The Pavilion held fewer prisoners now than in the years when the present political overlords were emerging. And it had confirmed the civil servant’s foresight: Nobody had ever escaped from it.
After an extremely smooth takeoff and a short climb the aircraft settled in its course, with near-silent engines; only an occasional slipping sensation let Tallon know he was moving through the sky. He sat listening to the whisper of air and the infrequent whine of control servos, then drifted into an uneasy sleep.
He awoke to the sound of the engines in full throat, the big jets hammering fierce vibrations through the plane’s structure. Tallon gripped the armrests of his seat. A few agonizing seconds went by in his private night-world before he realized what was happening: The big aircraft was making a vertical landing. At Emm Luther’s gravity this maneuver involved such a prodigious expenditure of fuel that it would only be done either in an emergency or in a landing where there was no room for even a primitive airstrip. Tailon decided they had arrived at the Pavilion.
Coming down the steps from the passenger door, Tallon’s first impression was of the warmth of the air in contrast to the bitter winds of the New Wittenburg winter. He had forgotten that the thousand-mile flight would bring him close to the planet’s tropics. As he was being guided across an area of rippled concrete, with heat coming through the soles of his thin boots, Tallon sensed the nearness of the sea with a sudden stab of anguish. He had always liked looking at the sea. He was led through a doorway and along a succession of echoing corridors, then finally into a quiet room, where he was pushed into a chair. The booted feet withdrew. Wondering if he was alone, Tallon turned his head from side to side, aware of his utter helplessness.
“Well, Tallon, this is just about the end of the line for you. I guess you’ll be glad to rest for a while.” The voice was deep and strong. Tallon visualized its owner as a big man of about fifty. The important thing was that he had been spoken to personally, and not unkindly. Another human mind was reaching out through the darkness. He opened his mouth to reply, but his throat felt tight. He nodded his bead, feeling like a schoolboy.
“Don’t worry, Tallon. The reaction is catching up with you. I’ll see you get something to help you over the next few days. I’m Dr. Muller, head of the psychology department attached to the prison. I’m going to give you a routine check to make sure that you-know-what has been permanently erased from your memory; then I’m going to hand you over to my colleague, Dr. Heck, who’ll see what be can do about your eyes.”
“My eyes!” Tallon felt an irrational surge of hope. “Do you mean … ?”
“That’s not my department, Tallon. Dr. Heck will examine you as soon as I’m finished, and I’m sure he’ll do everything that can be done.”
Absorbed with the idea that perhaps his eyes were not so badly damaged as he had imagined, Tallon sat patiently through the testing procedures, which took nearly an hour. The program involved more than a dozen tiny injections, some of which brought on sharp attacks of nausea and dizziness. Questions were thrown at him continually, often in women’s voices, although he had heard nobody else enter the room. Sometimes the interrogative voices seemed to be originating right inside his head — persuasive, seductive, or frightening in turn, and always irresistible. Tallon heard his own voice gasping out incoherent replies. Finally he felt the terminals being stripped from his head and body.
“That appears to be that, Tallon,” Dr. Muller said. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re clear. I’m going to certify you as a normal class-three security risk, which means you’ll join the other detainees and will have all the customary privileges. In a way, you’re lucky.”
“I take it you use the word in a very loose sense, Doctor.” Tallon fingered the bandages over his eyes. “Or do you mean lucky in comparison with some of the others Cherkassky has brought in here?”
“I mean, considering the sort of information you had, any other government in the universe, including that of Earth, would have executed you immediately.”
“Cherkassky tried to execute my mind. Do you know he kept on pressing the red button on that — ”
“Enough!” Muller’s voice had lost its friendliness. “That isn’t my department.”
“My mistake, Doctor. I thought you said you were head of psychology. Or is it that you don’t want to think too much about the kind of men you work for?”
There was a long silence. When Muller spoke again he had regained his professional warmth. “I’m prescribing something to get you through the backlash period, Tallon. I’m sure you’ll find you’ll settle down here very well. Now Dr. Heck will see you.”
Muller must have given a signal of some kind, for a door opened quietly and Tallon felt a hand grasp his arm. He was led out of the room and along more corridors. The medical block, if that’s what it was, seemed a lot bigger than he had expected. Although lagging behind Earth in many fields of research, it was possible that Emm Luther could be advanced in surgical techniques. After all, Tallon thought, this is the twenty-second century. There are all kinds of things that can be done for an injured person — microsurgery, cell regeneration, electron surgery, tissue welding.
By the time he was escorted into a room that smelled of antiseptics, Tallon was drenched with perspiration and shaking uncontrollably. Someone guided him to what felt like a high couch and made him lie down. A feeling of warmth on his forehead and lips told him that powerful lights were shining on his face. There was a short delay during which he heard soft footsteps and the rustle of clothing near by. He fought to check the trembling, but it was impossible; the single breath of hope had shattered his control.
“Well now, Mr. Tallon.” The man’s voice had the slight German accent common on Emm Luther. “You’re nervous, I see. Dr. Muller said you’d be in need of medication. I think we’ll give you a couple of cc’s of one of our blends of distilled tranquility.”
“I don’t need it,” Tallon said determinedly. “If it’s all right with you, I’d just like to get on with the … with the …”
“I understand. Let’s see now.”
Tallon felt the bandages being gently cut away from his eyes; and then, incredibly, Dr. Heck began to whistle.
“Oh, yes, I see … I see. An unfortunate accident, of course, but things could have been worse, Mr. Tallon. I think we can fix this up for you without too much difficulty. It will take a week or so, but we’ll be able to patch you up all right.”
“Do you mean it?” Tallon drew in an ecstatic, shuddering breath. “Do you really mean you’ll be able to do something with my eyes?”
“Of course. We’ll start work on the eyelids in the morning — that’s the trickiest part — and we’ll clean up the bridge of the nose and do something about the brows.”
“But my eyes — what about my eyes?”
“No problem. What color would you like?”
“Color?” Tallon felt a chill of fear.
“Yes,” Heck said cheerfully. “It’s small recompense for being blind, but we can give you a really beautiful pair of brown plastic eyes. Or you can have blue — but with your coloring I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Tallon made no reply. An icy eternity went by before he felt the welcome needle slide into his arm.
five
The daily routine at the Pavilion, as explained to Tallon, was a simple one — simpler for him than for the other prisoners, for he was excused from all activities except the three daily prayer sessions. As far as he could tell, the Pavilion was more like an army training camp than a prison. The inmates worked seven hours a day at a variety of menial jobs, with a minimum of regimentation, and had a library and sports facilities. In a way it was quite a pleasant place to be, except that there was only one sentence — life.