember and to try to work out a system if it was possible. It wasn’t. There was no system, the pairs being arranged in random pattern. Again he could not be sure that he had done particularly well. It seemed on consideration that it could be done in less time. He had taken about 690 seconds, pressing roughly two buttons a second when he hadn’t stopped to think. It could be done, theoretically, in five minutes or less. Each button had to be pressed only twice, which meant 450 in all. But on the whole he thought he had done well.

  The operator thought so too. She seemed almost excited — as excited as she would ever allow herself to be. After all, she must have a natural desire to see what a superman could do, a wish which inevitably was unlikely to be granted many operators.

  Raigmore went straight on to a Test which showed how he handled written instructions, and another which, rather obviously to him, gave him opportunities to cheat which he didn’t take.

  Then Sally said: “The next item is the physical checkup. After that I can give you an interim rating.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing much, except that a Purple Star still In Test, say, can’t possibly finish below that and probably at least one grade higher. Are you going on now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shall I call in a male operator?”

  Raigmore referred to his mental encyclopedia, which told him that while it was usually left open to people to choose someone of their own sex for medical examinations and things of that sort, only very self-conscious men and women insisted.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said.

  Sally had noticed his hesitation. “I can get one from the central Tests Depot in twenty minutes.”

  “Never mind.”

  Test operators were trained to be thoroughly impersonal — so impersonal that it seemed much more natural to call Sally Miss Morris than Sally.

  She took him deeper into the Depot and showed him the checkup tank. It was just that, a glass tank two feet deep, seven feet long and four feet broad, filled with a green fluid which was half liquid, half vapor. He knew what to do. He stripped and climbed in, taking the tiny mask that fitted over his nose to enable him to breathe in the tank. Sally warned him not to open his mouth, but he knew that too. There was no secret about this. Knowledge of what was coming didn’t make the slightest difference.

  The green vapor cut off all sensation. Floating in it, he could feel nothing, not even heat or cold. He sank until he was completely immersed, the liquid supporting him, the vapor covering the rest of him. He didn’t have to close his eyes. He could see dimly, as if through thick but flawless green glass.

  He knew the process, not in detail, but with general accuracy. The liquid was a conductor of the P-ray. Where X-rays showed structure, P-rays showed texture as well. This Test would show his health, strength, weaknesses, physical structure, age, blood group, immunities — everything, in fact, that the most rigorous medical examination could discover. If he turned his head, slowly so as not to displace himself, he could see the operator running the various tests and collecting the data from the apparatus.

  It didn’t take long. The P-ray discovered everything at one operation. Presently Sally tapped the glass to attract his attention, and he climbed from the tank. He wasn’t wet. The green fluid was utterly indifferent to the human body.

  It was usual for various physical courses to be suggested at this point — suggested only, for the Tests were examinations and entailed no instructions or prohibitions.

  But Sally had nothing to say. Raigmore had, as he suspected, that rare thing — the perfect human body. He was a little relieved, all the same. He had thought there was a slight chance that his body, though perfect, might not be perfectly human.

  All was well, however. The test was exhaustive enough not only to show that he was human but that his children, if he had any, would be just as human as he was. That, he knew dimly, might possibly be important.

  Sally left him while he dressed and he found her waiting in a small room off the P-ray Test department.

  Silently she handed him a badge.

  “You may wear this now if you wish,” she told him. It was a purple circle.

  Raigmore took it and surveyed it thoughtfully. Millions of people would give anything short of their lives for the
right to wear one of the upper badges — purple, red, orange, yellow, white in ascending order. Anyone who wore any of them was somebody. And he had won it, a stranger, in an hour or so of Tests. Worn with his green badge, it showed he was outstanding and still climbing.

  But above the purple circle was the purple cross. And above that the purple star. Then the red circle, cross and star, and so on through thirteen groups to the white star.

  The white star that Alison wore.

  He had a long way to go yet.

  chapter five

  THE PROBLEM OF GETTING HIMSELF AN IDENTITY WAS PRESSING now. With every Test he took, more about him would be on record. And Sally Morris, to complete that record, would ask questions and expect to get answers.

  He had given her the name of his hotel, so it was no surprise when the phone in his room rang and, picking it up, he heard Alison’s voice.

  “Well, you got away with it, Raigmore, as you said you would,” she remarked without preamble.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about,” said Raigmore.

  Every phone conversation was recorded automatically. The police didn’t have access to the recording; privacy was highly respected these days. Nevertheless, the recording was made, it must have some purpose, and presumably in some circumstances people listened to it. Very likely the sole reason for Alison’s call was to get an admission of some kind by Raigmore on record.

  “That was the wrong answer,” Alison told him. “You should have pretended you didn’t know who I am.”

  “So I should. Who are you, anyway?”

  “Don’t let me mislead you,” came Alison’s voice mockingly. “It can be proved you met me in the elevator the other day.”

  “Oh, that’s who you are. If that’s so — hello, Alison.”

  There was a brief pause. Then a low laugh. “You win, Raigmore,” said Alison.

  “I hope the coffee didn’t boil over?”

  She paused again to think that out. “You are smart,” she admitted. “You know exactly what you can admit and what you can’t. In fact, but for one thing I’d even like you.”