Chapter 3
Emma leaned against the Bentley next to the milepost that said BRINDLESHIRE 2. She looked down and gave a smirk to the terrier, who glared back sullenly. He was now securely fastened to his leash to prevent any more sight-seeing trips. They both turned their heads as a strange car came driving up—a drab-green, utilitarian vehicle with low sides and a canvas roof. Steed was at the wheel. Emma stepped out to meet him as he pulled to a stop.
"What is that thing?" she asked.
"It's a Moke," Steed said cheerfully. "At least if it falls in a bog, the two of us can probably pull it out."
"Where's my car?"
"I traded it in. Can you believe they gave me this Moke for it, even Steven? One born every minute!" Steed beamed.
"You what?" Emma's eyes flashed for a moment until she realized he was teasing.
Steed grinned. "Your car is safe in a garage in Brindleshire. As you said earlier, it wouldn't be suitable for exploring the areas out in the field. Although if we want your Lotus back, we'll have to return the Moke in one piece."
"If I don't get my Elan back, you'll be the one who's in pieces."
"Trust me, Mrs. Peel," he said wryly. "You'll never lose your elan."
Emma gave him a look of disapproval. "I met a couple of poachers."
"Did you bring back dinner?"
"They claim to have seen your UFO. One said it was a ship, but the other described it as a glowing ball of light." She sat down next to him in the Moke. "I think it could be a weather balloon."
"What about the glow?" Steed countered.
"Reflective surface, struck by moonlight?" she suggested. "Or maybe someone's purposely illuminating it, to make it look like a spaceship."
"It's certainly possible," he said.
Emma helped the terrier over the pontoon fender and into her lap. "So what did you discover?"
"Oh, not much," Steed replied, casually leaning back and pulling his bowler down to the tip of his nose. "There's a group out here that's trying to make a human computer."
Emma arched an eyebrow. "A human computer?"
Steed nodded. "They call themselves the Brindleshire Research Association Into Neural Interfaces And Computer Systems."
Her expression grew distant for a second as she put the letters together. "BRAINIACS," she announced. "Sounds like a fringe organization."
"Led by a Dr. Cephalus," he added.
"Cadmon Cephalus?" Emma ventured. "He's no crackpot."
Steed straightened his bowler and looked at her. "You've heard of him?"
"He's a neurologist," she said. "I've read his articles in the QJM."
"Sounds like I've found the better clue, then."
"But what about the UFO and the picture of the little green man?" she asked.
"Perhaps he was a seasick Brainiac."
Emma gave him a skeptical look and handed him the dog. "Human computers," she mused absently.
"Mrs. Peel, only one of us is qualified to be a human computer."
"You mean me, because of my intelligence?" she parried.
"Me, because of my attention to detail," he teased.
"I'll assume that was an attempt at sarcasm," Emma gazed levelly at him, "and make plans to see Dr. Cephalus tomorrow."
-oOo-
The road that led up to the Brindleshire Institute was steep enough that it zigzagged severely to reduce the grade. The Moke's engine strained and knocked as Steed guided it through the hairpins. Emma sat next to him, exquisite in her floral summer dress and high heels.
"Why did we use this car?" she asked.
"I plan to do a little field research when you're through," he said. "In an actual field."
"Then I'm glad I brought my leathers." She indicated the tote she had tossed in the back seat. The terrier was nestled in the floor pan next to it, poking his head forward in an attempt to be included in the conversation.
"How do you plan to get in?" Steed asked.
"I called early this morning and talked to the doctor's secretary. She was familiar with some of my articles, so I convinced her that I might cast a favorable light on the doctor's current research."
Steed smiled. "Hard to imagine anyone turning you away at the door dressed like that."
"This is solely for the distraction of any guards," Emma countered, primly straightening her hemline. "I might get the chance to do a little snooping of my own."
As the Moke rounded a final corner at the top of the hill, the ancient building came into view. The architecture was decidedly Gothic, with spires, arches, and sinister gargoyles. Dr. Cephalus had apparently set up the facility as part laboratory, part school, with a row of dormitories off to one side that would allow the staff to live on the premises rather than stay in town. Emma looked off towards the horizon.
"This is where Dr. Cephalus does his research?" she asked.
"Yes. Why?"
"It's also the spot closest to where the poachers claim to have seen the spaceship."
"That must be more than coincidence," Steed commented. "While you're inside, I think I'll have a tour of the grounds."
A stern and well-armed guard at the front of the building foiled Steed's plan by insisting that he wait in the car during the interview. Apparently the doctor had a habit of ejecting reporters in a fit of pique, and no one would dare force Mrs. Peel to walk all the way back to Brindleshire. Emma gave Steed a knowing glance in way of farewell as she was escorted into the Institute.
A waiting room was just off the entrance to the building, and it was here that the great man apparently met his guests. Emma sat patiently until the side door opened to admit an imposing, older man wearing a white lab coat. His face was babyish, almost kind; disheveled tufts of gray hair marked the sides and top of his head. She rose to her feet.
"I'm Emma Peel."
He shook the hand she offered. "I read your article on Guillain-Barre syndrome in The Lancet," he said. "You have a remarkable understanding of neuropathies for someone without a medical degree."
"I was just proposing that it might be responsible for some paralysis formerly attributed to polio." Emma took the seat he indicated opposite him across the desk. There were a handful of circuit boards scattered across its surface, doubtless to impress any visitors. She picked up one of the modules and said, "It appears you've given up medicine for computer science."
"Far from it," he smiled. "In fact, the reverse is true." Dr. Cephalus closed the folder in front of him, as if to prove he wasn't about to read a prepared speech.
"We have entered the age of the thinking machine," he began. "Eventually, computers will do everything for us—assign our jobs, perform our banking, diagnose our illnesses, choose our mates. We cannot let man be left behind."
"I see," she said evenly.
"Man is ideally suited to compete head-to-head with the computer," Cephalus explained. "We only use a small percentage of the human brain during our daily lives, in spite of its enormous capacity." He gestured to a plaster model of a cranium on the corner of the desk. "Each one of us possesses a computer that would shame the UNIVAC, but are unable to tap into its true power. A hundred random thoughts flit through our minds every minute, distracting us from the performance of any serious calculation. If only there was a way to reduce this noise, and allow brains to work together in harmony towards the accomplishment of a single task, man could rise above the machine."
"So that's the focus of your research?" Emma asked as she jotted on the pad she held. "Disciplining the human mind to behave like a computer?"
"Do I detect a note of disapproval, Mrs. Peel?" the doctor ventured. "I thought that you might be someone who could appreciate my work."
"Computers will never be able to replace man," she said. "Man will never be able to replace computers, either. Each has their place."
Dr. Cephalus gave her a look of irritation. "That is the typical opinion of those who are unenlightened about the capabilities of the human brain."
Remembering the doctor's tendency to throw out interviewers, Emma steered toward safer waters. "How do you hope to achieve this equality between man and machine? Mental training? Or with drugs?"
"Both psychological and chemical methods are useful," he answered. "I've set up classrooms here at this Institute where my Brainiacs strive to become the perfect processors of data, each one a cog in a larger machine."
Emma shifted uncomfortably at the thought. "How can you get the minds of separate people to work in unison on a single problem?" she asked.
"Through the use of a neural interface." Cephalus picked up one of the circuit boards. "The brain operates using simple electricity, like a radio set. The signals going into and out of it can be manipulated in much the same way."
"People aren't just appliances you can turn on and off," she commented.
"Electrically speaking, they are."
"But what about their feelings and emotions?"
"Thanks to the new techniques, my Brainiacs aren't bothered by those weaknesses," he said. "Perhaps you'd be interested in sampling some of my methods? I promise you an enlightening experience."
"I think I'll pass." Emma closed her notepad with a resounding thump. "Maybe later, if my editor shows a deeper interest in your project."
Dr. Cephalus gave her an icy smile. "I look forward to meeting you again, Mrs. Peel."
-oOo-
Emma walked quickly past the guard towards the waiting Moke. Steed had already started the engine.
"Did you learn anything?" he asked.
She cast a backward glance over her shoulder as she shook her head. "He seems a little crazy, but it's a dangerous kind of crazy."
"Dr. Alling said something similar." Steed guided the vehicle slowly away. "Do you think his research is far enough along that he has a system to decrypt the Hazard Codes?"
"Impossible to tell. He did mention that he was using drugs and training on his subjects, but wasn't specific on how they effectively become a computer. It involves some circuitry that he calls a 'neural interface.'"
"So if we want to meet a Brainiac, we just look for someone who's wired up like a Christmas tree?"
"Cephalus described it involving signals, like a radio, so I don't think he needs to perform surgery to implant the interface," she answered. "I suspect that it could function at a distance."
"Dr. Alling was right, then," Steed grinned. "We really might need some tinfoil hats."
Now out of sight of the Institute, Steed gunned the Moke back down the hill, slewing through the turns until he came to a weather-beaten access road. Without a word to Emma, he turned onto the trail and went at full speed for nearly a minute before having to slow down due to the soggy terrain. As they approached an empty field ringed by trees, the terrier stirred restlessly from the rear seat and attempted to lunge out of the slow-moving vehicle. Emma managed to stop him in his flight and attach the leash as Steed came to a halt.
"Spumi has to go, again?" she said in exasperation.
"Just trying to mark his territory, Mrs. Peel."
"He's already annexed more territory than Manifest Destiny."
"This is near the spot where our spy disappeared," Steed said. "I was going to stop here anyway."
Emma nodded as she handed him the leash. "I suspected as much when you took the detour." She stood up next to the Moke and fished her tote out of the rear seat. "You take the dog. I'm going to change."
Steed walked towards the nearby field and unhooked the leash to let the terrier run free. Emma frowned.
"I'll never get him trained if you keep doing that," she chided. She turned away, and Steed thought she might have been angry until he saw her lift her auburn tresses to reveal the nape of her neck.
"Unzip me," she commanded.
Steed strolled over and complied, the parting fabric exposing her bare back crossed only by a thin strip of lingerie. He leaned over her shoulder with his lips close to her ear. "That begs the question, who zipped you up this morning?"
"It's not polite to beg," she countered playfully. "Don't come back until you've counted to five hundred." Emma kicked off her high heels. "By ones, not tens."
Steed tipped his hat as he stepped away. "It would be more than a gentleman's reputation was worth."
A few clipped barks alerted him to the terrier's activities in the grass. Steed trotted over to stay a few paces behind the animal as it darted from tuft to tussock. The dog's path was winding slowly towards the end of the field near the forest.
Steed knew the terrier was onto something when it broke into its spinning, tail-chasing dance. The dog had detected an irregularity in the grass. Steed probed around in the sod with his fingers until he discovered a metal edge. With a mighty heave, he sprang the trapdoor open and was greeted by a rush of cool air. He was about to peer inside when a rag bobbed teasingly over his shoulder.
"Your hands are dirty." Emma had crept up silently behind him, dressed in her skin-tight leathers and boots.
"Thank you, Mrs. Peel." He watched the way her catsuit wrinkled as she squatted next to him at the hole's edge. After wiping his hands, Steed threw the light-colored rag down into the darkness; it hit bottom about six feet below ground level.
"They must land the craft out here, then file underground," he said.
Emma gestured back to the grassy field. "Shouldn't there be swirl marks?" she teased. "You know, where the saucer lands?"
"Alternatively, perhaps they use this tunnel to come outside, to launch one of your weather balloons," Steed offered.
"A lot of work just to frighten the locals," Emma commented.
"Indeed; the presence of UFO's would only draw attention to the area, not dispel it. To take such chances, they must be using this field to fly something important out."
"Or up," Emma said wryly, pointing overhead to some still-visible morning stars.
Steed dropped his umbrella and bowler into the opening and eased himself after them, hanging onto the hole's edge until his feet contacted the stone floor of the tunnel. Then he helped Emma down while the dog fidgeted on the surface. Finally, he beckoned the terrier and caught it mid-leap in his arms. Without warning, a counterweight swung the trapdoor closed, plunging them into utter blackness.
"I probably should have made sure we had some light before jumping in," Steed said.
"Save your matches for now." Emma's hand groped for and found his in the darkness. "I'll lead going down the tunnel. We can follow Spumi's sound until we get to the end. Don't let go of me."
For several minutes they moved in silence, tracking the steady tick-tick of the dog's toenails on the damp rock.
Emma gasped as the floor suddenly sloped downward, causing Steed's hand to slip from hers as she stumbled forward at high speed. It was all she could do to keep from tripping over her own feet until the grade leveled off. When she reached the bottom, she panted to regain her breath. The terrier had broken into a run to avoid her and was impatiently clicking around farther down the tunnel.
"I guess we needed some light after all," she commented. On receiving no reply, she tentatively called out, "Steed?"
"Marco," came a distant answer.
"Polo," she responded, then repeated it as she heard Steed's footsteps draw nearer.
"We wouldn't have been separated if you hadn't let go of my hand," she scolded.
"I didn't want to be dragged forward," Steed explained. "I've been counting our steps. Over three hundred yards. We should be directly beneath the Institute by now."
"Do you think the spy from Bentwaters found this tunnel?"
"I'm sure of it." He found her arm and rode his fingers down it until he once again held her hand. "I'll lead from here on."
"So just what are you expecting to find when we reach the end?" Emma smirked. "A roomful of little green men?"
They rounded a corner, and suddenly the blackness was chased away by a distant phosphorescent glow. Steed crept forward in absolute silence to the chamber entrance while Emma mirrored his movements.
The room was filled with row upon row of reclining leather couches, each one occupied by a helmeted person just like the one in the spy's photograph. The intermittent hiss of breaths being indrawn through the respirator hoses was the only sound. The floor was bathed in a dim fluorescent light provided from high overhead. Their skin seemed to pulsate an eerie green.
Emma pulled up beside Steed and nudged him with her hip.
"Don't say 'I told you so,'" she whispered.
-oOo-
