The news report in Jeff Meyer's ear from the little car radio.
The came through, but he them as his watched
the doors of the administration of the Hoffman
Medical Center.
... no word has yet been received, but it is that the
Eurasian governments may be in session hours more in an
attempt to the inflation. On the home front, the stock-market
nosedive, which resulted from the new Senate bill yesterday,
off when the Secretary of Corporative Business this
that the government would to the new
law, at least for the time being. Secretary Barnes that further
study of the bill would be when more pressing governmental
problems had been cleared--
Jeff off the with a snarl. The the Center
was crowded. Lines of moved into and out of the traffic stream
from the Center parking tiers. The rose high, tier
upon tier. Its white in the sunlight,
reflecting of light from thousands of polished
windows.
It was an building, across six perfectly landscaped
city blocks, tall trees and green setting off the
glistening of the architecture. The sent tower after
tower up from the below, and at the of the towers was
a of activity. Supply trucks, food and supplies
for the twenty-two thousand and the people in them, and for the
additional thirteen thousand people who day and night to keep
the hospital running, moved toward the platforms.
The Hoffman Medical Center was an age-old which had come
true. Even those who had it had not the tremendous
need it would fulfill. From its very inception, no had been
spared. The had up the ward-towers,
turned toward the sun, to light to the and who
rested and within. Equipment in the world
had the Center's and rooms. The doctors,
nurses, and who the had
been from the world over. And all the world had the
Hoffman Center its place as leader in the of medicine, since
the had been that rainy in the of the
year 2085. Twenty-four years had passed since that day, and in those
years the Hoffman Center had once in its leadership.
The men in the car sat in silence. Finally, Jeff Meyer stirred,
extended his hand to Ted Bahr. "You'll out here?"
"Don't worry about it." Bahr the hand. "Well wait to from
you." He watched, almost wistfully, as the man cut through the
traffic and for the large doors. Then, with a sigh, he
stepped on the and the little car into the
stream of traffic moving toward the city.
* * * * *
Jeff Meyer stopped in the great, and about him
almost in awe. He had been the Hoffman Center before,
though he had of it many times and in many places. Since it had
taken over service of the of Boston-New Haven-New
York-Philadelphia, the newspapers and TV had been full of of
the and that had gone on its walls. The
disease research, by in all phases of medicine
who were for the time together under one agency, had
startled the world again and again.
But there had been other stories, too--not from the papers and TV, not
these stories. These had come by word of mouth: a sentence
or two, a laugh, a joke, a rumor, a story
from a wide-eyed over a bar. Not the of one
really believed, but the that one wonder.
Several dozen white-garbed moved across the of the huge
lobby and talked among themselves. Jeff uneasily.
There was a odor in the air, an odor of almost
unhealthy and preservation. The was a mill
of activity: the and here;
people moved briskly, with them the familiar air of and
vast pressure that the whole world outside.
Jeff watched, the leading to the main administrative
offices. He saw the to and returning from
the offices. He noted the off to the
staff quarters. He silent, his quick cautiously
probing and watching. He to print an picture in his
mind of the of the and was almost by the
hive-like of the place. There was a in the curved
doorways and the corridors.
Somewhere here he Paul Conroe. Somewhere in this of
buildings and was the man he had for. Logic told him
that. They had the night every possible alternative.
His and his were red from sleeplessness, but there
was a hot, angry in his heart. He that this was the only
place that Conroe have gone. Yet the place where he must be
hiding was a place Jeff had of only in rumor, a place whose
mention with it a half-knowledge of and
almost horror.
Someone him on the shoulder. He turned, startled, to a
huge, man with a and a uniform. "You got
business here, mister, or are we just sight-seeing?"
Jeff a grin. "I don't know where to go," he said truthfully.
"Maybe you should go out then. No visitors until this afternoon."
"No, I'm not a visitor. I'm looking for the Volunteer's Bank. The ads
said to come to the administration offices--"
The guard's a little. He pointed a toward a
corridor marked RESEARCH ADMINISTRATION. "Right over there," he said.
"Office is the door to your right. The nurse will take of
you."
Meyer toward the corridor, his mind with the rumors
and of half-knowledge that were all that he had to work on:
stories of into the Emergency Rooms and coming
out; of quiet, on houses, of people who
never the police stations.
But how he make the right here? "Research Administration"
covered a of meanings. He had read the for
Hoffman in all the buses, in the 'copters, on the roads.
Newspapers and TV had them for years. Meyer at
his shoes, a over his unshaven
chin. What would they a to look like? How they
detect a fraud, an interloper? He as he the office door.
It would be a gamble, a terrible chance. Because with all the other
publicity, no mention had been of the Mercy Men. He glanced
back, the still at him, and walked into the office.
Several people sat along the wall. A small, mousy-looking man with a
bald and close-set had just sat in the chair the
desk. He waited for the prim-looking woman a little
white to put her pen. She didn't up as Jeff took
a seat, and she for minutes her
attention to the little man. Then she looked up and gave a frosty
smile at him. "Yes, sir?"
"Dr. Bennet asked me to come today," the little man said.
"Follow-up on last week's work."
"Name please?" The woman took his name and the on a
panel her; an later a card in a slot. She
checked it, an entry and to the man. "Dr. Bennet will be
ready for you at eleven. You'll in the lounge." She
indicated another door, and the little man through it.
Another person, a middle-aged woman, moved to take the little man's
place the desk. Jeff and at his watch. It
was almost eleven. Must she move so slowly? Nothing to hurry
her. She from person to person, smiling, impersonal, just a
trifle chilly. Finally she to Jeff, and he moved to the chair.
"Name, please?"
"You don't have a card on me."
She looked up briefly. "A new volunteer? We're happy to have you, sir.
Now if you'll give me your name, I can start the papers through."
Jeff his throat, his in his forehead. "I'm
not sure just what I want to for," he said cautiously.
The woman smiled. "We have a large selection to choose from.
There are the regular 'mycin every week on Tuesdays and
Thursdays. You take the by mouth in the and give blood
samples at ten, two and four. Many of our new Volunteers start on that.
It pays six and your while you're here. Or you give
blood, but the law you to once every three months on that,
and it only pays thirty-five dollars. Or--"
Jeff his and forward. He looked directly into her
eyes. "I don't think you understand," he said softly. "I want money.
Lots of it. Not five or ten dollars." He looked at the desk. "I've
heard you have other of work."
The woman's narrowed. "There are higher-paying of
Volunteer work, of course. But you must that they are
higher paying they involve a to the health of the
Volunteer. For instance, we've been with
heart catheterizations. We pay a hundred for these, but there
is an involved. Or punctures for blood
studies. Usually we start--"
"I said money," said Jeff implacably. "Not peanuts."
Her and she at him for a long moment. It was a
strange, that took him in from his to his feet.
Her and her were nervous. "Have you any
idea what you're talking about?"
"I have. I'm talking about the Mercy Men."
She up and into an office. Jeff
waited, his whole trembling. Beads of out on his
forehead, and he gave a visible start when the woman opened the door
again.
"Come in here, please."
Then he was on the right track. He to the in
his as he took a seat in the small room. He waited, fidgeting.
The woman packed up a small telephone on the and several
buttons in succession. The was almost as he
waited, a that was alive and vibrant. Finally a light
flickered and she took up the receiver.
"Dr. Schiml? This is the Volunteer office, Doctor." She Jeff a
swift glance. "There's another man here to see you."
Meyer his pound. He in his chair and started to take
out a cigarette. Then he himself.
"That's right," the woman was saying, him as if he were a
biological specimen. "I'm sorry, he hasn't a name.... Ten
minutes? All right, Doctor, I'll have him wait." With that, she
replaced the and left the room without a word.
Jeff up, his and looked about the room. It was
small, with just a and two or three chairs. Obviously it served
as a room of some sort. One the of file
buttons; another the telephone and viewer. Over the
visiphone screen, a large the date in sharp
black letters: 32 April, 2109. Below it, the little clock
had just to read 11:23 A.M. Almost noon. And every passing
minute his and away.
He out the window at the of buildings. Across the
courtyard the of the ward-towers rose. To one of it were a
series of long, low with skylights. These were the kitchens,
perhaps, or buildings. There were of them--any one
of which be Paul Conroe. Jeff his hands until the
nails his palms. He at the buildings. Conroe be
anywhere there. _Another man had already Dr. Schiml...._
A door him and he sharply. A man entered the room
and closed the door him. Smiling, he walked over to the desk.
Meyer and the man. He a in the pit
of his stomach. For the the doctor had his eye,
and Jeff that he had planned to say like dust
around him.
The man looked like a doctor, although his white jacket was
immaculate and a from his pocket. He was tall
and slender, almost fifty years old, with round, pink cheeks
and a little nose that out of place on his face.
A harmless-looking man, Jeff thought, for his eyes. But his
eyes--they were the sharpest, most Jeff had seen.
And they were him. Quite of the face, they
watched his every move, studying him. The were full of wisdom, but
they were also with caution.
The doctor sat and Jeff to the seat the desk. He
pushed a cigar case across the to him.
Jeff hesitated, then took one. "I these were illegal,"
he said.
The doctor grinned. "Slightly. Thanks to us, as you know. We
did most of the work here on tobacco and cancer--actually got
legislation pushed through on it." He easily in his chair
as he his own cigar. "Still, one once in a while won't do too much
harm. And there's nothing like a good to talked out.
I'm Roger Schiml, by the way. I didn't your name."
"Meyer," said Jeff. "Jeffrey Meyer."
The doctor's quizzically. "I my girl didn't bother
you too much. She most of the work here, as you see.
Then, occasionally, cases come in which she'd turn over to me."
He paused for a moment. "Cases like yours, for instance."
Jeff blinked, his mind racing. It would take acting, he thought, real
acting to this man. The was and benign,
almost complacent. But the were from young. They were old, old
eyes. They had more than should see. They missed nothing. To
fool a man with like that--Jeff took a and said, "I
want to join the Mercy Men."
Dr. Schiml's very slightly. For a long moment he said
nothing, just at the man him. Then he said, "That's
interesting. It's also very curious. The name, I mean--oh, I can
understand the such an idea might have for people, but the
name that's so popular--it me. 'Mercy Men.' It gives
you a feeling, don't you think? Brings up pictures of
handsome the of and death, the brave
heroes their all for the of humanity--all that
garbage, you know." The suddenly. "Where did you
hear of the Mercy Men, I wonder?"
Jeff shrugged. "The word's been around for a while. A snatch
here, a there--even though it isn't too openly."
Dr. Schiml looked him in the eye. "And I told you that
there is no such organization, either here or else on Earth
that I know of?"
A tight appeared on Jeff's face. "I'd call you a class-A liar."
Schiml's up. "I see. That's a big word. Maybe you can
support it."
"I can. There are Mercy Men here. There have been for years."
"You're sure of that."
"Quite. I know one. He was a skid-rower with a taste for when
I ran into him--a to go with a income.
Then he out of for about six months. Now he has a
place up in the Catskills, with many, many thousands of in the
bank. Of course, he the money to hundred cats in his
basement." Jeff's narrowed. "He liked cats very much before
he left here. There are other he does--nothing serious, of
course, but peculiar. Still, he doesn't need the any more."
Schiml and put his together. "That would be Luke
Tandy. Yes, Luke was a little different when he left, but the work was
satisfactory and we paid off."
"Yes," said Jeff softly. "One hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Cash
on the line. To him or his heirs. He was lucky."
"So what are you doing here?"
"I want a hundred and fifty thousand too."
The doctor's met Jeff's squarely. "And you are a too."
Jeff reddened. "What do you mean--"
"Look, let's this right now. Don't to me. I'll catch
you every time." The doctor's were hard. "I see a man who's eaten
well for a long time, dirty but clothes, who doesn't
drink, who doesn't use drugs, who is and and capable. He
tells me he wants to join the Mercy Men for money. He tells me a lie.
Now I'll ask you again: why are you here?"
"For money. For one hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
The doctor and back. "All right, no matter. We'll go
into it later, I suppose. But I think you'd certain
things. It's no accident that your on the Mercy Men is
so vague. We've been to keep it that way, of course. The
more the stories, the curiosity-seekers and busybodies
we have to with. Also, the more the stories,
the more people will they come to us. This
we particularly desire. Because the work we do here a very
desperate man to volunteer."
As he talked, the doctor out a pack of cards from the desk
and them in his fingers. Jeff's caught
them and a his back. They were cards, not the
regular playing variety. These were smaller, with a marking
system in red on the white faces. Jeff and he was
puzzled at the that his body. He in his chair in
growing and to take his from the cards.
The doctor out his cigar, in the chair and gave
the cards a and Jeff closely. "We've done a here
since the Center opened--work on years of research. A
century or more ago there were terrible medical problems to be faced:
polio was a then; they had no idea of cancer control; they were
faced with a death from disease. All those things
are now, a thing of the past. But as the old moved out,
new ones took their place. Look at the half-dozen NVI we've
had in the past years--neurotoxic that started to
appear out of twenty years ago. Look at the alky-sikys you
see in every today, a new type of alcoholism-psychosis
that we haven't been able to describe, much less cure. Look at the
statistics on disease, in almost
every year."
The tall doctor up and walked to the window. "We don't know why
it's happening, but it is. Something's on the march, something ghastly
and among the people. Something that has to be stopped." He gave
the cards a and them onto the with a sigh. "We
can't stop it until we know something about the brain and how it
works, and why it what it does, and how. We don't understand
fully the of the system, much less its
function. And we've learned all we can from cats and dogs and monkeys.
Any study of a monkey's brain will give us great into
the and of monkeys, no doubt. But it won't teach us
anything more about _men_." His voice was very soft. "You can see where
this leads, I think."
Jeff Meyer slowly. "You need men," he said.
"We need men. Men to study. Cruel as it may sound, men to experiment
upon. We can't learn any more from any other of ...
experimental animal. But there are problems. Toy around with a man's
brain and he is likely to die, abruptly. Or he may be deranged,
or he may go insane. Most of the work, well planned,
however we were of results, safe it appeared, proved to
be unpredictable. Much of the work and many of the results
were horrible. But we're making progress, slow--but progress
nonetheless. So the work continues.
"It hasn't been very popular. No man in his right mind would volunteer
for such a job. So we men. For the most work in
the world, our come with the most of motives: we pay
for their services and we pay well. A hundred thousand is a
small fee, on our scale. We have the government us. The sky is
the limit, if we need a man for a job. The money is paid, when the work
is completed, either to the man himself or to his heirs. You see why
the name they've themselves is so curious--Medical Mercenaries,
the 'Mercy Men.' That's why a man must be to come to us.
That's why we must be so very who us, for what motives."
Jeff Meyer at his hands and waited in the of the room.
His once again to the cards, and the of fear
went through him like a breeze. This was a port of last resort,
a road that end in and death. Ted Bahr had said it wasn't
worth it--that Conroe would alive--but he that Conroe
could. And he Conroe well to know that he would.
Jeff the old and up in his mind, and his
hands as he sat. He had long since his life as
he had it, off the of life that he had
acquired, to Paul Conroe and kill him. There was nothing else
in his life that mattered. It had been a long, hunt, tracking
him, him, studying him, his movements and habits,
plotting after trap, the man to desperation. But there had
been no indication, along the line, that Conroe would turn to
such a as this.
But he must have that death otherwise was inevitable. Here he
could be changed. He might from the of the Earth in
the of death, to be sure, but he also might emerge,
unscathed, to live in the of his life, and
safe.
Jeff Meyer looked up at the doctor and his were hard. "I haven't
changed my mind," he said. "What has to be done to join?"
Dr. Schiml sighed, and to the file panel. "There are
tests that are necessary and to be obeyed. You'll be confined
and regimented. And once you're to a job and a release,
you're in." He and the button. Tapping
his on the desk, he waited until an image and
cleared on the screen. "Blackie," he said tiredly. "Better send the
Nasty Frenchman up here. We've got a new recruit."
The off and Jeff sat to his seat, his pulse
throbbing in his neck, every nerve in his in excitement.
The on the screen had been visible for a moment: a pale
face with large eyes--a woman's face, by black
hair. It was a that was on his memory. It
belonged to the girl who had the night in the red light.
