Costigan's Needle

by Jerry Sohl

  In a corner of the room Dr. Costigan was bent over a large safe of the kind found in large factory offices. He had his back to the group, was furtively turning the combination. In a few moments he grabbed the handles and, with a grunt, swung the heavy door open.

  Sam Otto moved to help, but the scientist waved him back. “I’ll handle it.”

  Dr. Costigan reached in carefully, cradled a long metal device in his arms. It looked like a polished silver rocket about a foot in diameter, the circular base of the tube was broken by an arched opening that went all the way through.

  The tall doctor struggled slowly across the floor with it and the others moved out of his way. He set it on the bench with a dull thud and then took hold of the tip and set it upright. At least it looks like a space-ship model, Devan said to himself with some amusement. Miss Treat had been right about that. It was about three feet high and the lights reflected brilliantly from its polished shaft.

  The doctor busied himself with it, opening a bench drawer and taking out a number of patchcords, plugging them into jacks in the shaft and running the cords to a jack panel. As he worked, his long slim fingers expertly adjusted knobs and the slowness that Devan had taken for his usual manner was gone. Once, when the man turned to the meter panel, in the light from the glaring lights Devan could see a fanatic gleam in his eyes.

  As the man worked, checking and rechecking, the breathing of all four of them seemed to become oppressively loud.

  “Maybe I ought to open the door,” Sam said. “It’s getting a little stuffy in here.”

  “You will leave the door closed, please,” Dr. Costigan said. “I’m nearly ready.” Meter dials moved, needles fluctuated and somewhere inside the array of equipment, relays began to click. A motor started and ascended the scale in a faint hum.

  “Now,” the doctor said at last.

  “Now what?” Devan asked sarcastically.

  “You just wait,” Sam said.

  “For heaven’s sake, Devan,” Orcutt said. “Give the doctor a chance.”

  “Now, Mr. Traylor,” Dr. Costigan said. “If you will, please.”

  Devan moved to the bench and Orcutt and Sam made room for him.

  “You see that hole at the bottom,” Dr. Costigan was pointing to the archway at the bottom of the bullet-shaped shaft. “Look through it. I’ll wiggle my fingers on the other side. So.”

  Devan bent down. “I’ll be damned!” he said.

  “What did you see?” Sam asked, surprised.

  “I can see his fingers on the other side.”

  “Sam is right. You are a funny man, Mr. Traylor. Now.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Put your finger in the hole.”

  Orcutt and Sam pressed close to watch, but Devan did not do as the doctor said.

  “First, you tell me what’s going to happen.”

  The doctor shook his head. “No. You will not be hurt. Go ahead. Go ahead.” He pushed Devan’s hand to the hole.

  Again Devan hesitated, looked around at them. They were expectant, waiting. He shrugged, shoved his finger in the hole. He felt nothing, withdrew it.

  “Is everybody happy?” he asked.

  “You didn’t look at your finger while you did it,” the doctor protested.

  “Come on, Devan,” Orcutt said impatiently. “Don’t grandstand now.”

  Devan put his finger near the hole again. There was room enough for his whole hand but he put only his finger in and watched.

  The finger vanished.

  Astonished, he quickly withdrew his finger and looked at it. It was still whole. His heart quickened. He put his finger in again, saw it disappear. Then he thought his finger felt cold, withdrew it and felt of it with his other hand.

  His finger was cold.

  This is a trick, Devan thought. In a moment they’ll be giving me the big horse laugh. He turned to look at each face. Dr. Costigan’s eyes mocked his. Sam Otto had a benign grin. Orcutt was excited, his eyes bright.

  Devan bent down and looked through the hole. He could see nothing but smooth sides of metal, ran his finger around the edge of the hole. It was finely machined, very smooth.

  He doubled his fist, backed away a little and moved his fist close to the hole, then into it. He kept going until his arm was in the hole up to his shoulder. He brought his other hand around to meet the hand on the other side.

  His hand wasn’t there. Only his empty sleeve.

  Frantically, he bent his arm in the hole. It met nothing but air where the sides of the archway opening should have been. Then he felt the cold. It was as if he had put his arm through a hole in a window to the outside.

  He withdrew his arm in a hurry.

  It was very cold.

  3

  Devan stared at the pointed cylinder of silver and as he did so his vision blurred and the shaft shimmered in the light. His mind, confronted with what his senses had recorded there, rejected it as impossible, yet he could not disqualify his eyes and his hand. He had to believe either his mind or what he had physically experienced. He was conscious of sweat collecting on his skin, of the rapid beating of his heart, the feel of nerves drawn tight.

  He did not want to believe what he had just seen, what he had just done, but there seemed no alternative. But if he believed, then he had no basis for objecting to the project. If it was a trick, and he felt certain such a trick would ultimately be revealed, then he could never forgive himself for being such a fool for believing. But how to disprove it? How to show that it was a fraud?

  His mind whipped back to the time he had seen a magician working seeming miracles on a stage. The man sawed a woman in half, caused an elephant to disappear, floated a woman upward over the audience, firing a gun at her when she neared the top of the theater, the woman vanishing, the clothes she had been wearing floating slowly and softly to the heads of the amazed spectators below.

  Impossible? He had seen a magician do it. But he had not done it himself. There was a difference there. A few minutes ago he had inserted his arm into a hole through a polished metal cylinder and only his empty coat sleeve came out the other side.

  “Well...?” Sam’s voice had an upsweep.

  Damn you, Devan thought. You’re really pushing me, aren’t you! You want me to commit myself right away, don’t you? He turned slowly, angry because they were working against him, had deliberately led him on and he had taken the bait. Well, they wouldn’t catch him that easily.

  “Dr. Costigan,” he said. “Will you please turn your gadget ninety degrees on the bench? Can you do that without pulling out any of those patchcords?”

  The doctor rubbed his chin, looked at him speculatively. “I guess so.” He moved the cylinder closer to the panels, turned it as Devan had directed.

  “And do you have a trouble light, Doctor?”

  “Trouble light?”

  “Work light. Something I can see into the hole with. One with a cord long enough to reach here.”

  The doctor rummaged through a drawer, brought out a caged light on the end of a cord. Devan plugged it into a nearby socket, turned on the light.

  “Now, Ed, if you don’t mind, would you please reach into that thing while I view the operation from this side?”

  He bent over so his ear was on the bench, adjusted the light before him so that the opening was blazing with light and he could see through it clearly.

  Orcutt moved to the other side of the cylinder.

  “Now,” Devan said. He watched as Orcutt’s extended fingers moved in the light toward the hole, saw an incredible thing happen when the fingers passed the opening archway. The fingertips disappeared and the bones, blood vessels and muscles were clearly visible as if cut off at the opening. As the fingers advanced, the cross section moved past the knuckles to the palm, then the wrist.

  As the arm went in, the coat sleeve around it became limp, dropped to the surface of the bench and slid along in the hole as Orcutt pushed farther in. Finally, the sleeve came out Devan’s side and moved toward him a few inches a
nd stopped when Orcutt could put his arm in no farther.

  Devan reached over, pulled hard on the sleeve.

  “Hey!” Orcutt yelled, drawing back.

  “No, don’t draw your hand out.”

  “But it’s getting cold in there.”

  “Well, hold it a minute longer.”

  Devan dropped the sleeve, turned out the light, set it on the bench, then inserted his own hand into the opening. He had difficulty in forcing his hand in until he pulled Orcutt’s empty sleeve out; otherwise the bunched sleeves prevented further entry. With his other hand he held Orcutt’s sleeve taut and pushed his hand into the chamber, finding Orcutt’s arm. It was bare and cold. Orcutt had bent his elbow and now Devan did, too, and they clasped hands as in Indian wrestling.

  Satisfied, Devan dropped his hand, felt along Orcutt’s arm, first the wrist, then the forearm, pulling the hair there. Orcutt winced.

  “What’s the idea, Dev?”

  “Just testing,” Devan said, smiling in spite of himself.

  He moved his hand along the arm to the elbow, up the elbow to... the flesh ended, cut smooth as if by a microtome at the other opening. He ran his fingers over the stub of the arm. The surface was like glass and just as unyielding.

  “Feel that?” Devan asked.

  “Vaguely.”

  “All right,” Devan said, withdrawing his arm.

  Orcutt took his arm out, started to massage it.

  “Damn! It’s cold in there.”

  “Are you convinced, Mr. Traylor?” It was Dr. Costigan.

  Devan nodded. There was no denying it now.

  “Well, Devan?” It was Sam again.

  Devan watched while the doctor disconnected the many patchcords, unable to phrase an answer. His thoughts were too chaotic, the experience too recent to make sense saying anything. It was like watching a fascinating play or reading an engrossing book and when it was over wishing it could have gone on because reality was so much less interesting, yet knowing there had to be an end and, once it had come, trying to bring the lesser things of one’s environment into focus and proper perspective again.

  “I guess it has made an impression on Devan,” Orcutt said. “I know it’s hard to believe, Dev, but it’s true. You came prepared for something much less. Now you’ve seen the improbable and it’s got you going.”

  Devan sighed. “You’re right. It’s impossible. Only it isn’t. I’ve seen it.” He fingered a cigarette out of his pack, lit it absently. “How many others have seen it, Ed?”

  “The rest of the committee.”

  “And Tooksberry voted against it?”

  Orcutt nodded. “He doesn’t believe it. He wouldn’t go near it. Glenn and Jimmy were sold right away.”

  The doctor had the silver shaft in his arms again, carried it to the safe. Devan could not keep his eyes off the thing, was glad when at last the safe door swung shut and the doctor was turning the knob.

  “Let’s go to the other room,” Sam said, opening the door. A blast of cooler, more breathable air swept into the room and it cleared Devan’s head.

  When they were seated in chairs in the outer room, Devan wiped his perspiring forehead with his handkerchief.

  “I really think the thing’s got you, Dev,” Orcutt said, laughing.

  “You look as if you need a drink.”

  “How did you feel when you saw it?”

  “Much the same way.” Orcutt glanced at his wrist watch. “It’s nearly noon. The board meeting’s at one thirty. We’ve got to get moving.”

  “We could eat up here,” Sam said. “I could put in a call for something.”

  “Did I hear someone mention a drink?” Dr. Costigan was sitting up straight in his chair.

  Devan looked around, saw no bottles or glasses. “I could stand one. Do you have to send out for it?”

  “Just a moment.” The doctor went to the padlocked door again. When he returned with a bottle of whiskey, they asked him where he got it. “In the safe,” he explained.

  “He keeps it right next to the silver tube,” Sam said as the doctor arranged four small glasses on the desk. “I don’t know which he considers more valuable.”

  “Mr. Otto has known me but briefly, gentlemen,” Dr. Costigan said, almost gay. “There are facets to my character that are quite interesting.”

  Devan was gratified to see that Dr. Costigan was loosening up. Perhaps he was a man who did not care for new people, a man who had to get a bit used to you first.

  “Here’s to Dr. Costigan’s tube,” Sam Otto said, lifting the half-filled glass.

  As they drank, Devan noticed the ease with which Dr. Costigan downed his whiskey.

  “How does the tube work, Doctor?” Devan asked. “I’ve seen just about everything in electronics, but this is a new one on me.”

  The doctor smiled craftily. “That would be telling, wouldn’t it?”

  “Dr. Costigan’s very quiet about what makes the wheels go around, Devan,” Sam said, retrieving his cigar from the desk edge and chewing the end of it. “He’d been trying to get funds from several big companies when I caught up with him. He wouldn’t even tell them what it was supposed to do.”

  “I’ll be frank,” the doctor said. “I’ve got no head for business. I knew I’d run into trouble.”

  “I dropped in on Joe Gordon at National a couple weeks ago,” Sam went on. “I took him out to dinner and while we were eating he mentioned the doctor’s name. He said he was one of the screwiest guys he’d ever seen—you’ll pardon me, Doctor, but that’s just what he said—because Joe said the doctor wanted the dough without even putting on a show, just saying he had something new. Can you beat that?”

  Devan grunted. “Knowing you, Sam, you couldn’t let a thing like that go by. You hotfooted it right over to see the doctor.”

  “Of course!” Sam beamed, the cigar held tightly in the big teeth. “If I hadn’t, where would we be now? Sure, I hurried over to his place. Basement of his house on the North Side. Had the thing right out in the open on the workbench. Can you imagine that?”

  “Best place in the world for it,” the doctor argued. “Nobody’d expect anything like that there.”

  “Well, you were still taking a chance. Anyway, I argued him into letting me see it. Then I had to work on him to show me what it did. I about fell over when I stuck my finger in.”

  “For once you had something,” Devan said. “Do I understand right? Are we buying it for a million dollars?”

  “No,” Orcutt said. “That comes later. We’re only advancing the money for the experiment.”

  “The experiment? Here we go again. Why do we have to experiment?”

  Orcutt laughed. “Exactly what I wanted to know, Dev. Sam said the doctor wanted around a million dollars to experiment with and—of course I’d seen the demonstration already—and I said the gadget was complete as it is. Besides, I couldn’t see spending a million dollars when the thing was already finished. I couldn’t see any immediate application for it. But the doctor had other ideas. Why don’t you tell him, Doctor?”

  Dr. Costigan cleared his throat, leaned back in his chair until it touched the wall, looking, Devan decided, like a farmer passing the time of day at the country grocery store.

  “What’s the tube good for?” The doctor shrugged. “I asked myself that a thousand times and at first received no reasonable reply. So I started to work out some things. The best idea is that it can be used to diagnose internal diseases, cancers and the like. You run a body through it and you get a cross section of the insides and you can examine every part without the expense, danger or mess of an exploratory operation. There are ways it could be set up so that a microscope could examine the cross sections, but the vanishing region would have to be concentrated in a thin, fanshaped beam. You understand that only living tissue goes through, don’t you, Mr. Traylor? No dead things. No minerals or metals.”

  “That accounts for the coat sleeve, then,” Devan said. “But what about the outer layer of s
kin and the fingernails and the hair I felt on Orcutt’s arm? That’s all dead tissue.”

  Dr. Costigan’s smile, which exposed yellowed teeth and a few gold crowns, lasted longer than usual.

  “I’ll answer that in a moment. To get on with this other thing about doctors using it to explore human anatomy, at once a great question arises. What happens to the part of the body that disappears?” The doctor’s eyebrows went up like window shades. Then they came down again and he leaned forward.

  “You’ve only seen what went on here,” he said in a confidential tone. “Let me tell you what happened when I first discovered this thing. My wife and I were living in a different house and I was experimenting with an even smaller outfit in the basement. I put my finger in the hole and it disappeared, just as it does here. The difference is that I felt something wet, though my finger always came out dry.

  “Curious, I made the hole bigger by making a bigger tube. Took me more than a year to make the outfit you’ve seen. When I first put my whole arm in this one and moved my arm around, I could feel water. It swirled around. Yet, when I took my arm out, it was dry. Can you figure out what my next step should have been?”

  The doctor looked at them expectantly, as if he were waiting for someone to speak up like a bright student with the answer. Nobody wanted to guess it.

  “I took a white mouse. I held it tight, put it in the hole, felt the mouse struggle. Then it was still. I tried to get my hand out with the mouse in it, but my hand would not cross the barrier with it. The mouse had drowned and dead things, I discovered, would not come through. I had to let it go in order to get my hand out.”

  Devan lit a cigarette, glanced at Orcutt. Orcutt smiled.

  “We moved to a house on the North Side. I started experimenting again. There my hand met air, not water. I got another mouse, moved it through the hole and back again. No ill effects. Then I tied the mouse down on its back on a board, moved it halfway into the hole, took it out. The mouse had come free at the end that went into the hole. The knots were still there but the mouse’s feet were not in them.