The Randall Garrett Omnibus

by Randall Garrett

  Now here it was, all hooked up and, presumably, ready for action. Colonel Spaulding fervently hoped there would be some action; he didn't like the smug look on Dr. Amadeus Davenport's face.

  * * *

  The device was hooked up on a testing-room circuit and controlled from outside. The operation could be watched through a heavy pane of bulletproof glass. "With all that power going into it," Davenport said, "I don't want anyone to get hurt by spatters of molten metal when those field coils blow."

  They went outside to the control console, and Dr. Davenport flipped the energizing switch. After the device had warmed up on low power, Davenport began turning knobs slowly, increasing the power flow. In the testing room, the device just sat there, doing nothing visible, but the meters on the control console showed that something was going on. A greenish glow came from the housing that surrounded the Q-shaped gadget.

  "Where the Russians made their mistake in trying to fool anyone with that thing was in their design of that laser component," said Dr. Davenport. "Or, I should say, the thing that is supposed to look like a laser component."

  "Laser?" said Colonel Spaulding uncomprehendingly.

  "It means 'light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation'," Davenport explained. "Essentially, a laser consists of a gas-filled tube or a solid ruby bar with parallel mirrors at both ends. By exciting the atoms from outside, light is generated within the tube, and some of it begins to bounce back and forth between the mirrors at the ends. This tends to have a cascade effect on the atoms which have picked up the energy from outside, so that more and more of the light generated inside the tube tends to be parallel to the length of the tube. One of the mirrors is only partially silvered, and eventually the light bouncing back and forth becomes powerful enough to flash through the half-silvered end, giving a coherent beam of light."

  "Maybe that's what this is supposed to be," said the colonel.

  Davenport chuckled dryly. "Not a chance. Not with an essentially circular tube that isn't even silvered."

  Lenny Poe, the colonel noticed, wasn't the only person around who didn't care whether the thing he referred to as a "tube" was hollow or not.

  "Is it doing anything?" Colonel Spaulding asked anxiously, trying to read the meters over Davenport's shoulder.

  "It's heating up," Davenport said dryly.

  Spaulding looked back at the apparatus. A wisp of smoke was rising slowly from a big coil.

  A relay clicked minutely.

  WHAP!

  For a confused second, everything seemed to happen at once.

  But it didn't; there was a definite order to it.

  First, a spot on the ceramic tile wall of the room became suddenly red, orange, white hot. Then there was a little crater of incandescent fury, as though a small volcano had erupted in the wall. Following that, there was a sputtering and crackling from the innards of the device itself, and a cloud of smoke arose suddenly, obscuring things in the room. Finally, there was the crash of circuit-breakers as they reacted to the overload from the short circuit.

  There was silence for a moment, then the hiss of the automatic fire extinguishers in the testing room as they poured a cloud of carbon dioxide snow on the smoldering apparatus.

  "There," said Davenport with utter satisfaction. "What did I tell you?"

  "You didn't tell me this thing was a heat-ray projector," said Colonel Spaulding.

  "What are you talking about?" Dr. Davenport said disdainfully.

  "Develop the film in those automatic cameras," Spaulding said, "and I'll show you what I'm talking about!"

  As far as Colonel Spaulding was concerned, the film showed clearly what had happened. A beam of energy had leaped from the "tail" of the Q-tube, hit the ceramic tile of the wall, and burned its way through in half a second or so. The hole in the wall, surrounded by fused ceramic, was mute evidence of the occurrence of what Spaulding had seen.

  But Dr. Davenport pooh-poohed the whole thing. Evidence to the contrary, he was quite certain that no such thing had happened. A piece of hot glass from a broken vacuum tube had done it, he insisted.

  A piece of hot glass had burned its way through half an inch of tile? And a wall?

  Davenport muttered something about the destructive effects of shaped charges. He was more willing to believe that something as wildly improbable as that had happened than admit that the device had done what Colonel Spaulding was quite certain it had done.

  Within three hours, Davenport had three possible explanations of what had happened, each of which required at least four unlikely things to happen coincidentally.

  Colonel Spaulding stalked back to his office in a state of angry disgust. Just because the thing was foreign to Davenport's notions, he had effectively tied his own hands—and Colonel Spaulding's, too.

  "Where's Lenny Poe?" he asked the WAC sergeant. "I want to talk to him."

  She shook her head. "I don't know, sir. Lieutenant Fesner called in half an hour ago. Mr. Poe has eluded them again."

  Colonel Spaulding gazed silently at the ceiling for a long moment. Then: "Sergeant Nugget, take a letter. To the President of the United States, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington, D.C.

  "Dear Sir. Consider this my resignation. I have had so much experience with jackasses lately that I have decided to change my name to Hackenbush and become a veterinarian. Yours truly, et cetera. Got that?"

  "Yes, sir," said the sergeant.

  "Burn it. When Fumblefingers Fesner and his boys find Lenny Poe again, I want to know immediately."

  He stalked on into his office.

  * * *

  Raphael Poe was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Establishing a close rapport with another mind can be a distinct disadvantage at times. A spy is supposed to get information without giving any; a swapping of information is not at all to his advantage.

  It was impossible to keep his mind a perfect blank. What he had to do was keep his strongest surface thoughts entirely on innocuous things. The trouble with that was that it made it extremely difficult to think about some way to get out of the jam he was in. Thinking on two levels at once, while not impossible, required a nicety of control that made wire-walking over Niagara look easy.

  The thing to do was to make the surface thoughts automatically repetitive. A song.

  "In a hall of strange description (Antiquarian Egyptian),Figuring his monthly balance sheet, a troubled monarch satWith a frown upon his forehead, hurling interjections horridAt the state of his finances, for his pocketbook was flat."

  Simultaneously, he kept a picture in his mind's eye. It had to be something vivid that would be easy to concentrate on. The first thing that came to mind was the brilliant necktie that the President had used in his test several months before. He conjured it up in all its chartreuse glory, then he animated it. Mauve satyrs danced with rose-pink nymphs and chased them over the yellow-green landscape.

  "Not a solitary single copper cent had he to jingleIn his pocket, and his architects had gone off on a strike,Leaving pyramids unfinished, for their wages had diminished,And their credit vanished likewise, in a way they didn't like."

  Rafe could tell that Dr. Malekrinova's mind was trying to reject the alien ideas that were coming into her mind. She wasn't consciously trying to pick up Rafe's thoughts. But the rejection was ineffective because of its fascination. The old business about the horse's tail. If you see a white horse, you'll soon get rich if you can keep from thinking about the horse's tail until it's out of sight. The first thought that comes to mind is: "I mustn't think about the horse's tail." A self-defeating proposition.

  If Sonya Borisovna had been certain that she was receiving the thoughts telepathically, she might have been able to reject them. But her mind rejected the idea of telepathy instead, so she was susceptible to the thoughts because she thought they were her own.

  The cavorting of the nymphs and satyrs became somewhat obscene, but Rafe didn't bother to correct it. He
had more to worry about than offending the rather prim mind of Dr. Malekrinova.

  "It was harder for His Royal Highness than for sons of toil,For the horny-handed workmen only ate three figs per day,While the King liked sweet potatoes, puddings, pies, and canned tomatoes,Boneless ham, and Bluepoint oysters cooked some prehistoric way."

  What to do now? Should he try to get out of Russia? Was there any quick way out?

  He had all the information he needed on the heat-beam projector that Dr. Malekrinova was building. The theory behind it was perfectly clear; all it needed was further experimentation. If it worked out according to theory, it would be an almost perfect defense against even the fastest intercontinental ballistic missiles.

  "As he growled, the Royal grumbler spied a bit of broken tumblerIn a long undusted corner just behind the chamber door.When his hungry optics spied it, he stood silently and eyed it,Then he smote his thigh with ecstasy and danced about the floor."

  Maybe he should try to make a run for the American Embassy. No. No one there knew him, and they probably couldn't get him out of the country, anyway. Besides, it would take him too long to explain the situation to them.

  "'By the wit Osiris gave me! This same bit of glass shall save me!I shall sell it as a diamond at some stupendous price!And whoe'er I ask to take it will find, for his own sweet sake, itWill be better not to wait until I have to ask him twice!'"

  The theory behind the heat projector was simply an extension of the laser theory, plus a few refinements. Inside a ring made of the proper material, the light, acted upon by exterior magnetic fields, tended to move in a circle, so that the photon cascade effect was all in one direction instead of bouncing back and forth between a pair of mirrors. That light could be bent around corners by making it travel through a glass rod was well known, and the Malekrinova Q-tube took advantage of that effect.

  In a way, the principle was similar to that of the cyclotron, except that instead of spinning ions around in a circle to increase their velocity a beam of coherent light was circulated to increase its intensity.

  Then, at the proper moment, a beam of intense coherent light shot out of the tangent that formed the tail of the Q-tube. If the material of the Q was properly constructed and contained atoms that fluoresced strongly in the infra red, you had a heat beam that delivered plenty of power. And, since the radiation was linear and "in step," the Q-tube didn't heat up much at all. The cascade effect took most of the energy out as radiation.

  "Then a Royal Proclamation was dispatched throughout the nation,Most imperatively calling to appear before the King.Under penalties most cruel, every man who sold a jewelOr who bought and bartered precious stones, and all that sort of thing."

  But knowing all that didn't help Raphael Poe or the United States of America one whit if the information couldn't be gotten out of Russia and into Colonel Spaulding's hands. Lenny had told him of the trouble the colonel was having with Dr. Davenport.

  If he could only communicate with Lenny! But if he did, Dr. Malekrinova would pick up every bit of it, and that would be the end of that. No, he had to figure out some way to get himself and the information both out of the country.

  Meanwhile, he had to keep thinking of an animated necktie. And he had to keep singing.

  "Thereupon, the jewelers' nether joints all quaked and knocked together,As they packed their Saratogas in lugubrious despair.It was ever their misfortune to be pillaged by extortion,And they thought they smelled a rodent on the sultry desert air."

  * * *

  Lenny Poe shoved open the door of Colonel Spaulding's outer office with a violence that startled Sergeant Nugget.

  "Is Spaulding in?" he barked.

  "I think he's expecting you," she said. There was no time to buzz the colonel; Poe was already opening the door.

  "Rafe's in trouble!" Lenny said hurriedly, slamming the door behind him.

  "Where have you been?" snapped the colonel.

  "Never mind that! Rafe's in trouble, I said! We've gotta figure a way to get him out of it!"

  Colonel Spaulding dropped all thought of bawling out Poe. "What'd he say? What's the trouble?"

  "All he's doing is broadcasting that necktie—like an animated cartoon in technicolor. And he's singing."

  "Singing? Singing what?"

  "As they faced the Great Propylon, with an apprehensive smile on,Sculptured there in heiroglyphics six feet wide and nine feet highWas the threat of King Rameses to chop every man to piecesWho, when shown the Royal diamond, would dare refuse to buy."

  Colonel Spaulding blinked. "That's pretty. What does it mean?"

  "Nothing; it's a song, that's all. That female Russian scientist can read Rafe's mind, and he's broadcasting this stuff to cover up!"

  Quickly, he told Spaulding what the situation was as he had been able to piece it together from Rafe's secondary thoughts.

  "Ye Gods!" Colonel Spaulding slapped at his brow. Then he grabbed for the telephone and started dialing.

  Lenny dropped into one of the chairs, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

  Rafe! Rafe! Listen to me! Rafe!

  "Then the richest dealer, Mulai Hassan, eyed the gem and coollySaid, 'The thing is but a common tumbler-bottom, nothing more!'Whereupon, the King's Assassin drew his sword, and Mulai HassanNever peddled rings again upon the Nile's primeval shore."

  But below the interference came Rafe's thoughts. And the one thing of primary importance to him was to get the information on the heat-beam generator to the United States.

  No bigotry, no matter how strong, is totally impregnable. Even the most narrow-minded racial bigot will make an exception if a person of the despised race risks his own life to save the life of the bigot or someone the bigot loves. The bigotry doesn't collapse—not by a long shot. But an exception is made in that one case.

  Lenny Poe made an exception. Any information that was worth his brother's life was Important! Therefore, it was not, could not be, scientific gobbledegook, no matter how it sounded.

  Rafe, give it to me! Try me! I can copy it!

  "Then Abdullah abd Almahdi faintly said the stone was shoddy,But he thought that, in a pinch, he might bid fifty cents himself.There ensued a slight commotion where he could repent the notion,And Abdullah was promoted to the Oriental Shelf."

  Rafe! Stop singing that stupid song and give me the stuff! She can't learn anything if you just think about that theory stuff. She already knows that! Come on! Give!

  Lenny Poe grabbed a pencil and a sheaf of paper from the colonel's desk and began writing frantically as the Song of the Egyptian Diamond stopped suddenly.

  * * *

  Words. Nonsense words. That's all most of the stuff was to Lenny. It didn't matter. He spelled them as he thought they should be, and if he made a mistake, Rafe would correct him.

  Rafe tried to keep a picture of the words as they would look if printed while he thought them verbally, and that helped. The information came across in the only way it could come across—not as concepts, but as symbols.

  Lenny hardly noticed that the Secretary of Defense and the President had come into the room. He didn't even realize that Colonel Spaulding was feeding him fresh sheets of paper.

  Lenny didn't seem to notice the time passing, nor the pain in his hand as the muscles tired. He kept writing. The President left with the Defense Secretary and came back again after a while, but Lenny ignored them.

  And when it was over, he pushed pencil and paper aside and, massaging his right hand with his left, sat there with his eyes closed. Then, slowly, a smile spread over his face.

  "Well, I'll be damned," he said slowly and softly.

  "Mr. Poe," said the President, "is there any danger that your brother will be captured within the next hour?"

  Lenny looked up with a startled grin. "Oh. Hi. I didn't notice you, Mr. President. What'd you say?"

  The President repeated his question.

  "Oh. No. There's nothing to worry about. The
little men in white coats came after Dr. Malekrinova. She started screaming that telepathic spies were stealing her secret. She smashed all her apparatus and burned all her papers on top of the wreckage before they could stop her. She keeps shouting about a pink-and-purple orgy and singing a song about glass diamonds and Egyptian kings. I wouldn't say she was actually insane, but she is very disturbed."

  "Then your brother is safe?"

  "As safe as he ever was, Mr. President."

  "Thank Heaven for that," said the President. "If they'd ever captured him and made him talk—" He stopped. "I forgot," he said lamely after a moment.

  Lenny grinned. "That's all right, Mr. President. I sometimes forget it myself. But it was his handicap, I guess, that made him concentrate on telepathy, so that he doesn't need his ears to hear what people are saying. Maybe I could read minds the way he does if I'd been born that way.

  "Come to think of it, I doubt if the Russians would have believed he was a spy if they'd caught him, unless they really did believe he was telepathic. A physical examination would show immediately that he was born without eardrums and that the inner ear bones are fused. They wouldn't try to make a man talk if an examination showed that he really was a deaf-mute."

  The buzzer on the colonel's intercom sounded. "Yes?" said Spaulding.

  "Dr. Davenport is here," said Sergeant Nugget. "He wants to talk to you."

  "Send him in," said Colonel Spaulding gleefully. "I have a nice scientific theory I want to shove down his throat."

  FIFTY PER CENT PROPHET

  Dr. Joachim sat in the small room behind his reception hall and held his fingers poised above the keys of the rather creaky electrotyper on his desk. The hands seemed to hang there, long, slender, and pale, like two gulls frozen suddenly in their long swoop towards some precious tidbit floating on the writhing sea beneath, ready to begin their drop instantly, as soon as time began again.