There was a short muttering of agreement as he sat down.
“Next?” Karl asked.
Half a dozen people tried to get the floor at once, but Ferdie managed to get recognized.
“I say go back!” he stated. “And since the previous speaker was talking about accusations let me say that I can’t be accused of personal bias, either. As far as I’m concerned, I would just as soon spend the next several years cruising around to the far corners to see what’s up. But the longer we’re gone, the harder it will be to fit ourselves back into normal society.
“Look, we left Earth because we thought it was the best thing for mankind. And when I say mankind, I mean the Normals, the parent race. What we saw down there—” he gestured in the direction of Centauri III—“is dramatic proof that we were wrong. It would seem that a scattering of Superiors is somehow necessary to keep human society from collapsing. Maybe we act as a sort of essential catalyst or something. Whatever it is, we’re needed. If we walk out on Man, we’ll never be able to live with ourselves in our brave new world.”
Karl looked worried. “I think I agree with you,” he said, “but if we go back, we’ll be dumped into the old problem of future relations again. Right now there are so few of us that if we were found out, we’d be looked upon as freaks. But what’s going to happen when our numbers start to shoot up? Any group that has special powers is suspect, and I don’t relish the thought of condemning our descendants to a world where they’ll have to kill or be killed.”
“If worst comes to worst, they can always take off the way we did,” replied Ferdie. “But I’d like to point out that migration was the first solution proposed and the one we’ve given all our attention to. There must be other ways out, if we look for them. We’ve got to give it a try, anyway.” He turned to the young man in the horn-rimmed glasses. “How about it, Jim?”
The other nodded reluctantly. “I’m dubious, but maybe we should go back and make the try you’ve been talking about.” His voice sharpened. “Under one condition, though. If the Normals start to give us any trouble, we get out again!”
“I’ll agree to that,” said Ferdie. “How about the rest of you?”
The ayes had it.
There was a sound of polite applause from the doorway. Mr. Thwiskumb had returned. “A very wise decision,” he said, “very wise. It demonstrates a commendable social maturity. I am sure your descendants will thank you for it.”
“I don’t know what for,” said Karl sadly. “We’re robbing them of all the things that you have. Instantaneous teleportation, for example. It’s no particular sacrifice for us—we’re just starting to develop the powers within us—but it will be for them. I don’t know if we are right, asking them to pay such a price.”
“What about the other price?” demanded Ferdie. “What about that scrawny grimy gang down on Centauri III, sitting apathetically in the hot sun and scratching themselves? We also have no right to condemn the Ordinaries to a future like that.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t be doing that,” said Mr. Thwiskumb mildly. “Those people down there aren’t Ordinaries.”
“What!”
“Dear me, no. They weren’t the ones that were left behind. They are the descendants of those who migrated. Those poor devils down there are pure-blooded Superiors. When they ran into the limiting factor, they just gave up.”
“Then what accounts for you? You’re obviously a Superior.”
“That’s a very kind thing to say,” answered the little man, “but I’m just as ordinary as anyone can be. We’re all Ordinaries where I come from. Our Superiors left a long time ago.” He chuckled. “It’s a funny thing—at the time, we didn’t know they were gone, so we didn’t miss them. We just went about business as usual. Later, we found them, but it was already too late. You see, the big difference was that we had an unlimited area of development and they didn’t. There’s no limit to the machine, but there is to the human organism. No matter how much training you have, there is a limit to how loud you can shout. After that, you have to get yourself an amplifier.
“A slight neural rearrangement makes it possible for you to tap and control certain sources of physical energy that aren’t directly available to the ordinary man of your planet, but you are still dealing with natural forces…and natural organic limits. There is a point beyond which you can’t go without the aid of the machine, an organic limiting factor. But after several generations spent in mastering what is inside your heads, rather than struggling for control of the world around you, and the time comes when your natural limits are reached, the very concept of the machine had been lost. Then where do you go from there?”
He waited for an answer, but nobody offered one.
“There is an old story in our folklore,” he continued, “about a boy who bought himself an animal somewhat like your terrestrial calf. He thought that if he lifted it above his head ten times a day while it was little, he would build up his strength gradually until he would still be able to lift it over his head when it was a full-grown animal. He soon discovered the existence of a natural limiting factor. Do you see what I mean? When those people down there reached their natural limits, there was no place for them to go but backward. We had the machine, though, and the machine can always be made smaller and better, so we had no stopping point.”
He reached inside his vest and pulled out a small shining object about the size of a cigarette case. “This is hooked by a tight beam to the great generators on Altair. Of course I wouldn’t but I could move planets with it if I wanted to. It’s simply a matter of applying a long enough lever, and the lever, if you’ll remember, is a simple machine.”
Karl looked dazed. In fact, everyone did.
“Yeah,” he muttered, “yeah, I see what you mean,” He turned to the group. “All right, let’s get back to the engine room. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.”
“How long?” asked the little man.
“Four months if we push it.”
“Shocking waste of time.”
“I suppose you can do better?” Karl inquired belligerently.
“Oh, dear me, yes,” said Mr. Thwiskumb. “It would take me about a minute and a half. You Superiors dawdle so—I’m glad I’m normal.”
* * * *
Jan was doing a happy little dance through his apartment when his buzzer rang. He opened the door and Ferdie stepped in.
“I came up on the elevator,” he said. “It’s a lot easier on the nerves. My, you look pleased with yourself. I know why, too—I saw her coming out of the lobby when I came in. She walked as if she were wearing clouds instead of shoes.”
Jan did a little caper. “We’re getting married next week and I got my job back.”
“I got mine back, too,” said Ferdie. “Old Kleinholtz gave me a little lecture about walking out on him when work was at its heaviest, but he was too pleased with himself to do more than a perfunctory job. When he took me back into the lab, I saw why. He’s finally got his gadget running.”
“What did it turn out to be? A time machine?”
Ferdie grinned mysteriously. “Something almost as good. It lifts things.”
“What kind of things?”
“Any kind. Even people. Old Kleinholtz had a little set of controls rigged up that he could strap to his chest. He turned the machine on and went flying around the lab like a bird.”
Jan’s jaw dropped. “The way we do?”
“Just the same, boy. He’s found a way to tap the terska force. Really tap it, not suck little driblets out, as we do. Another ten years and the Ordinaries will be able to do anything we can do, only better. And a good thing too. Telepathy gives us headaches, and levitation is a pleasant Sunday afternoon pastime, but hardly something to build a civilization on. As Mr. Thwiskumb said the machine has no natural limits, so I guess our worries about the future are over. Nobody is going to be unhappy about us being able to fly thirty miles an hour when they can make it instantaneous. Looks like superman is obsolete bef
ore he even had a chance to get started.”
He stretched his arms and yawned. “Guess I’d better get home and hit the sack. It’s going to be a busy day at the lab tomorrow.”
He walked over to the open window and looked out.
“Flying home?” asked Jan.
Ferdie grinned and shook his head. “I’m waiting until the new improved model comes out.”
DISASSEMBLY LINE
“This is our Mr. Higgens,” said the blond young desk clerk. “He’ll be in charge of taking you apart. And this is Mr. Montgombery, the best reassembler on our staff.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” said Mr. Montgombery.
“Likewise,” said Mr. Higgens.
Aunt Hester gave a nod of cold acknowledgment of the introduction, and turned back to the reception desk. Higgens and Montgombery eyed her stiff back for a moment, looked at each other, and quietly left.
“One second, please,” said the desk clerk, lifting a small stack of cards out of a file drawer.
“As I was saying,” said Aunt Hester, “disorder I can tolerate, but not willful mistreatment.” She pointed towards two dejected looking plants that squatted in tubs on each side of the main entrance to the lobby. “Those rubber plants haven’t been dusted in months! How do you expect the poor things to be happy with their pores all clogged up with filth and grime?”
There was no answer. She rapped on top of the counter with her umbrella. “Young man! I was speaking to you!”
The young man looked up briefly from the pile of cards he was checking.
“One minute, Miss Winston,” he said. “As soon as I find your record, I’ll be able to take care of you.”
Aunt Hester sniffed through her enormous, beaklike nose and surveyed the general untidiness of the lobby with distaste. She didn’t know where she was yet, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of hostelry she would have selected for a home away from home, if she’d had any voice in the matter; during her annual trips to Boston she always stayed at the Aldrich, a quiet and dignified family hotel that had been patronized by the Winstons for four generations. But this wasn’t Boston…and she hadn’t had any choice about coming here. She’d just…come.
“Ah, here we are.” The young man behind the counter pulled out a card and scanned it quickly. “Sorry to have kept you waiting, but we’re terribly shorthanded here. I have to act as desk clerk, registrar, and office manager at the same time.”
Aunt Hester didn’t look at all sympathetic. “That’s no excuse for neglecting the rubber plants,” she said severely. “While a plant is not human, it is still part of the divine pattern. The Good Lord put us on Earth to look after those who are unable to look after themselves.” She spoke with the brusque assurance of one who had done considerable looking after, and intended to do a lot more.
“But you aren’t on… The clerk suddenly caught himself and looked back at her card. “You’ll be in 327. It’s an inside room, but it’s all we have open at the moment. If you’ll wait just a few minutes until I can bring your records up to date, I’ll take you up there.”
“I’ll find my own way, thank you,” sniffed Aunt Hester.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to walk up, then,” said the clerk. “I run the elevator too.”
It wasn’t a very nice room. There was only one window, and it was jammed open. Sulfur fumes from a small crater at the bottom of the air shaft curled yellow streamers into the room, making a tawny haze through which the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling shone dimly. Aunt Hester coughed genteelly and waved a lace-trimmed handkerchief ineffectually in front of her face…
“Something,” she said to herself, “is going to have to be done about this.”
Her face took on an expression of grim satisfaction as she began planning—she loved to manage things and lives, especially other people’s. She was considering organizing a committee of guests to call upon the manager when there was a diffident knock upon her door.
“Who’s there?” she called.
Mr. Montgombery and Mr. Higgens entered. Their shoulders were so broad that they had to turn sideways to get through the doorway.
“Time for your first lesson, ma’am,” said Mr. Montgombery.
“Lesson?” said Aunt Hester. “I made no arrangements for lessons.”
“Oh, yes, you did, ma’am,” said Mr. Montgombery. “You wouldn’t be here unless there was something you had to learn.”
“Stuff and—”
Aunt Hester never got the “nonsense” out. Before she knew what was up, Mr. Higgens had thrown her to the floor and planted one large brogan firmly on her chest. Aunt Hester was a spare sort who was not too well equipped with natural paddling, and the hobnails hurt. But that hurt was nothing compared to the one that came when Mr. Higgens reached down, grabbed hold of her long and aquiline nose, and tore it out by the roots.
Aunt Hester threshed and howled.
Mr. Higgens handed the nose over to Mr. Montgombery and addressed Aunt Hester sternly: “Come now, ma’am, we can’t have this carrying on. How do you expect Mr. Montgombery to reassemble you when you’re bouncing around like that?”
She just screamed all the louder. It wasn’t until Mr. Montgombery knelt down and locked her head firmly between his knees that he was able to replace her nose in roughly its original position.
He groaned and rubbed his back gingerly as he pulled himself to his feet. “If Dr. Walters doesn’t do something for my arthritis, I’m going to transfer over to rack detail! The pay’s less and there isn’t as much variety, but there wouldn’t be any of this infernal bending up and down all day.”
“Don’t worry, Herbert,” said Mr. Higgens comfortingly. “As soon as this damp spell passes, you’ll feel better about the whole thing. You know you’d never be happy doing the same thing day after day. You’re an artist. Come on, now. As soon as we finish up that case in 814 we’ll both go down and have a nice cup of hot tea.”
They reached down, picked Aunt Hester up, and placed her on her lumpy bed.
“We’ll be back tomorrow morning to give you your next lesson, ma’am,” said Mr. Montgombery.
They left.
Aunt Hester lay quivering for five minutes before she was able to drag herself over to the phone.
“Desk clerk,” said a pleasant voice.
“I want the police!” gasped Aunt Hester.
“There, there,” said the desk clerk in a soothing voice. “After a month or so you’ll find yourself taking your lessons in your stride. If you’ll try to cooperate with Mr. Montgombery and Mr. Higgens when they come around tomorrow, you’ll find it will make things much easier.”
“There won’t be a tomorrow!” snapped Aunt Hester. “I’m leaving here at once!”
* * * *
“You’ll hear from my lawyer,” promised Aunt Hester as she passed the desk clerk on her way through the lobby.
Without looking back, she opened the front door and went outside onto the veranda, which was unoccupied except for a sad-faced and somewhat portly man who looked as if he were suffering from a severe toothache. He was sitting in a sagging old rocker and had both feet up on the railing.
“How does one get to town from here?” Aunt Hester demanded.
“One doesn’t,” he said sadly. It seemed to hurt him to talk, and he tried to form his words without moving his lower jaw. “What were you sent here for?”
“I fail to see that it’s any concern of yours,” said Aunt Hester primly. “But it just so happens that…that…”
Her voice suddenly quavered to a stop and a panic-stricken expression came over her face.
“I don’t know,” she whispered in a frightened voice. “I just don’t know. I can’t seem to remember. I found myself standing in the lobby, and I seemed to have a reason for being there…but what went before is just a blur.”
“I know,” said the portly man sympathetically. “But you’ll remember after a bit. I think they muddle us up at first to make it easier for us. Afte
r a lesson or two, you’ll suddenly remember everything again, and then you’ll understand why you’re here.”
“Oh, no, I won’t! I’m leaving, right now.”
“You’ll never get as far as the gate.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Aunt Hester. “Good day, sir.”
The grounds were surrounded by a high wall, and through a wide archway in it a graveled drive curved up to the veranda. Aunt Hester fixed her eye on the wrought iron gate, which didn’t seem more than three hundred yards away, and started toward it with a determined stride.
After ten minutes, she found she was only half way to it.
She glanced back to see if anyone was coming after her. The veranda was still unoccupied except for the portly man. He waved at her. She started to sniff, but finding her nose was still extremely sensitive, didn’t. Instead, she started walking toward the gate again.
Aunt Hester was a past president of the Allentown Bird Watchers, and her stride was the efficient mile-eating one of an experienced hiker. On she walked, and on, fighting more and more unsuccessfully to keep down a feeling that something was wrong.
Twenty minutes later, she stopped again.
This time she was three-quarters of the way to the gate—close enough to see that it was partially open, and though a shimmering haze across it made it impossible to see clearly, that there seemed to be a broad highway on the other side.
“Hello!” called a voice from behind her.
She turned around. The pudgy man had come down from the veranda and had walked half way to the gate.
“You’d better start back now,” he called. “If you don’t, you won’t make it in time for supper. In another hour you’ll be close enough to the gate to reach forward and touch it, but you could walk the rest of your life and still never quite get through it.”
“Stuff and nonsense,” said Aunt Hester, and kept on walking.
The First Theodore R. Cogswell Megapack Page 7
