"But you do want to make millions from the Y Hormone. And you want to
enjoy it with a clear conscience. Perhaps it's as you say--there may
be other factors involved. By knowing what they are you may be able to
negate their influence." Staghorn's voice was a soft purr as he took
Dr. Peccary's arm and urged him into the transmitter unit. Peccary sat
down. The seat was small and hard.
"Just bear one thing in mind," Staghorn said. "Don't get lost. It will
be best if you stay in the little park where I can see you and where
you'll be in focus. Unless you're in focus it might be impossible
to--ah--disengage you."
Dr. Peccary could find no meaning whatsoever in this statement, except
confirmation of his suspicion that Staghorn was mad. He felt this so
strongly that he started to rise from his seat and escape from the
transmitter cell. But at that moment Staghorn lowered the helmet onto
his head. The sensation he experienced was so novel and startling that
he remained seated. For a second or two he could feel the tiny metallic
contacts on the inside of the helmet pressing against his skull, but
this sensation of physical pressure vanished almost at once. It was
replaced by one of headlessness. His body up to his chin still seemed
to be sitting in the transmitter--but his intellect had lost completely
its sense of localization in the head.
He could think clearly enough, but had no notion as to the spot where
his thoughts originated. Indeed, the whole concept of relative position
seemed ridiculous. At the same instant he felt tall as a mountain and
as low as a rug. His mind could fill the entire universe, while resting
neatly in a thimble. He could also see Staghorn, for his eyes continued
to function and transmit optical patterns, but precisely where he was
while receiving these patterns he couldn't possibly say.
He heard Staghorn remark, "Fine. The connection is perfect. It's always
better when the subject is bald. I'm going to switch you over into
Humanac's circuits now."
Staghorn's hand moved across the controls and one of his long fingers
flipped a switch.
* * * * *
This was the last Dr. Peccary saw of Roger Staghorn. Instantly he found
himself standing in the center of the small park in his home town. His
reaction was not one of alarm. Quite to the contrary, his immediate
thought was one of surprise that he wasn't alarmed. Standing there in
the little square felt entirely normal and proper.
Next he was jolted by the realization that he must be an image on
Humanac's screen. He quickly looked about in all directions, half
expecting to see Staghorn's huge face peering down from the sky like
God. There was no sign of Staghorn, however. The world about him was
as three-dimensional as any he'd ever known. He was in his home town a
hundred years after he'd last seen it.
Good lord! He was a hundred and forty-two years old!
This realization was followed by a host of others. Like a man coming
out of amnesia, his past began filling with memories. He was rich. He
was the richest man on earth. His Y Hormone was used the world over. A
mile away, on the outskirts of town, he could see a portion of his huge
production plant. He lived in a majestic palace surrounded by every
manner of automatic protective device. Protection? From what? And how
had he dared to venture out here in the park alone? But wait ... wait.
It was all an illusion. Actually he was only an image on Humanac's
screen, a mathematical probability.
He must keep that fact firmly in mind, or he might lose his mental
balance.
He gazed about at the town, dismayed by its appearance. Not a person
in sight. Not even an automobile. Of course, the motor car might have
become obsolete during the passage of a hundred years. There must be
some new mode of transportation--something undreamed of a century ago!
While he was wondering what this might be, he heard a
clop-clop-clopping and was astonished to see three horsemen approaching
the square. As they came closer he recognized them as the bearded man
and his two companions.
The boy Paul was bound firmly behind one of the saddles.
A strange panic arose in Dr. Peccary's breast, but he managed to
suppress it with a reminder that this was all illusion. He was here
for purposes of information; he must have the courage to get it. So
he forced himself to the curb at the edge of the park. When the riders
were within speaking distance, he managed to hail them with, "Hey, you!"
His nervousness made his words harsh. But then, there was no reason why
he should speak politely to kidnapers. He saw that Paul was conscious.
The boy had a gag over his mouth but his eyes were open.
* * * * *
The three riders reined in their horses and looked at Peccary with
frank curiosity.
"Here's one that didn't hide," one of them remarked, in a tone that Dr.
Peccary decided was disrespectful. He stepped forward boldly.
"May I ask what you intend to do with that boy?" he demanded.
"He wants to know what we intend to do with the boy," said the same man.
"Yes, I heard what he said," the bearded man remarked quietly. He
hadn't ceased to study Peccary with his piercing blue eyes. Now he
urged his horse closer. "You must be a stranger here, son?"
"Not exactly," said Peccary. "As a matter of fact, I was born here.
That was some time ago and it's true I haven't been here recently." The
way the bearded man stared at him made him extremely nervous. "But I'm
sure that kidnaping is against the law. If you don't release that boy
I'll have to--to make a citizen's arrest!" Peccary knew that his words
sounded ridiculous. From the way the three riders exchanged glances it
was evident that they thought the same thing.
"He's going to make a citizen's arrest," commented the one who liked to
repeat whatever Peccary said.
"Hush," said the bearded leader. And then to Peccary, "What's your
name, son?"
"Clarence Peccary. If you don't do as I say I'll--" He stopped short,
his heart leaping as the force of his indiscretion struck him.
The three men had been struck also.
The two younger ones were already on the ground, one on either side
of him. Only the bearded man remained mounted. He leaned forward. "I
thought you looked familiar. You're _Doctor_ Peccary of the Y Hormone?"
His voice was a menacing whisper. Peccary finally answered with a slow
nod.
"He must have flipped, running around alone like this," a man beside
him said. "However, let's never insult fortune!"
This was the last Dr. Peccary heard. For at that instant one of the
men--he never knew which--struck him forcibly over the head with a
blunt instrument.