Asimov, Isaac - Foundation 08 - Pebble In The Sky

by Pebble In The Sky (lit)

  Ennius was chagrined at the anger he had raised. Even the best of these Earthmen, he thought, have the same blind spot, the same, feeling of Earth versus all the universe.

  He said tactfully, "Shekt, forgive my boorishness, will you? Take my youth and boredom as excuse. You see before you a poor man, a young fellow of forty-and forty is the age of a babe in the professional civil service-who is grinding out his apprenticeship here on Earth. It may be years before the fools in the Bureau of the Outer Provinces remember me long enough to; promote me to something less deadly. Sol we are both prisoners of Earth and both citizens of the great world of the mind in which there is distinction of neither planet nor physical characteristics. Give me your hand, then, and let us be friends."

  The lines on Shekt's face smoothed out, or, more exactly, were replaced by others more indicative of good humor. He laughed outright. "The words are the words of a suppliant, but the tone is still that of the Imperial career diplomat. You are a poor actor, Procurator."

  Then counter me, by being a good teacher, and tell me of this Synapsifier of yours."

  Shekt started visibly and frowned. "What, you have heard of the instrument? You are then a physicist as well as an administrator?"

  "All knowledge is my province. But seriously, Shekt, I would really like to know."

  The physicist peered closely at the other and seemed doubtful. He rose and his gnarled hand lifted to his lip, which it pinched thoughtfully. "I scarcely know where to begin."

  "Well Stars above, if you are considering at which point in the mathematical theory you are to begin, I'll simplify your problem. Abandon them all. I know nothing of your functions and tensors and what not."

  Shekt's eyes twinkled. "Well, then, to, stick to descriptive matter -only, it is simply a device intended to increase the learning capacity of a human being."

  "Of a human being? Really! And does it work?"

  "I wish we knew. Much more work is necessary. I'll give you the essentials, Procurator, and you can judge for yourself. The nervous system in man-and in animals is composed of neuroprotein material. Such material consists of huge molecules in very precarious electrical balance. The slightest stimulus will upset one, which will right itself by upsetting the next, which will repeat the process, until the brain is reached. The brain itself is an immense grouping of similar molecules which are connected among themselves in all possible ways. Since there are something like ten to the twentieth power-that is, a one with twenty zeroes after it-such neuroproteins in the brain, the number of possible combinations are of the order of factorial ten to, the twentieth power. This is a number so large that if all the electrons and protons in the universe were, made universes themselves, and all the electrons and protons in all of these new universes again made universes, then all the electrons and protons in all the universes so created would still be nothing in comparison. . . . Do; you follow me?"

  "Not a word, thank the Stars. If I even attempted to, I should bark like a dog for sheer pain of the intellect."

  "Hmp. Well, in any case, what we call nerve impulses are merely the progressive electronic unbalance that proceeds along the nerves to the brain and then from the brain back along the nerves. Do, you get that?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, blessings on you for a genius, then. As long as this impulse continues along a nerve cell, it proceeds at a rapid rate, since the neuroproteins are practically in contact. However, nerve cells are limited in extent, and between each nerve, cell and the next is a very thin partition of non-nervous tissue. In other words, two adjoining nerve cells do not actually connect with each other."

  "Ah," said Ennius, "and the, nervous impulse must jump the barrier."

  "Exactly! The partition drops the strength of the impulse and slows the speed of its transmission according" to, the square of the width thereof. This holds for the brain as well. But imagine, now, if some means could be found to lower the dielectric, constant of this partition between the cells."

  "The what constant?"

  "The insulating strength of the partition. That's all I mean. If that were decreased, the impulse would jump the gap more easily. You would think faster and learn faster."

  "Well, then, I come back to my original question. Does it work?"

  "I have, tried the instrument on animals."

  "And with what result?"

  "Why, that most die very quickly of denaturation of brain protein--coagulation, in other words, like hard boiling an egg."

  Ennius winced. "There is something ineffably cruel about the cold-bloodedness of science. What about those that didn't die?"

  "Not conclusive, since they're not human beings. The burden of the evidence seems to be favorable, for them. . . . But I need humans. You see, it is a matter for the natural electronic properties of the individual brain. Each brain gives rise to microcurrents of a certain type. None are exactly duplicates. They're like fingerprints, or the, blood-vessel patterns of the retina. If anything, they're even more individual. The treatment, I believe, must take, that into account, and, if I am right, there will be no, more denaturation. . . . But I have no human beings on whom to experiment. I ask for volunteers, but-" He: spread his hands.

  "I certainly don't blame them, old man," said Ennius. "But seriously, should the instrument be perfected, what do you intend doing with it?"

  The physicist shrugged. "That's not for me to say. It would be up to the Grand Council, of course."

  "You would not consider making the invention available to the Empire?"

  "I? I have no objections at all. But only the Grand Council has jurisdiction over-"

  "Oh," said Ennius with impatience, "the, devil with your Grand Council. I have had dealings with them before. Would you be willing to; talk to them at the proper time?"

  "Why, what influence could I possibly have?"

  "You might tell them that if Earth could produce a Synapsifier that would be applicable to, human beings in complete safety, and if the device were made available to the Galaxy, then some of the restrictions on emigration to other planets might be broken down."

  "What," said Shekt sarcastically, "and risk epidemics and our differentness and our non-humanity?"

  "You might," said Ennius quietly, "even be removed en masse to another planet. Consider it."

  The door opened at this point and a young lady brushed her way in past the book-film cabinet. She destroyed the musty atmosphere of the cloistered study with an automatic breath of spring. At the sight of a stranger she reddened slightly and turned.

  "Come in, Pola," called Shekt hastily. "My Lord," he said to, Ennius, "I believe you have never met my daughter. Pola, this is Lord Ennius, Procurator of Earth."

  The Procurator was on his feet with an easy gallantry that negated her first wild attempt at a curtsy.

  "My dear Miss Shekt," he said, "you are an ornament I did not believe Earth capable of producing. You would, indeed, be an ornament on any world I can think of."

  He took Pola's hand, which was quickly and somewhat bashfully extended to, meet his gesture. For a moment Ennius made as if to kiss it, in the courtly fashion of the past generation, but the intention, if such it was, never came to fruition. Half lifted, the hand was released-a trace too quickly, perhaps.

  Pola, with the slightest of frowns, said, "I'm overwhelmed at your kindness, my Lord, to a simple girl of Earth. You are brave and gallant to, dare infection as, you do."

  Shekt cleared his throat and interrupted. "My daughter, Procurator, is, completing her studies at the University of Chica and is obtaining some needed field credits by spending two days a week in my laboratory as a technician. A competent girl, and though I say it with the pride of a father, she may someday sit in my place."

  "Father," said Pola gently, "I have some important information for you." She hesitated.

  "Shall I leave?" said Ennius, quietly.

  "No, no," said Shekt. "What is it, Pola?"

  The girl said, "We have, a volunteer, Father."

  S
hekt stared, almost stupidly. "For the, Synapsifier?"

  "So he says."

  "Well," said Ennius, "I bring you good fortune, I see."

  "So it would seem." Shekt turned to, his daughter. "Tell him to wait. Take him to Room C, and I'll be with him soon."

  He turned to, Ennius after Pola left. "Will you excuse me, Procurator?"

  "Certainly. How long does the operation take?"

  "It's a matter of hours, I'm afraid. Do you wish to watch?"

  "I can imagine nothing more gruesome, my dear Shekt. I'll be in the State, House till tomorrow. Will you tell me the result?"

  Shekt seemed relieved. "Yes, certainly."

  "Good. . . . And think over what I said about your Synapsifier. Your new royal road to knowledge."

  Ennius left, less at ease than when he had arrived; his knowledge, no, greater, his fears much increased.

  chapter 5 the involuntary volunteer

  Once alone, Dr. Shekt, quietly and cautiously, touched the summoner, and a young technician entered hurriedly, white robe sparkling, long brown hair carefully bound back.

  Dr. Shekt said, "Has Pola told you-"

  "Yes, Dr. Shekt. I've observed him through the visiplate, and he must undoubtedly be a legitimate volunteer. He's certainly not a subject sent in the usual manner."

  "Ought I refer, to, the Council, do, you suppose?"

  "I don't know what to advise. The Council wouldn't approve of any ordinary communication. Any beam can be tapped, you know." Then, eagerly, "Suppose I get rid of him. I can tell him we need men under thirty. The subject is easily thirty-five."

  I "No, no. I'd better see him." Shekt's mind was a cold whirl. So, far things had been most judiciously handled. Just enough information to lend a spurious frankness, but no more. And now an actual volunteer-and immediately after Ennius's visit. Was there a connection? Shekt himself had but the vaguest knowledge of the giant misty forces that were now beginning to wrestle back and forth across the blasted face of Earth. But, in a way, he knew enough. Enough to feel himself at the mercy of them, and certainly more than any of the Ancients suspected he knew.

  Yet what could he do, since his life was doubly in danger?

  Ten minutes later Dr. Shekt was peering helplessly at the gnarled farmer standing before him, cap in hand, head half averted, as though attempting to avoid a too close scrutiny. His age, thought Shekt, was certainly under forty, but the hard life of the soil was no, flatterer, of men. The man's cheeks were reddened beneath the leathery brown, and there were distinct traces of perspiration at the hairline and the temples, though the room was cool. The man's hands were fumbling at each other.

  "Now, my dear sir," said Shekt kindly, "I understand you refuse to give your name."

  Arbin's was a blind stubbornness. "I was told no, questions would be asked if you had a volunteer."

  "Hmm. Well, is there anything at all you would like to say? Or do you just want to be treated immediately?"

  "Me? Here, now?" in sudden panic. "It's not myself, bat's the volunteer. I didn't say anything to give that impression."

  "No? You mean someone else is the volunteer?"

  "Certainly. What would I want-"

  "I understand. Is the subject, this, other man, with you?"

  "In a way," said Arbin cautiously.

  "All right. Now, look, just tell us whatever you wish. Everything you say will be held in strict confidence, and we'll help you in whatever way we can. Agreed?"

  The, farmer ducked his head, as a sort of rudimentary gesture of respect. "Thank you. It's like this, sir. We have a man about the farm, a distant-uh-relative. He helps, you understand-"

  Arbin swallowed with difficulty, and Shekt nodded gravely.

  Arbin continued. "He's a very willing worker and a very good worker-we had a son, you see, but he died and my good woman and myself, you see, need the help -she's not well-we could not get along without him, scarcely." He felt that somehow the story was a complete mess.

  But the gaunt scientist nodded at him. "And this relative of yours is the one you wish treated?"

  "Why, yes, I thought I had said that-but you'll pardon me if this takes me some time. You see, the poor fellow is not-exactly right in his head." He hurried on, furiously. "He is not sick, you understand. He is not wrong so that he has to, be put away. He's just slow. He doesn't talk, you see."

  "He can't talk?" Shekt seemed startled.

  "Oh-he can. It's just that he doesn't like to. He doesn't talk well."

  The physicist looked dubious. "And you want the Synapsifier to improve his mentality, eh?"

  Slowly, Arbin nodded. "If he knew a bit more, sir, why, he, could do some of the work my wife can't, you see."

  "He might die. Do, you understand that?"

  Arbin looked at him helplessly, and his fingers writhed furiously.

  Shekt said, "I'd need his consent."

  The farmer shook his head slowly, stubbornly. "He won't understand." Then, urgently, almost beneath his breath, "Why, look, sir, I'm sure you'll understand me.

  You don't look like a man who, doesn't know what a hard life is. This man is getting old. It's not a question of the Sixty, you see, but what if, in the next Census, they think he's a half-wit and-and take him away? We don't like to, lose him, and that's why we, bring him here.

  "The reason I'm trying to, be secret-like is that maybe -maybe" and Arbin's eyes swiveled involuntarily at the walls, as if to, penetrate them by sheer will and detect the listeners that might be behind-"well, maybe the, Ancients won't like what I'm doing. Maybe trying to save an afflicted man can be judged as against the Customs, but life is hard, sir. . . . And it would be useful to you. You have asked for volunteers."

  "I know. Where is your relative?"

  Arbin took the chance. "Out in my biwheel, if no one's found him. He wouldn't be able to take care of himself if anyone has-"

  "Well, we'll hope he's safe. You and I will go out right now and bring the car around to our basement garage. I'll see to, it that no one knows of his presence but ourselves and my helpers. And I assure you, that you won't be in trouble with the Brotherhood."

  His arm dropped in friendly fashion to Arbin's shoulder, who grinned spasmodically. To the farmer it was like, a rope loosening from about his neck.

  Shekt looked down at the plump, balding figure upon the couch. The patient was unconscious, breathing a deeply and regularly. He had spoken unintelligibly, had understood nothing. Yet there had been none of the physical stigmata of feeble-mindedness. Reflexes had been in order, for an old man.

  Old! Hmm.

  He looked across at Arbin, who watched everything with a glance like a vise.

  "Would you like us to take a bone analysis?''

  "No," cried Arbin. Then, more softly, "I don't want anything that might be identification."

  "It might help us-be safer, you know-if we knew his age." said Shekt.

  "He's fifty." said Arbin shortly.

  The 'physicist shrugged. It didn't matter. Again he looked at the sleeper. When brought in, the subject had visible happened-not even to, the fear-sharpened sense of the watching Arbin. After what might have been hours, but was actually less than three minutes, Shekt's thumb moved again.

  His assistant bent over the, still-sleeping Schwartz hurriedly, then looked up triumphantly. "He's alive."

  There remained yet several hours, during' which a library of recordings were taken, to an undertone of almost wild excitement. It was well past midnight when the hypodermic was pressed home and the sleeper's eyes fluttered.

  Shekt stepped back, bloodless but happy. He dabbed at his forehead with the back of a hand. "It's all right."

  He turned to, Arbin firmly. "He must stay with us a few days, sir. "

  The look of alarm grew madly in Arbin's eyes. "But but-"

  "No, no, you must rely on me," urgently. "He will be safe; I will stake my life on it. I am staking my life on it. Leave him to, us; no one will see him but ourselves. If you take him with you now, he
may not survive. What good will that do you? . . . And if he does die, you may have to explain the corpse to the Ancients."

  It was the last that did the trick. Arbin swallowed and said, "But look, how am I to know when to come and take him? I won't give you my name! "

  But it was submission. Shekt said, "I'm not asking you for your name. Come a week from today at ten in the evening. I'll be waiting for you at the door of the garage, the one, we took in your biwheel at. You must believe me, man; you have nothing to fear."

  It was evening when Arbin arrowed out of Chica. Twenty-four hours had passed since the stranger bad pounded at his door, and in that time he had doubled his crimes against the Customs. Would be ever be safe again?