The Collected Stories

by Earl

  “No, no! Vince——”

  But he had already stepped to the supply closet and was rummaging around. The girl watched him with beating heart. He turned on the electric soldering iron after finding several yards of silver wire.

  “Vince! Have you gone mad!”

  HE whirled upon her, his face kindling. “No, far from it. I’m doing the sanest thing I know. This is something bigger than—just you and me! In that short time I was sitting there, I learned much, saw much that I can’t attempt to explain. Dora”—his voice became gentler—“listen to me for a minute and believe in me. I still love you, never fear. Nothing could change that. But, at present, there are other things.

  “Your father was a great man—how great the future will reveal. Behind that panel lie ten human brains, ten mighty thinking brains that connect to a living person’s mind by a complex system of electrical contacts. Those two wires you ripped from their lugs carry to these sensitive relays at each side of my head the full thinking capacity of those ten brains.”

  Renolf’s voice became reflective: “Really, Dr. Hartwell’s—your father’s—idea was obviously sound. It had been thought of before. But it remained for him and his clever genius to find a way of converting thought messages into electrical impulses. Then he went farther and found the way to establish contact between two brains—one living, one dead!”

  Dora shuddered, recalling how her father had paid enormous sums of money to get brain organs for his experiments. Dead brains—but not decayed—fresh, not more than five days after death of the body. It had been done in secrecy, so that the public would not hear of it and shout “Frankenstein!”

  Dead brains, immediately immersed in a fluid that halted decay! Then days, weeks, of labor, attuning a delicate thought receptor to the brain’s emanations, And those emanations—they were induced by an apparatus that stimulated the brain to give off its indelible memory impressions. Thus, the intricate work done, they had at their command everything the brain had absorbed during life.

  The brains themselves were not ordinary ones—not those of criminals or average people. They had been, during life, the thought centers of great scientists, great scholars—great thinkers. They had been retrieved from the grave at a terrific cost. At a terrific cost that Dr. Hartwell had paid willingly, eagerly. And those brains—with all their combined lore—lay quiescent behind the panel. Dead and inanimate, but able to wield a mighty power through what they had been during life.

  “The next step, of course,” went on the young assistant, “was to connect a number of dead brains together, and lead their combined mental knowledge to one receptor. He did that too—great man that he was! And with that combination of ten powerful brains, the recipient of their memory lore becomes—a superman!”

  The girl sucked in her breath sharply.

  “A superman!” repeated Vincent. “I know it, I felt it there as I sat with the life impressions of ten brains surging through my one mind. Perhaps it is that the interweaving of ten minds that in life had covered in their activity practically all of human knowledge, produces in the recipient mind new thought. New thought, Dora, that pygmies our total human conception!”

  “But Vince,” essayed the girl, finding her voice, “isn’t there something—diabolical about it? Somehow, as you sat there—something like a living Sphinx might—I felt an awe, even a fear——”

  The man picked up the electric iron. “Dora, there is nothing to fear from this. With my new-found power I can enrich mankind’s store of knowledge immeasurably. With those wires connected I am ten great minds working as one. I can invent things, discover things, preach things, never before suspected. I can shove the world ahead a century.”

  He soldered one wire to its lug and its end to the broken end that went to his headband. Then he brought the glowing iron toward the other wire.

  “Wait, Vince!”

  Her voice beseeching, Dora went on: “Vince, when are you—coming back again? That being with the wires connected, I cannot love him—only you, Vince, without the wisdom of ten brains staring out of your eyes!”

  THE YOUNG MAN patted her hand soothingly. “I promise you that in, let’s say five hours—that will be breakfast time—I will take off the head-gear. You ought to go to bed till then; you’re tired and worn out.”

  The girl drew herself up firmly. “I should say not. I’ll stay with you and with——” Her eyes went to her father’s body.

  “As for that,” said the man slowly, “we will attend to the funeral later in the day.”

  Then he completed the last connection. Dora watched his face. She saw again an incredible wisdom suffuse his eyes, saw his lips tighten, his brow become furrowed. Where a moment before he had looked at her with tenderness, now his face reflected only distant recognition. Involuntarily, the girl fell back a step.

  Renolf—the new Renolf—spent a long minute in silent thought. Then he strode to the workbench, able to reach any part of the room with the extended range of the wires. He picked a tool here, a coil there, rummaged in the cabinets below for other small objects, and finally surveyed a heap of articles before him. Then, with deft fingers, he began to put together a queer apparatus, embodying, among other things, photoelectric cells, coils, and radio condensers. The girl grew weary watching his purposeful and incredibly rapid work, and sat down in a comfortable chair. Her father had often snatched short winks in that same chair when working all night. She slept.

  When Dora awoke with a start, the clock indicated that it lacked but a few minutes of the time for Renolf to remove his headband. In fact, he himself had awakened her. She saw first of all that the wires were down, were disconnected. The glad cry on her lips died as she saw that despite this, Renolf was still the superman. Then he spoke in his sonorous voice: “You will notice that I have accomplished my aim of the moment. I have eliminated the use of wires between myself and the panel. Henceforth the connection is through the ether. That is the first step in my plans. Now, because I have promised you——”

  He removed the headband, laying it carefully on the bench. There was a moment of bewilderment, a transition of facial expression, and then once again the genial young man, vibrant with life, stood before her—no longer a superman.

  “Dora,” he said, a vague undercurrent of exultance in his voice. “It is marvelous—uncanny even—what mental power this places at my disposal!”

  His eyes went to the figure of the dead scientist, a deep reverence in them. But suddenly they narrowed and he strode rapidly toward the couch on which the body lay. On the floor near by was a small envelope. Renolf picked it up.

  “What is it?” queried the girl in surprise. “I did not notice it before.”

  “It is addressed to me,” informed Renolf. “Evidently he took it from his coat pocket just before the end came. Somehow you missed seeing it.”

  TEARING the envelope carefully, the young assistant extracted from it several sheets of paper inscribed with Dr. Hartwell’s fine script. Amazement dawned in Vincent’s face as he read. Dora watched him in silence, wondering what these last words of her father could be.

  After reading the last lines, Vincent seemed to lose himself in a trance. A mixture of perplexity and wonder was on his face. Dora went over to him and touched his arm. He started and then silently handed her the sheets. Dora read:

  To my assistant, Vincent A. Renolf. I am writing this hurriedly on the spur of the moment. To-night we shall know if the supermentality we wish to create will be the result of a connection between yourself and the ten-brain unit. I write this because—well, it’s almost a premonition that I may not live through this day. It is no secret that my heart is weak.

  I must not take any chances of leaving you uninformed on certain points, and yet I did not wish to broach them before success had rewarded my efforts to create a superman. These points are very important, because I realize more than you what this will mean.

  My work on this project, you may and may not have suspected, was for a p
urpose. I did not merely wish to create a supermentality for my self-glorification.

  I wished to give to the world a superman who would in some way—great or small—be of benefit to mankind. And if you, as you read this, are indeed that superman—and I am no more—remember that my hands created you, and that you must be what I wish you to be, or else earn the inner revilement which comes with the betrayal of a trust.

  Go out into the world as a superman, Renolf, and do that which you can for the betterment of mankind. You have a tremendous power for good. Beware of letting a lust for power overwhelm you in your course, for then you may do incalculable harm. I cannot guide you in your course, but your better judgment will be your best check and rein. Yet I have no fear that you will misuse your new-found power. I have come to trust in you, my boy, and could not think of a better man to entrust with this great secret.

  And let me secondly admonish you never to reveal this secret, or give the ten-brain unit into other hands. What you can do with it, do. Let no other share in your knowledge, for others could do no more, and there are many chances that they would misuse this great scientific gift.

  Lastly, I must reveal something which I have kept a secret even from you, because it seemed so utterly mad, and was impossible of verification. It is this: Some three months ago, while attuning one of the delicate sensory cells that make contact between two of our inanimate brains, I caught a suggestion of exterior excitation. You know the sensory cell is basically a radio receiving set, with thought waves—or the electronic waves we substitute for the actual thought waves—instead of radio waves running through its coils.

  The mysterious excitation which made itself felt to me because of the excess power I was feeding into the pulse valve, startled me. I bent closer and the sensation—something like a sixth sense—grew stronger. I was astounded to feel the thought emanations from some powerful exterior source.

  You were busy at the time in the chemical lab, and I spent the next two hours trying to track down the mysterious thought emanation. The power exponent was twenty-five, which meant it was equal to the combined radiations of a thousand human brains within a radius of one mile. But a thousand brains all thinking in one thought band, so as not to heterodyne! This being a paradox, an impossibility, I knew it could not be explained in that way. If only there had been a certain way of tracing back to the focal point!

  To be brief, this strange thought radiation was inexplainable. And it had me worried—because it was a radiation of menace! How do I know this? I cannot say. The message itself was unintelligible. In all the time I listened I understood no one thought—no one particle of the message, whatever it could be. And that is queer, because thought has a language of its own. If it was human thought, regardless of whether coming from a Chinese or Arabian, it should be intelligible. It wasn’t—and therefore it wasn’t human thought.

  Then what was it? I wish I knew the answer! Could it have come from space? Think of the tremendous power necessary to give a power exponent of twenty-five from even as close a body as the Moon! I cannot give you the answer, Renolf, and I mention it because I felt it as a distinct menace—a menace to Earth and humankind! You will think I’m crazed, that the nearness of the great test tonight has twisted my mind. So I thought myself when the mysterious emanation stopped, and I had a chance to think it over.

  But not three days later it came again, when I was setting up the last sensory cell for Unit-B2. After that I made it a habit to watch for the radiation every odd moment I had. I was going to let you hear it too the next time it came. But it never came again after that!

  You will wonder why I have told you of this. And the reason is because I want you to remember it, and watch for it yourself. Sometime it may come again.

  If you are in contact with the ten-brain unit, it will perhaps be an intelligible message to you. It is a mystery that must be solved—must be solved because I feel it is a menace!

  In conclusion let me say that if I am not with you when you begin your career as a superman—and I will not be with you if you are reading this letter—you must plan carefully every move you make. Use every ounce of sagacity and judgment Heaven gave you in that great work of benefiting Earth. And Dora, my dear daughter—she loves you, Vincent She will be a splendid helpmate both for yourself and your work in the world. God bless you both.

  JOSHUA HARTWELL.

  WHEN Dora finished reading, she looked up and for a moment their eyes locked in silent amazement. It came as a shock to the girl that her father had had such a definite purpose in making his ten-brain unit. Now she understood why Vincent had had no choice but to reconnect the wires when she had broken them. He had been close in her father’s confidence—must have sensed what he had in mind all along. But this other thing—this mysterious menace——

  “Oh, Vince! What can it mean?” The man answered, knowing what she had in mind. “I don’t know myself, Dora. This is the first I’ve heard of it, and it sounds mad—preposterous!”

  “Do you think”—she choked a bit—“that father was perhaps after all——”

  “No! Not that,” exploded Vincent. “Whatever he meant, he meant it in his right mind. Your father may have had a weak heart, but he had a proportionately strong mind. However, no use to conjecture on the matter. Come, let’s have something to eat.”

  He led the way upstairs to the living quarters, and over a breakfast table explained to her what the future entailed.

  “First of all, your father must be given a decent, but not widely publicized, funeral. Secondly, the apparatus which gives me my new-found power must be kept a secret. There might be investigations later—and trouble. Then I will work toward one goal—benefiting the world with your father’s great work, in accordance with his last message to us.

  “Almost nothing is impossible to me now. Inventions, discoveries, new scientific processes—they will pour from my mind and those ten other great minds. For we will all be working as one unit, as one super brain. But not only those things. I am also going to try to right the wrongs of this world—the most glaring ones.

  “There are governments that can be changed—should be changed. Laws can be readjusted. Clever and ruthless persons who live off the fat of the land can be put to honest labor. Crime can be stamped out, if not completely, at least to a great extent. Propaganda, misinformation, fraud—they are blights that can be wiped out. A big order, yes, but we can do it! We can make this world a saner, happier place—because we have power! Power of the mind. And that, Dora, is a greater power than any other!”

  Vincent stopped for breath, and a shining light was in his eyes—almost a fanatic light. The girl grew afraid. Even Vincent, her own Vincent, was being affected by this, her father’s deed. Perhaps the change would grow, would take him away from her—forever!

  “Vince, dear!” Her voice was timid. “And us, Vince, what about that?” Renolf started out of a trance. His voice was absent-minded. “About us? Well, time will take care of that.”

  Then his voice became more natural, more personal, as he saw the hurt look in her suddenly lowered eyes. “Dora, please! You must understand. Our marriage must wait. How long I don’t know. But for a while I must concentrate on my duty. I belong now—to that which your father made me!”

  And so it was to be. The funeral was carried out in all solemnity, but in practical secrecy. The flesh of Dr. Hartwell was laid away from mortal eyes without ostentation. Only his daughter was there to mourn him as a loved relative. Then it was over, and they plunged into their work.

  II.

  “NO MORE FUNDS?” queried Renolf—the super-Renolf—quietly.

  Dora shook her head. “I did not know it, but father had put practically everything, his whole fortune, in this work. It is gone now. There is not enough to pay even the servants.”

  It was a week after the momentous night in which Dr. Hartwell had seen his life work turn into success. He had put his all into it, even his life, as a last installment. In that week Renolf had labo
red almost ceaselessly in the huge laboratory. A notebook had begun to bulge with formulae and data—stupendous things produced by ten masterful brains producing through One that was alive and receptive.

  Dora was changed from that night. In those seven days certain things had clarified and stared starkly in her face. The new Renolf, pushing himself with giant effort, had hardly time to look at her, had barely time to bark orders to her—for she was skilled in laboratory technique—and guide her efforts to help.

  Only at night, when taking a four-hour sleep, did he remove his headband, and then only to give her a wan smile or perhaps a word of encouragement. Of their love he said nothing. And Dora knew that she could never stop loving him. She was even beginning to love the new Renolf, glorying in his achievements. Only in a glimmering way did she understand the superhuman results he was getting in the laboratory, but it stunned her mind. It was a new genius. Colossal. Stupendous beyond ordinary conception.

  “No funds? Well, then we must get some.”

  Saying this, Renolf sat down at a desk and wrote for an hour. Intricate formulae came from his swift hand. Diagrams that illustrated crudely but effectively an apparatus with queer globes set in geometrical order within a spheroid of glass. Then he folded the sheets and put them in an envelope.

  “Take these to the In-your-home Television Co. Let them read it. Take a lawyer along as witness. When they are prepared to make an offer, ask for a million dollars, cash without limit. It is not my intention to allow inventions to get in private hands, but since we need funds to go ahead, I will make this exception.”

  Dora went as he directed. The lawyer with her was skeptical, and went along only because he still believed her account to run into hundreds of thousands. The head of the In-your-home Television Co.—they had been trying to put television in the home for ten years—was frankly uninterested.

  “Let my head technician see it?” he spluttered. “Why, my dear young lady, his time is worth money. I’m sorry but——”