Hidden Variables

by Charles Sheffield

  "But why couldn't those experiments be wrong?"

  "If just one of them were, it would shake modem physics to the bottom. All of them wrong? Unthinkable." Wenziger shook his head firmly. "You see, General, we theoretical physicists are free to argue with everything in the world—except experimental measurement. In my opinion Laurance Nissom has gone a little unstable. He is beginning to fantasize—which means that I must commend the astuteness of the man, whoever it was, that realized his behavior was peculiar and confined him to the hospital."

  Greer looked at him. "Don't step outside your area of competence, Doctor." He leaned over to the intercom again. "Major Merritt here yet? Send him on in."

  He leaned back in his chair. "I'm the one who put Nissom in the hospital, up in Gaithersburg. He's unstable, but I wasn't worrying about his mental health. I wanted him locked up safe while we checked out those theories." He laughed. "Don't look shocked, Wenziger. That third star is hard to get. You can't afford to sit back and wait for it, you have to take the initiative. I'm kind of glad to hear that Nissom's wrong, though. If he'd been right I'd have done my best to keep him in that hospital for the rest of his life. Did you know that he talked in one memo about personalized defense fields against anything? He even had the scheme in there that would make the whole of DOD irrelevant. I don't much care for the offices here in the Pentagon, but I'd sure be sorry to see us put out of business."

  He turned to the young major who had appeared in the doorway and exchanged a brief salute. "At ease, Major. Dr. Wenziger, I would like to introduce Major Merritt of OSMS. He was up there in Gaithersburg yesterday."

  The pink-cheeked major was looking uncertainly at the elderly figure in the chair. Although the visitor had the appearance of a possible VIP, with no rank as a guide it was hard to know what relationship to assume. He nodded at Wenziger, but did not offer his hand.

  "We have been discussing Laurance Nissom, Major," went on Greer. There was an edge in his voice. "Dr. Wenziger was asking me about the events in Gaithersburg—how it was that an unarmed civilian could escape unassisted from a maximum security military hospital. I thought you might be good enough to provide him with some of the details."

  Wenziger had started up briefly at Greer's statement, then subsided wearily in his chair. Merritt would have to fight his own battles with Greer.

  "Yes, sir." Despite the 'At Ease' command, the Major remained at attention. "I have discussed the matter in detail with the staff at the Gaithersburg facility. So far as we have been able to ascertain, the prisoner Nissom incapacitated his personal guard just after midnight by means of a blow on the head with a metal bed brace." He swallowed. "There had been no prior suggestion of violence. Dr. Rosenbloom was inclined to regard Nissom as a model patient."

  "Then he's an absolute damned fool." Greer's tone was acid. "If Rosenbloom weren't a civilian employee I'd be looking for a court-martial. Didn't he have the sense to realize that a patient who cooperates when he has no reason to shouldn't be trusted one inch? Get on with it, Major, tell us their next failure."

  "Yessir. Nissom had been allowed to move freely inside the house, as long as he had a guard with him. He walked in the grounds every day. They believed that would be safe enough, because of the high wall and the electronic sensors along the top of it. It was too high for him to reach the top and too smooth for him to climb."

  "So how did he get out?"

  The young major hesitated and looked at Greer in perplexity. "I thought you had already been briefed on that, sir."

  "Of course I have. Don't be an ass. I want you to tell Dr. Wenziger."

  "Yessir." Major Merritt flushed and gazed straight in front of him. "Nissom had collected a group of heavy objects. They were old bits and pieces of metal, left over from the time before the building became a sanitarium. The night before last he penetrated the underground cable and inhibited the electronic eyes along a section of the wall. Then he threw the roped objects over. He used them as a counterweight so that he could scale the wall and climb out."

  Greer looked at Wenziger. "Sound like Nissom?"

  The older man shrugged. "I don't know the intelligence of your usual prisoner, General, but to Laurance Nissom such an operation would be a trivial exercise in planning and scheduling." He turned to Major Merritt. "The night before last was moonless. I'm sure that he planned on it. What was he wearing when he escaped?"

  "Hospital pajamas. We think he may have dyed them black in the hospital studio, so they would be hard to see at night."

  "And they'd pass as work clothes if he were seen the next morning," added Greer. "He didn't want people to notice him and give us any idea where he was headed."

  "Yessir. He had no shoes, just hospital slippers, but we think he found a pair of old rubber overshoes in one of the gardening sheds, and put them on."

  "What have you been able to find out today?" asked Greer. "He had no money, no credit cards. He must have found himself miles from anywhere, in the middle of the night."

  "Yessir." There was a long pause, while Merrit cleared his throat several times.

  "We have been unable to ascertain any reliable information on that subject," he said at last in a wooden voice. "We have therefore been obliged to conclude that he must by now have managed to obtain assistance from some acquaintance of his in the Washington area. At this point in time, we have no information that might lead us to his whereabouts."

  "In other words, Wenziger, we don't know a damned thing." Greer swung back to Merritt. "That right, Major?"

  "That would appear to be the case, sir."

  "All right. Dismissed."

  "Yessir."

  Greer waited until the Major had left the room. He nodded his head after him. "I don't know how well up you are on Air Force types, but there goes a terminal Major."

  "Was any of it his fault?"

  "Not directly. His career's ruined, though. The system will squeeze him flat." Greer picked up the empty cigarette pack and crumpled it in his fist. "You don't make it far in the Air Force with anything but a perfect record."

  Wenziger gave a thin smile. "I don't need your symbolism to get the point. You may find it hard to believe, General, but the same is becoming true in modern academia."

  Greer gave a barking laugh of surprise. "That right? You know, I'll go for that. Dog eat dog everywhere, eh?" He opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out another pack of cigarettes. "I wasn't just thinking of Merritt. It's even more true for me. I have to turn this crap with Nissom into a personal success, or I'm screwed just as much as our friend the Major." He cracked the pack open with a blunt thumbnail and offered it across the desk. "You've known Nissom for a long time, right?"

  Zdenek Wenziger looked warily at the outstretched cigarettes. He nodded. "I was on his dissertation committee—as I am sure your dossier reveals. You now have my evaluation of his recent work, which I will amplify in writing. I do not smoke. If we have finished our business here, I would like to leave."

  "We're not through." Greer took out a cigarette and balanced it, filter end up, on the desk in front of him. "Not quite. It's obvious that Major Merritt is right, Nissom had help from a friend in this area." He looked up suddenly into Wenziger's troubled eyes. "By now he could be anywhere in the country. Agreed?"

  "I see no reason to doubt it."

  "And he'll be staying with a friend? Or do you think that Nissom is the type to hole up in a motel?"

  "I take your point, General." Wenziger sighed. "In my opinion Laurance Nissom is certainly staying with one of his friends. I agree with you. When can I go?"

  Greer was nodding silently, staring at the balanced cigarette as though Wenziger had suddenly proposed a difficult and abstract problem. He opened the folder in front of him. "So, Nissom will be staying somewhere with a friend. We agree on that, don't we? But who are his friends? That's a question I can't answer. Not alone. Let me read you this, from one of Nissom's letters to a friend in Europe—you knew, of course, that we monitored his correspondenc
e?"

  "I could have guessed it." Wenziger's voice was weary.

  Greer looked up briefly. "And you never read Machiavelli? Listen to what Nissom wrote. 'In my opinion, Wenziger's work on the use of resonance concepts to study modes of vacuum polarization is the prettiest piece of analysis in the past decade.' An odd choice of word, wouldn't you say? 'Prettiest'."

  A touch of color flushed Wenziger's grey countenance. "Nissom wrote that? I am surprised and gratified. He has read out my own secret thoughts. 'Prettiest' is not at all an odd choice. To a theoretical physicist, it is an exact choice."

  Greer closed the folder. "You are adding weight to my idea. You speak the same language. I do not. Let me ask you another question. When I travel around the world, where do I stay?" He waved his hand. "Don't bother to try and answer that, I'll tell you. I stay with my old comrades. Naturally. After all, we share the same values and the same past experiences. Pick any country you like, and I'll have an old friend or an old enemy there."

  He had lit the cigarette in front of him and now seemed to be concentrating his attention on the thin column of blue-grey smoke as it spiralled towards the ceiling. Wenziger did not speak, but sat, eyes down and head forward.

  "So I have to ask myself," went on Greer at last. "Are scientists any different? Don't they have their old campaigns, their old comrades-in-arms? Isn't there an 'old comrades' network of scientists, in any city and any country? Don't they prefer to stay with their own kind?"

  "You know the answer. Of course we do."

  "Of course you do." Greer's intense blue eyes came back to Wenziger, lifting the other's gaze by some unseen force between them. "Of course. And of course, Laurance Nissom would be helped by the people in your network. We all look after our own kind if we can. It's dog eat dog if we have to, but it's dog eat cat first."

  He drew thoughtfully on his cigarette, deliberately extending the moment. "So we have only one problem, don't we? Your network is like mine—it's for insiders only. I couldn't crack your circle, any more than you would be at home in the Army-Navy Club. But if there were someone—"

  "No." Wenziger sat up straighter, his lips trembling. "I am not a fool, and I say no. It is clear where you are heading. I am not a fool and I am not a . . . a Judas."

  "Easy now. "Greer held up his hand. "Keep cool. I haven't asked you to do anything at all. What I'd like you to do is to go away and think about this whole thing. Look at it this way. If you wanted to, you could probably find out where Nissom is staying. We both agree that he needs help. He has been behaving oddly, more than the things you know about. If you doubt me, you can read the whole file on him. He's sick, and he needs help—he won't get that in hiding. You could reach him, persuade him to come back here—for his own good."

  "To be incarcerated as a common madman?"

  "Not at all. I've got clout, you've seen that already. I'd make sure that he got the best of treatment while we checked out his condition and all those wild theories he's been having. You've already assured me that they're wrong, so what's the loss? Anyway, think about it, that's all."

  Greer's voice dropped suddenly in pitch and volume. "And while you're thinking about Laurance Nissom," he said softly. "Think about Zdenek Wenziger. Think about medical bills, and clearances, and finances, and the trouble there would be if you were blacklisted. I know you could get a position abroad—but could you get the medical treatments?"

  "You would try this? It is blackmail, worse than blackmail."

  Greer smiled pleasantly and stubbed out the cigarette in the full ashtray. "Now you're over-reacting, Professor. Since when was patriotism called blackmail? Nissom is dangerous to the country, and to himself. He should be in safe hands. Check me out. You'll find that I'm known as a good friend to people who help me, and a bad enemy to ones who go against me." He stood up and walked around the big desk. "Why don't you call me this week-end? I'll be off at my farm, up in Thurmont, and we can talk better there than here—more informal."

  As Zdenek Wenziger rose from the chair, Greer placed a muscular hand on the old man's stooped shoulder. "One other thing. This is just between us, right? Help me, and I swear that your friends—and the people here—will never get to hear about it. It will be our secret, no paperwork, no records of how you were involved."

  He led the older man to the door. "I know how you feel now, but who knows? Something may happen in the next few days to make you think differently."

  July 28th, 1980. POST WITH MAIN GATE PERSONNEL.

  Attention: ODR Security.

  Subject: D. Z. Wenziger.

  Please be advised of a delay in renewing OSU Clearance for the above. Pending resolution of situation, access to base cannot be granted.

  July 28th 1980.

  Dear Dr. Wenziger,

  We have been advised of a delay in procurement. Since your consulting contract with us is contingent upon contract award, no charges should be incurred and no work should begin until you receive written notification from us.

  Yours sincerely, G. Bayes, Contracts Officer.

  Memo to: Dr. Z. Wenziger From: Travel Department

  Subject: IAF Congress Date: July 29th, 1980

  Previously approved authorization to attend this conference is withdrawn because of new budget limitations. You will be informed promptly should this situation change.

  July 30th 1980. Walter Reed Army Hospital, Outpatient Department

  From: ODR Records Reference: AST-422 Wenziger, Z.

  From: ODR Records Reference: AST-422 Wenziger, Z. Please note that Andemil is an experimental drug and its use is currently restricted to volunteer military personnel. Continued participation by the above subject in this program is prohibited pending renewed Special Exemption from ODR Central Office.

  "General Greer?"

  "Speaking."

  "Wenziger here." The voice over the line was hoarse and muffled. "I have located Laurance Nissom. I have also met with him. What should I do next?"

  "Well, Hallelujah. It sure took long enough. Where is he?"

  "He would prefer that I not divulge that to you yet."

  "Don't worry, I'll hold up my end of the deal. Could you bring him out to the farm?"

  "I'm not sure." The voice was diffident. "I would need travel funds."

  "You'll have them. When can I see him."

  "Saturday? And a promise that you will be alone?"

  "Just the three of us. I'll expect you about fourteen hundred hours. Pick up a road map from my secretary."

  "And the injections?"

  "Go on over to Walter Reed right now. I'll clear it while you're on your way there."

  The old farmhouse had been set well up on the hillside, out of reach of floodwaters. With the aid of a pair of binoculars it was possible from the upper windows to see cars as soon as they came over the southern rise, two and a half miles away. The heat shimmer on the road made it hard to be sure, but there seemed to be only one person in the blue VW with the Maryland license plates. Greer frowned. He walked down the stairs into the dirt yard and was waiting when Wenziger stepped from the car.

  "What gives?"

  "We came separately. He had to pick up a book. I expect him in about twenty minutes." Despite the heat, Zdenek Wenziger was dressed in a dark suit, tie and tight collar. His high, bald head was covered with a film of perspiration. Greer peered at him closely before he finally nodded, turned around and led the way into the thick-walled building. Wenziger followed him slowly, still lugging his heavy briefcase as they climbed the narrow stairs.

  "Beer? It's home-brewed." Greer held up two bottles. He was shirt-sleeved, in denim patch-pockets and loafers.

  "No. Thank you, no."

  "Well, here's to Laurance Nissom anyway, the Invisible Man." Greer drank straight from the bottle. He seemed to be in high spirits. "How did he seem when you left him?"

  "Under great stress, as you might expect. But sane. I think sane."

  "But you didn't manage to talk him out of his pet theory?"

&n
bsp; "I think not." Wenziger's manner was restless. He had placed his briefcase by the side of his chair and was staring out of the high window at the valley beyond with a strange intensity.

  "And he couldn't talk you into it, either?" Greer watched Wenziger's fidgeting with a cool amusement. "Look, you can't be comfortable like that. Why not take your jacket off?"

  "Thank you, but no. You are right, he could not persuade me. I still believe that he is wrong." He turned from the window. "You were not completely honest with me when we met in your office. You did not show me Laurance Nissom's second paper."

  "No, I didn't." Greer was unabashed. "I knew that if you ever got to Nissom you'd hear about it first-hand. It didn't change his theory any. He showed it to you?"

  "Of course. You are right, it makes no difference to the actual theory." Wenziger was still looking urgently out at the road winding away from the farm. "But it took us down to the nuts and bolts—the applications that I had looked for in the first paper and couldn't find."

  A nod. "Right. The personalized defense field against all forms of attack? See what turned me on to it?"

  "Defense against everything. You do not realize it, but that idea has a special meaning to me."

  "I realize it. I told you, I know you." Greer was looking out of the window also, searching the road for a second car. "I know you a lot better than you'd ever believe. I've looked at your background, all the way from Czechoslovakia in the 1920's." He flashed a quick sideways look at Wenziger. "What's keeping him? Damn it, man, take that coat off before you boil."

  "He will be here. I had a twenty minute start on him. He may have met more traffic than I did. Be patient." Wenziger's own manner showed no patience. A nervous tic moved under his left eye.

  "You know," he said at last. "I didn't need the help of the 'network' to find Laurance Nissom. Not really. He was running. I have been running all my life—from Germans, from Russians, then from Nixon and McCarthy. I know just where people run to, where they hide." He looked across at Greer. "I wonder if I might change my mind. I would like a beer."