Never before had the screams of nightmare been such a public
problem; now the wise men almost wished they could forbid sleep in
the small hours, that the shrieks of cities might less horribly
disturb the pale, pitying moon as it glimmered on green waters.
_Nyarlathotep_, H. P. Lovecraft.
Suppressing the fatigue that surged up in him disconcertingly, Clawly
rose to address the World Executive Committee. He found it less easy
to suppress the feeling that had in part caused the surge of fatigue:
the illusion that he was a charlatan seeking to persuade sane men of
the truth of fabricated legends of the supernatural. His smile was
characteristic of him--friendly, but faintly diabolic, mocking himself
as well as others. Then the smile faded.
He summed up, "Well, gentlemen, you've heard the experts. And by now
you've guessed why, with the exception of Thorn, they were asked
to testify separately. Also, for better or worse"--he grimaced
grayly--"you've guessed the astounding nature of the danger which Thorn
and I believe over-hangs the world. You know what we want--the means
for continuing our research on a vastly extended and accelerated scale,
along with a program of confidential detective investigation throughout
the world's citizenry. So nothing remains but to ask your verdict.
There are a few points, however, which perhaps will bear stressing."
There was noncommittal silence in the Sky Room of the Opal Cross. It
was a huge chamber and seemed no less huge because the ceiling was at
present opaque--a great gray span arching from the World Map on the
south wall to the Space Map on the north. Yet the few men gathered in
an uneven horseshoe of armchairs near the center in no way suggested
political leaders seeking a prestige-enhancing background for their
deliberations, but rather a group of ordinary men who for various
practical reasons had chosen to meet in a ballroom. Any other group
than the World Executive Committee might just as well have reserved the
Sky Room. Indeed, others had danced here earlier this night, as was
mutely testified by a scattering of lost gloves, scarves, and slippers,
along with half-emptied glasses and other flotsam of gaiety.
Yet in the faces of the gathered few there was apparent a wisdom and
a penetrating understanding and a leisurely efficiency in action that
it would have been hard to find the equal of, in any similar group
in earlier times. And a good thing, thought Clawly, for what he was
trying to convince them of was something not calculated to appeal to
the intelligence of practical administrators--it was doubtful if any
earlier culture would have granted him and Thorn any hearing at all.
He surveyed the faces unobtrusively, his dark glance flitting like a
shadow, and was relieved to note that only in Conjerly's and perhaps
Tempelmar's was a completely unfavorable reaction apparent. Firemoor,
on the contrary, registered feverish and unquestioning belief, but
that was to be expected in the volatile, easily-swayed chief of the
Extraterrestrial Service--and a man who was Clawly's admiring friend.
Firemoor was alone in this open expression of credulity. Chairman
Shielding, whose opinion mattered most, looked on the whole skeptical
and perhaps a shade disapproving; though that, fortunately, was the
heavy-set man's normal expression.
The rest, reserving judgment, were watchful and attentive. With the
unexpected exception of Thorn, who seemed scarcely to be listening,
lost in some strange fatigued abstraction since he had finished making
his report.
* * * * *
A still-wavering audience, Clawly decided. What he said now, and how he
said it, would count heavily.
He touched a small box. Instantly some tens of thousands of pinpricks
of green light twinkled from the World Map.
He said, "The nightmare-frequency for an average night a hundred years
ago, as extrapolated from random samplings. Each dot--a bad dream. A
dream bad enough to make the dreamer wake in fright."
Again he touched the box. The twinkling pattern changed slightly--there
were different clusterings--but the total number of pinpricks seemed
not to change.
"The same, for fifty years ago," he said. "Next--forty." Again there
was merely a slight alteration in the grouping.
"And now--thirty." This time the total number of pinpricks seemed
slightly to increase.
Clawly paused. He said, "I'd like to remind you, gentlemen, that Thorn
proved conclusively that his method of sampling was not responsible
for any changes in the frequency. He met all the objections you
raised--that his subjects were reporting their dreams more fully,
that he wasn't switching subjects often enough to avoid cultivating a
nightmare-dreaming tendency, and so on."
Once more his hand moved toward the box. "Twenty-five." This time there
was no arguing about the increase.
"Twenty."
"Fifteen."
"Ten."
"Five."
Each time the total greenness jumped, until now it was a general glow
emanating from all the continental areas. Only the seas still showed
widely scattered points, where men dreamed in supra- or sub-surface
craft, and a few heavy clusters, where ocean-based skylons rose through
the waves.
"And now, gentlemen, the present."
The evil radiance swamped the continents, reached out and touched the
faces of the armchair observers.
"There you have it, gentlemen. A restful night in utopia," said Clawly
quietly. The green glow unwholesomely emphasized his tired pallor and
the creases of strain around eyes and mouth. He went on, "Of course
it's obvious that if nightmares are as common as all that, you and
yours can hardly have escaped. Each of you knows the answer to that
question. As for myself--my nightly experiences provide one more small
confirmation of Thorn's report."
He switched off the map. The carefully noncommittal faces turned back
to him.
Clawly noted that the faint, creeping dawn-line on the World Map was
hardly two hours away from the Opal Cross. He said, "I pass over the
corroborating evidence--the slight steady decrease in average sleeping
time, the increase in day sleeping and nocturnal social activity, the
unprecedented growth of art and fiction dealing with supernatural
terror, and so on--in order to emphasize as strongly as possible
Thorn's secondary discovery: the similarity between the nightmare
landscapes of his dreamers. A similarity so astonishing that, to me,
the wonder is that it wasn't noticed sooner, though of course Thorn
wasn't looking for it and he tells me that most of his earlier subjects
were unable, or disinclined, to describe in detail the landscapes
of their nightmares." He looked around. "Frankly, that similarity
is unbelievable. I don't think even Thorn did full justice to it in
the time he had for his report--you'd have to visit his offices,
see his charts and dream-sketches, inspect his monumental tables of
correlation. Think: hundreds of dreamers, to take only Thorn's samples,
thousands of miles apart, and all of them dreaming--not the _same_
nightmare, which might be explained by assuming telepathy or some
subtle form of mass suggestion--but nightmares with the same landscape,
the same general landscape. As if each dreamer were looking through a
different window at a consistently distorted version of our own world.
A dream world so real that when I recently suggested to Thorn he try to
make a map of it, he did _not_ dismiss my notion as nonsensical."
* * * * *
The absence of a stir among his listeners was more impressive than any
stir could have been. Clawly noted that Conjerly's frown had deepened,
become almost angry. He seemed about to speak, when Tempelmar casually
forestalled him.
"I don't think telepathy can be counted out as an explanation,"
said the tall, long-featured, sleepy-eyed man. "It's still a purely
hypothetic field--we don't know how it would operate. And there may
have been contacts between Thorn's subjects that he didn't know about.
They may have told each other their nightmares and so started a train
of suggestion."
"I don't believe so," said Clawly slowly. "His precautions were
thorough. Moreover, it wouldn't fit with the reluctance of the dreamers
to describe their nightmares."
"Also," Tempelmar continued, "we still aren't a step nearer the
underlying cause of the phenomenon. It might be anything--for instance,
some unpredictable physiological effect of subtronic power, since it
came into use about thirty years ago."
"Precisely," said Clawly. "And so for the present we'll leave it
at that--vastly more frequent nightmares with strangely similar
landscapes, cause unknown--while I"--he again gauged the position of
the dawn-line--"while I hurry on to those matters which I consider the
core of our case: the incidence of cryptic amnesia and delusions of
nonrecognition. The latter first."
Again Conjerly seemed about to interrupt, and again something stopped
him. Clawly got the impression it was a slight deterring movement from
Tempelmar.
He touched the box. Some hundreds of yellow dots appeared on the World
Map, a considerable portion of them in close clusters of two and three.
He said, "This time, remember, we can't go back any fifty years. These
are such recent matters that there wasn't any hint of them even in last
year's Report on the Psychological State of the World. As the experts
agreed, we are dealing with an entirely new kind of mental disturbance.
At least, no cases can be established prior to the last two years,
which is the period covered by this projection."
He looked toward the map. "Each yellow dot is a case of delusions of
nonrecognition. An otherwise normal individual fails to recognize a
family member or friend, maintains in the face of all evidence that
he is an alien and impostor--a frequent accusation, quite baseless,
is that his place has been taken by an unknown identical twin. This
delusion persists, attended by emotional disturbances of such magnitude
that the sufferer seeks the services of a psychiatrist--in those cases
we _know_ about. With the psychiatrist's assistance, one of
two adjustments is achieved: the delusions fade and the avowed alien
is accepted as the true individual, or they persist and there is a
separation--where husband and wife are involved, a divorce. In either
case, the sufferer recovers completely.
"And now--cryptic amnesia. For a reason that will soon become apparent,
I'll first switch off the other projection."
* * * * *
The yellow dots vanished, and in their place glowed a somewhat smaller
number of violet pinpoints. These showed no tendency to form clusters.
"It is called cryptic, I'll remind you, because the victim makes a very
determined and intelligently executed effort to conceal his memory
lapse--frequently shutting himself up for several days on some pretext
and feverishly studying all materials and documents relating to himself
he can lay hands on. Undoubtedly sometimes he succeeds. The cases we
hear about are those in which he makes such major slips--as being
mistaken as to what his business is, who he is married to, who his
friends are, what is going on in the world--that he is forced, against
his will, to go to a psychiatrist. Whereupon, realizing that his
efforts have failed, he generally confesses his amnesia, but is unable
to offer any information as to its cause, or any convincing explanation
of his attempt at concealment. Thereafter, readjustment is rapid."
He looked around. "And now, gentlemen, a matter which the experts
didn't bring out, because I arranged it that way. I have saved it
in order to impress it upon your minds as forcibly as possible--the
correlation between cryptic amnesia and delusions of nonrecognition."
He paused with his hand near the box, aware that there was something
of the conjurer about his movements and trying to minimize it. "I'm
going to switch on both projections at once. Where cases of cryptic
amnesia and delusions of nonrecognition coincide--I mean, where it
is the cryptic amnesiac about whom the other person or persons had
delusions of nonrecognition--the dots will likewise coincide; and
you know what happens when violet and yellow light mix. I'll remind
you that in ordinary cases of amnesia there are no delusions of
nonrecognition--family and friends are aware of the victim's memory
lapse, but they do not mistake him for a stranger."
His hand moved. Except for a sprinkling of yellow, the dots that glowed
on the map were pure white.
"Complementary colors," said Clawly quietly. "The yellow has blanked
out all the violet. In some cases one violet has accounted for a
cluster of yellows--where more than one individual had delusions of
nonrecognition about the same cryptic amnesiac. Except for the surplus
cases of nonrecognition--which almost certainly correspond to cases of
successfully concealed cryptic amnesia--the nonrecognitions and cryptic
amnesias are shown to be dual manifestations of a single underlying
phenomenon."
He paused. The tension in the Sky Room deepened. He leaned forward. "It
is that underlying phenomenon, gentlemen, which I believe constitutes a
threat to the security of the world, and demands the most immediate and
thorough-going investigation. Though staggering, the implications are
obvious."
* * * * *
The tautness continued, but slowly Conjerly got to his feet. His
compact, stubby frame, bald bullet-head, and uncompromisingly impassive
features were in striking contrast with Clawly's mobile, half-haggard,
debonair visage.
Leashed anger deepened Conjerly's voice, enhanced its authority.
"We have come a long way from the Dawn Era, gentlemen. One might
think we would never again have to grapple with civilization's old
enemy superstition. But I am forced to that regretful conclusion when
I hear this gentleman, to whom we have granted the privilege of an
audience, advancing theories of demoniac possession to explain cases
of amnesia and nonrecognition." He looked at Clawly. "Unless I wholly
misunderstood?"
Clawly decisively shook his head. "You didn't. It is my contention--I
might as well put it in plain words--that alien minds are displacing
the minds of our citizens, that they are infiltering Earth, seeking
to gain a foothold here. As to what minds they are, where they come
from--I can't answer that, except to remind you that Thorn's studies
of dream landscapes hint at a world strangely like our own, though
strangely distorted. But the secrecy of the invaders implies that their
purpose is hostile--at best, suspect. And I need not remind you that,
in this age of subtronic power, the presence of even a tiny hostile
group could become a threat to Earth's very existence."
Slowly Conjerly clenched his stub fingers, unclenched them. When he
spoke, it was as if he were reciting a creed.
"Materialism is our bedrock, gentlemen--the firm belief that every
phenomenon must have a real existence and a real cause. It has made
possible science technology, unbiased self-understanding. I am
open-minded. I will go as far as any in granting a hearing to new
theories. But when those theories are a revival of the oldest and most
ignorant superstitions, when this gentleman seeks to frighten us with
nightmares and tales of evil spirits stealing human bodies, when he
asks us on this evidence to institute a gigantic witch-hunt, when he
raises the old bogey of subtronic power breaking loose, when he brings
in a colleague"--he glared at Thorn--"who takes seriously to the idea
of surveying dream worlds with transit and theodolite--then I say,
gentlemen, that if we yield to such suggestions, we might as well throw
materialism overboard and, as for safeguarding the future of mankind,
ask the advice of fortunetellers!"
At the last word Clawly started, recovered himself. He dared not look
around to see if anyone had noticed.
The anger in Conjerly's voice strained at its leash, threatened to
break it.
"I presume, sir, that your confidential investigators will go out with
wolfsbane to test for werewolves, garlic to uncover vampires, and cross
and holy water to exorcise demons!"
"They will go out with nothing but open minds," Clawly answered quietly.
Conjerly breathed deeply, his face reddened slightly, he squared
himself for a fresh and more uncompromising assault. But just at that
moment Tempelmar eased himself out of his chair. As if by accident, his
elbow brushed Conjerly's.
* * * * *
"No need to quarrel," Tempelmar drawled pleasantly, "though our
visitor's suggestions do sound rather peculiar to minds tempered to a
realistic materialism. Nevertheless, it is our duty to safeguard the
world from any real dangers, no matter how improbable or remote. So,
considering the evidence, we must not pass lightly over our visitor's
theory that alien minds are usurping those of Earth--at least not until
there has been an opportunity to advance alternate theories."
"Alternate theories _have_ been advanced, tested, and discarded,"
said Clawly sharply.
"Of course," Tempelmar agreed smilingly. "But in science that's a
process that never quite ends, isn't it?"
He sat down, Conjerly following suit as if drawn. Clawly was irascibly
conscious of having got the worst of the interchange--and the lanky,
sleepy-eyed Tempelmar's quiet skepticism had been more damaging than
Conjerly's blunt opposition, though both had told. He felt, emanating
from the two of them, a weight of personal hostility that bothered and
oppressed him. For a moment they seemed like utter strangers.
He was conscious of standing too much alone. In every face he could
suddenly see skepticism. Shielding was the worst--his expression
had become that of a man who suddenly sees through the tricks of a
sleight-of-hand artist masquerading as a true magician. And Thorn, who
should have been mentally at his side, lending him support, was sunk in
some strange reverie.
He realized that even in his own mind there was a growing doubt of the
things he was saying.
Then, utterly unexpectedly, adding immeasurably to his dismay, Thorn
got up, and without even a muttered excuse to the men beside him,
left the room. He moved a little stiffly, like a sleepwalker. Several
glanced after him curiously. Conjerly nodded. Tempelmar smiled.