The Transcendent Man

by Jerry Sohl

  “What do you want, Mr. Enders?”

  “I want a better civilization, a people devoted to peace and learning and intelligence and—brotherly love. On our world that expression has become hackneyed. It has, in some cases, become an expression of derision. But that is because it appears there will never come a time when it will be an actuality. People think it is a mark of weakness to admit that that is what they really want, so they ridicule it. Oh, I’m not denying we have primitive tendencies, but there are many of us trying to improve our world. Why don’t you give us a chance?”

  “I’m sorry,” Myza said. “There is no time. None of us would choose to remain here to see this worked out.”

  “You have helped us this far, why not help us the rest of the way?” Martin argued. “We have reached physical perfection because of the great intermixture of genes. We have got all we can out of physical heredity. Now, with your grant of intelligence, we can assimilate the knowledge that has been man’s history. We can start to grow in a new direction—toward each other.”

  Myza laughed. “You people have barely begun to realize what you can achieve by perception and reason. You should learn that your present chaotic condition is not caused by your lack of ability, but by the lack of reason and your atavistic susceptibility to emotions. The power of your brains is limitless. But what have you used them for? Annihilation.”

  Martin shook his head. “You are classifying us all under one heading.”

  “Yours is a lost cause, Martin Enders. I admire you for the plea for your people, but it cannot be done.”

  “Why?” Martin stubbornly insisted.

  “Why? Simply because none of us wants to remain on your backward planet.”

  “Virginia wants to stay.”

  “One person cannot run a world as big and complicated as yours. Besides, Virginia would go mad as the only immortal on Earth. She would hunger for someone of her own kind. No,” Myza shook his head, “it would never work.”

  “It could be made to work,” Martin said.

  “Indeed? Suppose you tell me how.”

  “I could help her.”

  “You?” Myza was amused. “By the time you died there would be so little accomplished! And she’d have to carry on alone. Besides, what could you, as a mere Earth-man, do to help a Capellan?”

  “I need not remain an Earth-man.”

  Myza looked at Martin sharply.

  Martin continued quickly, “You were talking about making me a Capellan, transforming me so I could go along. Nobody seemed to think the transformation was impossible, though you said you couldn’t take me along. Why can’t you transform me so that I could help Virginia?”

  Myza smiled.

  “You surprise me, Mr. Enders,” he said gravely. “For an Earth-man, you do have an uncanny way with your mind, for there is no answer to your question.”

  “Why isn’t there? For the first time in man’s history it is possible for him, now that he has achieved so much technologically, to spend more time charting his course through history—deciding his own future evolution. It would be possible if you made it so.”

  “But if he were to progress,” Myza protested, “it might be to a more warlike nature, if that is possible. He might eventually be a menace to other existing civilizations on other worlds.”

  “Not if Virginia and I were here to guide them,” Martin said earnestly. “You owe it to the human race you helped raise from a cave-like existence. Now you can make it possible for us to undo the damage you felt you had to cause through your colonization. Why can’t the goal be peace and decent human relations? Why can’t we work for what is good for man?

  “If we could do this, we would be bringing to man, for the first time, a true meaning to life, a reason for effort and being. We would show that man does have a part to play in evolution and that he is capable of great dignity. The mere shadow of morality we have now is a natural product of evolution. Let us work toward a civilization founded on justice and liberty, law and order and on a sound morality. When you came to this planet, it was the dawn of our civilization. Virginia and I want to dedicate ourselves to a brighter dawn—the coming age of man.”

  Myza studied them. His eyes were cold with thought. His lips were compressed to a thin line.

  “It is a noble concept,” he said at last. “A plan worthy of Capellans.” He smiled. “You love your people, don’t you, Martin Enders?”

  “I do,” Martin said. “I have seen sickness and suffering and war and poverty. I have seen the danger of untruths, of halftruths. If it were possible to change the world, to spread the doctrine of freedom everywhere so that man might achieve his rightful place as the species of the Order Primates as the most selective form of the combination of matter and energy that he knows of, then that would be a good thing and I think Virginia and I ought to be given a chance to do it.”

  Myza sighed. “Here I had you come, to tell you that you both would return to the primitive state. Now you have offered a plan that would side-step this racial death and make it possible for Capellans to salve their own collective conscience by permitting your civilization to become what it would naturally become through ordinary evolution in millions of years.”

  The Capellan pursed his lips. “It is odd. An idea from an Earth-man and I find little fault in it. There is one thing, though, and that is, what is to prevent you from becoming virtual dictator of your planet?”

  “Nothing, I suppose. But from what I understand of Capellans, what reason would there be if I possessed Capellan attributes? Is it not true that you people control your environment to a considerable extent? What more could I ask? What could Earth people give me that I did not have already, or that I could not create, granted I had your potentialities?”

  “You do not appear to be a man with latent criminal tendencies, Mr. Enders. Perhaps you and Virginia could be successful in your operation of a—well, it would be a beneficent dictatorship, wouldn’t it? Yours would be a benign influence in the world. You would not reveal yourselves, of course.”

  “No,” Martin said. “To be successful, it must appear the people are responsible for the changes themselves.”

  “Good.”

  “There is only one thing that bothers me.”

  Myza’s eyebrows went up a little. “What is that?”

  “If I were to be changed—transformed—I would not like to think the thought force responsible came from persons slaughtered in my behalf. Is there no other way?”

  “Since we have been ready to depart the Earth, there have been no recent births. There is enough thought force from natural deaths at liberty to now provide the necessary foundation for your transformation.”

  Chapter 19

  A cold autumn breeze stirred up the fallen leaves in the small park, caught them in little tornadoes of whirling debris that moved chaotically, gathering force and then disintegrating against a wall, in a tree, a bush, the papers, leaves and tiny branches falling haphazardly back to the ground.

  It was midnight and there was no one in the park. The yellow glow from a few street lights revealed nothing but vacant benches. Occasionally someone, hurrying home from night work, walked across the park, cutting the distance from one place to another. These people were not interested in the grass, the trees or even the moon that rode high in a cloud-blown sky; they came not in pairs, but singly, coat collars turned up, early-morning papers and hands occupying the same pockets, heads down, busy with thoughts.

  But wait. There was an anachronism: that couple on the bench, both without coats. They hadn’t been there a moment before.

  “I still think we should have materialized there,” Virginia said. “Coming here only delays what we have to do.”

  “I still can’t get used to this,” Martin said. “How do we know he’s asleep?”

  “We can wait for him if he isn’t. Or we can put him to sleep.”

  “It’s cold.”

  “It needn’t be. Make a protective coat.”

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sp; Martin smiled at her and did. Then he looked away and focused his eyes on a grassy area on the other side of the sidewalk.

  “What this time?” she asked.

  “Wait and see.”

  “I know already.”

  There was a gleam of light that became an electric light about eight feet from the ground.

  “That’s too garish,” she said.

  “I’ll shield it.”

  A shade appeared over the light.

  “No support?”

  “I can’t do everything at once.”

  A steel pole, exactly like others in the park, appeared and the light, a duplicate now of the others, hung from a cross bar at the top. Below, there was activity. There was metal, gears, a handle, glass, a stand.

  “I don’t know how these things work,” he said.

  “You’re doing wonderfully.”

  Finally, the slot machine stood beside the walk, illuminated by the sidewalk light he had created. Suddenly the handle came down, the wheels whirred and in the window appeared three bars. Instantly the jackpot was released and nickels fell from the machine to the sidewalk, jingling cheerfully, some of them rolling up to their feet.

  “Having fun?”

  “I’ve got to be sure,” he said. “You have the edge on me. You’ve been doing this all your life.”

  “You’ve created a sirloin steak, an automobile, a red head—don’t you ever do that again!—a bottle of Scotch twenty years old and now, in a park in Washington, D. C., a slot machine that hit the jackpot at your command. Doesn’t that make you sure enough? Aren’t you through playing? We have work to do.”

  “You’re just too used to it to get a kick out of it any more. It’s new to me.”

  “All right, you two,” the voice behind them said. “Is this your idea of a joke, bringing that thing to the park in the dead of night? You come along with me to the call box.”

  The gruff policeman they saw standing there meant business.

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me you can explain,” he said. “Well, you can explain it to the judge. Come along, now.”

  Martin looked at Virginia in alarm. When he saw the look in her eye, he understood. The policeman vanished. So did the slot machine.

  “Don’t forget the light pole. That would be a dandy for somebody to try to figure out.”

  The pole and light vanished.

  “I didn’t know what to call him anyway,” Virginia said.

  “You really had me fooled for a moment,” Martin said with relief. “I thought we had run into our first bit of trouble. I nearly dematerialized all over the place.”

  He moved closer to her, took her head in his hands and kissed her soundly.

  “You don’t need any practice this way,” Virginia said between kisses.

  He drew away and looked at her intently. “I’ve just thought about something. What about children?”

  “You mean—our children?”

  “Yes. We’d want them to be Capellans, wouldn’t we?”

  “They left the thought reinforcer,” she said. “We can pick up the surplus thought force any time we want—if we have any children.”

  “Of course we’ll have children.” He sat back on the bench. “Now that I know what it’s like, I’d want them to be just like us. I feel so whole—so wonderful because the new dimension gives me so much more room than the old. How do people stand it being just human beings?”

  “Now you understand how we felt about Earth people,” she said. “The thing is, the congenitally blind don’t miss sight. They can’t imagine what it must be like. So it is with the difference between a human and a Capellan. Isn’t that right?”

  Martin nodded. “We’ll do a lot of things, Virginia. There’s so much to be done.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “But we’ll never do it sitting here.”

  “It’s this first one that gets me,” Martin said. “I can see the effects of my telekinesis. But this influencing human behavior—that’s something I need to practice on.”

  “Major General Deems is a good starter.”

  “I suppose we do have to undo the trouble we caused there. Do you suppose he’s still looking for us?”

  “I fancy so.”

  “I hope he doesn’t feel us materialize.”

  “You were the only person I ever met who could feel a chill when a Capellan started using his thought force. That’s where you differed from others on Earth. That’s what made you a difficult subject to control. You broke out of it easily before Dr. Merrill, you remember.”

  “How can I ever forget it?” He rose. “Well, I guess you’re right. No time like the present.”

  They vanished.

  Major General Deems was sleeping very soundly in the upstairs bedroom of his large home a mile from his office in downtown Washington. His wife was similarly occupied in an adjoining room. The door connecting was closed.

  An electric clock on the dresser indicated 12:30. A branch of the tree just outside the window occasionally scratched the pane as it was blown about by the gusty wind. Pale moonlight that made a pattern on the thick rug helped illuminate the room.

  If the general was aware of the sudden presence of Martin and Virginia, he gave no sign. He slept on.

  “I feel like Dracula,” Martin whispered.

  “You’re not after blood, darling,” Virginia answered. “You just do as I said. Project yourself. You’ll have him eating out of your hand. If you get in trouble, I’ll help. But I don’t think you’ll need it.”

  Martin went over to the bed, leaned on the foot of it and stared hard at the man lying there.

  “Were you surprised when we vanished, General?” he asked.

  Major General Deems woke and stared back at him. “Yes. Where did you two go?” He sat up.

  “We just got tired of the game. What did you do when we disappeared?”

  “Put the whole CIC on your trail.”

  “That wasn’t very nice, General.”

  “No, I suppose it wasn’t.”

  Martin’s heart gave a jump. He remembered similar conversations wherein he was the subject. He had once been as compliant as the general.

  “I want you to remember something, General.”

  “I’ll remember it,” the general said, friendly and wanting to please. “What is it?”

  “Virginia Enders and I did nothing wrong.”

  “No,” the general said. “Of course you didn’t.”

  “You are a busy man. A very busy man, General Deems. You shouldn’t be wasting your valuable time worrying about us. If we were caught you’d have to appear against us and that would take time from your other, more important duties, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes, it would,” the general agreed.

  “Therefore you will tell the whole CIC to stop looking for us, won’t you?”

  “Of course I will.”

  “And then you’ll forget you ever knew us or ever heard our names before. It will be as if we never existed.”

  “As if you never existed. I’ll remember.”

  “It is very important. You don’t want to cause trouble, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Now what are you going to do?”

  “Tell the CIC to stop looking for you and forget I ever knew you two.”

  “Right. And now, General, you will go back to sleep.”

  The general fell back on his pillow and was asleep instantly. Unconsciously, he drew the covers over where they had fallen from his shoulders and then he did not move.

  “How was that, Virginia?”

  “Fine,” she said. “Almost as good as you were when you were convincing Myza we should make over the world. You were terrific then, darling. Now don’t start telling me I’ve already mentioned it. I’m going to talk about it until the end of time.”

  “Virginia,” he said, coming over to her. “Did I ever tell you how ethereal your eyes are?”

  “Yes, but tell me again.”

  He did.
When he had finished, he looked back at the sleeping general and chuckled.

  “That was easy,” he said. “But I have big plans now.”

  “Are they what I think they are?”

  “You told me I understood all languages. Is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Well, then,” he said, going to the window and looking out at the moon riding high in the cloud-strewn sky. “I imagine we’re going to take a long trip this time.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?”

  “I can see the headlines in a few days.”

  He chuckled. She grabbed his arm.

  They vanished.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  An Introduction to Jerry Sohl

  by Jennifer Sohl

  Best known for his scripts for TV series such Star Trek, The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, Alfred Hitchcock Presents, and his many movies and novels, my father first sharpened his writing skills in newspapers. He reported news and reviewed drama and music as a freelance writer and photographer for The Daily Pantagraph in Bloomington, Illinois from 1946-1958.

  He loved SF and back then he was struggling to find a more creative outlet for his talent. One Evening in 1951 my father interviewed famous Science Fiction writer Wilson (Bob) Tucker for an article about him in the Daily Pantagraph. During the interview my father explained an idea for a book he thought Bob should write.

  Bob suggested “You should write the Book, Jerry, being that you know the plot line.” (Bob Tucker didn’t think very highly of Newspaper Reporters. He thought they all were cynical, ego-inflated. cigarette-smoking boozeheads, who hated fiction, especially anything as crazy as Science Fiction or Fantasy.)

  So this was a bluff.

  After the interview my father went home, and that evening began writing “The Haploids.”

  It was published in 1952 by Rinehart & Co.

  And surprised the hell out of Bob Tucker.

  That was only the beginning... The Haploids was the first of several novels that marked him as a professional craftsman.