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Transcriber's Note:
This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction March 1958. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.
A FEAST OF DEMONS
By WILLIAM MORRISON
Illustrated by DILLON
If you want my opinion, old Maxwell should have kept his big mouth shut ... and then El Greco could not have put Earth in a frame!
* * * * *
I
That year we were all Romans, and I have to tell you that I look awfulin a toga and short sword, but not nearly as awful as the Greek.
You go to one of the big schools and naturally you turn out for theClass Reunion. Why not? There's money there, and good fellowship, andmoney, and the chance of a business contact that will do you somegood. And money.
Well, I wasn't that fortunate--and you can say that again because it'sthe story of my life: I wasn't that fortunate.
I didn't go to Harvard, Princeton or Yale. I didn't even go toColumbia, U.C.L.A. or the University of Chicago. What I went to wasOld Ugly. Don't lie to me--you never heard of Old Ugly, not even if Itell you it's Oglethorpe A. & M. There were fifty-eight of us in mygraduating class--that's 1940--and exactly thirty turned up for thetenth reunion.
Wouldn't that turn your stomach? Only thirty Old Grads with enoughloyalty and school feeling to show up for that tenth reunion andparade around in Roman togas and drink themselves silly and renew oldschool ties. And, out of that thirty, the ones that we all reallywanted to see for sentimental reasons--I refer to Feinbarger ofFeinbarger Shipping, Schroop of the S.S.K. Studios in Hollywood, Dixonof the National City Bank and so on--they didn't show up at all. Itwas terribly disappointing to all of us, especially to me.
In fact, at the feast that evening, I found myself sitting next to ElGreco. There simply wasn't anyone else there. You understand that Idon't refer to that Spanish painter--I believe he's dead, as a matterof fact. I mean Theobald Greco, the one we called the Greek.
* * * * *
I introduced myself and he looked at me blearily through thickglasses. "Hampstead? Hampstead?"
"_Virgil_ Hampstead," I reminded him. "You remember me. Old Virgie."
He said, "Sure. Any more of that stuff left in the bottle, OldVirgie?"
I poured for him. It was my impression, later borne out by evidence,that he was not accustomed to drinking.
I said, "It's sure great to see all the fellows again, isn't it? Say,look at Pudge Detweiler there! Ever see anything so comical as thelampshade he's wearing for a hat?"
"Just pass me the bottle, will you?" Greco requested. "Old Virgie, Imean."
"Still in research and that sort of thing?" I asked. "You always werea brain, Greek. I can't tell you how much I've envied you creativefellows. I'm in sales myself. Got a little territory right here that'sa mint, Greek. A mint. If I only knew where I could lay my hands on alittle capital to expand it the way--But I won't bore you with shoptalk. What's your line these days?"
"I'm in transmutation," he said clearly, and passed out face down onthe table.
Now nobody ever called me a dope--other things, yes, but not a dope.
I knew what transmutation meant. Lead into gold, tin into platinum,all that line of goodies. And accordingly the next morning, after acertain amount of Bromo and black coffee, I asked around the campusand found out that Greco had a place of his own not far from thecampus. That explained why he'd turned up for the reunion. I'd beenwondering.
I borrowed cab fare from Old Pudge Detweiler and headed for theaddress I'd been given.
It wasn't a home. It was a beat-up factory and it had a sign over thedoor:
T. GRECO
_Plant Foods & Organic Supplies_
* * * * *
Since it was Sunday, nobody seemed to be there, but I pushed open thedoor. It wasn't locked. I heard something from the basement, so Iwalked down a flight of steps and looked out into a rather smellylaboratory.
There was the Greek. Tall, thin, wide-eyed and staggering, heappeared to be chasing butterflies.
I cleared my throat, but he didn't hear me. He was racing around thelaboratory, gasping and muttering to himself, sweeping at empty airwith what looked to me like an electric toaster on a stick. I lookedagain and, no, it wasn't an electric toaster, but exactly what it wasdefied me. It appeared to have a recording scale on the side of it,with a needle that flickered wildly.
I couldn't see what he was chasing.
The fact was that, as far as I could see, he wasn't chasing anythingat all.
You have to get the picture: Here was Greco, racing around with oneeye on the scale and one eye on thin air; he kept bumping into things,and every now and then he'd stop, and stare around at the gadgets onthe lab benches, and maybe he'd throw a switch or turn a dial, andthen he'd be off again.
He kept it up for ten minutes and, to tell you the truth, I began towish that I'd made some better use of Pudge Detweiler's cab fare. TheGreek looked as though he'd flipped, nothing less.
But there I was. So I waited.
And by and by he seemed to get whatever it was he was looking for andhe stopped, breathing heavily.
I said, "Hi there, Greek."
He looked up sharply. "Oh," he said, "Old Virgie."
He slumped back against a table, trying to catch his breath.
"The little devils," he panted. "They must have thought they'd gotaway that time. But I fixed them!"
"Sure you did," I said. "You bet you did. Mind if I come in?"
He shrugged. Ignoring me, he put down the toaster on a stick, flippedsome switches and stood up. A whining sound dwindled and disappeared;some flickering lights went out. Others remained on, but he seemed tofeel that, whatever it was he was doing, it didn't require hisattention now.
In his own good time, he came over and we shook hands. I saidappreciatively, "Nice-looking laboratory you have here, Greek. I don'tknow what the stuff is for, but it looks expen--it looks veryefficient."
He grunted. "It is. Both. Expensive and efficient."
I laughed. "Say," I said, "you were pretty loaded last night. Knowwhat you told me you were doing here?"
He looked up quickly. "What?"
"You said you were in transmutation." I laughed harder than ever.
* * * * *
He stared at me thoughtfully, and for a second I thought--well, Idon't know what I thought, but I was worried. He had a lot offunny-looking things there, and his hand was stretching out toward oneof them.
But then he said, "Old Virgie."
"That's me," I said eagerly.
"I owe you an apology," he went on.
"You do?"
He nodded. "I'd forgotten," he confessed, ashamed. "I didn't rememberuntil just this minute that you were the one I talked to in my senioryear. My only confidant. And you've kept my secret all this time."
I coughed. "It was nothing," I said largely. "Don't give it athought."
He nodded in appreciation. "That's just like you," he reminisced. "Tenyears, eh? And you haven't breathed a word, have you?"
"Not a word," I assured him. And it was no more than the truth. Ihadn't said a word to anybody. I hadn't even said a word to myself.The fact of the matter was, I had completely forgotten what he wastalking about. Kept his secret? I didn't even _remember_ his secret.And it was driving me nuts!
"I was sure of you," he said, suddenly thawing.
"I knew I could trustyou. I must have--otherwise I certainly wouldn't have told you, wouldI?"
I smiled modestly. But inside I was fiercely cudgeling my brain.
He said suddenly, "All right, Virgie. You're entitled to something forhaving kept faith. I tell you what I'll do--I'll let you in on whatI'm doing here."
All at once, the little muscles at the back of my neck began to tenseup.
He would do _what_? "Let me in" on something? It was an unpleasantlyfamiliar phrase. I had used it myself all too often.
"To begin with," said the Greek, focusing attentively on me, "youwonder, perhaps, what I was doing when you came in."
"I do," I said.
He hesitated. "Certain--particles, which are of importance to myresearch, have a tendency to go free. I can keep them under a measureof control only by means of electrostatic forces, generated in this."He waved the thing that looked like a toaster on a stick. "And as forwhat they do--well, watch."
* * * * *
El Greco began to putter with gleamy, glassy gadgets on one of thetables and I watched him with, I admit, a certain amount of suspicion.
"What are you doing, Greek?" I asked pretty bluntly.
He looked up. Surprisingly, I saw that the suspicion was mutual; hefrowned and hesitated. Then he shook his head.
"No," he said. "For a minute I--but I can trust you, can't I? The manwho kept my secret for ten long years."
"Of course," I said.
"All right." He poured water out of a beaker into a U-shaped tube,open at both ends. "Watch," he said. "Remember any of your collegephysics?"
"The way things go, I haven't had much time to keep up with--"
"All the better, all the better," he said. "Then you won't be able tosteal anything."
I caught my breath. "Now _listen_--"
"No offense, Virgie," he said earnestly. "But this is a billiondollars and--No matter. When it comes right down to cases, you couldknow as much as all those fool professors of ours put together and itstill wouldn't help you steal a thing."
He bobbed his head, smiled absently and went back to his gleamygadgets. I tell you, I _steamed_. That settled it, as far as I wasconcerned. There was simply no excuse for such unjustified insults tomy character. I certainly had no intention of attempting to take anyunfair advantage, but if he was going to act that way....
He was asking for it. Actually and literally asking for it.
He rapped sharply on the U-tube with a glass stirring rod, seeking myattention.
"I'm watching," I told him, very amiable now that he'd made up my mindfor me.
"Good. Now," he said, "you know what I do here in the plant?"
"Why--you make fertilizer. It says so on the sign."
"Ha! No," he said. "That is a blind. What I do is, I separate opticalisomers."
"That's very nice," I said warmly. "I'm glad to hear it, Greek."
"Shut up," he retorted unexpectedly. "You don't have the foggiestnotion of what an optical isomer is and you know it. But try andthink. This isn't physics; it's organic chemistry. There are compoundsthat exist in two forms--apparently identical in all respects, exceptthat one is the mirror image of the other. Like right-hand andleft-hand gloves; one is the other, turned backwards. You understandso far?"
"Of course," I said.
* * * * *
He looked at me thoughtfully, then shrugged. "No matter. They'recalled d- and l-isomers--d for dextro, l for levo; right and left, yousee. And although they're identical except for being mirror-reversed,it so happens that sometimes one isomer is worth much more than theother."
"I see that," I said.
"I thought you would. Well, they can be separated--but it's expensive.Not my way, though. My way is quick and simple. I use demons."
"Oh, now, Greek. _Really._"
He said in a weary tone, "Don't talk, Virgie. Just listen. It won'ttire you so much. But bear in mind that this is simply the mosttrifling application of my discovery. I could use it for separatingU-235 from U-238 just as easily. In fact, I already--" He stopped inmid-sentence, cocked his head, looked at me and backtracked. "Nevermind that. But you know what a Maxwell demon is?"
"No."
"Good for you, Virgie. Good for you!" he applauded. "I knew I'd getthe truth out of you if I waited long enough." _Another_ ambiguousremark, I thought to myself. "But you surely know the second law ofthermodynamics."
"Surely."
"I thought you'd say that," he said gravely. "So then you know that ifyou put an ice cube in a glass of warm water, for instance, the icemelts, the water cools, and you get a glass with no ice but with allthe water lowered in temperature. Right? And it's a one-way process.That is, you can't start with a glass of cool water and, hocus-pocus,get it to separate into warm water and ice cube, right?"
"Naturally," I said, "for heaven's sake. I mean that's silly."
"_Very_ silly," he agreed. "You know it yourself, eh? So watch."
He didn't say hocus-pocus. But he did adjust something on one of hisgadgets.
There was a faint whine and a gurgling, spluttering sound, like fatsparks climbing between spreading electrodes in a Frankenstein movie.
The water began to steam faintly.
But only at one end! That end was steam; the other was--was--
It was ice. A thin skin formed rapidly, grew thicker; the other openend of the U-tube began to bubble violently. Ice at one end, steam atthe other.
Silly?
But I was seeing it!
I must say, however, that at the time I didn't really know that thatwas all I saw.
* * * * *
The reason for this is that Pudge Detweiler came groaning down thesteps to the laboratory just then.
"Ah, Greek," he wheezed. "Ah, Virgie. I wanted to talk to you before Ileft." He came into the room and, panting, eased himself into a chair,a tired hippopotamus with a hangover.
"What did you want to talk to me about?" Greco demanded.
"You?" Pudge's glance wandered around the room; it was a look ofamused distaste, the look of a grown man observing the smudgy mud playof children. "Oh, not you, Greek. I wanted to talk to Virgie. Thatsales territory you mentioned, Virgie. I've been thinking. I don'tknow if you're aware of it, but when my father passed away lastwinter, he left me--well, with certain responsibilities. And itoccurred to me that you might be willing to let me invest some ofthe--"
I didn't even let him finish. I had him out of there so fast, wedidn't even have a chance to say good-by to Greco. And all that stuffabout demons and hot-and-cold water and so on, it all went out of myhead as though it had never been. Old Pudge Detweiler! How was _I_ toknow that his father had left him thirty thousand dollars in oneattractive lump of cash!
II
Well, there were business reverses. Due to the reverses, I was forcedto miss the next few reunions. But I had a lot of time to think andstudy, in between times at the farm and the shop where we stamped outlicense plates for the state.
When I got out, I began looking for El Greco.
I spent six months at it, and I didn't have any luck at all. El Grecohad moved his laboratory and left no forwarding address.
But I wanted to find him. I wanted it so badly, I could taste it,because I had begun to have some idea of what he was talking about,and so I kept on looking.
I never did find him, though. He found me.
He came walking in on me in a shabby little hotel room, and I hardlyrecognized him, he looked so prosperous and healthy.
"You're looking just great, Greek," I said enthusiastically, seeing itwas true. The years hadn't added a pound or a wrinkle--just thereverse, in fact.
"You're not looking so bad yourself," he said, and gazed at mesharply. "Especially for a man not long out of prison."
"Oh." I cleared my throat. "You know about that."
"I heard that Pudge Detweiler prosecuted."
"I see." I got up and began
uncluttering a chair. "Well," I said,"it's certainly good to--How did you find me?"
"Detectives. Money buys a lot of help. I've got a lot of money."
"Oh." I cleared my throat again.
Greco looked at me, nodding thoughtfully to himself. There was onegood thing; maybe he knew about my trouble with Pudge, but he also hadgone out of his way to find me. So _he_ wanted something out of _me_.
He said suddenly, "Virgie, you were a damned fool."
"I was," I admitted honestly. "Worse than you know. But I am nolonger. Greek, old boy, all this stuff you told me about those demonsgot me interested. I had plenty of time for reading in prison. Youwon't find me as ignorant as I was the last time we talked."
He laughed sourly. "That's a hot one. Four years of college leave youas ignorant as the day you went in, but a couple years of jail makeyou an educated man."
"Also a reformed one."
He said mildly, "Not too reformed, I hope."
"Crime doesn't pay--except when it's within the law. That's the chiefthing I learned."
"Even then it doesn't pay," he said moodily.
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