Chapter II

The sound of his cell door opening awakened Joel the next morning. It was a new guard, he saw with disappointment, a perfectly normal human, smelling of tobacco, sweat and stale clothes--a man-like unmistakable odor.

They went into an elevator and so to the roof where the police helicopter was waiting. Joel climbed into the cab, looked out the window as the 'copter rose smoothly into the air.

The rim of the sun was showing above a low range of wooded hills. The town of Clear Springs was bathed in limpid morning light. With a catch in his throat he caught sight of the sun deck of his own home. They would still be abed there--his mother and father and his ex-wife.

It was strange to think that he'd never see them again. It made him realize the finality of this journey.

A human guinea-pig!

They had been traveling for several hours when his eyes were attracted by the sparkle of sunlight dead ahead. Then he made out a huge plastic dome cupping hundreds of acres.

The Experimental Station!

The police 'copter lit with a slight jar on the thick green sward of the landing field. Joel climbed down stiffly.

Seen from the ground, the structure took his breath away. It was a tremendous dome of clear plastic like a glass beehive. Thousands of tiny figures could be seen moving about its many levels.

No tree grew around the hive. On all sides gently rolling meadows studded with grazing sheep, goats and cattle fell away, for miles.

He began to appreciate why no prisoner had escaped from the station in over a hundred years!

A guard challenged them at the entrance.

Joel's escort produced his papers and the circular plastic gate rolled ponderously aside.

They walked down a short corridor and were challenged a second time. Joel heard the gate roll back, roll shut. A feeling of helplessness swept over him.

It was the door of life, he thought, that had shut behind him.

* * * * *

The white-suited attendant who had signed the receipt for Joel led him into one of the opaque offices, where a stout man in a white smock sat behind a black plastic desk.

"A new arrival, sir," said the attendant. "Name of Joel Hakkyt from Clear Springs Community. Convicted on two counts. Maladjustment and manslaughter."

"Ahh," wheezed the stout man and eased himself back in his chair. Joel noticed that his eyebrows slanted upward giving a sardonic cast to his rubicund countenance.

The attendant laid the papers softly on the ebony desk and withdrew.

There was a strong antiseptic smell to the station. It clung to everything, the offices and corridors, the inmates and attendants. It was so strong that it baffled Joel's keen scent.

"Manslaughter." The stout man, picked up the papers, glanced at them briefly. "I see you underwent examination as a child for abnormal vision."

"Yes," agreed Joel, "I've a much higher percentage of light sensitive rods in my eyes than average. I've always been able to see about as well after dark as a cat."

"What did the Eugenics Board say?"

Joel's homely features broke into a grin. "They had their hands full explaining how they let me slip past when I was born."

"There wasn't anything done about it?"

"Oh, I was put under observation. They decided it was a harmless aberration, but I was forbidden to reproduce."

"But I see you were allowed to marry?"

"My wife was not considered good breeding stock either."

"I see." The fat man pursed his lips, gave Joel an appraising glance. "How did you happen to kill your superior at the State Cattle Farm?"

Joel's face darkened.

"It was an accident. I hit him with my fist. I hit him too hard and broke his neck."

"Roll up your sleeve!"

Joel did so in surprise. He glanced down. With a start he saw that the puncture where the humanoid guard had inserted the needle was fluorescing a vivid green. The room must be bathed in black light! Involuntarily he jerked down the sleeve.

"It's all right," said the stout man. "It's what I was looking for."

"What does it mean?" Joel asked when he had recovered from his surprise.

"Mean? It means that you're a legitimate maladjustment case and not a damned spy sent in here by the Senate."

"But...."

The fat man lifted his hand. He said, "I'm Doctor Chedwick, Emile Chedwick. I'm in charge of induction. Sit down, my boy."

Joel sank suspiciously into a relaxer. Doctor Chedwick drummed on the shiny black desk top.

"Understand," he began, "the men and women who are sentenced to the Experimental Station expect to die. And sooner or later they all do die. Some of them rather horribly."

Joel began to fidget. He knew this. Everyone knew it.

"What you don't know," said Doctor Chedwick almost as if reading Joel's mind, "is that there is a chance for you to escape this!"

Joel went rigid. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on the pale gray eyes of the man behind the desk.

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. There's an acute labor shortage on Asgard, second planet of Alpha Centauri A. Last year the planters petitioned the Senate to assign them a number of malcontents from the Experimental Stations. There has been an alarming increase in maladjusted cases recently. More than the stations could handle. The Senate jumped at the chance to get rid of the excess."

In spite of his eagerness Joel felt a vague shock. "But that's slavery."

Doctor Chedwick shrugged. "Would you rather work on the plantations or die in some experiment?"

"Why--why--" Joel burst out, "I'd rather work!"

"Exactly. So would the others."

Joel said, "But why the tattoo mark? Why all the secrecy? And the guard. What is the guard?"

"The less you know about that the safer you'll be." Doctor Chedwick's mouth shut like a trap. He stabbed at a button on his desk. "You'll be contacted on Asgard. Everything will be explained then. Meanwhile say nothing about the tattoo mark. Say nothing about our conversation to any one. Understand?"

Joel nodded.

The door opened and the attendant reappeared.

Doctor Chedwick said, "Put this man in 745B. He's had training and practical experience in animal husbandry and he's husky as an ox. He's to be shipped to Asgard with the next labor battalion. Take him away."

* * * * *

The attendant turned Joel over to a guard who escorted him from the offices into the clear plastic division of the dome. It was like stepping out into space. He sucked in his breath. He could see straight down through level after level for hundreds of feet.

Dormitories lined the passage on either hand. He could see men and women asleep in their bunks, sitting at tables, taking showers or dressing. The transparent walls were soundproof, and Joel experienced the peculiar sensation of walking through an animated silence.

They were approaching a small ante chamber that must be a guard room. Half a dozen armed and uniformed men were sitting about a table playing cards.

Beyond the transparent walls of the guard room Joel could see into another chamber. It was long and low and lined with bunks like the fo'cs'le of a spaceship. Forty or fifty people in gray were milling about two men on the floor who seemed to be doing their best to murder each other.

"Here's a new guinea-pig for the labor battalion, Captain," said Joel's escort, pushing him into the guard room.

With a grunt of annoyance, a tall man rose from the table and surveyed Joel with bleak gray eyes. His blue tunic was unbuttoned at the throat, his holster pushed around in back.

"Papers," he snapped.

Joel's escort handed over a folder, which the captain took to his desk.

Joel's eyes returned to the next room. It was like being in a soundproof broadcasting cage, watching two men batter at each other beyond the glass.

One of the men had the other by the throat and was throttling him. The strangler's arms were corded; his face shone with sweat; there was an insane fixed glare in his eyes. The other man's tongue was protruding, as he tore at his assailant's wrists.

"My God!" Joel burst out. "Aren't you going to break it up?"

"Let them kill themselves," said the captain indifferently. He opened the door. "In with you," he said and shoved Joel into the melee.

Bedlam burst on his ears as he stumbled into the room.

A woman was screaming in a shrill hysterical voice. The men milled about pushing to see better. No one paid any attention to him.

He clenched his fists. He couldn't stand by and watch a man murdered.

Impulsively, he shouldered through the press, got his hands on the strangler's wrists, tore them away.

"Here!" somebody yelled. "Leave 'em be, you fool!"

He ignored the warning, heaved the man from his victim.

The fellow came to his feet, stared at him with that glazed intensity as if he didn't realize what had happened. Then without a sound he hurled himself at Joel's throat!