Demons

by Gardner Dozois

  The young man was silent.

  Cord said: "Harvey Jayne bought the patent application only after he knew it worked. The whole thing depended on whether John Fast could reproduce it in the lab. Paul, how could you be so sure it would work?"

  "If John did it right, it couldn't not work. I copied the examples right out of something in the library. Somebody's college thesis."

  Patrick brightened. "Alec?"

  Cord shook his head. "Nothing like that ever turned up in our literature searches. We hit the Dissertation Abstracts, all the way back to the beginning."

  Patrick turned back to Paul Bleeker. "You'll have to tell us more about this thesis. What was the name of the student? We'd also like the name of the university, and the year. In fact, anything and everything you can remember."

  "All I can remember is these runs, tucked away in the back pages. They didn't really seem pertinent to the main body of the thesis. Other than that, I can't remember anything."

  "You must have seen the title page," pressed Patrick.

  "I guess so."

  "You could identify it if you saw the thesis again?"

  "Sure, but it's gone."

  "Gone?"

  "The library just had it on loan. They have hundreds come in this way. Our people keep them a while, then send them back. You know the procedure."

  "There must be some record."

  Cord shook his head. "We've checked all the inter-library loans for the past five years. We found nothing. If Paul's memory is correct on the facts, that it was within the last five years, and the library did have it on loan, we are led to the conclusion that the thesis was done by somebody here at Hope, and lent on a personal basis to the library, without any formal record."

  Patrick groaned. "Our own inventor, here all the time? That's all we need. He'll scream. He'll take it to court. We've got to find him first, before he finds us." He turned to Cord. "Alec, add it all up for us, will you?"

  "It admits of precise calculation," said Cord, "in the manner of a chess combination. There are two primary variations. Each of these has several main subvariations. None of them is really difficult. The only problem is to recognize that our tactics are absolutely controlled, move by move, by events as they develop."

  Patrick raised his hand. "Not so fast. Let's take the main angles. The primary variations.

  "First primary. We do nothing. If we're senior party in the interference, this means we take no testimony, but rely purely on our filing date. Chances: better than even. If we're junior party, we lose hands down.

  "Second primary. We fight. Firstly, this gives subvariant A. With Paul's help we find the real inventor. We buy this invention from him, and if he hasn't already published, we file good and true application for him. We enter a motion to substitute a new case for Paul's case, and then we expressly abandon Paul's case. If this inventor actually has published in the way Paul remembers, this gives subvariant B. We find that thesis, then we move to dissolve the interference, contending that the sole count li unpatentable over the disclosures in the thesis."

  Patrick twisted his mustache nervously. "However you state it, we wind up with no chance of a patent. Maybe we can live with that. Perhaps we can forego a patent-based monopoly. But there's one thing we must have—and that's the right to build the plant, free and clear from interference or infringement of anybody else's patent. Can we tell the board we have that right? The board wants to know. They're going to vote on it Monday. And I don't think we can tell them anything . . . not yet. The economics and market are there. Everything hangs on the patent situation. Bleeker says the vote will be to build, if the patent picture is clear. We're holding the whole thing up in our shop right here." He turned back to Cord. "Alec, take it from the college thesis. Run the variations off from that."

  "Variation One," said Cord, "the thesis is a good reference. This means it adequately describes the invention, that it was at least typewritten, that it was placed on the shelves at the university library, available to all who might ask for it, and that all of this was done more than one year before either Paul or his opponent filed their respective cases. This would support the motion to dissolve. Both parties would lose, and neither would get a patent, fraudulent or otherwise. With no basic patent to be infringed, it follows that anybody could build a Neol plant. Paul's application would be given a prompt final rejection and would be transferred to the abandoned files in the Patent Office. Then it would lie buried until destroyed under the twenty-year rule. Nobody would ever learn about it.

  "Variation Two. The thesis for some reason is not citable as a good, sufficient and competent reference under the Patent Office rules. For example, we might not find it in time, or if we do find it, it might really present substantial differences from Paul's disclosure. Even if we are senior party, we will not be able to negotiate a settlement of the interference without grave danger of discovery of what Paul did. If we turn out to be junior party, it's even more certain we can't settle the interference, but there's actually less risk of being found out, if only because the opposition won't talk to us."

  Patrick's mouth dropped. "All right. We always come back to the thesis. We've got to find it. If we find it, we can build a Neol plant. If we can't find it, we can't build a Neol plant, and even worse things will probably happen to a number of people in this company." He turned to Cord. "Have you and Paul exhausted every possibility, every lead?"

  Cord nodded glumly. Paul Bleeker bent over and put his face in his hands.

  Patrick sighed. He thought, I'll have to do it the hard way. Tonight. He said, "Paul, you'll be over tonight, won't you?"

  "Yes, Con."

  "Thanks, fellows. Paul, would you ask Sullivan to come in?"

  He must needes goe whom the devill doth drive.

  John Heywood

  Patrick smiled at Sullivan. "Good morning, Mike. How are those Neol cases coming?"

  "We're in good shape. John Fast and I will need a couple of more weeks, though. It's a whole series of cases. Covers the catalysts, the whole pilot-plant set up, the vapor phase job, everything. John and I get together every morning and dictate this stuff to Willow. She types her notes in the afternoon. Except that as of now she's about a week behind in transcription. If she left right now, the Neol patent cases would be in quite a hole."

  Patrick met Sullivan's studied gaze noncommittally. He knows, he thought. They all know about Willow. He said easily, "I guess you're right. How about John? Will he stick with your program?"

  Sullivan shrugged his shoulders. "He'd better. We need him. But like I said, he needs us, too. And he insisted that you approve the contract. Do you want to see it?"

  Patrick shifted uncomfortably. "It's nearly ten o'clock. He'll be here in a minute. You can read it to both of us, then."

  Sullivan smiled. "You're getting off easy."

  Patrick said, "I know what you're thinking, Mike. And you're right. We are going to turn him over to the psychiatrist. But not just yet. Not until you get these last three Neol disclosures written up. Another couple of weeks won't hurt him."

  Sullivan's smile deepened.

  Patrick said, "Medically, it certainly can't hurt to humor him."

  Sullivan laughed. "Con, you're a sham, a fraud, and a hypocrite. Preserve him long enough for him to file his cases, then let him drop dead."

  Patrick bridled. "That's putting it a little strong. If I thought for a moment—"

  "Oh, come off it, Con. We're all on edge with this thing. Anyhow, you can take comfort in the thought that the Patent Department has simply ground out one more contract, one out of a hundred a year, doing their daily hacking, what they are paid to do, and therefore what they rejoice in doing. If you look at it that way, you have served your client to the very best of your ability, and at night you can sleep with sound conscience."

  Patrick growled, "If I didn't need you—"

  Sullivan held up his hand. "Speak of the devil—"

  "Come in," called Patrick.

  Jo
hn Fast entered the room. He was an average-looking man, average size, of an average grayness. His face was almost without expression, perhaps a little sad. There was something unnerving in his eyes. They were acquainted with—

  Horror? thought Patrick, wondering. No. That was too simple. John Fast was acquainted with the sub-elements of horror, with the building stones of terror, and with the unrest of darkness. And this was the man whom he would need tonight. "Hello, John," he said, genially. "I hear your Neol cases are going a mile a minute."

  "Going nicely, Con, thanks." Fast looked at Sullivan, then back at Patrick. "Is my contract ready?"

  "Contract? Yes, of course, the contract. Mike and I have been going over it. Before we read it to you, though, we'd like to make sure we've covered everything. Now Mike here has heard your story, but I haven't. I'd like to hear it from you, straight, exactly the way it happened."

  "It's a long story, Con."

  "We've got lots of time."

  "All right, then." Fast took a deep breath; his eyes grew distant. "I think it began with a ozonator. You know what ozone smells like? It's sharp, electric. In certain concentrations it's hard to distinguish from chlorine or sulfur dioxide. You know how the Bible talks about brimstone? Brimstone is sulfur, but there wasn't any sulfur in Palestine. The old prophets were just trying to identify an odor that was there long before they learned about sulfur. This creature moves in an atmosphere of ozone. He moves around in time and space, and to do this he applies an electrical field on the space-time continuum. Ozone is sort of a by-product, the same as when you run an electric motor. So this thing moves around in a fog of ozone. Not only that, ozone seems to attract him, the way nectar attracts bees.

  "For a long time I didn't really realize he was around. And then last week I met him. It might have been an accident. But with all this Freudian theory, maybe there's no such thing as an accident. Maybe, on a subconscious level, I did it deliberately. Anyhow, you know we have a big structural formula of pentacyclopropane drawn in white paint on the floor of the pilot plant. This makes a star, with the methylene groups as the five points. It is also a pentagram—a starlike geometric design used in certain . . . rituals. Within the history of the United States, people have been burnt for making a pentagram. The stage was set. Just one more thing was needed: the Lord's Prayer recited backwards. This was provided. I'm a steady church-goer. Bible class on Sunday mornings. Last Sunday I took my office tape recorder to Bible class. Yes, we said the Lord's Prayer. It was still on the tape when I was going to dictate my monthly progress report. I rewound the tape, so there it was, everything going backwards on audio. I was inside the pentagram. And suddenly, there—it—was, on the other side. I was so scared I was petrified. I wasn't surprised. Just scared. Maybe that means I knew what I was doing. So we stared at each other. Except I wasn't sure what I was staring at. But it was definitely a shape, with arms, head, eyes "

  "You were tired," said Patrick. "You know how fatigue can induce hallucinations."

  "It's not that simple, Con. There—was—there is—something there, some kind of elemental force. It's a being, an intelligent being. And powerful, in strange ways. It can . . . alter the laws of chemistry and physics. I got it to increase the yield of terpineol—'Neol.' At first, by about ten percent. Then another ten percent. It was easy. And then last night we started up the pilot plant. We ran the C-10 through first, cold, just to flush the lines and check the flow meters. We got the ozonator tied in about midnight. Now you understand the ozone won't start reacting with the C-10 until you hit about one sixty F., and we'd planned to turn steam into the jacket after the ozone concentration had built up to about five percent. But the reactor began to warm up. It hit one sixty in a matter of seconds. The two technicians on shift were scared. They ran over behind the explosion mat. I stayed put. I knew what was going on. He was doing it. I wanted to know how far he could push it. I shunted the C-10 through the flow meter. I switched in the product receiver. It took about thirty minutes to feed one pound mole of C-10 . . . exactly one hundred and thirty pounds. I shut everything off. I had been watching the product scales all along, so I knew what it was going to be. It was one hundred fifty-four pounds, one pound mole of Neol, exactly. Yield: one hundred percent of theory.

  "They came out from behind the mats, then. They looked at the graphs. Nobody believed the graphs. They looked for a weighing error. They knew it couldn't happen. So I told them to check the meters. The meters were all right. I knew there was nothing wrong with the meters. Then we started another run. The reaction didn't start cold this time. So we turned the steam into the jacket. That was supposed to start the reaction. We usually start getting terpineol in the receiver at about one sixty. We watched it for a good hour. Not a drop of product. Just C-10 going in, C-10 coming out. We couldn't explain it. We were making ozone. The ozonator was O.K. We had the right concentration of C-10, the right temperature, mole ratio, space velocity, everything was right. But not a gram of terpineol was coming out. He wanted to show me, you understand, that he could control it either way. But he was going to leave it up to me which way it went. I didn't want to decide right then. I didn't know what to do. Just then I didn't even know how I could tell him, if I did decide. So we simply shut down and knocked off.

  "I went home, but I couldn't sleep. I tried to think it through. And I guess I did think it through. This being can put me through. With him on my side I can do anything. There's no position in this corporation I couldn't have. And that would just be a starter. I don't know where the end would be. So I want to make the deal. I know exactly what I want. And what he wants. He wants, well, he wants me. Not my body, really, or anything like that. It's more like something mental. He wants to take it from me a little at a time, like a parasitical drain. But it wouldn't affect me physically or mentally. In fact, I'd get sharper all the time. And whatever it is, it would go slowly, day by day, that I wouldn't notice it. This goes on for years. I'll even have a normal life expectancy. When he's got all of it, I'll die. And that's the deal. The next thing is to get it down on paper. Something he and I can both sign. A binding contract. It doesn't matter whether you believe he exists. Call him the Devil if you like. And call the thing I'm giving him, my soul. A lot of people who believe in God don't believe the Devil exists. And some of them don't believe in souls, either. Although, as I said, it isn't really that simple."

  There was a long silence.

  "The contract?" prompted Fast.

  Patrick nodded, as in a dream, to Sullivan.

  Sullivan began: "This Agreement, made as of this blank day of blank, in the year of our Lord—"

  "Not 'of our Lord,' " said Fast.

  "Quite so," said Sullivan. "I'll fix that." He continued: ". . . By and between John Fast, hereinafter sometimes referred to as 'Fast', and His Satanic Majesty, hereinafter sometimes referred to as 'The Devil,' Witnesseth: Whereas Fast is desirous of certain improvements in his present circumstances; and Whereas The Devil is able to cause and bring about said improvements; now therefore, in consideration of the mutual promises herein contained, and for other good and valuable consideration, the receipt of which is hereby acknowledged, the parties agree as follows: Article One. The Devil shall promptly cause the Hope Chemical Company to erect a plant for the production of terpineol, hereinafter referred to as 'Neol,' and to make Fast the manager thereof. The Devil shall, with all deliberate speed, cause Fast to become a world-famous chemist, rich, respected, and to win at least two Nobel prizes. Without limiting the generality of the foregoing, The Devil will immediately enter upon the performance, and will continue same, for the full term of this Agreement, of every obligation set forth on Exhibit A, annexed hereto, and incorporated by reference herein."

  Sullivan looked up at Fast. "You wrote out the list?"

  "Right here."

  "Mark it 'Exhibit A,' " said Sullivan. He continued. "Article Two. Fast hereby assigns, grants, conveys, sets over, and transfers all his right, title, and interest in and to his soul,
to the said Devil, on the death of Fast; provided, however, that Fast shall live until the age of seventy, and that during said period The Devil shall have met faithfully, and in a good and workmanlike manner, all his obligations, both general and specific, as above set forth."

  Patrick nodded. "That's fine."

  "We had to change some of our 'boiler-plate' clauses," said Sullivan. "Others we had to leave out altogether. For example, we thought it best to omit completely the 'Force Majeure' clause, whereby the Devil is relieved from his obligation to perform, if prevented by an Act of God, but can nevertheless require you to perform, that is, give up your soul!"

  "Logical," agreed Fast.

  "And we had to change the 'construction and validity' clause. Ordinarily we provide that our contracts shall be construed, and their validity determined, under the laws of the State of New York. However, we think that under New York law the contract might be held invalid, as having an immoral object, and hence unenforceable by either side. So we changed it to Hawaiian law."

  "Yes," said Fast. "It's all ready to sign, then?"

  "Right there, there're lines for the signatures of both, ah, parties," said Sullivan. "Are we to understand, John, that the Devil will actually affix his signature to this document, in real pen and ink?"

  "I sign in blood," said Fast calmly. "How he signs, I'm not really sure. All I know is, he'll do something, maybe make a special appearance, to let me know that he accepts."

  "I see," said Patrick. (He saw nothing.) He asked curiously, "But why do you think you need the Devil? An energetic man with a solid technical background and a high I.Q. in a big, growing chemical company doesn't need assistance such as this."

  Fast looked at him in surprise. "Coming from you, Con, that's a very strange question."