Professor McCord said, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ed flicked his desk switch. “Bill Oppenheimer,” he said.
Oppenheimer’s face filled the screen. It was the first time Ed Wonder had seen the other since his interview of the day before. Oppenheimer said, “Yes, sir.”
Ed said, “You’re now in charge of backtracking on Tubber. As a beginning, we’ve got a line on his schooling. He took an academecian’s degree in economics at…” he put a hand up to hold Oppenheimer and looked at McCord. “What college?”
“Harvard.”
Ed Wonder looked at him in reproach. “It couldn’t have been some jerkwater college in the Bible belt. It has to be Harvard.” He looked back at Oppenheimer. “Harvard. Put a team on this. We want everything, anything, we can get on Tubber. What he studied. Every book he ever opened has to be analyzed, word for word. Run down his classmates, and find out every detail they can remember. Dig into his social life. Latch onto any women he ever dated, they’d be at least middle-aged by now. He’s got a daughter. Find out who he married. What happened to her. If she’s still alive… Well, I don’t have to tell you. We want a complete rundown on every phase of Tubber’s life. Clear this with General Crew, if necessary. If you need manpower, there’s the F.B.I., the C.I.A. and the Secret Service.”
“Got it,” Oppenheimer said. “Yes, sir.” His face faded from the screen.
Buzz said, “That’s telling them. Little Ed, you’ve got the makings of a really big cheese.”
McCord said, somewhat intrigued, “If you’re interested in checking on Josh Tubber, you won’t get much at Harvard. He took only his academecian’s degree there. As I recall, he took his doctorate at the Sorbonne, and, if I’m not mistaken, studied earlier at either Leyden or Heidelberg. Classical Philosophy, I believe.”
“Philosophy?” Ed Wonder repeated.
“A predilection for Ethical Hedonism, as I recall,” McCord nodded.
Buzz finished his drink, as though desperate. “Hedonism,” he said. “Tubber? You mean like the eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow we die, bit?”
“Hedonism goes further into reality than that, you know,” McCord said stiffly. “Briefly, Epicurus taught that men not only in fact seek pleasure, but further that they ought to do so since pleasure alone is good. However, his definition of pleasure is the crucial…”
“All right,” Ed said. “So Tubber put in a hitch studying philosophy. Look, Professor, I’m going to turn you over to a brace of my assistants who’ll take down everything you can remember about Tubber, and also everything you can think of about libans, witchdoctors, spells and curses.”
When the professor was gone, Ed looked at Buzz who looked back at him.
Finally Ed flicked his screen and said, “Major Davis.” When Davis’ face faded in, Ed said, reproachfully, “Lenny, ethnologists might be scientists but they don’t know what curses are. Round us up some scientists who can tell us what a curse is. Snap into this, Lenny. We want results.”
Major Leonard Davis looked at him plaintively, opened his mouth in what was obviously going to be protest or at least complaint, but then dosed it again. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Scientists who know what a curse is.” His face faded.
Buzz said approvingly, “You’re catching onto this routine fast.”
They looked at each other some more.
Finally Ed flicked on his switch and said, “Get me James C. Westbrook. He lives just south of Kingsburg.”
Randy said, “Yes, sir,” and in moments, Jim Westbrook’s face faded in on the screen.
He said, “Hello, Little Ed. Sorry, I’m awfully busy. If you don’t mind…”
Ed Wonder ignored his words. “Listen, the other day when we were talking about miracles, you said you believed in them. That is, that you believe in things happening that we can’t explain by our present scientific knowledge.”
Jim Westbrook, in the phone screen, looked as though he were in a hurry, but he took the time to say, “I’m glad you qualified, friend, I don’t like the term miracle.”
Ed said, “Well, look, do you believe in hexes?” He waited for the other’s disclaimer.
“Sure,” Westbrook said. “I’ve looked into the subject a bit.”
“Now, I’m not talking about this voodoo sort of thing where the victim is convinced he’s going to fall sick if the voodoo priest puts a spell on him, and then, of course, does. I mean…”
Westbrook said, “Really, I’m in a hurry but… Look, friend, the witchman does not have to convince his victim he’s going to be a victim. The victim gets convinced because he does get sick. I’ve found that it most bodaciously is not something to play games with. It does not depend on faith or belief, on either the part of the victim or of the practitioner. In the same way that dowsing rods work for people who are completely positive they don’t work.”
“Go on,” Ed told him.
“Hexing happens the same way. I found out one Halloween party. If you want some, well, unusual, let’s say, emotional feelings, try figuring out how to go about taking off a hex you didn’t believe you could put on, because hexes don’t exist, only the poor victim is very well hexed and you don’t know anything about unhexing whatsoever. Friend, it’s about six degrees worse than the amateur hypnotist who’s gotten somebody into a trance, imposed a posthypnotic suggestion, and now can’t unsuggest the thing. At least, there are books on hypnotism in the libraries to tell what to do in that case. But try finding a book on unhexing somebody you’ve accidently and unbelievingly hexed. Friend, it’s a matter of I didn’t know the gun was loaded!”
Jim Westbrook began to say more, but then darted a glance down at his wrist. “Listen, Little Ed, I can’t spend any more time with you talking about hexes.”
“That’s what you think,” Ed grinned at him.
Westbrook scowled. “What does that supposed to mean, friend?”
Ed said, happily, “You’ve just been drafted into talking your head off about every aspect of hexes you know about, pal.”
The other said, “Little Ed, you better see a doctor. So long.” He cut the connection.
Ed Wonder said happily, “Stereotype, eh?” He flicked the intercom switch. “Major Davis,” he said.
The major’s face came on and he said, both warily and wearily, “Yes, sir.”
“There’s a James C. Westbrook, who lives on the outskirts of Kingsburg. Have him brought in immediately and take down everything he knows about hexes. And, Major, listen. He might not want to come. However, he’s, ah, crash priority. You’d better send four men.”
“Yes, sir, to speed things up, do we have anything else on him, sir. Where does he work? What does he do? He might not be at home.”
Ed Wonder said, “He’s a consulting engineer, specializes on rhabdomancy.”
“Rhabdomancy,” Major Davis said blankly.
“Yes, rhabdomancy, radiesthesia. He operates dowsing rods.”
Major Davis looked as though he had been cruelly hurt. “Yes, sir. Crash priority. Pick up this man who operates dowsing rods.” His face faded pathetically from the screen.
10
Ed Wonder had been assigned an apartment in the New Woolworth Building while Helen Fontaine and Buzz De Kemp found accommodations in nearby hotels. In the morning, Ed Wonder got down to his office early, but evidently not early enough. His assistants, male and female, in the outer offices were in a flurry of activity. He wondered, vaguely, what they were doing. He hadn’t issued enough in the way of directions to have kept a fraction of them busy.
He stopped at one desk long enough to say, “What are you doing?”
The young man looked up. “Incantations,” he said. He had a pile of books, pamphlets and manuscripts before him and a mike connected to a dicto in his left hand.
“Incantations?” Ed said.
The other had gone back to his perusal, now he looked up again. He obviously didn’t recognize Ed as his chief. For that matter, Ed didn’t recognize him. He had n
ever seen him before.
The other said, “Incantations. The chanting or uttering of words purporting to have magical powers. I’m accumulating basic data.”
“You mean we’ve got a full time man working on nothing but finding out about incantations?”
The young man looked at him pityingly. “I’m translating incantations in Serbo-Croat. They’ve got fifty-odd others on other languages. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.” He went back to his books.
Ed Wonder went into his own office.
There had been a few matters which had come up that Randy Everett informed him about. The extent of the offices allotted to Project Tubber had been upped considerably during the night, as well as the number of personnel. They were now working on a three shift basis. Ed hadn’t known about that.
Mr. De Kemp hadn’t come in yet but had called to let them know he was feeling indisposed.
At that point in Miss Everett’s report, Ed snarled, “Indisposed! Call that bum and tell him to get in here, hangover or no hangover. Tell him I’ll send a squad of marines, if he doesn’t.”
Randy said, “Yes, sir.”
Ed said, “Put Major Davis on.”
The face that faded into the phone screen had a major’s leaves on the shirt collar, but it wasn’t the face of Major Davis.
Ed Wonder said, “Where’s Lenny Davis?”
“Davis isn’t with us any more, sir. He had a breakdown of some sort or other. My name is Wells.”
“Oh, he did, huh? Well, look here Wells, no more breakdowns among you army types, understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If there are any breakdowns around here, I’ll have them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ed tried to remember why he had called Major Davis, and couldn’t. He flicked off the screen. It lit up again immediately to display the face of Colonel Fredric Williams.
The colonel said, “Dwight Hopkins wants to see you immediately, Wonder.”
“Okay,” Ed said. He got to his feet. He wished that Buzzo were here to back him. There were angles to this big executive bit.
At the entry to Project Tubber, Johnson and Stevens, the two security heavies, fell in behind him. Evidently, he was still under guard. It was just as well. He couldn’t have found his way to the Hopkins offices otherwise. He had the vague feeling that this whole commission, or whatever its official name was, had grown by half again during the night. The crush was greater in the corridors, still more equipment was being shoved up and down the halls, and more offices were being filled with desks, files, phones, intercoms and all the other paraphernalia of bureaucracy.
He was admitted immediately to Dwight Hopkins’ presence and found the president’s right hand man winding up a conference with fifteen or twenty assorted efficient-looking types, only several of whom were in uniform. Ed wasn’t introduced and the others filed out with the exception of Professor Braithgale, the one among them all that Ed Wonder had recognized.
Hopkins said, “Sit down, Mr. Wonder. How does Project Tubber go?”
Ed held up his hands, palms upward. “How could it go? We just got started yesterday afternoon. We’re investigating the nature of a curse. Or at least trying to. We’re trying also to get as complete rundown on Tubber as we can, on the off chance that we’ll find some clue as to how he got this power of his.”
Hopkins shifted slightly in his chair, as though what he was about to say didn’t appeal to him. He said, “Your hypothesis, the Tubber hypothesis, is strengthening in its appeal, Mr. Wonder. It occurs to me that one aspect of this crisis might be unknown to you. Did you know that radar was not effected?”
“I wondered about that,” Ed told him.
“But that isn’t what has our technicians rapidly going off their minds. Neither is radio as used in international commerce, shipping, that sort of thing. But above all, neither are educational motion pictures. I spent an hour last night, on the edge of insanity, watching the current cinema idol, Warren Waren, come through perfectly in a travelogue sort of documentary used to promote the teaching of geography in our high schools. He had donated his time. But when we attempted to project one of his regular films. The Queen and I, using what our research people assured me was identical type film and using the same projector, we got that fantastic holdover of the image on the screen.”
Dwight Hopkins’ gaze was steady, but there was somehow, behind his eyes, a frantic look.
Ed said, “TV, in the way we use it in telephones, isn’t effected either. The curse is selective, just as in books. Non-fiction isn’t effected, nor even the kind of fiction Tubber likes. What the devil, not even his favorite comic strip is changed. But none of this is news, why’d you bring it up?”
Professor Braithgale spoke up for the first time. “Mr. Wonder, it was one thing considering your hypothesis along with anything, absolutely anything, else. But we are rapidly arriving to the point where your theory is the only one that makes sense. The least sensible of all comes nearest to making sense.”
“What happened to sun spots?” Ed srud.
Hopkins said, “On the face of it, such activity might disrupt radio, but it would hardly be selective. At the remotest, it wouldn’t exercise censorship over our lighter fiction.”
“So you’re beginning to suspect that I’m not as kooky as you first thought.”
The bureaucrat ignored that. He said, “The reason we brought you in, Mr. Wonder, is that we wish to consult you on a new suggestion. It has been proposed that we use telephone lines to pipe TV programs into the homes. A crash program would be started immediately. Within a month or so every home in the United Welfare States of America would have its entertainment again.”
Ed Wonder stood up and leaned on Dwight Hopkins’ desk and looked down into the older man’s face. “You know the answer to that silly idea as well as I do. How would you like to upset the economy of this country by fouling up telephone and telegraph, to go along with TV and radio?”
Hopkins stared at him.
Ed Wonder stared back.
Braithgale coughed. “That’s what we were afraid of. Then you think…”
“Yes, I do. Tubber would lay a hex on your new wired TV as soon as it started up.”
It seemed a stronger Edward Wonder than they had spoken to only the day before. Dwight Hopkins looked at him calculatingly. He said, finally, “Professor, suppose you tell Mr. Wonder the latest developments pertaining to the crisis.”
Ed returned to his chair and sat down.
The tall gray professor’s voice took on its lecture tone. “Soap box orators,” he said.
“What in the devil is a soap box orator?” Ed demanded.
“Possibly a bit before your time. They were already on their way out when radio began nationwide hookups and the programs began to offer consistent entertainment to the masses. We still had a remnant of the soap box orators in the 1930s but short of a few exceptions such as Boston Common and Hyde Park in London, they disappeared by the middle of this century. They are open air speakers who talk to their audiences from improvised stands. In the old days, when large numbers of our people strolled the streets of a pleasant spring or summer evening, these speakers were able to attract and hold their audiences.”
“Well, what did they talk about?” Ed scowled.
“Anything and everything. Some were religious cranks. Some had things to sell such as patent medicine. Some were radicals, Socialists, Communists, I.W.W.S, that sort of thing. This was their opportunity to reach the people with whatever their message might be.”
Ed said, “Well, so what? Let them talk. It’ll give the people something to do, especially until you get the circuses, carnivals and vaudeville going again.”
Braithgale said, “Don’t lay too much store by live entertainment, Wonder. Only a limited number of persons can watch a live performance. Vaudeville becomes meaningless if you are too far from the stage, so does legitimate theatre or a circus. Perhaps it was that which bankrupted Rome. They had to build
ever more arenas so that their whole population could crowd into them. They simply couldn’t keep that many shows going.”
“But what’s wrong with these soap box orators?”
Braithgale said, “Mr. Wonder, with the coming of cinema, radio, and finally, capping it all, television, the voice of dissent faded from the land. Minority parties and other malcontents could not afford the high costs of utilizing these media themselves. They were thrown back on distributing leaflets, pamphlets and little magazines or weekly newspapers. And, of course, we know how few people actually read anything necessitating concentrated thought. Even those of us who do read are presented daily with so much material that we are highly selective. In pure self-defense, we must look at the title or headline of the reading material offered us, and make a quick decision. Few in the minority groups have the skills or the resources to present their material in the attractive manner in which the more oppulent publishers do. It boils down to the fact that the beliefs of the dissenters against our affluent society have not been reaching the people.”
It was beginning to get through to Ed Wonder.
Hopkins finished the story. “But now, every night, there are tens of thousands of belligerent amateur orators standing on our street corners, harranging people with nothing else to do but listen, people desperate for something to do.”
“You mean these, ah, soap box orators are organized? They’ve got some kind of definite bug that…”
Hopkins held up a thin hand. “No. No, not yet. But that is just a matter of time. Sooner or later one of them will come up with an idea that appeals to the mob. He’ll attract followers, other street corner harrangers. The condition of the country being the way it is now, almost any really popular idea would sweep in like wildfire. A new religion. More likely a new political theory, however far right or left.”
“Oh,” Ed said. He could understand the workings of politician Dwight Hopkins’ mind now. The administration had definite irons in the fire. Tubber’s efforts might threaten the political climate. However, Ed still didn’t see where he came in.
Earth Unaware Page 15
