Doctor Orient

by Frank Lauria

  The director talked them through the scene, then went to take a look through the cameras. Ten minutes later he called action.

  Argyle worked smoothly, taking Amanda into his confidence bit by bit, drawing the juice out of the dialogue, insisting that she be honest. He touched her lightly, waiting until the last possible moment to draw her close to his body.

  Then the probe was there, tugging at his brain.

  He kissed Amanda hard and held her to him. They called the cut for the third time before he pulled his head back and let her go.

  Amanda looked up at him, confused for a moment, then her eyes became smoky and she smiled knowingly.

  “Nice, babies, very nice, very, very nice.” The director was clapping them both on the back. “That was a print.”

  “Listen, Gregorio”—Argyle started moving off the set— “I have to go to New York. Right now.”

  The director followed him, mopping his face with a pink silk handkerchief. “Now?” he screamed. “Now?” The grips on the set stopped work and watched. “I’m shooting a picture. You don’t walk out now, not for anything.”

  Argyle stopped and turned around to face Gregorio. “Look, buddy,” he said amiably, “if you want to sue—solid! Talk to Henry about the details.”

  “But I need you.” Gregorio stamped his foot down on the floor. “Why should I talk to your agent? You must stay and finish my picture.”

  “Listen, Gregorio.” Argyle put his hand on the director’s shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few days. And if you still want me, I’ll give you a corking finish. I’m sorry to upset you, Gregorio. I know you don’t deserve this and neither does Amanda.” He flashed a wide smile at his leading lady. She nodded suspiciously. “But I must leave. That’s final.”

  The director weighed the variables. “I’ll shoot around you,” Gregorio proclaimed. He began shouting instructions in Italian.

  Argyle moved away, wiping the make-up off his face.

  Contact complete. Hap went into a peaceful doze.

  Later Sordi roused him and showed him to his room. Gratefully he crawled between cool new sheets.

  He slept soundly even through the sudden thunder squall that blew up during the night.

  Doctor Orient was in his study sorting his mail from the silver tray at his side when Hap came down for breakfast.

  The sun, streaming through the large window slanting in and over the desk highlighted the room like a massive Von Sternberg set.

  To Hap, the lighting was just ordinary daylight, however, and less important than the eggs, fruit, cream, sour cream, toast and coffee on the sideboard. He took a plate and began heaping it full.

  Orient was opening a telegram as Hap sat down to eat “It’s from Argyle, acknowledging contact,” he said.

  “Why bother with the wire?” Hap said tersely.

  “He’s in Rome and not quite the expert you are.”

  Hap grunted and concentrated on his food. He had never been overly fond of the flamboyant actor.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Doc.” Hap waved his fork in reassurance as he sensed the Doctor’s coming admonition. “I won’t tilt this game.”

  Orient smiled at the term. In the game of pinball, when the player pushes the board trying to impose his will on the free-bounding steel ball, the game shuts off. All the lights go out except for one, which dimly signals the loss with the word TILT. If a communicant in a telepathic circle “pushes” the other participants by involving them with vagrant elements of his ego, he risks shorting out the contact. An ego tilt.

  Hap ate his breakfast in silence as the doctor continued to read his mail. When Orient had finished with his correspondence he went to the sideboard and poured himself fresh coffee. He drank it standing up.

  “Doc,” Hap muttered, “you know I’m still confused.”

  Orient sat down. “Well, so am I. So you’re not alone. Tell me something Hap, what kind of person is Malta? How did you spend your time? Where was she from?”

  Hap shifted uncomfortably. “You know, Doc, we never did do much talking. I was drunk a lot of the time. I didn’t start to sober up until the owner of the show threatened to fire us both if I didn’t hit the wagon.”

  “When was that?”

  “Maryland I think. Yeah… that was it. But I never could get her to tell me about herself. We just worked together.”

  “Think, man, you must have gotten something across in three months.”

  “Listen, I was dead drunk when Malta pulled me out of the gutter. And I stayed bagged for the next two months. If we hadn’t needed the money we probably never would have stayed together as long as we did.” Hap stared at his hands.

  Orient said nothing, watching him.

  Suddenly Hap looked up. “I’ll tell you one thing Doc,” he said with conviction, “she seemed to be afraid of something.”

  Orient leaned forward in his chair. “What makes you think that?”

  “Well, there were times when she would get very secretive, and kind of fade. She would make secret living arrangements for days at a time. Just show up for work, and fade when we were finished. Then after a few days she would come back.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She acted afraid in other ways. Every now and then we would be late going on, or miss a show entirely because she got a peek of something she didn’t like through the curtain.”

  “Did she seem afraid of coming to New York?”

  “No, not at all. She seemed to be relieved that the act was going to split up soon.”

  “How did your act work, Hap?” Orient leaned back and stretched out his legs full length.

  “It worked fine, people liked us.”

  “I mean, what did you do during the act? Did you guess weights or ages, or predict the future?” He let the question hang.

  “I would come out, introduce Malta, then I would pretend to hypnotize her. Actually she would go into a trance by herself. Then I put a hood over her head. I went into the audience and collected things—you know the kind of stuff— watches and rings with engravings on them, wallets, photographs. Anyway, I would tell her telepathically what I had in my hand and Malta would repeat what I told her. At the end of the act I would draw her out.”

  “Was that all there was to it?”

  “That’s about it… oh yeah… there was something.

  “What’s that?”

  “Every once in a while she would do something on her own. I mean, she would say things I hadn’t sent. Like she would read a letter in a wallet, a letter I hadn’t even seen.”

  “Is that all?”

  “When she did something like that she would give advice. That was the only time she ever said anything or predicted anything.”

  “What kind of advice?” Orient got to his feet intently.

  “She would tell them to be careful, or to see their doctor. Stuff like that. She only did it a couple of times.”

  Orient hooked his fingers into his belt and renewed his pacing.

  “I’m going to have to do some research this afternoon,” he said presently. “Why don’t you try to take it easy today? We can’t do very much for Malta until the others get here.”

  Hap turned in his chair. “Will she be all right? She hasn’t eaten or drunk anything for a few days now.”

  “In her suspended state it won’t make much difference. At any rate she’ll be out tonight, or we’ll be in.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “If we make some error and something goes wrong, all of us are going to end up like Malta—suspended.”

  “All of us—who’s all of us?” Hap felt his neck burn.

  “I believe you’ve met the other pilgrims who are going to assist us.”

  “If you mean Simpson and Levi, forget it. They’re not going to want to assist. They don’t know Malta.”

  “I’m going to ask them to volunteer nonetheless.”

  “You think they’re going to take a chance like that?”

  “We’ll see
.” Orient set his cup down. “Take a stroll in the garden in the meantime. Get some air.”

  Hap watched him go out.

  For half an hour he prowled around the study, deep in thought. When he had called for the doctor he had no idea that Malta’s condition was this complicated. Magic. Negative energy. He had thought that she had just gone into a trance too deep for him to reach. But this was something serious. Even Orient was alarmed. Hap knew that he would do everything necessary to help Malta. But to involve two other men in something like this…

  He had met the other telepaths who comprised Orient’s circle of pilgrims during the weeks he had been under Orient’s tutelage. From time to time they would attempt projects, experiments. He had been less than enthusiastic when he was asked to assist them—surly, as a matter of fact. He had never cared much about their work. He had been too busy resenting the fact that he had telepathic power. Any help he had given them he had doled out grudgingly. Now he would be asking them to risk their lives, or worse.

  He decided the doctor was wrong. No one was going to volunteer to help out a jive busher.

  Sordi came in and began to clear away the dishes.

  “Are you comfortable, Mr. Prentice?” he asked quietly, watching Hap carefully.

  “Huh? Oh yes, who wouldn’t be after a breakfast like that?”

  Hap moved over to the bookcase. He selected a book at random and ambled distractedly to his bedroom.

  He lay on his bed, blankly turning pages as he tried to understand the turns his life, had taken since Doctor Orient had found him. Eventually he discovered he was looking at a series of photographs in an album of some sort. Examining it with more attention he saw that clippings from old newspapers were tucked between the pages. He unfolded some of them and began reading.

  The first was an account of a young married couple who were completing a film in Mexico. They had written, directed and starred in the film. Their names were Owen and Harriet Orient. The clipping was dated 1925. The next story concerned the same couple. They were in Monte Carlo after an auto race in which Owen Orient had participated, driving his own Bugatti.

  As he read Hap realized that Owen and Harriet Orient must have been the doctor’s parents. He went back to the album and began picking out faded, brown-edged photographs of the Orients holding an infant in their arms.

  He was at the stage in the album where there were a number of pictures of a small boy at play when someone knocked on the door.

  It Was Sordi, looking worried. “Excuse me for disturbing you,” he said with some consternation, “but do you by some chance have the photograph album?”

  “Right. I’m just reading it now.”

  “The doctor never shows it, you know.” Sordi moved closer and extended his hand.

  “Okay, coach,” Hap handed the album over. “Sorry if I busted in on anything.”

  “Oh, no blame. You couldn’t have known.” He backed out of the room.

  Hap was overwhelmed. He had found out more about his strange teacher in the past thirty minutes than he had in all the weeks of training at the mansion. He decided to take a stroll in the garden.

  When he returned to the house he found Argyle Simpson relaxing behind Orient’s desk.

  Hap forced a smile. “Howdy, Simpson.”

  “Well, howdy yourself, Prentice old man.” Argyle lifted a gleaming chelsea boot off the desk in greeting. “It’s good to see you back in touch, old buddy. I heard you gave up the telepathy business in favor of an athletic career.”

  Hap’s neck reddened. “Look, try to remember that I’m a shortstop by profession and a damned telepath by accident.”

  Argyle remained at his impeccable ease. “Now there’s no need for that sort of paranoia. We telepaths are the pilgrims of the new race, after all.” He mocked Orient gently. “Responsibility, Prentice, respon… ”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe you’ll change your mind when you hear what the Doc has planned for our new race tonight.”

  “And what do you know about that, pilgrim, or is it rookie?”

  “Look, hambone, it so happens that… ”

  “That this isn’t the time for personal games,” Orient finished as he entered the room. “Hello, Argyle. Did you have a good flight?”

  “The film was a bore.”

  “You won’t be bored long here, I think.”

  “Sounds good. I was just sending this poor fellow up, trying to get a little advance information.”

  Before Orient could answer, Levi strolled into the study.

  Orient smiled broadly. “I’m glad you could come, Claude.”

  “I’m glad you called.” Levi beamed. “Things have been a bit slow in Motown lately. I haven’t seen a decent opening in three months.”

  Levi was an avid chess player, and one of the few people who beat Orient easily.

  While Hap brooded at the window, Argyle enjoyed himself watching Orient and Levi’s animated conversation. To Argyle, the square, shaggy Levi always seemed to be playing Oliver Hardy to Orient’s lank, steely Stan.

  “Okay, we’re all here,” Orient said presently. “Let’s get down to business.”

  Hap shrugged his shoulders and resumed his window gazing.

  “This is an emergency,” Orient went on. “A friend of Hap’s is in trouble.”

  “What’s wrong?” Simpson looked at Hap.

  “I think it’ll be easier to explain the girl’s condition and outline an approach in the meditation room,” Orient said.

  “A girl, eh, Prentice,” Levi boomed. “No wonder you decided to take a vacation.”

  Hap remained silent as they entered the elevator, rode up one floor and filed down the corridor to the meditation room.

  Malta was waiting, still and patient on the stretcher. The four men grouped around her.

  “This girl went into a trance and never came out of it.” Orient realized he sounded like a lecturer. ‘‘When we attempted to rouse her she underwent a strange transition and produced violent symptoms which seemed to be painful to her. Not only was our attempt unsuccessful, but the symptoms produced have parallels in certain cases of demonic possession.” Orient anticipated Levi’s question. “I made a complete medical examination, of course.”

  Levi bowed.

  “With Hap’s help,” Orient went on, “I managed to enter the field of her trance. I found a huge negative presence there which seemed to be predatory. This presence had trapped the girl’s energy.”

  “How big was the presence?” Levi asked.

  “In proportion to our space I would say it’s approximately the size of our sun.”

  “And you think all of us together can combine energy to get the girl out?” Levi continued.

  “Not exactly. Yes, I do need the weight of your combined presence, but that’s not what’s going to get her out of there.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “My plan is to re-enter hyper-space and enter the presence.”

  “What the hell for, Doctor?” Levi objected. “You wouldn’t be able to handle energy that powerful.”

  “I won’t have to handle it. I’m going to will my entry and give it a purpose. Code it. The code will be to find the girl’s energy. If the program of the entry is fulfilled it will create an actuality in hyper-space. Since any actuality in hyper- space is impossible, the. girl and myself will become antimatter.”

  Orient looked around at the faces of his students. There was a pause as they wrestled with the idea.

  “I see it, I see it.” Hap was congratulatory. “When you find her you’ll have created an event in hyper-space, and you’ll both be blown out of there.”

  “That’s right, you’ll have set up a bloody paradox.” A delighted Levi smacked his forehead with his palm. “A paradox,” he repeated.

  Sounds nice, but will it work just that way?” Argyle asked quietly.

  “No,” Orient answered. “I don’t know if the four of us will be strong enough to maintain spatial balance. Doing this means that if
something goes wrong we won’t be able to get out of there once I take you in. We run a risk of ending up just as you see this girl now, alive but inanimate. Objects for Sordi to dust.”

  His three students stood silently waiting.

  “That’s it, gentlemen,” Orient said, just as Hap opened his mouth to speak. “If you feel it’s too risky you have the option to pass this project… ” His voice trailed off as each of his students sent their answer to him in the same manner. A silent, emphatic yes.

  Orient sat cross-legged on the floor next to the stretcher. The others did the same, making themselves comfortable alongside the pool.

  Doctor Orient began to explore his breath. Soon he felt the energy emanating from the four other communicants. He embraced their power and took it into his own motion. He went back to his first breath… the itch of being, light. He went back further, back to the cluster of primary genes that seeded his reality. Then the first gene—the code gene that carries the implication of the future and the imprint of the past. There he swam long and warm until he became water. As water he became fire, and as fire he became air… pleasant drifts circling inward… slowly, then whirling stronger, faster… a spinning dip toward center and the great leap to other space… hyper-space… the junction to everywhere…

  He entered swiftly this time and increased his speed, accelerating straight toward the now familiar negative mass. This caused the spinning projectile of his energy to shift suddenly like a curve ball and take a steep orbit around the vortex instead of entering it directly. He felt the swirling phosphorescence of the mass, and as he came around and closer he felt the static of Malta’s impaled energy.

  Entering the mass was entering a nothing-pudding—an excruciatingly slow-oozing texture. He huddled small, drawing the particles of his electron energy to its nucleus, decreasing its size but increasing its rate of penetration.

  His projection, which was the energy of a combined spatial reality—the reality being the quest to join Malta—began to fulfill its purpose.

  The mass began to shudder and yawn, going into slow, silent convulsion as he approached Malta. His energy settled into place.