"Look, man, I'm a psychiatrist. The functioning of the human mind is
my baby. Or," he added bitterly, "it should be. But, darn it, all we
can do is to surmise, theorize, hope and pray. We don't know what makes
schizophrenics, or manic-depressives or any of the other mental quirks.
We aren't even certain why some people are well liked while others, of
almost identical get-together are heartily disliked. But you've come up
with a little dingus that causes a switch-over from one personality to
another merely by pushing a button. Find out why and we psychiatrists
may some day get to first base in psychoanalysis."
"Um--I suppose a real pathophone would be a help."
"Pathophone is a good word," smiled the psychiatrist, "but to dig
into a warped mind without having the erroneous impressions and false
evaluation clouding the only entry ... we'd be able to clear up almost
any mental condition. Now, how does it work?"
"I am not prepared to say. I was seeking experimental data on
the 'epicenter' of the poltergeist phenomena--the poltergeist
usually manifests in the vicinity of or because of some central
influence--usually a person who is unaware of his potentiality. At any
rate, I was setting up a series of local magnetic and electrostatic
fields and then trying the micro-microwave spectrum for response. I
was running up through the region between long heat radiation and
micro-micro radio waves when--blooey!--I was the engineer. I switched
back eventually and consolidated my findings into that little tungsten
box."
"I want the dope on it."
"I'll give it to you," nodded Thomas. "As soon as I make some final
measurements and consolidate my data."
"Fine. Mind telling me what causes the poltergeist?"
* * * * *
"As best I can. The present concept of space is that space itself is
under internal strain. Force vectors in cancellation prevail, resulting
in a stable continuum. Space is warped by electrostatic effects,
magnetic effects, and gravitic effects. These local effects do not
create a discontinuity in the space strain, and therefore no eruption
takes place. Now enters the epicenter. Radiation from his mind or brain
in thinking goes out and starts a very minor sympathetic oscillation
in the warps and strains of space. If these strains are in the right
vectorial situation, the minor oscillation builds up the response
amplitude--"
"That doesn't make sense," objected the doctor. "Mental radiation must
be weak. How can it induce high power?"
"It can't. But if you know radio at all, you'll recall that a high 'Q'
circuit will develop very high voltages across the terminals with a
very small driving voltage. Well, this is analogous to the epicenter
effect. The epicenter wave causes instability in the space strains
because the brain wave is not a natural phenomena of space. Then--like
two sticks end to end under compression, it takes very little sidewise
thrust to make the compression-force collapse, forcing the sticks out
at right angles. Follow?"
"But where did this energy or force come from?" puzzled Hamilton.
"Isn't that a violation of the Law of Conservation of Energy?"
"Not at all. The law is still valid. It does state that you cannot
get more out of anything than is put into it. The guesswork comes
in deciding how the energy got there. Coal, for instance, is just a
black stone. It has potential energy which was put into it by the eons
of solar energy shining on the carboniferous forests. A stone has
potential energy for falling. Where did it get it? It may have been
carried up the hill; it may have been dropped from space--put out there
by the cosmic eruption that caused Creation. Or it may have been on the
edge of a gully and the potential drop made by the stream eroding the
ground out from under it."
"How about atomic power?"
"You mean, how did the power get locked in the atom?"
"Yes."
"The power in the atom was put there by the universe's atom factories.
Sol, and the other suns," explained Hamilton.
"But where did the earth--?"
"Creation," murmured Thomas. "Who knows? I don't. Every time somebody
comes up with a perfect answer, someone else comes up with perfect data
that proves that the answer couldn't be _anything_ that anybody has
ever used before.
"The atom factory is the Solar Phoenix. You start with hydrogen and
carbon. The solar heat is such that they combine atomically to an
unstable isotope of nitrogen which immediately becomes a stable isotope
of nitrogen. More hydrogen gets in, making it unstable oxygen and so
forth. Oxygen breaks down, releasing energy, helium, and, what do you
know, carbon again, which begins to take on hydrogen again, and here
we go again. But the thing is uncontrolled hell on wheels. Things go
wrong due to the variances of pressure and temperature, and the oxygen
doesn't always break down into helium and carbon. It takes offshoots
and sidetracks. It'll add hydrogen and become fluorine, for instance,
which then adds more and becomes something else, some of which trails
off like the branches of a tree and do not break down into recurrent
reactions. Hence the other atoms."
"I'll read about it and get the real picture. Know a good book?"
Thomas scratched his chin. "If you can find a copy of 'The Days of
Creation,' by Willy Ley, the first part of the book has a description
of the Solar Phoenix."
"Well, good enough," said Dr. Hamilton. "But just bear one thing in
mind. You think you've beaten the engineer. Your basic trouble is just
that the engineer is you, too. He has your ability and your knowledge
and your experience upon which to work. He is no fool, and you can take
that as a back-handed compliment if you want to. He is just as capable
an engineer as you are a physicist. He thinks in different channels, I
will admit. But, Thomas, remember that his extra-channellar thinking is
done with the same thinking equipment as yours is, and it is no less
efficient because of being divergent from your own thought-track. Your
battle was won too easily to be conclusive."
"What do you expect?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm no scientist in physics." Hamilton held up a hand
as Thomas started to protest. "I use 'scientist' despite your dislike
of the word only because there is no term that describes both of the
attributes of practical engineer and research physicist. Frankly, I'm
hoping for an eventual coalition, but I fear not."
"Why view no-coalition with distaste?" demanded Thomas.
"Because both personalities offer much to the world, to science in
general, and to the body that houses both of them."
"I heartily dislike all aspects of practical engineering," stated
Thomas flatly. "To be everlastingly forced to retrace your own
steps, again and again and again, working out the most insignificant
details--bah!"
"The engineer has another viewpoint."
"I know. But the engineer in this case is here only because of his own
necessity--which he himself has removed. I am the real entity; I am the
desire of the engineer. I am what he wants to be. _I am what he will
become!_"
* * * * *
"Good morning, Frank."
"Morning, Miss Elaine. Mr. Lionel isn't here."
"He'll be back?" asked the girl.
"Oh yes. He went over to see Dr. Hamilton."
"Oh. Frank, the usual question?"
"This morning he is Thomas Lionel, Ph.D., M.M."
"Oh."
"He went to bed Tom Lionel, Consulting Engineer."
"I wonder if he remembers," smiled Elaine.
The _Poltergeist_ landed on the lawn. It was silent, but a flash of
sunshine caught the sleek side and attracted Elaine's attention.
"Hi," she called as she emerged from the house.
"Howdy," he answered. "What brings you out?"
"Never ask a girl a question like that," she laughed. "You'll never get
the right answer."
"Why?"
"If she says 'you' it's either a lie or she's the kind of girl your
mother tried to protect you from. If she says anything else, it's
either a lie or she's the kind of girl your mother tried to protect you
from."
"A man can't win," snorted Thomas.
"Does a man really want to win?"
"Nope," admitted Thomas. "I won't ask questions, Elaine. I'll just be
glad you came."
"I'm glad you're glad."
Elaine flirted with him shamelessly, and then turned toward the
laboratory building. He followed, and they kept up a running fire of
light talk all the way.
"The first thing I have to do is to see what the engineer was doing
last," remarked Thomas as he opened the laboratory door.
"You are a strange fellow," smiled Elaine. "You respect each other's
possessions and beliefs, though you argue madly through impersonal
mediums. Still writing nasty letters?"
"Uh-huh. And playing chess."
"What's he been doing?" asked Elaine innocently.
"Don't really know. Aside from some experiments on the poltergeist
effect--reducing them to practice--I wouldn't know. I doubt that he's
been doing much else. I do happen to know that he's deeply interested
in the epicenter effect. He may find the key to it, too."
The laboratory was about as he remembered it. There were some changes.
A few of the pieces of equipment were moved; some of them were
converted; and a couple of them had been built in to other, larger
pieces. All of the workmanship was clean and shining.
The cyclospectrograph had been worked on with a vengeance. It had lost
its haywire appearance. The D plates were all neatly machined and
the high frequency plumbing was all rearranged into mathematical and
technical symmetry. The hours-use counter showed constant operation
for several days solid, which interested the physicist.
"He's found a use for it," he grinned at Elaine.
"He finds a use for most everything," she said. "He's a pretty sharp
man."
"Thanks," grinned Thomas, recalling what the psychiatrist had said
regarding the mutual efficiency of the mind in Thomas Lionel's body.
"Wonder what this crystal is," muttered Thomas.
"Looks like a natural quartz."
"Might be--though I doubt it."
"Can you find out?"
"Eventually. If it is interesting, I will. What bothers me mostly,
though," said Thomas thoughtfully, "are two things. One of them is that
open drum of gooey tar. The other one is that vat of used motor oil."
"The oil I understand. But what is the tarlike goo?"
"I forget its name. It is one of the natural asphalt family and it
ranks high--along with chewing gum--among those substances in which I
would least like to bathe."
"Um. I detect a tone of distaste," laughed Elaine. "Here's another
little tricky gadget. Looks sort of like your tungsten box."
"Oh?" asked Thomas.
"Yes ... say, Tommy, what's an epicenter?"
"Ah ... why?" asked the physicist, his attention on the
cyclospectrograph.
"This box has a little sign on it. It says: 'Be an epicenter' and some
other stuff."
"The epicenter is the main feature around which the phenomena
revolves," explained Thomas idly.
"Oh."
* * * * *
Elaine fondled the little box. Her forefinger touched the button, felt
its smoothness. In her mind was knowledge of the dire effects caused by
tyros who push strange buttons. Certainly there was no curiosity deep
enough to override her own good sense. But subconsciously the natural
impulse to touch wet paint, to kick the package on the sidewalk, came
to the fore and Elaine stood there, looking the box over with her
forefinger set against the button.
"'Be an epicenter'," she repeated.
It registered. Like a swift montage, events past, present and future
sped through Thomas Lionel's mind. He went from the basic idea to the
foregone conclusion in three lightning-quick steps.
"_NO!_" he yelled.
But it was too late.
And through his mind there passed a vision that made him swallow.
Elaine--dressed in a simple frock of printed silk, garnished from
the top of her beautifully coiffed hair to the bottoms of her
exquisitely shod feet in an awful mixture of used crankcase oil and a
tar-asphaltum--
In vain he tried to cross the twenty feet that separated him from the
girl. In vain he tried to get there, to snatch that devilish box from
her hand, to grab it and hurl it far enough away so that the effect
wouldn't even cause a bad splash.
The idea of seeing her all gooed up. That made him shout hoarsely.