The Sleepers Read online

  "Here comes your reception committee," the flier said.

  Dunbee was greeted very friendly. He presented the yellow card which M’Artois had given him. It entitled him to a sleeping place in the caves after he complied with the mandatory procedures. The two ISC employees assured him that they would do everything to speed his transfer to the caves. Dunbee said goodbye to the pilot and followed the two men.

  There were three separate entrances leading down into the ground as Dunbee soon found out. They had solid doors of unequal sizes built into the rock which had a smooth and firm floor inside. The smallest of the entrances was just big enough to let four men pass at one time but this didn’t let him draw any conclusions as to the actual dimensions of the caves behind.

  "The door in the middle is the entrance to the sleeping chambers," one of the men explained. "The others lead to the preparation rooms and the administrative offices. We live near the offices since we have nothing to do with the examinations. The repositories are attended only by physicians."

  Dunbee would have liked to learn more but they had reached the entrance to the offices which the guide had pointed out. An automatic sliding door pulled sideways into the rock and opened the way to a brightly illuminated corridor whose walls and ceiling were lined with smooth sheets.

  "The sleeping chambers are far less luxurious," the other escort commented. He could hear a hint of irony in his voice, as if the man wanted to taunt him for some reason.

  The corridor sloped slightly downward and ended in a vast room whose ceiling was supported by round columns. About 30 clerks worked at desks, typewriters, calculators and file cabinets. The working areas were partitioned by glass so that everyone could do his job without being disturbed. The temperature was very pleasant; fresh air flowed from invisible vents and circulated through the room.

  His observations were interrupted by a man who was the only one who didn’t wear a blue smock. He was tall and burly. Dunbee was struck by the appearance of his face. Somehow his skin seemed to have prematurely withered. It reminded him of the result of a botched make-up cover-mask of his wife. The man moved slowly as if he contemplated each step. His small eyes almost disappeared behind his heavy lashless eyelids. Dunbee was instinctively repulsed by his sight.

  "Hello, Mr. Dunbee," he greeted him. "My name is Dunc Clinkskate. They call me Boss around this office."

  Dunbee had trouble looking at his grinning face.

  "Before I hand you over to the doctors we’ll have to attend to some minor matters. Please follow me."

  He pushed Dunbee through a glass door and closed it behind them. Dunbee felt relieved when he was able to sit down again. He had the impression that everybody had stopped working to stare into his cubicle, which made him cough in embarrassment.

  Clinkskate began by saying: "I must remind you that you’ve signed a contract which is binding for both sides. I hope that you’ve read it carefully. We’re not responsible for medical accidents unless they’re caused by malpractice. On the other hand we guarantee your well being for the duration of your sleep. Your contract calls for 300 years. During that time the functions of your organs will be reduced to an insignificant minimum. Your body will be placed in a liquid which we call cell plasma. Its effect is twofold: it provides you with safety from undesirable side effects and in addition it is also a nutrient which rejuvenates your cells. Your lungs will be completely inactivated. We’ll affix numerous electrodes which will serve to stimulate your organs at regular intervals to prevent them from total paralysis or atrophy. I also feel obliged at this time to warn you of the unpleasant readjustment which will occur during the first few weeks after your re-awakening. Your body will slowly get used to its original tasks. Although I will have departed from this world by then, you’ll remember my prediction. Of course you’ll be under the permanent care of our physicians for the 300 years until your life is completely restored."

  Dunbee couldn’t find much comfort in his words. Now that he had almost reached his desired goal, his former life seemed extraordinarily precious to him.

  Clinkskate, who took no notice of Dunbee’s vacillating frame of mind, spread out his arms as if he wanted to invite his client into a fairyland. "The act of putting you to sleep involves certain procedures which might seem incongruous to you, Mr. Dunbee. Naturally your body has to be prepared for the preservation. You’ll be subjected to a series of preliminary tests which might be a little uncomfortable. Don’t be frightened when your head is shaved. Of course you’ll be given an anesthetic whenever the treatment is painful. Furthermore you’ll be put under narcosis before you begin the actual period of sleep."

  Clinkskate had a shrewd way of implying that he granted Dunbee special favors which nobody else received and that he was given a unique chance. An inner voice had begun to warn Dunbee ever since his conversation with the pilot and it grew more urgent although he was unable to come to grips with his disturbing premonition. The ISC and its officials left a worrisome impression on Dunbee which could eventually turn into overt suspicion. He sought reassurance by reminding himself that the Interior Department exercised close supervision and there was no reason to doubt that these inspections were conducted correctly and all was above board.

  "Now you can change your clothes, Mr. Dunbee," Clinkskate interrupted his glum thoughts. "You’ll be issued a special suit."

  I wish I were back in Dubose, Dunbee thought.

  • • •

  A sudden noise jolted Dunbee back to reality. He held his breath and listened. Without doubt a door had been slammed somewhere in the cave. He hugged the stonewall and tried to pierce the darkness with burning eyes. The monotone gurgling in the containers obtruded on his ears. Somebody had entered the cave to capture him. The thought that he could be seized by a rude hand in the darkness brought him to the verge of panic.

  Was there a thump? Did the shadow of a man lurch toward him? A whiff of air blew into his face. His tortured scream echoed in the countless nooks and crannies of the cave. His hands lashed out but there was nobody.

  Perhaps it was only a rolling stone which had frightened him. He moved on, feeling his way with outstretched hands. After they had turned off the light he could guide himself only by the bubbling noise from the containers. Somewhere water dropped from the ceiling. The rock was rough and cold. He tried his utmost not to think about the sight he had fleetingly glimpsed a few hours earlier which had made him recoil in horror and run away.

  "Plop! One! Plop! Two! Plop! Three!" Dunbee caught himself counting the falling drops. His chin collided with a protruding rock and he ripped the shapeless suit which they had made him put on.

  How much fear could a man stand before he became insane? Dunbee felt sure that he would soon reach the limit of his endurance. The whim struck him to take a big stone and knock a hole in one of the containers but he couldn’t gather enough strength to carry out the thought.

  A burst of light streaked at him like a burning arrow. Dunbee staggered back, pinching his smarting eyes. Somebody has pointed a flashlight at me , he thought painfully.

  He sank to his knees and whimpered in disappointment. Now they had found him. The beam of light wandered over his body, that thin helpless wreck of a man.

  "Hey, Dunbee" said an impassive voice behind the lamp.

  A silhouette loomed in the darkness. A guard! The beam swung around, lit up grey rocks and boulders, quivered over the sandy ground and returned to Dunbee.

  "Let’s go!" the guard said gruffly and pointed to the way he wanted him to go; back to the preparation room. Suddenly he felt a new urge to resist. When Dunbee got up he picked up a stone in his clenched fist. He had to try! He knew that his situation was hopeless. They were sure to get him in the end. However when and how was something else again.

  As he walked with stiff legs beside the guard he thought about the first time Clinkskate had accompanied him to the physicians in the preparation room...

  • • •

  He was dressed in the white
garment Clinkskate had talked about. It was a loose two-piece suit which was held to his body by a wide belt. He had hoped, to see daylight again on his way to the next station but the caves were connected with each other by subterranean corridors.

  "Maybe I made a mistake when I decided to hibernate for so many years," he said to Clinkskate, who walked one step ahead of him.

  The stout man looked back over his shoulder and stopped. "All our clients go through the same phase sooner or later," he said. "It’s more a fear of the unknown than missing your home or the desire to return to your old life. You shouldn’t take it too seriously, Mr. Dunbee."

  Dunbee suddenly formed a picture of Jeanne in his mind as she laughed and ran across a flowering meadow in the summer toward him. Of course she had never done it but he felt certain that she would do so when he returned and talked things over with her. He should have related his feelings better to her.

  "No," Dunbee decided, "I’m flying back to Dubose."

  "Nonsense!" Clinkskate exclaimed, annoyed. He seized Dunbee by the arm with a hard grip and dragged him forward. "You must get over this. When you go back to Dubose your old troubles will start all over again."

  Half reluctantly, Dunbee let him pull his body. Clinkskate didn’t seem inclined to tolerate his moods. Maybe he was right. Dunbee gave up his resistance.

  "That’s better," Clinkskate purred, cheerfully rubbing Dunbee’s head. "Now Dr. Le Boeuf will take care of you. I’m sure he’ll buck you up a little. You’ll also meet Dr. Piotrowski and the other assistants with their nurses." Dunbee couldn’t figure out what amused Clinkskate so much that he had to smile. But then everybody else smiled at the ISC if there was any occasion or not. Very friendly people, Dunbee thought,almost too friendly!

  Before he knew it they came to the end of the corridor. Clinkskate opened a sliding door and revealed a vaulted room which was remarkable in every respect. It expanded in all directions at several levels which were connected by elevators. Anything that could have shown that they were in the depth of the Earth was carefully disguised.

  "This is the hall where the sleepers will be prepared for the repositories," Clinkskate explained. "Looks impressive, doesn’t it?"

  As far as Dunbee could judge, the equipment was modern and clean. The hall was furnished with a multitude of machines and devices whose purposes Dunbee was unable to make out.

  "We’ve got our own power station," Clinkskate explained proudly. "You’ll see that we’re as self-sufficient as a big city. We generate our own power for the technical installations in here. We control the sleeping chambers from here too because we considered it advisable to keep all disturbing machinery away from the sleepers. The generators are over there. This level provides energy for the whole complex. Dr. Le Boeuf’s department is at the lower level. You’re going to meet him in a minute. Please come to the elevator!"

  The elevator took them down where Dunbee recognized preponderantly medical equipment.

  "Here comes Dr. Le Boeuf," Clinkskate pointed out. Dunbee saw a little man with a freckled face walking toward them with small hasty steps.

  "This is Dr. Le Beouf," Clinkskate introduced.

  Dunbee was fascinated to watch the physician raise his bushy eyebrows.

  "You don’t look very sleepy to me," Le Boeuf wisecracked.

  Dunbee wondered if Clinkskate believed that this was the type of humor to cheer him up but Clinkskate had already silently retreated and left him to his fate which so far was rather kind unless Dr. Le Boeuf’s macabre sense of humor took a turn for the worse.

  • • •

  The guard kept swinging his flashlight and kicked a stone out of the way. Dunbee dismissed the memories from his mind. Time was running out. His primitive weapon weighed heavily in his hand.

  "Look out! Up front!" Dunbee yelled.

  The guard stopped abruptly and directed the beam of his flashlight away from him. Dunbee jumped him with his arm raised and dealt a fierce blow. He felt the resistance as his fist struck and for a moment thought with despair that his attack had failed. Then the guard slumped and let his flashlight drop to the ground, breaking to pieces. It was dark and quiet again. Dunbee bent down and felt the limp body of his adversary. He didn’t expect the guard to remain unconscious for very long and he realized that he had to rap his head again sharply. However his hand refused to obey him. Dunbee had never acted brutally in his life and he remained a prisoner of his conscience even in his hopeless situation. There was this unknown pale face in the darkness a vile and cruel face—but he couldn’t bring himself to beat him into lasting submission. He tried to imagine that it was Clinkskate who had collapsed at his feet but even this attempt to identify the face with one of his known enemies couldn’t solve his problem.

  Suddenly the guard took the decision out of his hands. He groaned and tried to get up. Without thinking Dunbee savagely knocked him down again.

  This action didn’t help to make him feel better. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt swollen. His head droned. He dropped the stone and fumbled to get away from the stunned man. Soon he touched the wall of the cave again and the cold rough surface calmed his nerves a little.

  Plop! One! Plop! Two! Plop! Three! Four! Five! Six! The waterdrops!

  If he could find the spot where the water dripped, he would be able to cool his burning face. There wasn’t much else he could do.

  He was doomed to wait. Soon they were bound to become impatient and wonder what had happened. The loudspeakers would call the guard and if he failed to answer it would be enough to make them draw their conclusions. Inevitably they would deal much more harshly with him the second time.

  He stumbled along the wall, a pitiful figure in dirty clothes, the torn pants hanging around his puny bony legs.

  What would they do to him after they had got him into their clutches again? Was it possible that his overwrought nerves had played tricks on him? Was there a shred of evidence that the ISC conducted a reputable business?

  He remembered the nauseating sight he had witnessed and it made him sick to his stomach again. No and a thousand times no! Whatever was going on here, it was an abominable evil. At that moment during his examination when he experienced a flash of insight, he had felt instinctively that the ISC was something other than it pretended to be...

  • • •

  They had measured and weighed him, taken his blood pressure, checked his heart, his brainwaves, lungs, liver and kidneys. They pumped him full of drugs as he lay semi-conscious on the table with the face of the physician hovering above him. Sometimes it was Dr. Le Boeuf who treated him and sometimes Dr. Piotrowski or their assistants and nurses. They turned him inside out. Electrodes and wires were attached to his body and tubes were inserted.

  He heard Dr. Piotrowski’s shrill voice, high as that of a child. "What do you think of that, Doctor?"

  There was laughter, other voices and the clinking of glass, the sound of instruments and the mysterious buzzing of unfamiliar medical devices.

  Dr. Le Boeuf: "Serum K-46, now!"

  A female voice: "Can he take it?"

  Piotrowski’s childish laugh. A cart buzzing across the floor. Then the voice of a man: "The poor fool!"

  Dunbee became frightened and rolled his eyes. With a heavy tongue he tried to ask what happened to him, when they stuck another needle into his thigh. The voices blurred and quickly faded away. Dunbee drowned in a milky fog.

  Suddenly it was light again. Dr. Le Boeuf bent over him with a smile. "So," he promised in a soothing voice, "we’ll soon be through..."

  Dunbee caught himself as he displayed a happy grin like a monkey who had been given a banana.

  "You’re still a little weak," Dr. Piotrowski chimed in at the foot of his bed. "But you’ll soon get over it. In four more hours you’ll sleep for 300 years."

  Four hours! And then? Somewhere in the background nurses were busy with their chores. He wouldn’t hear any noise in his sleeping chamber. It was like death—albeit death on time. Three ce
nturies in a coffin spent in a coma. He would see nothing, hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing and feel nothing. Nothing at all! Nevertheless his life would be preserved as he floated in that oily liquid, so he had been told.

  Four hours to go!

  Dunbee began to nurture a certain disgust for the time limit. Perhaps there were only three hours left. Why not seven or ten, or three days?

  Cautiously he sat up in his bed. The two physicians had left the room and two nurses stood at a cabinet polishing instruments.

  All of a sudden he heard Dr. Le Boeuf coming back. He notices his short hasty steps pattering the floor. It seemed that his hearing had grown many times keener than before. The pattering noise swelled immensely and thumped through his skull. His nerves became taut and he was thrown into a panic.

  He pulled the blanket from his body. One of the nurses let out a scream and hurled the instruments to the floor.

  Dr. Le Boeuf yelled from the distance: "Dunbee! Have you gone mad? Stop at once!"

  The nurses rushed toward him, their open coats fluttering behind them like huge wings.

  "Dunbee!" Le Boeuf shouted once more.

  Dunbee stormed out of the room in headlong flight. He knocked over a cabinet, spilling its contents to the floor with a clattering din. He bolted toward a door but the women tried to block his way. He felt their hands grabbing him as they were breathing down his neck while Le Boeuf kept sputtering in frustration: "Dunbee! Dunbee! Dunbee!"

  Dunbee stopped and pushed the nurses back. There must have been a gleam of madness in his eyes and since they instantly desisted with horrified expressions on their faces. He reached the door without being further molested and entered a narrow corridor resembling a tube. His lungs were throbbing with pain but he hurried on.

  For a time his legs had moved automatically as he ran in blind haste. But now his mind started to function again and he began to watch his surroundings. Apparently he penetrated deeper and deeper into the Earth because the floor and the walls were no longer smoothly finished but showed a rough natural state. The illumination maintained a constant brightness. Wherever the passageway led, freedom was not likely to be at the end of the tunnel.