Dead Ringer Page 3

*

  Dane went in, surprised when no guards followed him. But they hadthought of everything. What looked like a screen on the window had beenrecently installed and it was strong enough to prevent his escape.Blessed are the poor, for they shall be poorly guarded!

  He was turning on the shower when he heard the sound of voices comingthrough the door. He left the water running and came back to listen.Sylvia was speaking.

  "--seems so logical, so completely rational."

  "It makes him a dangerous person," Buehl answered, and there was nofalse warmth in his voice now. "Sylvia, you've got to admit it toyourself. All the reason and analysis in the world won't convince himhe's wrong. This time we'll have to use shock treatment. Burn over thosememories, fade them out. It's the only possible course."

  There was a pause and then a sigh. "I suppose you're right."

  Dane didn't wait to hear more. He drew back, while his mind fought toaccept the hideous reality. Shock treatment! The works, if what he knewof psychiatry was correct. Enough of it to erase his memories--a part ofhimself. It wasn't therapy Buehl was considering; it couldn't be.

  It was the answer of an alien that had a human in its hands--one whoknew too much!

  He might have guessed. What better place for an alien than in the guiseof a psychiatrist? Where else was there the chance for all the refined,modern torture needed to burn out a man's mind? Dane had spent ten yearsin fear of being discovered by them--and now Buehl had him.

  Sylvia? He couldn't be sure. Probably she was human. It wouldn't makeany difference. There was nothing he could do through her. Either shewas part of the game or she really thought him mad.

  Dane tried the window again, but it was hopeless. There would be noescape this time. Buehl couldn't risk it. The shock treatment--orwhatever Buehl would use under the name of shock treatment--would beginat once. It would be easy to slip, to use an overdose of something, tomake sure Dane was killed. Or there were ways of making sure it didn'tmatter. They could leave him alive, but take his mind away.

  In alien hands, human psychiatry could do worse than all the medievaltorture chambers!

  * * * * *

  The sickness grew in his stomach as he considered the worst that couldhappen. Death he could accept, if he had to. He could even face thechance of torture by itself, as he had accepted the danger while tryingto have his facts published. But to have his mind taken from him, a stepat a time--to watch his personality, his ego, rotted away under him--andto know that he would wind up as a drooling idiot....

  He made his decision, almost as quickly as he had come to realize whatBuehl must be.

  There was a razor in the medicine chest. It was a safety razor, ofcourse, but the blade was sharp and it would be big enough. There was notime for careful planning. One of the guards might come in at any momentif they thought he was taking too long.

  Some fear came back as he leaned over the wash basin, staring at histhroat, fingering the suddenly murderous blade. But the pain wouldn'tlast long--a lot less than there would be under shock treatment, andless pain. He'd read enough to feel sure of that.

  Twice he braced himself and failed at the last second. His mind flashedout in wild schemes, fighting against what it knew had to be done.

  The world still had to be warned! If he could escape, somehow ... if hecould still find a way.... He couldn't quit, no matter how impossiblethings looked.

  But he knew better. There was nothing one man could do against thealiens in this world they had taken over. He'd never had a chance. Manhad been chained already by carefully developed ridicule againstsuperstition, by carefully indoctrinated gobbledegook about insanity,persecution complexes, and all the rest.

  For a second, Dane even considered the possibility that he was insane.But he knew it was only a blind effort to cling to life. There had beenno insanity in him when he'd groped for evidence in the coffin and foundit empty!

  He leaned over the wash basin, his eyes focused on his throat, and hishand came down and around, carrying the razor blade through a lethalsemicircle.

  * * * * *

  Dane Phillips watched fear give place to sickness on his face as thepain lanced through him and the blood spurted.

  He watched horror creep up to replace the sickness while the bleedingstopped and the gash began closing.

  By the time he recognized his expression as the same one he'd seen onhis father's face at the window so long ago, the wound was completelyhealed.

  --LESTER DEL REY

  Transcriber's Note:

  This etext was produced from _Galaxy Science Fiction_ November 1956. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.