Somewhere in the far future a diabolical
brain plotted the enslavement of mankind. But
to do that a history had to be changed--ours!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
September 1953
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Victor!"
Her voice shattered the cathedral silence, going the full four hundred
and fifty foot perimeter of the fourteen foot wide floor that encircled
the case of the _Brain_. The echo rebounded from the maze of ladders
and catwalks that went up and up until they were lost to view where the
fifteen foot thick outer wall began its upward slope to form the giant
dome.
The silence returned; as motionless as the needles on the instrument
panels resting on their zero pegs, unactivated; as enduring in essence
as the atom proof concrete dome built to last--as long as the Earth
itself.
Then--a sound answered. A faint sound. Footsteps. Movement appeared
through the grillwork of steel catwalks above. Trousered legs. A hand
sliding along a railing of chrome pipe. More rapid steps as the man
descended a steep stair well. Sharper as the man reached the marble
floor.
Dead video camera eyes let his passage go unregistered. Sensitive
quartz crystals inside glistening microphone shells vibrated to the
sound of his footsteps, his soft breathing, sending feeble currents
along wires--to dead amplifying circuits.
"What is it, Ethel?" Dr. Victor Glassman said to his wife.
"Don't you realize it's almost an hour past your lunch time?" she
chided. "Why do you come in here anyway? The Brain was completed six
months ago. It won't run away--and it won't come to life until someone
finds the proper chemical for the nerve fluid to make it work. My
goodness. Eight hundred and fifty million dollars sitting idle in here.
It gives me gooseflesh. Now you come and eat your lunch so I can
get the dishes out of the way. I'm going to be busy the rest of the
afternoon getting ready for the crowd--or did you forget that your ten
scientists are invited to dinner this evening?"
"Of course not, Ethel," he said, putting his arm around her waist. He
pulled her around so they were side by side, looking upward into the
maze of catwalks, seeing the marble panels of the wall that served as a
covering for the huge man-made brain. "_You_ know why I come in here,"
he said. "I like the feel. The sleeping giant. Not sleeping, really.
Just not born yet. Not living yet. Someday soon that will change. The
first non-human...."
"I understand, Victor," Ethel said softly. "It scares me. I know it
will be just like a human mind--same principles of thought--even if
it will be housed in so vast a brain. But how much do we know of the
capabilities of the _human_ brain? I'm afraid."
Dr. Glassman's eyes crinkled goodnaturedly. He tightened his arm around
her waist.
"I'll protect you, Ethel," he said.
She looked up at the giant structure that dwarfed them to
insignificance. "Against that?" she snorted. "What with? A lance and
prancing nag of leather and bones like Don Quixote of old?" She
slipped her arm around his shoulders, her expression softening. "But I
know what you mean. Only ... it's...."
"And I know what you mean, too. Sometimes even I'm afraid of it.
But once we activate it, it will take years for it to build up a
self-integrated mind even equal to a child's. And we'll both be long
dead before its intelligence starts climbing above that of man. You
know, I'm hungry."
Together, arm in arm, they departed, closing the door. And once again
the echoes died away, leaving only the silence.
And the Brain.
* * * * *
"How about being quiet for a minute so I won't get these mixed
up?" Earl Frye said, a mask of tolerant good nature concealing his
irritation. "By the way, what's wrong with p. n. 9? Bottleneck?"
Irene Conner clapped her hand over her mouth and spoke from between her
fingers. "Go ahead and pour," she mumbled. "I'll keep quiet for five
minutes."
"Okay," Earl said, unaffected by the twinkle in Irene's clear blue
eyes, the smooth wave of her blonde hair, the quiet unscientific curves
under her lab apron.
He picked the first vial off the tray, read the number on its label and
carefully jotted it down on the lab card. He emptied the vial into
the small opening on top the pump and flicked the toggle switch. With
a smooth whir the pump started. The pressure gauge needle broke from
zero and started upward, finally hovering near the seven ton per square
inch mark. He watched as the fluid he had poured emerged into glass
tubing no thicker than a human hair, and, under the tons per square
inch pressure, stretched into fine fluid columns less than half a dozen
molecules thick.
He repeated the performance with another vial and another pump, and
another, until all ten pumps were working. He went back to the first
one. The fluid had reached the slightly enlarged bubble several inches
up the thread-like glass tubes. He shut off the pump, then went through
the same routine with the other ten.
"That show I want to see is on at the Rialto, Earl," Irene said. "Just
tonight and tomorrow night."
"Good," Earl grunted, starting to recheck the charts. "Let me know if
you liked it. If it's any good I might go see it."
"Why don't you come see it with me?" Irene said.
"Uh," Earl hesitated, not looking up from a chart he was studying.
He was saved by the hall door opening.
"Hi, Basil," he said, taking in Basil Nelson's expression of mild
haste, and the empty test tube in his hand.
Irene frowned in annoyance.
Basil looked at her with a mixture of apology and hopefulness, then
turned to Earl. "Uh, I came in to borrow some base formula," he said.
"Just need a few cc's and didn't want to take the time to get a full
gallon from the storeroom."
"Help yourself," Earl said. He grinned sidewise at Irene. "By the way,
Irene is looking for someone to go with her to see some show that's on
at the Rialto."
"I'll be glad to," Basil said eagerly.
"No thanks," Irene said. "I'm going with my aunt."
"Your aunt?" Basil said. "I didn't know you had an aunt living in
Crestmont." He went to a supply shelf over a wall bench and poured some
base formula from a rubber tube dangling from a large bottle.
"She just arrived in town," Irene said dryly.
"Can I meet her?" Basil said coming back from the supply shelf. He was
facing Irene and half facing Earl. He was in a position so that there
was nothing between him and the window across the room.
"Sorry," Irene said. "She's leaving town in the morning. I'm sure--Oh,
how can you be so clumsy, Basil?"
* * * * *
The test tube had dropped from his hand. Small glass fragments and the
oily fluid were spattered on the floor and his shoes. He was examining
a small cut on the inside of his thumb that was beginning to bleed.
"Clumsy?" he said absently. "Oh no. I didn't drop the test tube. It
broke in my hand."
"It couldn't have," Irene said accusingly. "You dropped it."
"What's the difference?" Earl said. "Here. I'll get you another test
tube with some base fluid. No harm done."
He opened a drawer and took out a new test tube. When he was closing
the drawer he glanced absently toward the window. His eyes widened.
"What the devil!" he exclaimed. "Look at that. The window's broken too."
"That's odd--too strange a coincidence," Basil frowned.
"Supersonic vibrations?" Earl said, smiling. "Maybe a foreign spy has
heard of Project Synthetic Nerve Fluid and was trying to kill Basil
with a new secret weapon!"
"Ha ha," Basil said without humor. He accepted the test tube of base
formula from Earl. "Thanks, Earl," he said. He went to the door. There
he turned appealingly to Irene. "I would like to take you--and your
aunt--to the show, Irene," he said.
"Sorry," Irene said, smiling at him sympathetically. "We'll have too
much we want to talk about."
"Uh--okay," Basil said unhappily.
"He's such a jerk," Irene said when Basil had left. "All he would do is
fawn over me all evening. I'd--I'd rather go alone," she added, looking
at Earl appealingly.
"Sure," Earl said. "Be sure and let me know how you like the show.
Now--" He smiled half jokingly to take the sting from his words.
"Scram. I've got work to do."
Irene made a face at him and went to the door.
When she was gone, Earl sighed wearily. Then he frowned at the broken
window.
Carefully he stood where Basil had been standing when the test tube
broke. He held his hand in approximately the same position that Basil
had held it. Trying not to move his hand, he stooped and squinted over
his hand toward the broken window, and beyond it.
A hundred yards away, outside the room, a small hill rose above the
wall surrounding the research building. Earl fixed a spot and then went
to the window to examine it more closely.
Uneasily he stood so that he was half concealed by the wall of the
room. He studied the hill for a minute.
He went to a door at the far side of his lab, and went through into a
large room where he had his living quarters. He took some keys from his
pocket as he approached a desk. He unlocked the top right hand drawer
and took out a small blunt automatic. He checked it and put it in his
hip pocket. He slipped off his lab apron and put on a suit coat.
A few minutes later he was approaching the spot he had picked out on
the side of the hill. There were trees and shrubs that hid the ground.
He watched worriedly, the automatic in his hand now. But there seemed
nothing to be alarmed about. Nothing could be more peaceful than the
wooded hillside. And yet whatever had caused the simultaneous breaking
of the window pane and the test tube could not have been caused by
natural means.
_Something_, directly ahead, concealed by shrubs, had caused it. What?
He intended to find out.
He circled to the left, walking cautiously. With his left hand he
parted branches to see into a thicket.
Almost at once he saw the strange structure. It was shaped like a
puffball, three feet in diameter at its thickest part, and almost
as high. Its surface was of something that had an oily blue sheen.
Its base seemed partly buried in the soil, and the ground was freshly
damaged as though the ball-like shape had landed with great force.
To add to the evidence that it had fallen from great height, the side
was split open, and dozens of small semi-transparent balls of different
colors were spilled out onto the grass and weeds.
He pushed aside the bushes and approached, slowly putting the automatic
back in his hip pocket. He stooped and picked up one of the small
colored balls. It was a semi-transparent green.
He put the small ball in his coat pocket. He stooped and examined the
break in the wall of the structure. The break faced toward the windows
of his lab. He looked in that direction, and saw that leaves obscuring
his view were shredded as though by a violent wind.
He found a fragment of the broken wall of the structure, a piece that
was hardly more than a sliver. He put that in his shirt pocket. Then,
with sudden decision, he scooped up dozens of the marble-like colored
balls and loaded his pockets.
* * * * *
Back in his lab again, he emptied the balls from his pockets into two
measuring flasks on a bench. They were strangely light, and one or two
had to be put back in the flasks again after they floated slowly upward
and down to the table surface where they rested without bouncing.
Earl was filled with excitement and eagerness. This was something
entirely outside his experience, something with mystery. It occurred to
him that the strange structure might be a new type of bomb. Certainly
all the evidence indicated it had dropped from a great height.
He dismissed the possible danger with a shrug. He considered the
possibility of it being some form of puffball that had sprung up in the
shaded woods. It was a remote possibility.
He took the small fragment of the shell from his shirt pocket and
stepped to the bench where his microscope stood. If it was living
substance it would have cellular structure.
Using the low power objective lens he examined the fragment. It showed
no signs of cellular structure. Instead, it was semi-crystaline,
similar to a plastic, under the low power lens.
A sharp sound behind him made him straighten and whirl around, his hand
going toward the gun that was still in his hip pocket. His hand froze
on the butt of the gun. He could only stare.
_On the table where he had placed the two measuring flasks with the
small colored balls, there were two people. A man and a girl. They were
perfectly proportioned--and no more than four inches high._
They seemed unaware of his presence. One of the measuring flasks was
tipped over--the sound that had attracted his attention. The colored
balls were spilled over the table surface. The miniature man was
trying to catch one of the balls which seemed to float weightless like
a bubble. On the miniature man's face was an expression of worried
concern.
The miniature girl was sitting down as though she had half risen from
where she had fallen. She too was reaching for one of the floating
balls.
This much Earl saw in that first startled, incredible instant; then
details began to filter into his awareness. The man was green. The girl
was blue. They were entirely nude, and the color of their skin was
uniform--of the same pastel softness as the colored spheres!
And the girl--Earl found his eyes drawn toward her almost to the
exclusion of everything else. She was beautiful beyond anything he had
ever imagined.
Her smile was calm, slightly amused, more than a little satisfied and
content at some inner thought.
Without thinking, Earl shouted and leaped toward them. His hand
descended to catch them. The miniature man looked up at him, startled,
then in a desperate attempt to escape leaped over the edge of the table.
The girl had no time to do more than attempt to rise before Earl's
fingers closed around her, imprisoning her. He lifted her so that he
could see her face more clearly. She stared at him, at first with
unmasked terror, then with slowly emerging perplexity and interest.
He became acutely aware of her contours against his hand. What should
he do with her? He remembered the man. He would have to catch the man
too!
He looked around on the floor--and saw the man peering at him from
behind a table leg.
Something would have to be done with the girl. He ran to the door of
his room and slipped inside. The windows were closed. She was certainly
too small to lift them and escape.
He looked around swiftly, then went to a bookcase and placed her gently
on the top shelf.
"Stay there!" he warned. He left the room, closing and locking the door.
* * * * *
Across the laboratory he saw the miniature green-skinned man leap to
the window sill below the broken pane. The little man looked over his
shoulder and saw Earl. With a desperate leap he reached the jagged
edge of glass still in place, and pulled himself through.
Earl rushed to the window in time to see the little man disappear in
the high grass growing in the untended grounds outside the building.
Who were these two miniature people? Where had they come from? Had they
come in through the broken window in an attempt to steal the colored
balls? Were _they--were they from that strange thing out on the side
of the hill_? The questions burned through Earl's excited thoughts,
demanding answers that wouldn't come.
Those almost weightless balls--Earl crossed to the bench and gathered
them up and locked them in a metal drawer.
Nervously, he took out a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply. There
was the girl, but he found himself reluctant to go in and face her. And
yet he had to.
He started toward the hall door, then remembered the gun in his hip
pocket. He hesitated, then unlocked the drawer containing the colored
balls and placed it in there, locking the drawer again.
He went to the door to his living quarters and unlocked it.
He opened the door a scant inch, took a deep breath, then pushed
rapidly, jumped inside, and closed the door at his back so the girl
wouldn't have time to escape.
She wasn't blue any more. Her skin was faintly tanned, flawless. But
more startling, she was not four inches high. She was, he guessed, five
feet two or three. She was the same girl. There was no doubt of that.
Her face was the same face, now normal sized. She was the same all over.
"Sorry!" Earl gasped. He crossed quickly to his dresser, opened the
third drawer and found a pair of pajamas.
"Here!" he said, holding them out behind him. "Put these on."
He felt them taken from his hand. A moment later he heard her say, "All
right." It was her voice. He listened to it as it echoed in his mind,
flavored it. Actually it wasn't anything so wonderful, but it was nice.
Nothing seductive or elfin--but she wasn't miniature any more, either.
She sounded a little--amused!
He turned to face her.
"I'm Nadine Holmes," the girl said.
"Nadine. That's nice. Holmes.... I'm Earl Frye, up until a few minutes
ago a quiet research scientist who stays in his lab practically
twenty-four hours a day. Nadine Holmes. Were you really small a few
minutes ago--or did I imagine it?"
"Yes. I was small.... So _you_ are Dr. Earl Frye...."
"Yes. But how can you know me?" Earl asked, surprised at her tone. A
distant knocking sounded. He groaned. "That's probably Irene," he said.
"She'll pound the door down. You stay here and be quiet while I get rid
of her. She could cause both of us a lot of trouble."
He went to the door, slipped out, and carefully locked it. The knocking
was peremptory at the lab door. "Just a minute!" he said. He unlocked
the door, prepared to tell Irene she was interrupting some important
work. It wasn't Irene. "Oh, it's you, Mrs. Glassman. I didn't know.
I was busy and didn't want to be interrup--that is, come on in." He
opened the door invitingly, and glanced worriedly at the door to his
living quarters. Had he locked it? Of course he had. He distinctly
remembered locking it.
"I'm sorry I interrupted your work," Mrs. Glassman said. "I met
Irene--Dr. Conner, you know. She told me you might need some reminding
about dinner--seven thirty. I do hope you'll be there."
"I may not have my work done," Earl said weakly.
"Nonsense! It can wait. It will do you good to get away from the lab
for an evening. If you aren't there I'll come and get you."
"Okay," Earl said hastily. "I promise to be there--on time."
He locked the hall door after Mrs. Glassman.
* * * * *
He glanced thoughtfully at the pump bench with its ten sets of
glass threads containing ten different fluids, ready for cutting
and connecting to the test instruments for measurement of speed and
sustainment of molecular chain action.
The theory of what he was looking for--what all ten of the scientists
were looking for in their planned exploration of a few dozen thousand
substances, was fairly simple. The molecule in theory had to be of a
special type, of which there were many examples. It had to consist of
two parts; one larger than the other, such that the smaller part could
break off easily and jump to the next molecule, combining with it and
freeing its counterpart on that next molecule, so that the freed part
would repeat the performance on the next, and so on. In that way, the
ion of the lesser molecular part, starting at one end of the chain of
identical molecules, would start a chain of reactions which would end
in an identical free ion at the farther end of the glass thread. In
effect it would be the same as though the free ion had passed quickly
through the full length of the fine tube--without any of the molecules
actually having moved at all.
Unfortunately, so far, none of the substances tried had behaved quite
as they should in theory. It was impossible to get a tube fine enough
for a thread one molecule thick, with the molecules lined up properly.
With some of the test substances the "nerve impulse" would go part way
and then turn around and come back. With others it would just "get
lost." Super-delicate instruments "followed" the impulse, telling what
happened to it in fine detail.
Nerve fluid from living animals had been tested and found to behave
properly even in the fine glass tubing. But it was highly unstable. If
a synthetic brain capable of integrated thought processes was to be
constructed, a non-deteriorating nerve fluid would have to be found.
One that duplicated the performance of the actual nerve threads of the
human brain.
All that held back Project Brain was the proper synthetic nerve fluid!
Maybe it's one of those ten, Earl thought. But he entertained that
thought with every ten he tested.
But right now there was a more pressing problem. Nadine Holmes. She
should have arrived on the afternoon bus--instead of appearing as a
pastel blue miniature girl on a bench in his lab--and growing to an
embarrassing full five foot three of emotion disturbing nudity in a few
minutes. An impossible fact, but still a fact.
Where had she come from? That was what he had been going to ask her
when Ethel Glassman barged in. Dear old Mrs. Glassman.
* * * * *
Earl went to the door to his living quarters and unlocked it. Slipping
in quickly, he locked the door again. Nadine was curled up in a chair,
one of his technical books on her lap, looking altogether too domestic
for Earl's peace of mind. She had paused in her reading, and was
looking up at him questioningly.
"Now then," Earl said. He groped for a sequence of thought. She was
beautiful. "Now then," he repeated. "We've got to get you some decent
clothes and decide what to do with you. What sizes do you wear?"
"I don't know," Nadine said. "I've never worn clothes before. I don't
think I like them."
"You'll get used to them," Earl said hastily. "Those things you have
on are my pajamas. We'll need some nylon stockings, shoes, and other
things. I'll have to go buy them."
"Do you have other clothes like the ones you are wearing?" Nadine
asked. "Why wouldn't they do? They're too large, but I could wear
them."
Earl stared at her in amazement. And now the big question came again.
He moved closer to her. "Where do you come from?"
She puzzled over his words. "I'm not sure what you're talking about,"
she said, a tone of wariness in her voice. "Where I come from--perhaps
we'd better not discuss that now. I don't quite understand what
happened. Things didn't happen as they were supposed to. Could you take
me where you first found me?"
"Not until I get you some clothes. Imagine what people would think if
you walked out of here wearing my pajamas!"
"What would they think?" Nadine said, frankly puzzled. "Why are
clothes? Are they connected in some way with religion? I think that's
the word for it--religion. Do clothes bring you good luck? Is that it?
You seem so--so intense about it. Does everyone wear them?"
He ignored her question, went out, locking the door. Before he opened
the lab door to the hall he glanced at his watch. An hour ago nothing
had happened! He shook his head, opened the door and stepped into the
hall--almost bumping into Basil Nelson.
"Hi, Earl," Basil said. "You look like you're in a hurry."
"I am," Earl said. He started past Basil, who fell into step beside
him.
"I'll go along," Basil said. "That is, if you don't mind. I wanted to
talk with you. Pretty important. It's about Irene."
"What about Irene?" Earl said.
Basil waited until they were on the sidewalk before answering. "I guess
it's pretty obvious I'm in love with her," he said. "But--she seems
to have eyes only for you. Mrs. Glassman sort of hinted that you and
Irene--well--were going to get married. I wanted to ask you. If you and
Irene are--"
"_Damn_ Ethel Glassman," Earl said, irritated. "If you are in love with
her why don't you tell her?"
"She won't give me the chance to tell her," Basil groaned. "I think she
suspects, though," he added darkly.
"Fine," Earl said. "And there's no time like the present. Why don't you
go back and pop the question right now while you have your nerve up?"
Basil sighed. "I'll have to work up to it. Right now I'd rather tag
along with you. Mind?"
"No," Earl groaned. "Not at all. A--cousin of mine has a birthday
coming up. I thought I'd buy her some new clothes. No use you tagging
along."
"Don't mind at all," Basil said. "We can do some more talking. Maybe
we could cook up some scheme to make Irene fall in love with me. But
every time I think I'm going great with her I pull something like
dropping that test tube in your lab."
"Oh, that," Earl said. "I--" He clamped his lips shut.
* * * * *
"See you at Glassman's at dinner tonight," Earl said firmly an hour
later. As Basil still hesitated, he added, "Maybe I can think of
something by then. Meanwhile I've still got work to do."
"Uh, oh sure," Basil said, "but I'm afraid it's no use. She's in love
with you, Earl."
"Nonsense!" Earl unlocked the door to his lab and went in with his
packages. He stacked them on a lab table and locked the hall door. A
quick survey showed the lab as it should be. Earl had been worried.
Since Nadine had become a full sized person, maybe the little green man
had too.
Earl crossed to the door to his living quarters and unlocked it.
Inside, he saw Nadine still curled up in the chair in his pajamas, a
stack of books beside her.
"Hi," Earl said, subdued. "I've brought you some clothes, and also
some literature on what they are. I think the literature will give you
enough data to work on in dressing."
He brought the stack of packages into the room and put them on a table.
"While you're dressing I'll finish some work out in the lab," he said.
"Clothes seem terribly important to you," Nadine said without moving
from her comfortable position. "I still can't understand why. I've
tried and tried." She picked up a book. "This book, for example. It's
a very vivid account of a murder. I can understand vaguely about the
murder. It seems to be some sort of game that people play. There are
official players who earn their living at it. The taxpayers pay them
for it, and they sit in their offices until some taxpayer wants to play
with them. The taxpayer kills someone. The detectives must find out who
he is if they can. I can understand that. But there are whole passages
where everyone seems to forget the game while they pay great attention
to what someone is wearing. That's it! It must be another game. No?"
Earl grinned. "That's pretty close," he said. "Do you have games where
you come from?"
"No. Games aren't functional."
"Oh," Earl said vaguely. "Well, get those clothes on, Nadine. You will
look terrific in them."
He backed out of the room and closed the door. While he worked he
wondered how Nadine could speak English without an accent. It was too
far-fetched to think it her native language. Even if it were, spoken
language changes so rapidly that the only possible explanations were,
(1) she was from some part of the United States, or (2), her people
were in constant radio contact with current broadcasts. But neither
alternative could account for her inability to grasp the purpose of
clothes. He hadn't had quite enough nerve to mention to her the main
purpose--sex. Maybe she had been too shy to mention it too. But that
didn't seem to jibe with her evident willingness to take off her
clothes. And she hadn't answered his question on where she came from.
* * * * *
While Earl thought these thoughts he let his hands and one part of
his mind put the synthetic nerve filaments in place in the instrument
banks. There wouldn't be time to run the tests, but he could do that in
the morning when he was alone.
Alone. The thought struck him with dismaying force. He realized
suddenly that he had been trying to keep Nadine with him as long as
possible--and that was futile.
Was he in love with her? He faced the question squarely and felt his
stomach turn over and his heart start to pound wildly. He tried to tell
himself it was just the unusualness of the situation.
He was jerked out of his thoughts by the sound of high heeled shoes.
Nadine had opened the door and taken a few steps into the lab. His eyes
approved of what they saw.
"They're very uncomfortable," Nadine said. "Especially the shoes. But
I looked at myself in the mirror--and I think I begin to understand, a
little. Clothes are adornments."
"On you they are," Earl said. "I never before realized...."
"What's a kiss?" Nadine said.
Earl blinked. He cleared his throat loudly and said, "One thing at
a time, Nadine. There's lots for you to learn. In the meantime, how
does it happen you know English so well? If you're from--some other
planet--you certainly don't speak it as your native language."
"It was taught to us for the expedition," Nadine said. "I think there
must have been an accident. Can you tell me anything about it? The
first I remember is just before you picked me up in your enormous hand."
Earl told her everything he knew. She listened, nodding her head at
times.
"I think I understand now," she said when he finished. "The stasis
spheres. Somehow mine and George Ladd's were fractured, so that we
emerged on the bench. He was in the green one."
"You mean you were _in_ one of those marbles?" Earl exclaimed.
"Where is the ship?" Nadine said.
Earl took her to the window and pointed out the spot. "You can't see it
from here," he said. "But I have some of the--what did you call them?
Stasis spheres? I'll show you."
He unlocked the drawer. Nadine leaned over, seeming to look inside of
each translucent marble.
"Yes," she said, straightening. "It's gone wrong, somehow. The Cyberene
will be most annoyed."
"The Cyberene? What's that?"
Nadine stared down into the drawer, frowning. "You wouldn't
understand," she said. And then, "I'm hungry."
Earl frowned. "That reminds me. I have to go to dinner at Dr.
Glassman's in a little while, or Mrs. Glassman will come barging in
here. I'll fix you something first. After I get back I'll take you to a
hotel."
Nadine perched on the edge of the table in his kitchenette while he
opened some cans and heated their contents.
"How does it smell?" Earl asked after a while. "Good?"
"Strange," Nadine said. "Not entirely strange. Some of the smells are
familiar."
"Would you like a cocktail?" Earl said. He didn't wait for her answer.
He was acutely conscious of playing the host. "This is my favorite
drink. A dash of rum, a little vodka, lime juice, powdered sugar, ice
cubes and seltzer. There." He handed her one of the two glasses. "How
do you like it?"
Nadine sipped the drink cautiously. "Good," she said. "I was thirsty
too."
"What is the Cyberene?" Earl said, dishing steaming food into a plate
set precariously on the edge of the stove.
"The--the Cyberene," Nadine said as though that explained it. "How do
you eat that food without getting dirty? And there's such an enormous
amount of it. I'm used to capsules, with lots of water to help digest
them."
"Oh. Dehydrated foods," Earl said. "Damn! I wish I didn't have to go to
that dinner. Stay in here while I change my clothes."
"Earl," Nadine said as he was about to leave the room.
"Yes?" he said, turning to look at her questioningly.
"What does damn mean? I can't get the sense of it."
"It's an adornment of speech," he said. "Like clothes."
* * * * *
With dinner over, Earl drifted toward the door after excusing himself
and thanking the Glassmans. Basil followed him.
"I need someone to talk to--to help me, Basil," Earl said as they
walked back toward the lab building. "Remember that test tube breaking?
And the window pane?"
"How can I forget?" Basil said ruefully.
Quickly Earl outlined everything that had happened.
"What you should have done," Basil said in amazement, "is gone directly
to Dr. Glassman with it. Now nobody will believe you. Even I find it
hard to believe. You must have fallen hard, the way you want to keep
her under lock and key."
"It's not that," Earl said. "Just a lot of little things. Like her
repeating my name as if she knew all about me. And her refusing to
say where she's from. And her knowledge of our language yet knowing
absolutely nothing about our social customs."
"What about time travel?" Basil said.
"Time travel? That's absurd."
"Why?"
"If time travel were possible at any future date, we would have time
travelers all around us. They'd come back."
"Maybe they have," Basil said darkly. "What did she call those colored
marbles you found? Stasis spheres? But the main thing right now is that
if I were in this George Ladd's shoes--"
"He doesn't wear shoes."
"Well, I would be trying to rescue Nadine Holmes this very minute.
It's dark now--"
But Earl wasn't listening. Basil hurried to catch up with him as he
walked rapidly, until they reached the lab building resting against the
giant starless bulk of the dome that housed the Brain.
"Be quiet," Earl warned as they stole down the hall toward the door to
his lab.
They reached the door and stopped. Through the panel came the sound of
a male voice, the words indistinguishable but the tones unmistakably
demanding and insistent.
Nadine's voice answered, its tones firm. Earl and Basil looked at each
other. Neither of those inside were speaking English.
The male voice uttered a harsh monosyllable. Nadine screamed. Earl,
abandoning caution, tried to open the door. It was locked. He wasted
precious seconds getting the key into the lock. Cursing at the delay,
he flung the door open and ran toward the two figures struggling near
the windows. One was Nadine, her clothes torn, her face a mask of
desperate effort to escape. The other, Earl recognized instantly as
being George Ladd. He also recognized the suit Ladd was wearing. It was
one of his own.
* * * * *
Ladd didn't seem to be aware of him until he grabbed him by the
shoulder and pulled him around roughly. For a split second George Ladd
was motionless with surprise--and in that split second Earl lashed out
with his fist.
The blow sent Ladd stumbling backward until he brought up against a
table. Earl leaped toward him. Ladd made no attempt to escape, but
fumbled for something in the coat pocket of the suit he was wearing. A
glistening object appeared in his hand.
Earl swerved, thinking it must be a gun. Then he was sprawling full
length on the floor, his muscles refusing to obey his commands. His
consciousness was almost entirely dominated by a terrible tingling
sensation that seemed to possess every cell of his body from the neck
down.
He had fallen in such a way that he saw Basil leaping forward. The next
instant Basil was plunging floorward, his arms refusing to come up to
break his fall.
Nadine was running toward the open hall door. She too fell sprawling.
George Ladd appeared in Earl's line of vision. He closed the door and
locked it from the inside, then picked Nadine up and cradled her limp
body over his shoulder.
Earl tried to cry out. The tingling in his throat became unbearable.
In numb horror and frustrated rage he watched George Ladd, Nadine
over his shoulder, her arms dangling limply. A moment later he heard
a window raised. There were sounds of heavy exertion, a faint thud
outside the window. Then silence.
Earl's eyes fed on Basil's motionless form. For what might have
been minutes or hours the tingling continued. It died away with
imperceptible slowness. Finally he was able to move a little. A minute
later he was able to sit up. His entire body felt as though it had
"been asleep."
Almost immediately Basil moved. Earl reached out for the nearest table
and pulled himself to his feet, fighting to keep his legs from caving.
Basil rose to a sitting position, shook his head to clear his senses,
looked up at Earl, and grinned feebly. He said, his speech thick and
clumsy, "_Now_ I believe you. That paralysis gun did it."