(4/15) The Golden Age of Science Fiction Volume IV: An Anthology of 50 Short Stories

by Various

  The mathematics that Baker said a kid could poke holes in. Fenwick didn't know. He hadn't checked the math.

  Where was the gimmick?

  In the afternoon they took him out for field tests again. A rise behind the barn was about a mile from a similar rise on Sam Atkins' place. They communicated across that distance in all the ways, including various kinds of codes, that Fenwick could think of to find some evidence of hoax. Afterwards, they returned to the laboratory and sawed in two the crystals they had just used. Then they showed him the tests they had devised to determine the nature of the radiation between the crystals.

  He did not find the gimmick.

  By the end of the day Ellerbee seemed beat, as if he'd been under a heavy strain all day long. And then Fenwick realized that was actually the case. Ellerbee wanted desperately to have someone believe in him, believe in his communication device. Not only had he used all the reasoning power at his command, he had been straining physically to induce Fenwick to believe.

  Through it all, however, Sam Atkins seemed to remain bland and utterly at ease, as if it made absolutely no difference to him, whatever.

  "I guess we've just about shot our wad," said Ellerbee. "That's about all we've got to show you. If we haven't convinced you by now that our communicator works, I don't know how we can accomplish it."

  Had they convinced him? Fenwick asked himself. Did he believe what he had seen or didn't he? He had been smug in front of Baker after the first demonstration, but now he wondered how much he had been covered by the same brush that had tarred Baker.

  It wasn't easy for him to admit the possibility of nonelectromagnetic radiation from these strange crystals, radiation which could carry sight and sound from one point to another without any transducers but the crystals themselves.

  "You have to step out of the world you've grown accustomed to," said Sam Atkins very quietly. "This is what we have had to do. It's not hard now to comprehend that telepathic forces of the mind can be directed by this means. This is a new pattern. Think of it as such. Don't try to cram it into the old pattern. Then it's easy."

  A new pattern. That was the trouble, Fenwick thought. There couldn't really be any new patterns, could there? There was only one basic pattern, in which all the phenomena of the universe fit. He readily admitted that very little was known about that pattern, and many things believed true were false. But the Second Law of Thermodynamics. That had to be true--invariably true--didn't it?

  If there was a hoax, Baker would have to find it.

  "I'll be back with Dr. Baker in a couple of days," Fenwick said. "After that, the one final evidence we'll need will be to construct these crystals in our own laboratories, entirely on our own, based on your instructions."

  Ellerbee nodded agreement. "That would suit us just fine."

  * * * * *

  "Hypnotism," said Baker. "It sounds like some form of hypnotism, and I don't like that kind of thing. It could merit criminal prosecution."

  "There's no possible way I could have been hypnotized," said Fenwick.

  "These crystals--obviously it has something to do with them. But I wonder what their game is, anyway? It's hard to see where they can think they're headed."

  "I don't know," said Fenwick. "But you promised to show me the gimmick if I couldn't find it in half a day. I spent a whole day out there without finding anything."

  Baker slapped the desk in exasperation. "You're not really going to make me go out there and look at this fool thing, are you? I know I made a crazy promise, but I was sure you could find where they were hoaxing you if you took one look at their setup. It's probably so obvious you just stumbled right over it without even seeing it was there."

  "Possibly. But you're going to have to show me."

  "John, look--"

  "Or, I might be willing to take that Clearwater research grant without any more questions on either side."

  Baker thought of the repercussions that would occur in his own office, let alone outside it, if he ever approved such a grant. "All right," he sighed. "You've got me over a barrel. I'll drive my car. I may have to stop at some offices on the other side of town."

  "I might be going on, rather than coming back to town," said Fenwick. "I ought to have my car, too. Suppose I meet you out there?"

  "Good enough. Say one o'clock. I'm sure that will give us more time than we need."

  * * * * *

  Baker was prompt. He arrived with an air of let's-get-this-over-as-quick-as-possible. He nodded perfunctorily as Ellerbee introduced his wife. He scarcely looked at Sam Atkins.

  "I hope you've got your demonstration all set up," he said. He glanced at the darkening sky. "It looks like we might get some heavy rain this afternoon."

  "We're all ready," said Ellerbee. "Sam will drive over to that little hill on his farm, and we'll go out behind the barn."

  On the knoll, Baker accepted the crystal cube without looking at it. Clenching it in his fist, he put his hand in his pocket. Fenwick guessed he was trying to avoid any direct view and thus avoid the possibility of hypnotic effects. This seemed pretty farfetched to Fenwick.

  Through field glasses Sam Atkins was seen to get out of his car and walk to the top of the knoll. He stood a moment, then waved to signal his readiness.

  "Press the crystal in your hand," Ellerbee said to Baker. "Direct your attention toward Sam Atkins."

  Each of them had a cube of the same crystal. It was like a party line. Fenwick pressed his only slightly. He had learned it didn't take much. He saw Baker hesitate, then purse his lips as if in utter disgust, and follow instructions.

  In a moment the image of Sam Atkins appeared before them. Regardless of their position, the image gave the illusion of standing about four feet in front of them.

  "Good afternoon, Dr. Baker," Sam Atkins said.

  Fenwick thought Baker was going to collapse.

  The director just stood for a moment, like a creature that had been pole-axed. Then his color began to deepen and he turned with robot stiffness. "Did you men hear anything? Fenwick ... did you hear ... did you see?"

  "Sure," said Fenwick, grinning broadly. "Sam Atkins said good afternoon to you. It would be polite if you answered him back."

  The image of Sam Atkins was still before them. He, too, was grinning broadly. The grins infuriated Baker.

  "Mr. Atkins," said Baker.

  "Yes, Dr. Baker," said Sam Atkins.

  "If you hear me, wave your hands. I will observe you through the field glasses."

  "The field glasses won't be necessary."

  Both the image before them, and the distant figure on the knoll were seen to wave arms and gyrate simultaneously. For good measure, Sam Atkins turned a cartwheel.

  Baker seemed to have partly recovered. "There seems to be a very remarkable effect present here," he said cautiously.

  "Dr. Baker," Jim Ellerbee spoke earnestly, "I know you're skeptical. You don't think the crystals do what I say they do. Even though you see it with your own eyes you doubt that it is happening. I will do anything possible to test this device to your satisfaction. Name the test that will dispel your doubts and we will perform it!"

  "It's not entirely a question of demonstration, Mr. Ellerbee," said Baker. "There are the theoretical considerations as well. The mathematics you have submitted in support of your claim are not, to put it mildly, sound."

  "I know. Sam keeps telling me that. He says we need an entirely new math to handle it. Maybe we'll get around to that. But the important thing is that we've got a working device."

  "Your mathematical basis must be sound!" Baker's fervor returned. Fenwick felt a sudden surge of pity for the director.

  The demonstration was repeated a dozen times more. Fenwick went over on Sam Atkins' hill. He and Baker conversed privately.

  "Do you see it yet?" Fenwick asked.

  "No, I'm afraid I don't!" Baker was snappish. "This is one of the most devilish things I've ever come across!"

  "You don't think it's working
the way Jim and Sam say it is?"

  "Of course not. The thing is utterly impossible! I am convinced a hypnotic condition is involved, but I must admit I don't see how."

  "You may figure it out when you go through Ellerbee's lab."

  * * * * *

  Baker was obviously shaken. He spoke in subdued tones as Ellerbee started the tour of the crystal lab again. Baker's eyes took in everything. As the tour progressed he seemed to devour each new item with frenzied intensity. He inspected the crystals through a microscope. He checked the measurements of the thickness of the growing crystal layers.

  The rain began while they were in the crystal lab. It beat furiously on the roof of the laboratory building, but Baker seemed scarcely aware that it was taking place. His eyes sought out every minute feature of the building. Fenwick was sure he was finding nothing to confirm his belief that the communicator crystals were a hoax.

  Fenwick hadn't realized it before, but he recognized now that it would be a terrific blow to Baker if he couldn't prove the existence of a hoax.

  Proof that the communicator crystals were all they were supposed to be would be a direct frontal attack on the sacred Index. It would blast a hole in Baker's conviction that nothing of value could come from the crackpot fringe. And, not least of all, it would require Baker to issue a research grant to Clearwater College.

  What else it might do to Baker, Fenwick could only guess, but he felt certain Bill Baker would never be the same man again.

  As it grew darker, Baker looked up from the microscope through which he had been peering. He glanced at the windows and the drenched countryside beyond. "It's been raining," he said.

  Mary Ellerbee had already anticipated that the visitors would be staying the night. She had the spare room ready for Baker and Fenwick before dinner. While they ate in the big farmhouse kitchen, Ellerbee explained. "It would be crazy to try to get down to the highway tonight. The county's been promising us a new road for five years, but you see what we've got. Even the oldest citizen wouldn't tackle it in weather like this, unless it was an emergency. You put up for the night with us. You'll get home just as fast by leaving in the morning, after the storm clears. And it will be a lot more pleasant than spending the night stuck in the mud somewhere--or worse."

  Baker seemed to accept the invitation as he ate without comment. To Fenwick he appeared stunned by the events of the day, by his inability to find a hoax in connection with the communicator crystals.

  * * * * *

  It was only when Baker and Fenwick were alone in the upstairs bedroom that Baker seemed to stir out of his state of shock.

  "This is ridiculous, Fenwick!" he said. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I can't possibly stay in this place tonight. I've got people to see this evening, and appointments early in the morning."

  "It's coming down like cats and dogs again," said Fenwick. "You saw the road coming in. It's a hog wallow by now. Your chance of getting through would be almost zero."

  "It's a chance I have to take," Baker insisted. He started for the door. "You don't have to take it, of course."

  "I'm not going to!" said Fenwick.

  "But I must!"

  Fenwick followed him downstairs, still trying to persuade him of the foolishness of driving back tonight. When Ellerbee heard of it he seemed appalled.

  "It's impossible, Dr. Baker! I wouldn't have suggested your not returning if there were any chance of getting through. I assure you there isn't."

  "Nevertheless I must try. Dr. Fenwick will remain, and I will come back tomorrow afternoon to complete our investigation. There are important things I must attend to before then, however."

  Fenwick had the sudden feeling that Baker was in a flight of panic. His words had an aimless stream-of-consciousness quality that contrasted sharply with his usually precise speech. Fenwick was certain there was nothing sufficiently important that it demanded his attention on a night like this. He could have telephoned his family and had his wife cancel any appointments.

  No, Fenwick thought, there was nothing Baker had to go to; rather, he was running from. He was running in panicky fear from his failure to pin down the hoax in the crystals. He was running, Fenwick thought, from the fear that there might be no hoax.

  It seemed incredible that such an experience could trigger so strong a reaction. Yet Fenwick was aware that Baker's attitude toward Ellerbee and his device was not merely one aspect of Baker's character. His attitude in these things was his character.

  Fenwick dared not challenge Baker with these thoughts. He knew it would be like probing Baker's flesh with a hot wire. There was nothing at all that he could do to stop Baker's flight.

  Ellerbee insisted on loaning him a powerful flashlight and a hand lantern, which Baker ridiculed but accepted. It was only after Baker's tail-light had disappeared in the thick mist that Fenwick remembered he still had the crystal cube in his coat pocket.

  "He's bound to get stuck and spend the night on the road," said Ellerbee. "He'll be so upset he'll never come back to finish his investigation."

  Fenwick suspected this was true. Baker would seal off every association and reminder of the communicator crystals as if they were some infection that would not heal. "There's no use beating your brains out trying to get the NBSD to pay attention," Fenwick told Ellerbee. "You've got a patent. Figure out some gadgety use and start selling the things. You'll get all the attention you want."

  "I wanted to do it in a dignified way," said Ellerbee regretfully.

  You, too, Fenwick thought as he moved back up the stairs to the spare bedroom.

  Fenwick undressed and got into bed. He tried to read a book he had borrowed from Ellerbee, but it held no interest for him. He kept thinking about Baker. What produced a man like Baker? What made him tick, anyway?

  Fenwick had practically abandoned his earlier determination that something had to be done about Baker. There was really nothing that could be done about Baker, Bill Baker in particular--and the host of assorted Bakers scattered throughout the world in positions of power and importance, in general.

  They stretched on and on, back through the pages of history and time. Jim Ellerbee understood the breed. He had quite rightly tagged Baker in addressing him as "Dear Urban." Pope Urban, who persecuted the great Galileo, had certainly been one of them.

  It wasn't that Baker was ignorant or stupid. He was neither. Fenwick gave reluctant respect to his intelligence and his education. Baker was quick-witted. His head was stuffed full of accurate scientific information from diversified fields.

  But he refused to be jarred loose from his fixed position that scientific breakthroughs could come from any source but the Established Authority. The possibility that the crackpot fringe could produce such a break-through panicked him. It had panicked him. He was fleeing dangerously now through the night, driven by a fear he did not know was in him.

  Inflexibility. This seemed to be the characteristic that marked Baker and his kind. Defender of the Fixed Position might well have been his title. With all his might and power, Bill Baker defended the Fixed Position he had chosen, the Fixed Position behind the wall of Established Authority.

  A blind spot, perhaps? But it seemed more than mere blindness that kept Baker so hotly defending his Fixed Position. It seemed as if, somehow, he was aware of its vulnerability and was determined to fight off any and all attacks, regardless of consequences.

  Fenwick didn't know. He felt as if it was less than hopeless, however, to attempt to change Bill Baker. Any change would have to be brought about by Baker himself. And that, at the moment, seemed far less likely than the well-known snowball in Hades.

  * * * * *

  Fenwick knew he must have dozed off to sleep with the light still on in the room and Ellerbee's unread book opened over his chest. He did not know what time it was when he awoke. He was aware only of a suffocating sensation as if some ghostly aura were within the room, filling it, pressing down upon him. A wailing of agony and despair seemed to scratch at his senses
although he was certain there was no audible sound. And a depression clutched at his soul as if death itself had suddenly walked unseen through the closed door.

  Fenwick sat up, shivering in the sudden coolness of the room, but clammy with sweat over his whole body. He had never experienced such sensations before in his life. His stomach turned to a hard ball under the flow of panic that surged through all his nerves.

  He forced himself to sit quietly for a moment, trying to release his fear-tightened muscles. He relaxed the panic in his stomach and looked slowly about the room. He could recall no stimulus in his sleep that had produced such a reaction. He hadn't even been dreaming, as far as he could tell. There was no recollection of any sound or movement within the house or outside.

  He was calmer after a moment, but that sensation of death close at hand would not go away. He would have been unable to describe it if asked, but it was there. It filled the atmosphere of the room. It seemed to emanate from--

  Fenwick turned his head about. It was almost as if there was some definite source from which the ghastly sensation was pouring over him. The walls--the air of the room--

  His eyes caught the crystal on the table by the bed.

  He could feel the force of death pouring from it.

  His first impulse was to pick up the thing and hurl it as far as he could. Then in saner desperation he leaped from the bed and threw on his clothes. He grabbed the crystal in his hand and ran out through the door and down the stairs.

  Jim Ellerbee was already there in the living room. He was seated by the old-fashioned library table, his hand outstretched upon it. In his hand lay the counterpart of the crystal Fenwick carried.

  "Ellerbee!" Fenwick cried. "What's going on? What in Heaven's name is coming out of these things?"

  "Baker," said Ellerbee. "He smashed up on the road somewhere. He's out there dying."

  "Can you be sure? Then don't sit there, man! Let's get on our way!"

  Ellerbee shook his head. "He'll be dead before we can get there."

  "How do you know he cracked up, anyway? Can you read that out of the crystal?"

  Ellerbee nodded. "He kept it in his pocket. It's close enough to him to transmit the frantic messages of his dying mind."