Costigan's Needle

by Jerry Sohl

  “I had a better idea. I tied the mouse down again, let the end that came free thrash around in the hole, injected nembutal into an artery on this side of the hole. The mouse died. I tried pulling it out, but it wouldn’t move. I nearly pulled its body apart trying to get it out; the invisible dead part in the hole wouldn’t cross the barrier. I could push the visible dead half into the hole clear over to the other opening and it remained visible. Only when I turned the machine off did it come free—the dead half on this side. It was cut as if by a razor. So, you see? There are definite scientific laws regulating this thing. I am only beginning to discover what they are. As long as the dead tissue is attached to living tissue and is a part of it, it will pass; if the whole organism is dead, it will go neither way.” Dr. Costigan paused.

  “The point the doctor wants to make, Dev,” Orcutt said, “is that this would be a standard piece of equipment in hospitals but who would want to use it if he didn’t know where the disappearing part of his body is going?”

  “It could be Afghanistan or the Black Sea,” Sam said.

  “It doesn’t make any difference where,” Orcutt said. “But people will want to know just where.”

  “I’ve thought about it a lot,” Dr. Costigan said, pouring himself a little more whiskey. “Does the tube merely render living things invisible? Does the tube go back in time? Does it go to the future? To a coexistent plane? To some other planet? To some other place on this one? Suppose you stuck your hand in the hole and it came out in the vacuum of outer space?”

  One fluorescent light, which blinked once in a while, made a tinkling click as it did so, the only sound in the room for a few moments as they sat there, each obviously considering where the place might be.

  “The experiment, then,” Devan said. “That will be to determine where the body goes?”

  “It would be so simple if we could just send a TV set through the hole,” Orcutt said. “Or a periscope.”

  “Has anybody any idea of how we are going to find out where the living tissue goes?” Devan asked.

  “We’ve got to build a large enough tube to let a man go through, Dev,” Orcutt said. “His whole body.”

  “He can report back what he sees,” Dr. Costigan said.

  “That’s what the million dollars is for.”

  “Who knows where that hole goes to, what fabulous things might be seen once a man goes through? Perhaps he’ll meet people from the future, people from the past.”

  The doctor’s eyes looked far away. “It’s beyond imagining what that man will find, gentlemen.”

  “It’s going to be difficult presenting this thing without telling the board the whole story,” Orcutt said, his hand hovering over the choice of three pipes in the rack on his desk. “But I think you’ll all agree it shouldn’t be done.”

  “Definitely not,” Sam said. “I was a newspaperman once and I know what those fellows would do if they found out about it.”

  The telephone rang and Glenn Basher picked it up. “Thanks, Miss Treat,” he said, dropping it back into its cradle on a corner of Orcutt’s large desk. “O’Grady’s here. We can check him off.” He put a mark by the name on the sheet of paper before him. “Four more and they’ll all be here.”

  “We don’t have to worry about the board, Ed,” Devan said. “I don’t see how they could go back on our recommendation.”

  Howard Tooksberry, whose chair was a little distant from the others, snorted. “It’s not right,” he said, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “The board should be apprised of the whole thing.”

  “But you can’t—you mustn’t do that!” Sam said excitedly. “Why...!”

  “You’re wrong there, Howard,” James Holcombe looked up from the diagram of the enlarged tube, fixing the man with steady, blue eyes. “Do you realize what it would mean if the public caught wind of this thing? Sam Otto’s right. The reporters would be knocking down the doors. No, if you tell the board, there’s bound to be a leak somewhere. As far as I know, no other concern is even thinking about a thing like this. Let’s not get them started.”

  “It’s pretty well set, then, gentlemen?” Orcutt swung his head to survey their faces one at a time. Tooksberry would not look at him. “We’re to state it is an experiment in force field effects on living tissue which may result in new medical practices, that Dr. Costigan here has been charged by the executive committee to handle the project. He’ll produce, on the basis of what our experts have said, an entirely new approach to internal medicine. That ought to do it.”

  “It’s gobbledegook,” Devan said. “Unless you know just what the words mean. Then it makes sense.”

  “I don’t know how else you can tell them,” Sam said. “The doctor and I were faced with the same thing trying to explain it to Mr. Orcutt. We couldn’t say too much, we couldn’t say too little.”

  “Ultra vires,” Tooksberry said.

  Everybody looked at him.

  “Just what the hell do you mean by that, Howard?” Orcutt said.

  “Just what I said.” Tooksberry looked them over coldly. “Ultra vires means to exceed your vested authority as officers and board members under the corporate charter. It seems to me that’s just what you’re doing. You could be sued for it.”

  “Look,” Orcutt said, leaning across the desk. “You saw the gadget. Don’t you believe in it?”

  “What have you got against the doctor and me?” Sam asked. “You’ve been against us from the first.”

  “Howard enjoys being contrary,” Basher chided. “He revels in it. If we had an outfit for making gold out of lead he’d vote against it.”

  “All right,” Tooksberry said, rising, his face angry. “You asked for it, now I’ll tell you what I think. First of all, why does Dr. Costigan want to experiment? Second, why doesn’t he reveal to us what makes the thing work, if it does work? Third, suppose it does prove to be of value? What’s to prevent Dr. Costigan from taking the fruits of Inland’s million dollars and setting himself up in business? Where do we come in on the profits? The trouble with all of you is that you’re too curious about the experiment and not curious enough about where the money comes in.”

  Howard Tooksberry sat down heavily, took off his glasses and started to polish them nervously.

  Sam Otto, whose face had become whiter with every word, now stood up, fists clenched, teeth together on his cigar. He advanced a step toward Tooksberry.

  “Sit down, Sam!” Orcutt said firmly. He lit his pipe as Sam took his seat, blew out the match with smoke. “I think your points are pretty well taken, Howard. As you usually do, you insert some practical ideas into what might otherwise be entirely too theoretical and enthusiastic a discussion.

  “The trouble is that, since you’ve been against the project, you haven’t been in on some of the informal discussions on the matter. So I’ll bring you up to date. You ought to know this, too, Devan.

  “Sam Otto and Dr. Costigan came to me last Friday and explained something about what they had. They insisted I see the thing. Otherwise they were going to give it to Westinghouse or General Electric or one of the other big companies. I’ve seen too many corporations fold by passing up something that eventually spelled success in capital letters for their competitors.

  “You were out of town, Devan, so, although we had all made plans to do other things, Glenn, Jimmy, Howard and myself all went to see the thing firsthand. Everybody was impressed but Howard. We agreed to hold an executive committee meeting the first thing Monday morning, which we did, going through the motions so that it would be a matter of record, scheduling the full board for this afternoon.

  “In the meantime, Glenn and Jimmy and myself have been talking to Sam and Dr. Costigan informally. If the thing is perfected for medical use and for all subsequent uses that may develop as a result of what we find out from the experiments, Dr. Costigan is to get fifteen per cent of the net profits, Sam Otto ten per cent and the remainder goes to Inland.

  “Dr. Costigan may reveal t
he secret of his tube if he wants to, but he has asked to be the proprietor of it exclusively, and to this we have agreed. A sealed copy of the detailed plans for his tube is to be put in the Inland vault, however, in the event of his death so that Inland will not lose what has been started. We will take over the experiment ourselves in that event. Dr. Costigan has agreed not to enter the manufacturing field for twenty-five years following the signing of the agreement this afternoon. Does that answer some of your questions, Howard?”

  “Yes.” Tooksberry had said the word he had to say and the necessity for it made him sullen. “It’s true I didn’t know all about that. But for the record, I still vote against it.”

  Sam was distressed, pounded a fist into a palm absently. Dr. Costigan could only look at the man in surprise.

  Tooksberry’s eyes challenged them all. “I still say it isn’t fair to let Dr. Costigan conduct the experiments the way he wants to. There are a lot of engineers here in the plant who could render valuable assistance. Besides, I just don’t like the way the whole thing is being handled.”

  The ring of the telephone interrupted again. Glenn Basher checked off two more names.

  “I don’t mean to be personal, Doctor,” Devan said. “But there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

  “What is it?”

  “How did you come to invent this tube? Are you a Ph.D.? Is research just a side line?”

  “You mean you don’t know about the doctor?” Sam asked in amazement. “Why, Dr. Costigan is well known. He—”

  “Let the doctor talk, Sam.”

  Dr. Costigan smiled. “Sam is the most loyal man I ever met, Mr. Traylor. But sometimes he gets a little excited about things. No offense, Sam. As for the tube, I’ll tell you the story of it some day. It may interest you. For the Ph.D., I got it at Claybourne Technical College in 1922. It was in physics. I taught at Dewhurst until two years ago when our children were grown and married and there seemed no necessity for teaching any longer. So my wife and I left Dewhurst, moved back to Chicago here where my wife’s sister is an invalid, moved in with her. We bought a better home on the North Side recently, but it left me with only a little income and I wanted to continue working with the tube. There was nothing else to do but ask financial assistance and that is where Sam came in.”

  Sam nodded. “Something you don’t know, Devan: I’ve sunk everything I have in it. I’ve leased the building for a year, built the office on the second floor, bought the safe and hired old Casey.”

  The phone jangled and before it had given a full ring Basher had it in his hand. A moment later he put it down.

  “Everybody’s in the conference room,” he said. “We’d better get up there.”

  “Quarter to two,” Orcutt said, glancing at his wrist watch. “I’ll bet we’ll have it signed, sealed and delivered in half an hour.” He glanced at Tooksberry. “Unless somebody interferes.”

  “I’m not changing my vote,” Tooksberry said. “But I still don’t like it. But I won’t reveal any of your precious secrets, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  4

  Edmund Orcutt was wrong. Instead of passing the board of directors of Inland Electronics in half an hour, the matter of funds for the Costigan project was approved in twenty-eight minutes. A great deal of the success of the proposal’s acceptance lay in Orcutt’s presentation. He explained that the money was to be used for research in force fields. He spoke glowingly of the unknown possibilities that existed therein, particularly of the probable financial gains for Inland, but he carefully let each member imagine for himself just what form the physical possibilities assumed.

  Devan watched the board members as Orcutt talked. Spencer O’Grady, a wizened old man with purple veins in his forehead, was doodling on a paper before him, as he always did. Mrs. Charles Petrie, who never came to a board meeting without her knitting, was busy with her yarn, another good sign, the needles clicking in monotonous rhythm. She never looked up. Homer Parrett, his hands behind his head and his chair tilted away from the table, unconcernedly smoked his cigar and looked at the wall with a vacant stare while Clarence Gleckman chewed his gum savagely and stared at Orcutt. Nothing unusual there. Other members were occupied in other customary attitudes. Devan decided there was no need to worry.

  When Orcutt had finished and Chairman Holcombe asked for a discussion, Mrs. Petrie put her knitting down and looked up the long table.

  “You said the executive committee voted for it, didn’t you, Mr. Holcombe?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, that’s enough for me. I don’t understand what it’s all about. But then I seldom do.”

  “A million dollars is a lot of money,” Mr. Parrett said, never taking his eyes off the opposite wall, never taking the half-smoked cigar out of his mouth or letting all four of the chair legs touch the floor at the same time.

  “You have to spend money to make money,” Mr. Gleckman countered in a gravel voice. “We’ve done it before.”

  Two minutes later the largest amount of money ever to be appropriated by Inland in Devan’s experience was a matter of record and the board members moved out of the conference room one by one and out the opened doors with them moved the long shreds of cigar and cigarette smoke that had collected beneath the lights.

  The board had been so amenable to suggestion that Devan could now see how a handful of men could wreck a corporation, something that had never occurred to him before. Yet Inland board members had every reason to believe in the executive committee; it had not failed them yet. That is why the shareholders elected the same people year after year—that and the large dividend checks. But Devan wondered how the board would have acted if Orcutt had tried to explain exactly what the money was to be used for. You can’t tell people you want to send a man through a hole in a million dollar tube and expect them to understand what you’re talking about.

  There were drinks for the executive committee in Orcutt’s office and even sour-faced Howard Tooksberry took one and relaxed a little. Devan excused himself after two drinks and Dr. Costigan, who was on his fourth, shook his hand warmly as he left. He managed to escape Sam Otto, who was trying to outdo the scientist and was beginning to slobber a little.

  In his own office, Devan told Miss Treat to go home and pack for her first space ship ride. Then he took a bottle of bourbon from his desk drawer and prepared a drink, which he consumed in solitary satisfaction.

  He could go back to Florida and be with Beverly and the kids. And he knew he should go back. But somehow the idea of the tube and what it was going to do appealed to him more. There was the thrill of something new there, some province as yet completely unexplored by man, discovered by a relatively obscure physics teacher named Dr. Winfield Costigan.

  Industrial news, as does other news, especially the kind that one tries to keep private, travels fast. There is an unseen network of nerves running from one manufacturing plant to another over which research results, project proposals and policy decisions are communicated. Nobody knows how but everybody knows why. Perhaps it is because of the Miss Treats of the world, the people who are paid to report what they see and hear, that such communication is possible.

  Now that the decision had been made and the money appropriated, there was no reason for delay, Devan reasoned. He could help see to it that sure-to-be obstacles were overcome. Inland would have to buy the Rasmussen Stove Company building, for example. And some system would have to be devised to keep the project continually under wraps. People would have to be hired. The right kind of people. The problems that came to his mind were endless.

  He picked up the phone and dialed for long distance. In a few minutes he was talking to his wife.

  “What was it all about, Dev?” she asked. “Was it as bad as Miss Treat hinted? I’ve been waiting, wondering what happened.”

  “The crisis is over,” he said. “Everything’s all right. Everything’s all ironed out.”

  “When are you coming down, then?”
r />   He coughed. “Well, not right away. I—”

  “Then everything’s not all right.”

  “Look, Beverly, we have a new project. It’s a big thing. Nothing like it before. I want to see that it gets going right. It shouldn’t mean more than a few days, not more than a week. I’ll fly down.”

  “Oh, Dev!” The voice broke a little. “I’ve been lonely since you’ve been gone. I don’t really know anybody in this town. I’m nothing without you!”

  Devan could envision her blue eyes welling up with hot tears. The thought moved him.

  “You’ve got the kids.”

  “But they miss you, too.”

  “I miss them,” he said gruffly. “It’s not as if I’m going to be gone all winter. I’m going to be needed here.”

  “Are you sure you’re not needed here more, Dev?”

  “Would you like to come back with the children?” He was half angry.

  “You know that wouldn’t be right, interrupting their school again.”

  “No, I suppose it wouldn’t. Look, Beverly, just a few days. I’ll be down.”

  He could hear her crying and, while it touched him and made him miserable for what he felt he had to do, he resented the coercive factor that he considered tears to be.

  “Beverly... are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she sobbed. “And you’re still there.”

  “Stop behaving like a child and listen to me,” he scolded. “I’ll rush through these preliminary things and fly down as soon as possible. A week at the most. Do you hear?”

  “All right. Please make it soon.”

  Devan stood across the street from the Rasmussen Stove Company building and decided that the work he had helped plan two months before had gone well.

  To the casual eye the building probably looked much as it had for the past twenty years, but he knew a studied examination would reveal certain changes. Old glass had been replaced all around with frosted glass, for one thing, along with other exterior improvements he had suggested.