Thus I ended up in Nazi Germany, using slave labour, conducting experiments that could not have been done elsewhere, and finally creating the first flying saucers and surgically mutated human beings. The road ahead, though a nightmare for some, had at last been opened.

  I took that road and followed it, aware that I had no choice, accepting that the suffering of my surgically mutated human beings was as necessary as the suffering of animals under the blade of the vivisectionist whose work would eventually benefit humanity. Nature is cruel because it must have its way and that way does not count the human cost. Fire and flood,

  famine and disease are part of the natural order of the world and the cost in human suffering must be met. Likewise with my experiments, which involved no self-interest, no pursuit of personal gain, but were, instead, conducted with a scientific pragmatism that did not allow for sentimental revulsion or a conscience stirred by humanitarian concerns.

  In nature's grand plan, in evolution's onward march, the human being, as he now stands, is only sacred in the sense that he is the bridge between the cave dweller and the Superman. When you understand this, when you see where we are heading, you will respect me instead of reviling me and your own transformation will then begin.

  My time is fast approaching and impatience spurs me on, but I know that soon my second incarnation will lead into the third. I shall then escape my mortal shell and become a being of pure mind, merging with the All; and then, untrammelled by the physical, I will have no limitations in time or space. I shall, in effect, be the first of the Supermen and you, despite your fearful protestations, will eventually join me.

  This began with my first dying, in your Freedom Bay in Antarctica, and continued with the rebirth that I ordained for myself, having made myself Lord of my own destiny. I grew a second time to manhood, being my own first son as well as father to myself: despite reported fears about the potential traumas of being cloned, I suffered no self-doubt, no emotional pain, and instead felt only the pride of that rare individual who knows himself to be absolutely unique and alive for a purpose. This made my new childhood blissful, radiant with inner light, and I grew up with the cyborgs and other man-machine mutations as naturally as any parentless child in a well-run nursery, carefully protected by those not his own parents and not harmed in the slightest.

  My nursery was, of course, a place devoted to science, a self-contained laboratory in a mother ship used as a sea dome and, except for occasional flights to similar locations elsewhere, always safely anchored at the bottom of the ocean. There, in that enclosed world, I was raised by those that I had, in fact, created — the cyborgs — and prepared for my imminent transformation from Man into Superman.

  Even during my brief absence, between my death and my rebirth, my work had been continued by the cyborgs and clones.

  Both types had been genetically gelded to remove their sex drive and all negative or potentially dangerous emotions such as rage, depression, personal ambition and abstract thought. Thus, they did only what I had programmed them to do before my death and part of that programming was the supervision of my rebirth and second upbringing.

  Parallel to this was the advance of the machines, our biological computers, which had been maintaining, repairing and reprogramming themselves to the point where they could communicate with each other and, together, were gradually forming an immense neural network that was far more complex than the human brain. This was an evolutionary watershed, the first breaking of humankind's biological bonds, an artificial intelligence of awesome reasoning power, untrammelled by emotion, in thrall only to its own logic, and therefore a

  new biological species in its own right: an extension of, and improvement upon, Man.

  This is the great intelligence, the superior being, with which we must fuse in order to evolve from Man into Superman, freed at last from the physical world and, thus, from the dying Earth, empowered at last to find our natural destiny among the stars.

  No, not 'we' . . .

  I.

  Wilson.

  And after me . . . You.

  Yes. Your time will come also.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Sitting upright on the bed in that small room somewhere unknown, wearing the white smock that they must have put on him when they sedated him to help him recover from the shock of seeing the severed heads of his parents, Gumshoe could hardly believe his own eyes when he realized that the male nurse sent in by Wilson was his old Speed Freak buddy, Snake Eyes.

  This was not the Snake Eyes that Gumshoe remembered. The old Snake Eyes, the one who had been zapped by a laser beam and abducted in a paddy wagon, had worn a T-shirt, short-sleeved black leather

  vest, bandanna and Doc Marten boots with steel-reinforced toes. His hair had been slicked up in a fancy pompadour with thick gel and his teeth had been bad. The new Snake Eyes had short-cropped hair and good teeth, which made him barely recognizable, though it was certainly him.

  Shocked, disbelieving, Gumshoe was just about to call out Snake Eyes's name when the latter raised both hands in the air and began frantically gesturing, waving them this way and that while forming different shapes with his fingers. Ac first Gumshoe didn't know what the hell Snake Eyes was doing, then he realized that he was using the sign language of the deaf and dumb. Snake Eyes was neither, but like a lot of the Speed Freaks, including Gumshoe, he had learnt the sign language a few years back.

  Not too long ago, the deaf and the dumb, the blind, even the crippled, had been seen as objects of sport by the Speed Freaks who, themselves being viewed widely as the lowest of the low, needed to feel superior to some other species of human and chose the afflicted for that purpose. Baiting the afflicted had therefore been a regular item among the Speed Freaks until a former Speed Freak leader, long since zapped and taken away by the cyborgs, had realized that sign language was a good way to communicate in places where cyborg surveillance might be operating or when there was a need to communicate within range of a hovering football whose sensors could pick up any sound. Thus, the deaf and dumb had become people to respect and learning their language had become a positive passion with the Speed Freaks. Now Snake Eyes was using that sign language and Gumshoe could not only read it but could respond in kind.

  'Don't say a word,' Snake Eyes had begun. 'Every room in this place is bugged. Just use your hands.'

  'I can't believe it's you,' Gumshoe responded, using his hands instead of his voice.

  'It's me. And I'm normal.'

  'How come you're still normal?'

  'I was brought in with a batch of abductees who the cyborgs intended to use as robotized workers. The guy placed in charge of us — a normal human being, but obviously robotized himself— told us in advance that we'd be robotized. Aided in our adjustment, as he put it — with a single injection that would affect certain areas of the brain while causing no pain. After that, he informed us, we'd feel no fear about being here, have no regrets or concerns. We'd be one of them, he informed us, as content as he was.'

  'No electronic brain implants?' Gumshoe asked without speaking.

  'No. That system, which took a lot of time and often caused trauma, is now obsolete. Now it's just an injection. So when they brought us here, they ordered us to strip off and take a shower, then put on white smocks in preparation for the injection. I was

  scared out of my mind. I was also still high on speed. Being high, I was convinced that I'd rather die than experience the gradual loss of my mind when the serum they injected into me took hold. I had my own injections with me — enough methamphetamine to overdose on — and being already high, almost out of my mind anyway, I decided to shoot it all up before my turn came to strip off and dump my clothes and possessions into the disposal bin that they'd told us to use. So I placed myself in a position where the walking dead couldn't see me, in the middle of the group of stripping abductees, and quickly took my syrettes out of my jacket pocket, injected my legs unseen, using up every last syrette, then put the empty syrettes back in my jacket and stripped off like the others. The rush of the speed hit me like a sledgehammer just as I was stretched out on a bed, being given my mind-destroying injection by one of the walking dead. But instead of overdosing on the speed, instead of dying as I'd expected, I found that the speed and the brain-altering drug neutralized each other, not only saving me from death but leaving me perfectly normal. God bless the methamphetamine.'

  'Didn't your empty syrettes make them suspicious?'

  'They didn't find the empty syrettes. They made us throw all of our clothes and our possessions into that disposal bin and it was like a big washing machine filled with some shit that destroyed everything that went into it. My clothes and the empty syrettes went into it and were completely destroyed. No shred of evidence of my misdemeanour left.'

  Beautiful,' Gumshoe said, still using sign language.

  It sure was,' Snake Eyes signalled.

  They didn't see you were still normal?'

  'No. I just observed how the walking dead behaved — superficially normal, but cold as ice and totally obedient. Then I watched as they tested the other injected abductees simply by asking them certain questions. I took note of how the abductees responded and then responded the same way when it was my turn. Those bastards, the walking dead, believed that their drug

  no

  had worked: I've been fooling them ever since by simply keeping my face expressionless, speaking in a toneless voice, and doing exacdy what I'm told.'

  'That doesn't sound easy.'

  'You're wrong. It's dead easy. It's easy because the cyborgs assume that guys like us — young, unemployed motorcyclists and druggies — can't be too bright, so they generally give their brainwashed Speed Freaks the simplest tasks. Being a supposedly brainwashed Speed Freak, my simple task is to wheel this surgical trolley from room to room and inject new abduc-tees, as instructed, with one of a small variety of serums. Some will leave you completely paralysed while still fully conscious; some will put you to sleep for days on end, the length of time depending upon the dosage; and some will actually kill you. The ones killed are used for body parts for new cyborgs and other hybrid man-machine creatures.'

  Recalling what he had seen in the surgical laboratories since coming here, particularly his unfortunate parents, Gumshoe found himself shuddering uncontrollably.

  'You okay?' Snake Eyes signalled.

  Yes,' Gumshoe replied, still using his hands, forcing the nightmare image of his parents to the back of his mind. 'So they've sent you here to inject me.'

  Yes.'

  'And you've no choice but to do it.'

  'That's correct, pal, but in this case it won't be for their benefit.'

  'What does that mean?'

  'We're getting out of here. I've been planning it for days, but I had to work up the nerve to do it and then, seeing you, I got my nerve back.'

  'We can't get out of here. It's impossible. There's no way to do it. Hell, we don't even know where we are.'

  'I've a pretty good idea,' Snake Eyes signalled. 'Did you have a good look around you when they brought you in?'

  Yes.'

  'Did you see that immense workshop filled with Doctor Frankenstein creations?'

  Yes.'

  'A great cavernous area with five sides?'

  Yes.'

  'So what immense building used by the cyborgs has five sides?' Snake Eyes asked, still using his hands instead of speaking.

  'The Pentagon!'

  'Correct. So almost certainly, unless the cyborgs have an identical building on the dark side of the Moon, our location is the immense underground bunker of the Pentagon — the one built secretly way back in the Old Age to protect the top brass in the event of a nuclear war. I mean, there's a similar underground bunker in the White House and, as we all know by now, the cyborgs are using it. So my bet is that this is the Pentagon and if we manage to make our escape we'll find ourselves back in a certain American city right here on Earth.'

  'There's no way out,' Gumshoe signalled. 'The whole place is teeming with cyborgs and clones who'd turn us in if they saw us trying to leave. Besides, you can bet that every exit is locked and heavily guarded.'

  'So we don't try to get out,' Snake Eyes signalled. 'We simply put ourselves in a position where they take us out with other abductees being released back into the streets as injected, brainwashed spies for the cyborgs.'

  Gumshoe felt a rush of hope almost as strong as a rush of speed, but he couldn't quite accept that it was possible. Also, he was shamefully scared. 'How do we do that?' he asked, still using sign language. 'It doesn't seem possible.'

  Snake Eyes grimaced and shook his head from side to side, as if saying, 'Oh, ye of little faith.' Then he started using hand signals again. 'The human abductees are processed in different ways. Some are killed and used for body parts or as surrogate mothers for test-tube babies; some are lightly brainwashed and

  kept here as slave workers, like me; and some are heavily brainwashed - in fact, robotized completely, though again with injections, not with electronic brain implants — and then sent back into the World to act as spies for the cyborgs or to work for them in important positions. Those in this third group are never sent back to where they came from — to where they'd be known as former abductees, therefore instantly suspect in the eyes of family and friends. No, instead they're inserted in other cities where, with false identification papers and jobs arranged by the cyborgs, they can sink into the local community and quietly do what the cyborgs demand of them. You and me, we're going out with one of those groups.'

  Gumshoe's fear was subsiding as his hope and confidence returned, but still he could not quite accept that what Snake Eyes was telling him was possible. On the other hand, the very thought that he might only be in the basement of the Pentagon, still right here in Washington DC, made the real world seem that much closer and, hopefully, more accessible. He took his courage from that thought.

  'So how do we do it?' he asked, blessing the day that he'd decided to learn sign language from a deaf and dumb guy who'd been invited to join the Speed Freaks after they realised how valuable that silent form of communication could be to them. Yes, indeed, it was valuable — and never more so than right now.

  'There's a batch of deep-brainwashed abductees going out today,' Snake Eyes signalled back. 'Eight in

  all. They've all had their new identities drilled into them while they were in a deep, drug-induced coma.

  The dosage of the drug, which I administered personally, was adjusted to ensure that each individual would recover consciousness at a specified time — the paddy wagon's ETA at the destination.'

  'Pardon?'

  'Estimated time of arrival at the destination,' Snake Eyes explained. 'The abductees will awake just as the flying saucer lands — a big transport saucer, three hundred feet wide. The abductees are all dressed in normal clothing — suits, jackets, or whatever, depending on their age and what they're supposed to be in real life. They'll be inserted with a properly registered car at an LZ—

  'Pardon?'

  'Landing zone. Each abductee will be inserted at a landing zone somewhere close to the city designated for him and he'll drive from there, just like a normal citizen, to an apartment already fixed up for him.

  You and me are going to replace two of those abductees and fly out of here with their identities. I think it will work.'

  'Maybe.' Gumshoe was feeling exhilarated, but he still had his doubts. 'How do we proceed?'

  'Like you, the chosen abductees are all in individual rooms, fully dressed but unconscious on their beds.

  As I'm a recognized male nurse, supposedly brainwashed, I can wheel you to one of those rooms without being suspected of anything. So I'm going to wheel you to the room of one of the unconscious abductees and we'll strip him and roll him under the bed, then you can put on his clothes and lie there in his place. The walking dead who wheel the departing abductees from their rooms to the transport ship haven't seen them before, so they don't know what the individual they're collecting is supposed to look like; they'll only know him from the name tag on his coat or jacket. Because I can t take any chances on you making a mistake, I'm going to give you an injection that will put you to sleep, just like all the others, and let you awaken at the same time as the ETA at your destination. We won't know the destination, but the ETAs are marked on the individual name tags to allow me, as the male nurse, to adjust the dosage for the length of sleep required. So, lying there unconscious, wearing another abductee's clothes and name tag, you'll be collected by a walking-dead male nurse and wheeled out into the holding bay of the transport ship. You'll be unconscious throughout the flight, so you can't make any mistakes that might give you away, and you'll only have to

  2A2

  remember to keep control of your tongue when the saucer lands at your chosen LZ and you awake and are taken to your car by a cyborg, clone or walking-dead crew member. Once in that car, you can let out a scream of joy and take off for home.'

  'What about you?' Gumshoe asked.

  'Same thing. The only difference being that I'll be injecting myself— and I'm an expert at that. I simply go to another room, strip the abductee in there, roll him under the bed, put on his clothes, then stretch out on the bed and inject myself. The male nurse who comes to collect me will find me unconscious and assume, from the name tag on my coat or jacket, that I'm the one he was sent to collect. He'll wheel me into the transport ship with all the others and, like them, I won't regain consciousness until I've reached my particular LZ. Then, just like you, I'll drive away and, instead of going to the pad chosen for the guy I'm supposed to be, in whatever city was chosen for him, I'll just head for home. You and me will meet up in Chinatown when we get back to Washington. Are you willing to try it?'

  'Yes,' Gumshoe signalled.

  'Okay,' Snake Eyes replied with his hand signals. 'Don't move. I'll be back in a second.' He opened the

  room door, disappeared into the corridor and returned a few seconds later, pushing a wheeled stretcher in front of him. After positioning the stretcher alongside the bed, he flipped the white sheet back. 'Roll onto this,' he indicated. When Gumshoe had done so, Snake Eyes threw the sheet over him leaving his head uncovered and said with hand signals, 'Keep your eyes closed and don't open them until I tell you to do so. I'll do that by taking hold of the collar of your smock and shaking you roughly. Take that as a sign that you can open your eyes again, but still don't make the mistake of talking. Even there, in that other room, we can only use sign language. Until then, keep your eyes closed and your mouth shut. I only want them to see me wheeling an unconscious man along the corridors, so don't fuck up on me.'