He leaned over and forced her hands away. "Of course you can't see, you fool!" he said savagely.
"Your eyes are closed!"
Her lids opened, and she stared at him, empty of everything but horror.
"I can't see, I tell you, I can't see! It touched my eyes!"
"It's gone," he said. "Whatever it was, it's gone!
You're safe now!"
He leaned down and pulled her up. How light she was, as if she had been decanted.
12.
"It could all have been caused by suggestion," Gordon said. "Mass hysteria."
He looked out the window. Wilshire was speeding below them. He caught a glimpse through the window of a third-story apartment of a man shaking his finger at a woman. What were they arguing about, if indeed they were arguing? An in-law? Infidelity? Politics? MEDIUM? Their children? Sex? Money, most likely.
"Then why would we all see the same thing?"
"I don't know, Pat. But we've all been conditioned to expect an amorphous mass, a thing of ectoplasm, which then assumes a definite shape. The movies, TV, books have conditioned us even if we don't believe in ghosts."
"I don't think it was imagination, and I know it wasn't my father," she said. "It was evil, evil. My father was good. He was weak, but he was good."
"You know," Gordon said slowly, "it could have been a genuine objective phenomenon. Maybe. But it didn't necessarily have to be what we call a ghost. It might not have come from the same universe as the embu. There are a hundred, maybe a thousand, maybe an infinite number of worlds occupying the same space as ours. And maybe we can get through to them, or they to us, under certain circumstances. If this could be, then we could have summoned-- I hate that word because of its association with witchcraft--summoned some thing. In any event, I don't intend to visit Mrs. Webster again. Or any medium. Not for a seance, anyway."
"I'd rather not," Patricia said.
"La Cienega coming up," he said, looking at the flashing words on the screen at the end of the car.
"Let's get off and walk to the hotel. Our minds have been stretched; let's stretch our legs. Physical exercise often puts the mind back into shape, too."
"You're quite a philosopher," she said, smiling for the first time that day.
"Homespun as they come," he said, but his mind was only half-engaged with the conversation. He had seen for himself the existence of MEDIUM (which he hadn't really believed despite all the newspaper and TV reports). He had seen nothing to indicate that Western had stolen MEDIUM and killed his uncle. And even if he should prove that Western was guilty, a larger problem remained. If Patricia did get possession of MEDIUM, she was not going to stop its use. She would not be allowed to even if she wished, and she certainly would not wish it.
Nevertheless, he had promised her that he would either prove or disprove her suspicions. And now, while MEDIUM was not available, would be a good time to work on the minor problem.
So it was that he told her he was leaving as soon as possible for Big Sur Center.
"You're welcome to come along if you want to," he said. "But I'll be busy, and you'll have to find something, though not someone, I hope, to entertain you."
"I'll stay here," Pat said. "I can look around for some place to live, some place new where Western will have a hard time finding me. How long do you think you'll be gone?"
"At least four days," he said. He did not think that Western was worrying about her; now that her own father had denied her suspicions, she was no threat. Or, he checked himself, not her father but the thing posing as him. But its true identity made no difference in practice.
He packed, and he kissed her goodby. He checked into a motel off the campus of the University of Big Sur six hours later, which was too late to make phone calls setting up appointments for the next day. He had three books to pass the time. A collection of science-fiction stories by Leo Q. Tincrowdor, a book describing the recent translation of the Etruscan language, and The Annotated Odyssey. Since the second book was based on a linguist's interview with an Etruscan of the second century b.c., he decided to read that. The man who had done this was a Professor Archambaud, a Berkeley teacher who was also a good friend of Western's. This explained why he had been given access to the machine without being charged. He had been forced to use it early in the morning, but he had sacrificed sleep for the sake of knowledge. (Not to mention for the sake of advancing his own career. Carfax thought.) He had located a man who was fluent in both Latin and Estruscan and everything had proceeded swhnmingly fine from there.
Though Carfax was interested in the linguistic and historical details provided by Menie Amthal, he was more interested in the vignettes of Western provided by Archambaud. Western had told him of his early experiments with MEDIUM. Apparently, he had had the idea for years but had only begun working on the prototype two years before he announced its success.
Maybe so. Carfax thought, but Archambaud had only Carfax's word for it. Uncle Rufton could have confided in Western several years ago because he needed the financial backing. But why would Western have given him any money unless he had seen some evidence that it would work? Western was no dreamy visionary. He would have been as likely to finance a perpetual-motion machine as a machine for communicating with the dead. That is, not likely at all.
Overall, Western emerged in Archambaud's book as a fiercely dedicated man, a genius. That certainly did not jibe with Patricia's account. But then Patricia could be wrong.
At 22:00, he turned on the news. And he found out that MEDIUM was also a means for free and unlimited energy. It was just what Carfax had derided a few minutes before, a perpetual-motion machine. Or so Western was claiming.
The caster was brief but clear. Western had issued a statement that experiments had proved that electrical energy could be tapped from the same "place" in which the dead lived. Western's power demands for his house and the machine had been supplied by electricity drawn from the embu. An iron resistor three meters in diameter had been melted in ten seconds. Theoretically, given the proper equipment, all of Los Angeles could be powered through MEDIUM. All of California. In fact, all of Earth.
So, Carfax thought. Western had lied when he had said he was getting his power from the Four Corners.
The caster looked skeptical. Carfax did not know how he looked himself, but he thought it would be stunned. He turned the TV off and leaned back in his chair, a bourbon in his hand. Well, why not? According to theory, all electromagnetic energy produced in this universe was duplicated in the next. So, if that universe could be tapped, the energy could be withdrawn back to this universe.
But would not the withdrawn energy then be reproduced again in that other "place?" Would that place be big enough to contain all that energy? Would it, in effect, burst at its seams? And would its wild energy then come ravening into this universe to destroy it?
Nothing was ever done in this universe without work. A price had to be paid for anything gained. So why should that other universe be different? It must operate according to the same principles which apply in this universe. Somebody had to pay, and since this universe was doing the taking without any return, the penalty would have to be paid.
Or would it? Nothing was actually known about that other place. It did have sentient beings, and it did seem to contain energy replicated from this place. And that was all that was known.
But it might be dangerous to find out just how that place did operate, to find out what system of checks and balances existed between the two universes.
He poured himself another drink and contemplated the future. Forget the dangers. If what Western said was true, then MEDIUM was going to have far more of an impact than anybody had thought. Unlimited electrical power! First, pollution would be reduced enormously. Second, a worldwide power grid could be built. No. that wouldn't be necessary, since every country could have its own MEDIUM. But what if the United States kept MEDIUM for itself? It could produce goods much cheaper than any other nation.
No,
that situation could last only for a time. Now that it was known that such a device was possible, the best brains of the foreign nations would be tackling the problem. And they would come up with the answer.
The world was going to be changed in ways that he could not even imagine at this moment. Oh, there'd be resistance. The electrical power establishment would see its empires and its profits dissolving, and they'd fight.
But they had already lost the battle.
Finishing his drink, he went to bed, his mind grabbing at extrapolations, seizing some, dropping them as new ones flew by. It was some tune before he could get to sleep, and it seemed that he had just dropped off when he was hooked by the alarm clock and reeled back up.
While drinking his coffee, he turned on the morning news. The caster had nothing to add to yesterday's report but promised that the evening news would have an hour's special on the implications.
Carfax ate his breakfast in the motel restaurant and went back to his room to make his calls. At nine he was at the Big Sur Center Power and Light Company.
Mr. Weissman, the accounting office manager, remembered that Rufton Carfax's bills had been extraordinarily high. Yes, the professor had had equipment installed to handle his massive power requirements. For the six months preceding his death, he had used eight to nine dk-watt-hours per day. The consumptions had been made after midnight, due to the company's requests.
It would have strained it to supply them during the day. Carfax thanked Mr. Weissman and left.
His next stops were at the offices of the two trucking companies which might have delivered special equipment to his uncle. Both, as it turned out, had done so.
Their records showed that they had brought in a large console and a number of modules. The console had come from an electrical supply house in Los Angeles, and the modules and some parts had been shipped out by two electronic firms in Oakland. Carfax thanked them and visited the three electrical-parts stores. Two had records of vacuum tubes and other components purchased by the professor. None of the tubes, however, seemed large enough to handle the power that his uncle required.
Carfax wondered if his uncle had picked these up himself in San Francisco or Los Angeles. Or perhaps he had gotten them from Western's store. He made a long-distance call to the store. Its manager required that he give identification, which he did, and he gave the name of a friend of his, the first one he could pick out of his mind.
The manager said he would look up the records. Would Mr. Comas mind holding the line or would he rather call back? Carfax said he'd wait. Five minutes later, just as Carfax's patience was about down to its last thread, the manager spoke.
"Mr. Comas?"
"Still here, though barely."
"There is no record of any sale to Rufton Carfax."
"You're sure?"
The manager's voice chilled. "Of course. I'm aware that Professor Carfax was Mr. Western's uncle, and I would have remembered any purchase by him."
Carfax thanked him and hung up the phone. The manager might or might not be telling the truth. Whatever the case, Carfax could not find out. He had no intention of breaking into the store and searching through the records. He wasn't a TV private eye, reckless of consequences if caught. Besides, if Western wanted to cover his tracks, he would have no trouble doing so.
His hopes of quickly identifying all the parts and modules of his uncle's machine had not been strong.
Now they died. Nevertheless, he would gather all he could and see what he had.
He spent the rest of the day talking to Rufton Carfax's closest colleagues and his neighbors. None of them had heard anything about the experiments or the machine itself. All agreed that he was an amiable man; his colleagues said that he was a good teacher and researcher, a combination not common in universities.
The following day, Gordon took a hovercraft to Oakland, where he got a list of the parts ordered by his uncle and blueprints of the cabinet. He took the 101 INTO express to Los Angeles and got a list of parts from the store there. Then he phoned Mrs. Webster.
Her secretary said that she was in conference. But she had a phone number for him.
Carfax wrote it down and said, "Is Mrs. Webster
O.K.? I mean, has she recovered her eyesight?"
The secretary looked surprised. "I didn't know that there was anything wrong with her eyes."
Mrs. Webster had made a quick recovery. Her blindness was due solely to hysteria, which was what he had supposed.
"Give her my regards," he said.
He left his credit card in the slot and spoke the number which the secretary had given him. Patricia's face appeared on the screen.
"You're back so soon!"
"Speedy Carfax," he said. "But it didn't take you long to find an apartment."
"It's a motel. I still haven't found a place. We may have to go to Santa Susana. A new complex is going up there."
"Too far off," he said. "O.K. where are you?"
She gave him a Burbank address and then said, "Didn't you speak to Mrs. Webster?"
"No. Why?"
"Her secretary just called me. She said that Mrs. Webster wanted to speak to you right away."
"I must have just missed her," he said. "I'll call her back and then I'll come right out."
Mrs. Webster looked healthy but excited. "Gordon, I have some startling news for you! It may be just what you're looking for!"
"I need a break," he said. "What is it?"
"I think you'd better come out here. I don't want to tell you over the phone."
He said he'd be there quickly if he could find a taxi and if not he'd take the MT. He phoned Patricia and told her there had been a change of plans. Two minutes later, he had a cab, and fifteen minutes later, he was ushered into Mrs. Webster's office. He sat down before her desk and said, "Judging from your big round eyes, you must have something big."
She lit a Kenyan, puffed several times and said, "I was just talking to a client, a Robert Minion. Ever heard of him?"
Carfax shook his head.
"Well, he's a strange young man, a millionaire and very eccentric, very shy. He's been tremendously interested in the occult since he was a boy, and when his mother died, he came to me.
"You raise your eyebrows? You're wondering if we had any success in evoking her? Three times, though Mrs. Mifflon wasn't able to shape the plasm into a satisfactory form and the few words she could transmit were of a rather silly nature. But then she was a silly, selfish woman in life.
"You smile? You shouldn't. You know I'm not a charlatan. Anyway, when Western announced he had a scientific means for communicating with the dead, Robert went to him. But he was terribly embarrassed, poor boy, because he thought I might think he was betraying me. He came to me first and explained, or tried to explain, why he was going to Western. I told him to go ahead; I didn't mind. But I did warn him to be careful.
Science has its charlatans, too.
"He apparently had several successful sessions with MEDIUM. Successful, I mean, in that he had full communication with his mother. But they did not, of course, reassure him. His mother was desperately unhappy, and he could do nothing for her.
"Then he joined the Pancosmic Church of the Embu-Christ. He found their premise very comforting. You know, that the embu is only a sort of purgatory."
Carfax nodded and said, "Yes, I know. After the dead have undergone 'purification' in their electronic state, they proceed to the next world, where they are restored to their physical bodies. And their bodies and minds are improvements over the ones they had while in this world, and everybody is happy forever after.
There's not the slightest bit of evidence for that premise, but when did people ever let lack of data interfere with their religious theories?"
"Or, if there is data, when did the nonreligious ever consider it?" Mrs. Webster said. "Let's not argue about that. It's irrelevant to what I have to tell you. Robert did not stop using MEDIUM after he joined the church. For one thing, he wanted to convert hi
s mother to the church's faith; he thought she'd feel better if she believed that she was only in a purgatory. And then, several days before Western's house was blown up, Western approached Mifflon with a strange offer."
She paused, drew more smoke in, expelled it, and said, "He wanted to sell Robert insurance."
"Insurance?" Carfax said. "You mean life insurance?"
"Exactly that, though not the kind that's being peddled by anybody else. It is, in a way, the only genuine life insurance offered."
"You don't mean Western'!! guarantee that Mifflon won't die?"
"In a way. Western calls it repossession insurance."
Carfax said nothing. He felt even more stunned than when he had heard the announcement the previous evening that MEDIUM was a power source.
"To be brief. Western said that he could bring Robert back from the dead. He will do this by providing a body for Robert which he can take over. Or possess, to use a time-honored term. The premiums are two hundred thousand dollars a year. These are to be paid while the client is living. The client will name one of Western's agents as his heir, and when the client is in his new body, half of the estate will be returned to him through legal means. The premiums thereafter will be ten percent of the client's yearly income."
"But ... the body to be possessed?" Carfax said.
"How is Western going to arrange that?"
"Western refused to say. He just told Robert not to worry about the details. And he swore Robert to secrecy. He said that if Robert let it out, he would have no way of proving it and would probably end up in an insane asylum. Or in a worse state, he said. I suppose he meant he'd be dead with no chance at a live body.
"Oh, yes, the payments aren't made under the table.
They are receipted as payment for sessions with MEDIUM. That way, the IRS can't make any trouble."
After a long silence, Carfax said, "Surely Western must have offered some proof that he could bring about this repossession? Most millionaires are shrewd; they want assurance that they're not giving their money away. Unless Mifflon is the only client, of course. He doesn't sound as if he's very stable."
Farmer, Philip José - Traitor to the Living Page 9