Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [11]
***
It was utterly dark when Stormgren awoke. For a moment he was too sleepy to realize how strange that was. Then, as full consciousness dawned, he sat up with a start and felt for the switch beside his bed.
In the darkness his hand encountered a bare stone wall, cold to the touch. He froze instantly, mind and body paralysed by the impact of the unexpected. Then, scarcely believing his senses, he kneeled on the bed and began to explore with his finger-tips that shockingly unfamiliar wall.
He had been doing this only for a moment when there was a sudden click and a section of the darkness slid aside. He caught a glimpse of a man silhouetted against a dimly lit background; then the door closed again and the darkness returned. It happened so swiftly that he had no chance to see anything of the room in which he was lying.
An instant later, he was dazzled by the light of a powerful electric torch. The beam flickered across his face, held him steadily for a moment, then dipped to illuminate the whole bed-which was, he now saw, nothing more than a mattress supported on rough planks.
Out of the darkness a soft voice spoke to him in excellent English, but with an accent which Stormgren could not at first identify.
"Ah, Mr. Secretary-I'm glad to see you're awake. I hope you feel quite all right."
There was something about the last sentence that caught Stormgren's attention, so that the angry questions he had been about to ask died upon his lips. He stared back into the darkness, then replied calmly; "How long have I been Unconscious?"
The other chuckled.
"Several days. We were promised there'd be no after-effects. I'm glad to see it's true."
Partly to gain time, partly to test his own reactions, Stormgren swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was still wearing his night-clothes, but they were badly crumpled and seemed to have gathered considerable dirt. As he moved he felt a slight dizziness-not enough to be unpleasant but sufficient to convince him that he had indeed been drugged.
He turned towards the light.
"Where am I?" he said sharply. "Does Wainwright know about this?"
"Now, don't get excited," replied the shadowy figure. "We won't talk about that sort of thing yet. I guess you're pretty hungry. Get dressed and come along to dinner."
The oval of light slipped across the room and for the first time Stormgren had an idea of its dimensions. It was scarcely a room at all, for the walls seemed bare rock, roughly smoothed into shape. He realized that he was underground, possibly at a great depth. And if he had been unconscious for several days, he might be anywhere on Earth.
The torchlight illuminated a pile of clothes draped over a packing-case.
"This should be enough for you," said the voice from the darkness. "Laundry's rather a problem here, so we grabbed a couple of your suits and half a dozen shirts."
"That," said Stormgren without humour, "was very considerate of you."
"We're sorry about the absence of furniture and electric Light. This place is convenient in some ways, but it rather lacks amenities."
"Convenient for what?" asked Stormgren as he climbed into a shirt. The feel of the familiar cloth beneath his fingers was strangely reassuring.
"Just-convenient," said the voice. "And by the way, since we're likely to spend a good deal of time together, you'd better call me Joe."
"Despite your nationality," retorted Stormgren, "-you're English, aren't you?-I think I could pronounce your real name. It won't be worse than many Finnish ones."
There was a slight pause and the light flickered for an distant.
"Well, I should have expected it," said Joe resignedly. "You must have plenty of practice at this sort of thing."
"It's a useful hobby for a man in my position. At a guess I should say you were brought up in the United States but didn't leave Poland until