[Magazine 1967-­01] - The Light-­Kill Affair - Davis Robert Hart (читаемые книги читать онлайн бесплатно txt) 📗

He prowled the cubicle, less concerned about what would happen to him than for the safety of Illya Kuryakin and Bikini.

Solo had not learned anything about Illya since he had seen him struck down by the light beam in the corridor. And Bikini?

He shook his head in anguish, not permitting himself to think about either of them.

The door opened, suddenly. Solo stared in complete astonishment, his mouth sagged open. Illya Kuryakin walked in.

Solo shook his head, feeling ill. It was Kuryakin—or Kuryakin's body. Illya was dressed in the green fatigues that all the guards wore, and his face was rigid, his eyes empty and staring.

Illya held a light-gun across his chest. He stared straight ahead, at nothing.

Solo gazed at him.

"Illya," he said.

Illya did not even hear him.

"No good to talk to him, Mr. Solo," Nesbitt's voice rattled the intercom. "He's gone quite beyond the reach of your voice."

Solo did not speak again, watching the way Illya stood, like a robot, a living dead man.

"Mr. Kuryakin is your guard, Mr. Solo. Isn't this a nice touch? Eh? I like it irony, Solo. You will die, when your turn comes, among my plants.

"Meantime, I warn you, Mr. Kuryakin has been programmed to kill you if you attempt to escape. An ironic touch that's lovely, eh, Solo?

"Surely you appreciate its grandeur? Guarded by your own former comrade, who is now one of my mindless slaves... Yes, if you try to escape, your own former friend will kill you. As I said, we indeed all of us have inside ourselves the seeds of our own destruction."

The intercom crackled a moment. "And now I am busy, Mr. Solo. You will forgive me if I leave you to the mercies of your former friend? I warn you, he has no memory, no stirring of memory of your past association. If you make a move to escape, or to attack him, he will kill you."

The intercom went dead.

Solo passed his hand nervously across his eyes. "Illya, can't you hear me?" He stared in disbelief at his friend.

Illya didn't move and Solo's helplessness mounted. He said in desperation, "That girl, Illya. We brought her in here—and they are going to kill her—feed her to those plants."

It was as if Illya Kuryakin could not even hear him. He remained unmoving, holding the gun at ready across his chest.

Solo went tense, remembering that Joe had warned Nesbitt that the mindless ones could not be reached by ordinary conversation.

They could be reached only by light, by a voice speaking to them, programming them.

In his anxiety, Napoleon Solo took sudden swift steps toward the door.

Illya jerked the light-gun up, his finger trembling on the trigger. The eyes remained flat, dead.

Solo stopped, forced himself to return to the glass window and then to walk to the other wall, slowly. During this time he planned his next move, not looking toward Illya. He kept everything, every movement casual.

Finally Solo reached the switch which Joe had activated in order to talk to the guard earlier. Then he turned, knowing that Illya would follow.

He kept moving until the beam of the light struck Illya full in the face.

Illya did not blink.

Solo drew a deep breath, forced himself to speak softly, in the kindly, gentle gray tone that Joe had used on the guard. The light in their faces controlled them.

Light controlled everything here. Light was the source of strength, the life giving force for the plants. It meant everything, life, death, power!

Solo trembled with anxiety, realizing he had figured out the key that would open the doors to this place. Light was power, but light had to have a source.

There were no power lines into this canyon. THRUSH would not want outside power. It would open too many avenues to question.

That meant that all this light came from one source. Generators in this building.

Sweating, Solo forced himself to remain calm, to keep his voice low, level, unhurried, gentle.

The lights shone in Illya's eyes. Solo's gentle voice caressed him, "Generators. We must destroy the generators." He said it a dozen times, repeating it slowly, distinctly, without passion.

Then, seeing no response in Illya's face, he began the second phase, repeating it again and again:

"Take me to the generators. Kill anyone who tries to stop us."

Suddenly, Illya stepped out of the direct beam of the light.

Solo held his breath, waiting for Illya to bring the light-gun up to kill him.

Illya Kuryakin nodded—and winked.

THREE

ILLYA PUSHED open the cell door, jerked his head, motioning Solo ahead of him.

In the corridor Illya Kuryakin moved woodenly. Sweating, Napoleon Solo wanted to run, but knew better He kept his pace to that set by Illya.

Suddenly Dr. Nesbitt's voice crackled wildly on the intercom and Solo knew the scientist was watching them on his screen.

Nesbitt screamed. "Guard! You fool! What are you doing? Where are you taking the prisoner?"

Indian Joe's voice crackled across Dr. Nesbitt's on the inter com. "The guard can't hear you, sir—or obey you."

"Stop them!" Dr. Nesbitt shouted.

From the lab-office, two guards raced, following the white-smocked Indian.

"This is it," Solo said from the corner of his mouth.

"Keep walking," Illya ordered.

Behind them, Indian Joe forgot his calm image. He yelled. "Escape. Escape. Stop them. Kill. Kill!"

Illya Kuryakin turned in that wooden manner, lifted the light-gun, pressed the trigger.

Holding his breath, Solo saw Joe and the three guards stagger and fall under the power of the portable light-gun.

"Now run," Illya said.

Solo didn't wait. Illya followed, carrying the gun. He stopped twice, firing along the corridor. At the down exit, Solo pushed through the door. He was half way down the steps before Illya came through and moved after him.

The pulsing of the huge generators reached up to them.

The flat-eyed men working in the engine room did not even look up at them as they ran out on the catwalk above the large turbines.

Illya Kuryakin lifted the light-gun, fired it.

The explosion rocked the engine room.

Darkness was instantaneous and complete. Illya snapped on the small light above the visor of his green cap. This was the only glow in the cavernous dark.

They ran back along the cat walk and up the steps. The building was in complete darkness.

As they came out into the corridor they heard Dr. Nesbitt's voice raging over the intercom. "My plants! The light! My plants!"

The man was beside himself with panic. Madness was in his voice, now completely unmasked.

Solo said, "We have to get Bikini. It may be too late already. Those hellish plants—"

Illya said, "Easier said than done, my friend. But we'll give it a try."

Dr. Nesbitt screamed, "You fools! You can never escape. Come with me. I can make you kings among men! As for the foolish girl—forget her. She is dead. Or she will be before you can do any thing about it! I will save you! I can make you great. I can—"

Illya said, "You are as nutty as a fruitcake, professor. Sorry to be blunt about it, old man, but good old THRUSH sold you down the creek and you can never row back. You're done, old boy. Can't say as how I'm very sorry."

Solo said, "This girl may be dying while you're talking, Illya. Let's go!"

"This way," Illya said. They ran along the corridor, Illya's small cap light bouncing ahead of them.

At door six, Hothouse One, Solo said. "The door, Illya."

Illya turned the light-gun on it.

Solo thrust it open and they ran inside.