"You implied, at least, that suggestions from outsiders were not
welcome. I begin to understand why the Medical Center has failed to get
anywhere with Mekstrom's in the past twenty years."
"What do you mean?" he snapped.
"Merely that it is the duty of all scientists to listen to every
suggestion and to discard it only after it has been shown wrong."
"Such as--?" he said coldly, with a curl of his eyebrows.
"Well, just for instance, suppose some way were found to keep a victim
alive during the vital period, so that he would end up a complete
Mekstrom Human."
"The idea is utterly fantastic. We have no time for such idle
speculation. There is too much foggy thinking in the world already. Why,
only last week we had a Velikovsky Adherent tell us that Mekstrom's had
been predicted in the Bible. There are still people reporting flying
saucers, you know. We have no time for foolish notions or utter
nonsense."
"May I quote you?"
"Of course not," he snapped stiffly. "I'm merely pointing out that
non-medical persons cannot have the grasp--"
The door opened again and a second man entered. The new arrival had
pleasant blue eyes, a van dyke beard, and a good-natured air of
self-confidence and competence. "May I cut in?" he said to Dr. Sprague.
"Certainly. Mr. Cornell, this is Scholar Phelps, Director of the Center.
Scholar Phelps, this is Mr. Steve Cornell, a gentleman of the press," he
added in a tone of voice that made the identification a sort of nasty
name. "Mr. Cornell has an odd theory about Mekstrom's Disease that he
intends to publish unless we can convince him that it is not possible."
"Odd theory?" asked Scholar Phelps with some interest. "Well, if Mr.
Cornell can come up with something new, I'll be most happy to hear him
out."
Dr. Lyon Sprague decamped with alacrity. Scholar Phelps smiled after
him, then turned to me and said, "Dr. Sprague is a diligent worker,
businesslike and well-informed, but he lacks the imagination and the
sense of humor that makes a man brilliant in research. Unfortunately,
Dr. Sprague cannot abide anything that is not laid out as neat as an
interlocking tile floor. Now, Mr. Cornell, how about this theory of
yours?"
"First," I replied, "I'd like to know how come you turn up in the nick
of time."
He laughed good-naturedly. "We always send Dr. Sprague out to interview
visitors. If the visitor can be turned away easily, all is well and
quiet. Dr. Sprague can do the job with ease. But if the visitor, like
yourself, Mr. Cornell, proposes something that distresses the good Dr.
Sprague and will not be loftily dismissed, Dr. Sprague's blood pressure
goes up. We all keep a bit of esper on his nervous system and when the
fuse begins to blow, we come out and effect a double rescue."
I laughed with him. Apparently the Medical Center staff enjoyed needling
Dr. Sprague. "Scholar Phelps, before I get into my theory, I'd like to
know more about Mekstrom's Disease. I may not be able to use it in my
article, but any background material works well with writers of fact
articles."
"You're quite right. What would you like to know?"
"I've heard, too many times, that no one knows anything at all about
Mekstrom's. This is unbelievable, considering that you folks have been
working on it for some twenty years."