Read Online Revolt in 2100 by Robert A. Heinlein - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert A. Heinlein
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they had been able to tap his unconscious mind. I wondered if he were already dead and remembered that I had gotten him into this, against his good sense. I prayed for his soul and prayed that he would forgive me.
My head jerked to another roundhouse slap. "Wake up! You can hear me-Jones has revealed your sins."
"Revealed what?" I mumbled.
The Grand Inquisitor motioned his assistants aside and leaned over me, his kindly face full of concern. "Please, my son, do this for the Lord-and for me. You have been brave in trying to protect your fellow sinners from the fruits of their folly, but they failed you and your stiff-necked courage no longer means anything. But don't go to judgment with this on your soul. Confess, and let death come with your sins forgiven."
"So you mean to kill me?"
He looked faintly annoyed. "I did not say that. I know that you do not fear death. What you should fear is to meet your Maker with your sins still on your soul. Open your heart and confess."
"Most Reverend Sir, I have nothing to confess."
He turned away from me and gave orders in low, gentle tones. "Continue. The mechanicals this time; I don't wish to burn out his brain."
There is no point in describing what he meant by "the mechanicals" and no sense in making this account needlessly grisly. His methods differed in no important way from torture techniques used in the Middle Ages and even more recently-except that his knowledge of the human nervous system was incomparably greater and his knowledge of behavior psychology made his operations more adroit. In addition, he and his assistants behaved as if they were completely free of any sadistic pleasure in their work; it made them cooly efficient.
But let's skip the details.
I have no notion of how long it took. I must have passed out repeatedly, for my clearest memory is of catching a bucket of ice water in the face not once but over and over again, like a repeating nightmare-each time followed by the inevitable hypo. I don't think I told them anything of any importance while I was awake and the hypno instructions to my unconscious may have protected me while I was out of my head. I seem to remember trying to make up a lie about sins I had never committed; I don't remember what came of it.
I recall vaguely coming semi-awake once and hearing a voice say, "He can take more. His heart is strong."
I was pleasantly dead for a long time, but finally woke up as if from a long sleep. I was stiff and when I tried to shift in bed my side hurt me. I opened my eyes and looked around; I was in bed in a small, windowless but cheerful room. A sweet-faced young woman in a nurse's uniform came quickly to my side and felt my pulse.
"Hello."
"Hello," she answered. "How are we now? Better?"
"What happened?" I asked. "Is it over? Or is this just a rest?"
"Quiet," she admonished. "You are still too weak to talk. But it's over-you are safe among the brethren."
"I was rescued?"
"Yes. Now be quiet." She held up my head and gave me something to drink. I went back to sleep.
It took me days to convalesce and catch up with events. The infirmary in which I woke up was part of a series of sub-basements under the basement proper of a department store in New Jerusalem; there was some sort of underground connection between it and the lodge room under the Palace-just where and how I could not say; I was never in it. While conscious, I mean.
Zeb came to see me as soon as I was allowed to have visitors. I tried to raise up in bed. "Zeb! Zeb boy-I thought you were dead!"
"Who? Me?" He came over and shook my left hand. "What made you think that?"
I told him about the dodge the Inquisitor had tried to pull on me. He shook his head. "I wasn't even arrested. Thanks to you, pal. Johnnie, I'll never call you stupid again. If you hadn't had that flash of genius to rig your sweater so that I could read the sign in it, they might have pulled us both in and neither one of us have gotten out of it alive. As it was, I went
My head jerked to another roundhouse slap. "Wake up! You can hear me-Jones has revealed your sins."
"Revealed what?" I mumbled.
The Grand Inquisitor motioned his assistants aside and leaned over me, his kindly face full of concern. "Please, my son, do this for the Lord-and for me. You have been brave in trying to protect your fellow sinners from the fruits of their folly, but they failed you and your stiff-necked courage no longer means anything. But don't go to judgment with this on your soul. Confess, and let death come with your sins forgiven."
"So you mean to kill me?"
He looked faintly annoyed. "I did not say that. I know that you do not fear death. What you should fear is to meet your Maker with your sins still on your soul. Open your heart and confess."
"Most Reverend Sir, I have nothing to confess."
He turned away from me and gave orders in low, gentle tones. "Continue. The mechanicals this time; I don't wish to burn out his brain."
There is no point in describing what he meant by "the mechanicals" and no sense in making this account needlessly grisly. His methods differed in no important way from torture techniques used in the Middle Ages and even more recently-except that his knowledge of the human nervous system was incomparably greater and his knowledge of behavior psychology made his operations more adroit. In addition, he and his assistants behaved as if they were completely free of any sadistic pleasure in their work; it made them cooly efficient.
But let's skip the details.
I have no notion of how long it took. I must have passed out repeatedly, for my clearest memory is of catching a bucket of ice water in the face not once but over and over again, like a repeating nightmare-each time followed by the inevitable hypo. I don't think I told them anything of any importance while I was awake and the hypno instructions to my unconscious may have protected me while I was out of my head. I seem to remember trying to make up a lie about sins I had never committed; I don't remember what came of it.
I recall vaguely coming semi-awake once and hearing a voice say, "He can take more. His heart is strong."
I was pleasantly dead for a long time, but finally woke up as if from a long sleep. I was stiff and when I tried to shift in bed my side hurt me. I opened my eyes and looked around; I was in bed in a small, windowless but cheerful room. A sweet-faced young woman in a nurse's uniform came quickly to my side and felt my pulse.
"Hello."
"Hello," she answered. "How are we now? Better?"
"What happened?" I asked. "Is it over? Or is this just a rest?"
"Quiet," she admonished. "You are still too weak to talk. But it's over-you are safe among the brethren."
"I was rescued?"
"Yes. Now be quiet." She held up my head and gave me something to drink. I went back to sleep.
It took me days to convalesce and catch up with events. The infirmary in which I woke up was part of a series of sub-basements under the basement proper of a department store in New Jerusalem; there was some sort of underground connection between it and the lodge room under the Palace-just where and how I could not say; I was never in it. While conscious, I mean.
Zeb came to see me as soon as I was allowed to have visitors. I tried to raise up in bed. "Zeb! Zeb boy-I thought you were dead!"
"Who? Me?" He came over and shook my left hand. "What made you think that?"
I told him about the dodge the Inquisitor had tried to pull on me. He shook his head. "I wasn't even arrested. Thanks to you, pal. Johnnie, I'll never call you stupid again. If you hadn't had that flash of genius to rig your sweater so that I could read the sign in it, they might have pulled us both in and neither one of us have gotten out of it alive. As it was, I went
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