* * * * *
"Hypnotism," said Baker. "It sounds like some form of hypnotism, and I
don't like that kind of thing. It could merit criminal prosecution."
"There's no possible way I could have been hypnotized," said Fenwick.
"These crystals--obviously it has something to do with them. But I
wonder what their game is, anyway? It's hard to see where they can think
they're headed."
"I don't know," said Fenwick. "But you promised to show me the gimmick
if I couldn't find it in half a day. I spent a whole day out there
without finding anything."
Baker slapped the desk in exasperation. "You're not really going to make
me go out there and look at this fool thing, are you? I know I made a
crazy promise, but I was sure you could find where they were hoaxing you
if you took one look at their setup. It's probably so obvious you just
stumbled right over it without even seeing it was there."
"Possibly. But you're going to have to show me."
"John, look--"
"Or, I _might_ be willing to take that Clearwater research grant without
any more questions on either side."
Baker thought of the repercussions that would occur in his own office,
let alone outside it, if he ever approved such a grant. "All right," he
sighed. "You've got me over a barrel. I'll drive my car. I may have to
stop at some offices on the other side of town."
"I might be going on, rather than coming back to town," said Fenwick. "I
ought to have my car, too. Suppose I meet you out there?"
"Good enough. Say one o'clock. I'm sure that will give us more time than
we need."
* * * * *
Baker was prompt. He arrived with an air of
let's-get-this-over-as-quick-as-possible. He nodded perfunctorily as
Ellerbee introduced his wife. He scarcely looked at Sam Atkins.
"I hope you've got your demonstration all set up," he said. He glanced
at the darkening sky. "It looks like we might get some heavy rain this
afternoon."
"We're all ready," said Ellerbee. "Sam will drive over to that little
hill on his farm, and we'll go out behind the barn."
On the knoll, Baker accepted the crystal cube without looking at it.
Clenching it in his fist, he put his hand in his pocket. Fenwick guessed
he was trying to avoid any direct view and thus avoid the possibility of
hypnotic effects. This seemed pretty farfetched to Fenwick.
Through field glasses Sam Atkins was seen to get out of his car and walk
to the top of the knoll. He stood a moment, then waved to signal his
readiness.
"Press the crystal in your hand," Ellerbee said to Baker. "Direct your
attention toward Sam Atkins."
Each of them had a cube of the same crystal. It was like a party line.
Fenwick pressed his only slightly. He had learned it didn't take much.
He saw Baker hesitate, then purse his lips as if in utter disgust, and
follow instructions.
In a moment the image of Sam Atkins appeared before them. Regardless of
their position, the image gave the illusion of standing about four feet
in front of them.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Baker," Sam Atkins said.
Fenwick thought Baker was going to collapse.
The director just stood for a moment, like a creature that had been
pole-axed. Then his color began to deepen and he turned with robot
stiffness. "Did you men hear anything? Fenwick ... did you hear ... did
you see?"
"Sure," said Fenwick, grinning broadly. "Sam Atkins said good afternoon
to you. It would be polite if you answered him back."
The image of Sam Atkins was still before them. He, too, was grinning
broadly. The grins infuriated Baker.
"Mr. Atkins," said Baker.
"Yes, Dr. Baker," said Sam Atkins.
"If you hear me, wave your hands. I will observe you through the field
glasses."
"The field glasses won't be necessary."
Both the image before them, and the distant figure on the knoll were
seen to wave arms and gyrate simultaneously. For good measure, Sam
Atkins turned a cartwheel.
Baker seemed to have partly recovered. "There seems to be a very
remarkable effect present here," he said cautiously.
"Dr. Baker," Jim Ellerbee spoke earnestly, "I know you're skeptical. You
don't think the crystals do what I say they do. Even though you see it
with your own eyes you doubt that it is happening. I will do anything
possible to test this device to your satisfaction. Name the test that
will dispel your doubts and we will perform it!"
"It's not entirely a question of demonstration, Mr. Ellerbee," said
Baker. "There are the theoretical considerations as well. The
mathematics you have submitted in support of your claim are not, to put
it mildly, sound."
"I know. Sam keeps telling me that. He says we need an entirely new math
to handle it. Maybe we'll get around to that. But the important thing is
that we've got a working device."
"Your mathematical basis _must_ be sound!" Baker's fervor returned.
Fenwick felt a sudden surge of pity for the director.
The demonstration was repeated a dozen times more. Fenwick went over on
Sam Atkins' hill. He and Baker conversed privately.
[Illustration: ... _"Presence," with the crystals, was not a physical
thing_ ...]
"Do you see it yet?" Fenwick asked.
"No, I'm afraid I don't!" Baker was snappish. "This is one of the most
devilish things I've ever come across!"
"You don't think it's working the way Jim and Sam say it is?"
"Of course not. The thing is utterly impossible! I am convinced a
hypnotic condition is involved, but I must admit I don't see how."
"You may figure it out when you go through Ellerbee's lab."
* * * * *
Baker was obviously shaken. He spoke in subdued tones as Ellerbee
started the tour of the crystal lab again. Baker's eyes took in
everything. As the tour progressed he seemed to devour each new item
with frenzied intensity. He inspected the crystals through a microscope.
He checked the measurements of the thickness of the growing crystal
layers.
The rain began while they were in the crystal lab. It beat furiously on
the roof of the laboratory building, but Baker seemed scarcely aware
that it was taking place. His eyes sought out every minute feature of
the building. Fenwick was sure he was finding nothing to confirm his
belief that the communicator crystals were a hoax.
Fenwick hadn't realized it before, but he recognized now that it would
be a terrific blow to Baker if he couldn't prove the existence of a
hoax.
Proof that the communicator crystals were all they were supposed to be
would be a direct frontal attack on the sacred Index. It would blast a
hole in Baker's conviction that nothing of value could come from the
crackpot fringe. And, not least of all, it would require Baker to issue
a research grant to Clearwater College.
What else it might do to Baker, Fenwick could only guess, but he felt
certain Bill Baker would never be the same man again.
As it grew darker, Baker looked up from the microscope through which he
had been peering. He glanced at the windows and the drenched countryside
beyond. "It's been raining," he said.
Mary Ellerbee had already anticipated that the visitors would be staying
the night. She had the spare room ready for Baker and Fenwick before
dinner. While they ate in the big farmhouse kitchen, Ellerbee explained.
"It would be crazy to try to get down to the highway tonight. The
county's been promising us a new road for five years, but you see what
we've got. Even the oldest citizen wouldn't tackle it in weather like
this, unless it was an emergency. You put up for the night with us.
You'll get home just as fast by leaving in the morning, after the storm
clears. And it will be a lot more pleasant than spending the night stuck
in the mud somewhere--or worse."
Baker seemed to accept the invitation as he ate without comment. To
Fenwick he appeared stunned by the events of the day, by his inability
to find a hoax in connection with the communicator crystals.
* * * * *
It was only when Baker and Fenwick were alone in the upstairs bedroom
that Baker seemed to stir out of his state of shock.
"This is ridiculous, Fenwick!" he said. "I don't know what I'm doing
here. I can't possibly stay in this place tonight. I've got people to
see this evening, and appointments early in the morning."
"It's coming down like cats and dogs again," said Fenwick. "You saw the
road coming in. It's a hog wallow by now. Your chance of getting through
would be almost zero."
"It's a chance I have to take," Baker insisted. He started for the door.
"_You_ don't have to take it, of course."
"I'm not going to!" said Fenwick.
"But I must!"
Fenwick followed him downstairs, still trying to persuade him of the
foolishness of driving back tonight. When Ellerbee heard of it he seemed
appalled.
"It's impossible, Dr. Baker! I wouldn't have suggested your not
returning if there were any chance of getting through. I assure you
there isn't."
"Nevertheless I must try. Dr. Fenwick will remain, and I will come back
tomorrow afternoon to complete our investigation. There are important
things I must attend to before then, however."
Fenwick had the sudden feeling that Baker was in a flight of panic. His
words had an aimless stream-of-consciousness quality that contrasted
sharply with his usually precise speech. Fenwick was certain there was
nothing sufficiently important that it demanded his attention on a night
like this. He could have telephoned his family and had his wife cancel
any appointments.
No, Fenwick thought, there was nothing Baker had to go _to_; rather, he
was running _from_. He was running in panicky fear from his failure to
pin down the hoax in the crystals. He was running, Fenwick thought, from
the fear that there might be no hoax.
It seemed incredible that such an experience could trigger so strong a
reaction. Yet Fenwick was aware that Baker's attitude toward Ellerbee
and his device was not merely one aspect of Baker's character. His
attitude in these things _was_ his character.
Fenwick dared not challenge Baker with these thoughts. He knew it would
be like probing Baker's flesh with a hot wire. There was nothing at all
that he could do to stop Baker's flight.
Ellerbee insisted on loaning him a powerful flashlight and a hand
lantern, which Baker ridiculed but accepted. It was only after Baker's
tail-light had disappeared in the thick mist that Fenwick remembered he
still had the crystal cube in his coat pocket.
"He's bound to get stuck and spend the night on the road," said
Ellerbee. "He'll be so upset he'll never come back to finish his
investigation."
Fenwick suspected this was true. Baker would seal off every association
and reminder of the communicator crystals as if they were some infection
that would not heal. "There's no use beating your brains out trying to
get the NBSD to pay attention," Fenwick told Ellerbee. "You've got a
patent. Figure out some gadgety use and start selling the things. You'll
get all the attention you want."
"I wanted to do it in a dignified way," said Ellerbee regretfully.
_You, too_, Fenwick thought as he moved back up the stairs to the spare
bedroom.
Fenwick undressed and got into bed. He tried to read a book he had
borrowed from Ellerbee, but it held no interest for him. He kept
thinking about Baker. What produced a man like Baker? What made him
tick, anyway?
Fenwick had practically abandoned his earlier determination that
something had to be done about Baker. There was really nothing that
could be done about Baker, Bill Baker in particular--and the host of
assorted Bakers scattered throughout the world in positions of power and
importance, in general.
They stretched on and on, back through the pages of history and time.
Jim Ellerbee understood the breed. He had quite rightly tagged Baker in
addressing him as "Dear Urban." Pope Urban, who persecuted the great
Galileo, had certainly been one of them.
It wasn't that Baker was ignorant or stupid. He was neither. Fenwick
gave reluctant respect to his intelligence and his education. Baker was
quick-witted. His head was stuffed full of accurate scientific
information from diversified fields.
But he refused to be jarred loose from his fixed position that
scientific breakthroughs could come from any source but the Established
Authority. The possibility that the crackpot fringe could produce such a
break-through panicked him. It _had_ panicked him. He was fleeing
dangerously now through the night, driven by a fear he did not know was
in him.
Inflexibility. This seemed to be the characteristic that marked Baker
and his kind. Defender of the Fixed Position might well have been his
title. With all his might and power, Bill Baker defended the Fixed
Position he had chosen, the Fixed Position behind the wall of
Established Authority.
A blind spot, perhaps? But it seemed more than mere blindness that kept
Baker so hotly defending his Fixed Position. It seemed as if, somehow,
he was aware of its vulnerability and was determined to fight off any
and all attacks, regardless of consequences.
Fenwick didn't know. He felt as if it was less than hopeless, however,
to attempt to change Bill Baker. Any change would have to be brought
about by Baker himself. And that, at the moment, seemed far less likely
than the well-known snowball in Hades.
* * * * *
Fenwick knew he must have dozed off to sleep with the light still on in
the room and Ellerbee's unread book opened over his chest. He did not
know what time it was when he awoke. He was aware only of a suffocating
sensation as if some ghostly aura were within the room, filling it,
pressing down upon him. A wailing of agony and despair seemed to scratch
at his senses although he was certain there was no audible sound. And a
depression clutched at his soul as if death itself had suddenly walked
unseen through the closed door.
Fenwick sat up, shivering in the sudden coolness of the room, but clammy
with sweat over his whole body. He had never experienced such sensations
before in his life. His stomach turned to a hard ball under the flow of
panic that surged through all his nerves.
He forced himself to sit quietly for a moment, trying to release his
fear-tightened muscles. He relaxed the panic in his stomach and looked
slowly about the room. He could recall no stimulus in his sleep that had
produced such a reaction. He hadn't even been dreaming, as far as he
could tell. There was no recollection of any sound or movement within
the house or outside.
He was calmer after a moment, but that sensation of death close at hand
would not go away. He would have been unable to describe it if asked,
but it was there. It filled the atmosphere of the room. It seemed to
emanate from--
Fenwick turned his head about. It was almost as if there was some
definite source from which the ghastly sensation was pouring over him.
The walls--the air of the room--
His eyes caught the crystal on the table by the bed.
He could feel the force of death pouring from it.
His first impulse was to pick up the thing and hurl it as far as he
could. Then in saner desperation he leaped from the bed and threw on his
clothes. He grabbed the crystal in his hand and ran out through the door
and down the stairs.
Jim Ellerbee was already there in the living room. He was seated by the
old-fashioned library table, his hand outstretched upon it. In his hand
lay the counterpart of the crystal Fenwick carried.
"Ellerbee!" Fenwick cried. "What's going on? What in Heaven's name is
coming out of these things?"
"Baker," said Ellerbee. "He smashed up on the road somewhere. He's out
there dying."
"Can you be sure? Then don't sit there, man! Let's get on our way!"