by Jeff Sutton
"I'm getting that feeling," Conrad confessed.
"If we do, the code is 'Topflight.' It will come from me personally."
"I'll be ready," Conrad said simply.
VIII
The chancellor's reception for John Androki was in full swing when Kane, accompanied by Maxon and Anita, turned in at the wide drive to park. The music of a string quartet came softly to his ears.
"Looks like a real bash," Maxon observed. He clambered out of the car and held the door for Anita.
"I wouldn't miss it for the world," she stated emphatically.
Kane grimaced. Despite his curiosity over the financier's reputed knowledge of the mathematics of multidimensional space and the psychologist's avowed belief that he was a downthrough, he felt the distaste he always felt at such functions. He regarded them as stirrings in the wind, devoid of all meaning. That this was practically a command performance, at least in his case, didn't help.
"Old gimlet eye will split a gusset when he sees me," Maxon snickered. Although he hadn't been invited—the affair was restricted to full professors in the physical sciences and mathematics departments—he had promptly invited himself. So had Anita.
"I want to make my appearance and get out of there as soon as possible," Kane murmured. He steered Anita toward the porch.
"You will not," she answered indignantly. "I came to meet John Androki and I'm going to meet him."
"You should do well," Maxon snickered. "He goes for blondes."
"I've heard that," she murmured. Kane glanced at her, thinking that no man could help but be attracted by her. She wore a pale blue gown that clung to her body, flowing down over her hips. Her honey-colored hair, done up in a bun, revealed the graceful sweep of her shoulders and throat. She was lovely.
He purposefully had arrived late to avoid the reception line. Pausing inside the wide doors, he surveyed the crowded room. Kendall of physics, Jackman of chemistry, Harper of math—the affair had splintered into the usual small groups. Off in a corner, completely disregarded, the string quartet played softly. Subdued murmurings filled the air.
"There's John Androki," Anita said tautly. Kane's eyes followed her all but imperceptible nod. His first impression was of a tall, slender figure, immaculately dressed. He recognized the financier immediately from photographs he'd seen in newspapers and magazines. Bent slightly forward at the waist, Androki was chatting with the chancellor and Guyman of astronomy.
Kane studied him curiously. Androki's face, in partial profile, appeared thin, with a tightness about the cheekbones that suggested the ascetic. His long, high-bridged nose, curving out from the deep wells of his eyes, gave his face a predatory expression. His dark hair was neatly combed.
"Looks underfed for a billionaire," Maxon cracked.
"Meow," Anita murmured.
Maxon grinned. "Old gimlet eye is in seventh heaven." Kane had to agree. Short and rotund, the chancellor held his jowly face turned avidly up toward the financier as if he were determined not to miss a single word. His expression was fawning. Standing slightly back from them, Guyman had the miffed look of a man who had been frozen out.
"He'll monopolize him all night," Anita said edgily.
"You couldn't separate him from that moneybag if the place were burning down," Maxon answered.
Kane kept his eyes on the financier, fascinated despite himself. Gesturing occasionally as he talked, Androki portrayed a certain grace. His arms, overly long, held a rubbery movement that gave the illusion of bonelessness. His hands were pale and slender, the fingers tapering. His chest, slightly sunken, emphasized the narrowness of his shoulders. Kane placed his age in the early forties.
So that's John Androki, he thought wonderingly. He didn't quite know what he had expected, but there certainly was nothing unusual about the man. He appeared quite ordinary.
The chancellor glanced around, his eyes falling on Kane. He frowned at sight of Anita and Maxon.
"He's not happy," Maxon observed.
"Is he ever?" Kane asked. He glanced at Anita. Staring at the financier.^ her blue eyes narrowed, her slender face held a feral expression. He wondered at her thoughts.
The chancellor murmured something to Android and started toward them. Kane watched him approach. At that moment Androki turned slightly, gazing in his direction. The dark eyes that briefly met his held a penetrating look, yet one suggestive of secret mockery. The financier's gaze moved to Anita and remained there; she returned the look steadily. Then the chancellor's rotund figure obtruded between them. "Ah, Kane, I'm happy you could come," the chancellor exclaimed. "I'd like to present you to our guest of honor." He adroitly turned, shifting position to exclude the mathematician's companions.
"I'd be honored," Kane murmured.
"We all would," Maxon said brashly. The chancellor appeared not to have heard. Gesturing unobtrusively, he steered Kane toward the financier. Grinning, Maxon took Anita's arm and followed them.
The chancellor introduced Kane glowingly. Androki acknowledged with a light handclasp and said, "Dr. Kane, of course. Dr. Cantrup was mentioning your work to me in Chicago several months ago." His eyes clouded briefly. "His death was a great tragedy."
"A tremendous loss to the world," Kane answered. "The death of Dr. Freyhoff in Germany makes the loss doubly grievous."
"A shocking blow," Androki murmured. "It's fortunate there are others to carry on."
"I'm not so certain that their places can be filled."
"Were they that close to the final solution?"
"I believe they were," he answered gravely. "But isn't there a general exchange of information in the field? Wouldn't you be quite close to their work? Or Vosin or Bernardi or Tanaki?"
"To a certain extent, yes." Kane appraised him. "Their work has aided mine immensely. In general, we've taken the same approach."
"Ah, yes, the Bornji transformations."
"That is the tool, yes."
"So the final solution is just a matter of time?" Androki arched an eye, giving his narrow face a satanic expression. "Time, intuition, or just plain hard work." Kane shrugged. "I'm not certain which."
"Dr. Kane is modest," the chancellor put in suavely. "Dr. Cantrup seemed to feel that you were as far ahead in the field as anyone," Androki commented.
Kane laughed lightly. "Dr. Cantrup was the modest one.
I'm certain he was working in advance of the rest of us with, possibly, the exception of Vosin."
"Ah, the Russian mathematician."
Kane said deliberately, "It's quite surprising to find a financier acquainted with that particular corner of mathematics."
"I occasionally dabble at it," Android explained. "Mathematics is somewhat of a hobby, a restful exercise, you might say. But when I come to such things as the Bornji transformations, I understand them only at a verbal level."
"You are too modest," Kane responded politely. "Dr. Cantrup was quite taken by your knowledge."
"I'm certain that I did but little more than listen." Androki's gaze traveled past Kane's shoulder. "Ah…"
The chancellor turned, frowning. "Oh, yes, I'd like to present Professor Weber of art and Dr. Maxon of psychology." He stepped stiffly aside.
"Delighted, Miss Weber." Androki's smile was charming as he bent forward in a slight bow. He seemingly took no cognizance of the psychologist.
She answered demurely.
"Happy to meet you," Maxon broke in. He edged forward. "I've been extremely interested in your career."
"Oh?" The swift expression that crossed the financier's face vanished before Kane could decipher it.
"Your apparent infallibility at prognostication," Maxon explained. "That's a subject dear to the heart of most psychologists."
"That would be an excellent gift, I'm certain." Androki's expression was inscrutable.
"But not unknown."
"You believe not? I wouldn't know. I'm afraid that in my case it's more a matter of understanding the vagaries of the market."
"Is it?" M
axon's smile was steady. "I'm not so certain."
"Come, Maxon," the chancellor interceded huffily, "we're not in the laboratory."
"A pity," Maxon murmured.
"I'm certain you'd be disappointed in me as a subject," Androki commented. His gaze rested on Anita. "Art is far more to my liking."
She smiled graciously. "I've heard of your fine collection."
"I'm not really knowledgeable on the subject," Androki disclaimed. "As with mathematics, I dabble at it. The function of art is the creation of beauty and beauty is always appealing," he went on. "You might call me a collector of sorts, but I collect what appeals to me rather than what might be good."
"I'm certain they are one and the same," she remonstrated.
Androki said, "I've often thought that art is really an emotional state—the way that we feel about certain objects —and that it is the artist who makes the emotions visible."
"That is true," she murmured.
"What is your particular field, Miss Weber?"
"Watercolor is my hobby, but of course I instruct in the various media."
"Ah, watercolors." The financier smiled engagingly. "1 was extremely fortunate in being able to pick up several of Winslow Homer's works recently. Also a Cotman and Adolf Dehn."
"How wonderful," she exclaimed. "I would love to see them."
"That can be arranged," he replied graciously. He studied her.'T feel that most artists have a mission. Is that true?"
"Of course," she admitted, "but in a wider sense, isn't that true of everyone?"
"Ah, life is filled with missions." Again he smiled charmingly.
As they chatted, Kane suddenly realized that he and Maxon—and, yes, the chancellor—had been excluded completely from their attention. Androki's gaze was fastened on Anita, hers on him; their words were directed to each other. Maxon realized it, too. He glanced at Kane and winked.
The chancellor cleared his throat several times; neither Androki nor Anita paid him the slightest heed. Finally he wandered off.
"Excuse me," Maxon said. He tugged at Kane's sleeve and moved toward the punch bowl. Handing Kane a glass of punch, he ladled a second one for himself. Sipping it, he exclaimed, "They forgot to pour in the jolt."
"I can just see old gimlet eye spiking the punch," Kane returned sourly. He'd sensed undercurrents in the conversation between Anita and Androki that perturbed him. They'd certainly taken to each other!
"What do you think of him?"
"I don't quite know," he responded frankly. "He didn't commit himself much on his knowledge of math."
"He didn't commit himself period," Maxon rebutted. "He was walking on eggs."
"I had the feeling that he was wary."
"I can tell you one thing: Androki's no telepath."
"Oh?" Kane regarded him quizzically. "What leads you to that conclusion?"
"Remember, I said I had a gimmick?" Maxon grinned. "The shock approach. While speaking with him, I had some very lurid thoughts about him, reinforced with pictures. He didn't blink an eye."
Kane laughed. "That's a novel approach."
"I used it on a woman once and got smacked." Maxon smiled ruefully. "That, to me, proved telepathy."
"Do you still believe he's a downthrough?"
"I'm absolutely convinced, Bert."
"Wishful thinking?"
"My desire to discover a downthrough is tempered by the fear of such a discovery. I mentioned that before." Maxon sloshed his punch thoughtfully. "Or perhaps I should say fear of the possible consequences should such persons exist among us. But I'm trying to be objective. And studying Android's record objectively, I find every evidence that he has a pipeline into tomorrow. Yes, I believe he's a downthrough."
"He appears quite ordinary to me."
"Physically, yes, but would you expect a downthrough to have two heads?"
"It would simplify the identification problem," Kane observed wryly.
"If time is a continuum, why shouldn't we be able to look through it the same as we do through space?" Maxon demanded. "It's just a matter of having the right receptor. Personally, I believe that all or many of us have such receptors, at least in an undeveloped state."
"I can't see that it's that simple," Kane countered. "Looking backward through time might be conceivable, but seeing something that has not yet occurred—"
"Not in real time," Maxon cut in quickly, "but how do you know that what we call the present is the only time that exists? Perhaps we have been here before, will be here again, or are in the past, present and future simultaneously. Could we know if we were? I believe not."
"Then how… ?"
"Our conscious awareness is focused on a particular instant of time," Maxon interrupted. "That time constitutes what we call the present. A trillionth of a second in the past is past, a trillionth of a second in the future is the future; yet we can keep narrowing that instant of the present until it doesn't exist. In that regard, the present is merely a border between a nonexistent future and a nonexistent past. Is there then no present?"
"Not by that reasoning," Kane admitted, "but I still don't get what you're driving at."
"I'm trying to define the present," Maxon answered. "By that definition, it can't exist—not if it's merely the border between two nonexistent times."
"So?"
"But is it? Think a moment." Maxon sipped his punch, then lowered his glass. "Do you realize that for all practical purposes you've never known anything but the past?"
"How do you figure that out?"
"Whatever we see, hear, taste, smell or feel reaches 'our consciousness through our nerve trunks. But is the neural transmission instantaneous? Not a bit. There's always a time lag between your mind and the exterior world."
"You're talking about scant milliseconds," Kane objected.
"True, but it still means that we always live scant milliseconds in the past. The action that is presented to the brain has already occurred and ended. Because of that built-in time lag, our awareness can never catch up to the present, if I can put it that way." Maxon glared at him. "What does that mean?"
Kane smiled. "What does it mean?"
"Merely that what we call the present in reality is the past, at least in the objective world. Objectively past but mentally present. So you see, what we call the present has a split personality. Put another way, we inhabit two different time periods simultaneously."
"Is that the kind of quackery you feed your students?"
Maxon grinned. "It can start some wonderful arguments."
"So what has that to do with being a downthrough?" Kane challenged.
"Suppose you could shift your moment of awareness, focus it on a different point in time? Say tomorrow at two o'clock. Then would not tomorrow at two o'clock constitute your present?"
"I couldn't answer that, Gordie."
"How does the concept differ radically from your multidimensional space?" Maxon demanded. "You're convinced that it exists."
"At a mathematical level, yes."
"Your belief goes deeper than that."
"I'll go along with that," Kane acceded.
"You had to have the belief first, or at least see the possibility of it, before undertaking the mathematical task of proving it," Maxon declared. "You had to sense that there is something more to space than what we see with the naked eye."
"If questioning constitutes a belief, yes," Kane agreed. "What is space? We describe it as something that goes on and on in length and breadth and depth, and we call it infinite. We measure it in all directions in terms of distance— the number of light-years lying between us and sun X. Yet space itself is nothingness, and as such can't be measured. We identify it and measure it only through the objects that lie within it. Yet those objects, as we see them, lie at the end of long, curved rays of light. Curved? Perhaps distorted is the better word. The end product that reaches us has been bent and twisted by vast gravitational fields. Can we say then that we know the size and shape of that portion of space t
hat falls within the reach of our instruments? Or can nothingness have a shape?"
"We know our own interpretation, Bert."
"Exactly." He nodded. "But how do we know that the distortions of the universe don't overlap, or even occupy the same space-time continuum?"
"How can nothing overlap nothing?" Maxon grinned.
"By the superimposition of objects lying within the fields of nothingness," he answered. "How can you refute that?"
"Oh, I'm not."
"Mathematics is the key," Kane asserted.
"Isn't my argument based on mathematics?" Maxon demanded. "I'm convinced through the statistics of probability as well as through historical occurrences. There have been innumerable well-documented cases of psychic phenomena."
"The downthrough?"
"The prophets of the biblical days," Maxon assented. "But mostly I'm convinced by Androki. His sense of tomorrow is too unerring not to be based on some type of receptor as operational as the eye or the ear."
"So how does he perceive tomorrow? As a vision?"
"I couldn't say."
"Did he see this reception yesterday? Did he already know each person he would meet, each word that would be said?"
"It doesn't follow that the sense would have to be that selective," Maxon argued. "How much detail do you see when you're shooting along the freeway at seventy miles per hour? At the end of the trip, how many specific details can you recall? Not many. The number approximates zero when compared with what you have actually seen."
"Granted," Kane acknowledged.
"You recall only a few things—those which have come under your scrutiny for one reason or another. You have no real awareness of anything until you focus on it. Couldn't it be that way with whatever sense Androki uses to discern tomorrow?"
Kane smiled. "But what is it that brings his focus? What determines what he will see?"
"Perhaps he can consciously direct it, in the same way that you can consciously probe your immediate surroundings." Maxon shrugged. "I really don't know. That's one of the points I hope to discover."
"From Androki?" Kane's sourness returned. "He doesn't appear overly cooperative." He glanced across the room. Anita and the financier had withdrawn to the far corner, deeply engrossed in conversation. Their faces were animated.
