by Jerry Sohl
When a man disappears into a sixty-foot Needle and you don’t know where the Eye of the Needle goes... Well, no precedent has yet been established here. What to do?
First, the police had tried to learn everything they could about the Needle. They took page after page of notes from all who were associated with the Needle in any capacity whatsoever and, with the exception of the actual secret of the construction of the Needle itself, Devan figured the police learned everything there was to know about it.
“What’s the next step?” Lieutenant Johnson asked. “A guy can’t walk into the Eye or he disappears. He can’t hold onto anything like a rope because if he did he’d disappear and the rope he’d have been holding would still be here. How to go about trying to get Griffin and Basher back? It’s got me whipped and I hate to admit it.”
“Well,” Devan said drily, feeling a lot of time had been wasted in note-taking, “one thing: You boys now know as much as we do.”
While the police pondered and the public waited, the Needle current stayed on. Dr. Costigan arranged the circuits and dials so that any change in current or voltage level was immediately compensated for and nothing short of loss of power from outside would affect the Eye area.
Though many persons gave Glenn Basher and Detective Griffin up for dead, nobody mentioned it; everyone expressed the hope that now that the Needle was working twenty-four hours a day, the two might find the opening and come staggering back to the safety of this side of the Eye.
In the meantime, nearby traffic had to be detoured to other streets. The curious formed long lines of cars that went slowly by, faces at the car windows. Crowds were always walking by, hoping for a look at the Needle or the people involved. The police kept them moving.
The only persons allowed inside the building, besides the regular office force, the Inland executives, the police, the press and radio men, were a long string of specialized people, more than a score of names that would have made a glittering roster of the gifted, intelligent and learned. Physicists from universities and research centers in the Middle West, electronics experts from far and near, navy men, army men, doctors, radiologists, mathematicians, people from Great Lakes Naval Training Center, men from Rantoul where the big air force base was, research men from Cook County Hospital, Illinois Research, the Nelson Morris Institute of Medical Research, from the University of Illinois Medical School, from Los Alamos, Yucca Flat—Devan lost track of all who came by.
They gawked, they put their hands through the barrier and drew them back with a cry. They looked in amazement, they frowned, they sat down and stared. But not one of them could explain it or offer a suggestion about what to do next. They all wanted to talk about it, though. Some wanted to talk about how close they had come to inventing a thing like the Needle. Others wanted to discuss how amazing it was that it had not been invented before. Still others were only fishing for information that couldn’t be supplied simply because the man who could have told them refused to see them. Dr. Costigan would not even talk with anyone from Claybourne, his alma mater, and Dewhurst, his most recent school. Others, after the first few interrogators, followed his example.
It was Sam Otto who came up with the idea three days later. It was the sight of a uniformed policeman drawing back one eager woman biologist (she wanted to put her arms into the Eye up to her elbows) that popped the thought into Sam’s head.
At the time Devan was talking to Betty who, as Dr. Costigan’s girl of all work, found herself with little to do now that the Needle was finished. They were chatting in the doctor’s office, not paying any attention to Sam at the window.
“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Sam cried suddenly, turning away.
“Hey, look! Oh, you missed it! That big guard out there. He pulled that woman away from the Eye.”
Devan and Betty stood up. They sat down again.
“So what?” Devan said.
“Don’t you get it?” Sam asked excitedly.
“Whatever in the world are you talking about, Sam?” Betty asked.
“The guard that pulled the woman away,” he said. He became exasperated. “Look: what do we want most?”
“To bring back Basher and Griffin,” Devan said.
“Right. But we couldn’t think of a way. But I just have.” Sam smiled at them and seemed to get some satisfaction in withholding the information for a moment. “You can’t tie a rope around a guy and let him wander into the Eye because the rope’s not alive? Right?”
“Yes. For heaven’s sake—”
“So, let’s make a rope of human beings!” Sam said triumphantly. “Get it? We can join hands and somebody can step into the Eye and we’ve got hold of him and the second guy can step in and the third—there’ll be enough making the string to let them go as far as we want. When they go in so far, those on this side can pull them out.”
“I think he’s got the answer,” Betty said.
“I’ll be damned,” Devan said. “It’s so simple, it’s a wonder somebody hasn’t already thought of it.”
“Operation Otto” was to have been a simple affair with Dr. Costigan, Sam Otto, James Holcombe, Devan Traylor, Edmund Orcutt and Howard Tooksberry forming one end of the chain and volunteers who wanted to bring Glenn Basher and the detective back forming the other end. It was hoped enough policemen would volunteer to provide the necessary ballast.
But as soon as the police heard about it, they insisted on taking over and ruled that no Inland people were to enter the Eye. The boys in blue themselves would rescue Mr. Basher and Mr. Griffin, one of Chicago’s finest. The commissioner ruled that volunteers would have to pass a rigid physical examination. They could have no prosthetic appliances anywhere in the body, no filled teeth (except for a few minor cavities for which arrangement for refilling could be made immediately after coming back out of the Eye) and they’d have to be single and under thirty years of age. The day was set for three days from then and the time was set for eight in the evening.
As soon as the newspapers and radio networks learned of the proposed project, “Operation Otto” became something of a sensation. Once again crowds swarmed the streets around the Rasmussen Stove Company and police had to rope off the area. Cars clogged the neighboring streets filled with the curious who, on the early spring evenings, had nothing better to do.
The time intervening allowed interviews with Dr. Costigan and others close to the Needle by radio, news and TV men who all wanted to know what the possibilities and probabilities in the case might be. Devan and the others got tired of saying they knew nothing that the public didn’t already know, that anyone’s guess was as good as theirs.
On the day of the experiment the fence around the Needle was removed. They learned why when they saw workmen erecting bleachers around the Needle at a considerable distance. Devan figured the platform with a low railing and draped with red, white and blue bunting would be a place for dignitaries.
“Wonder if we’re going to be allowed to witness it?” Devan said sarcastically when he called Orcutt at the Inland plant to tell him what was happening. Orcutt had been spending most of his time in the recent days catching up with his work at the big plant.
“I got a ticket in the mail,” Orcutt said. “There’s one down here for you, too. It says ‘Operation Otto’ is scheduled for tonight. It further states the big doors are to close at a quarter to eight.”
“No R.S.V.P.?”
Orcutt laughed. “They know damn well nobody’ll miss it.”
“Who’s putting out the tickets, do you suppose?”
“Mayor’s office.”
At sundown, spotlights which had been put up outside in the area around the building were turned on. They gave the event the flavor of a Hollywood movie premiere.
The lights were bright because TV and newsreel cameras were to be used everywhere.
Policemen in great numbers gathered about the vicinity of the building and several in special uniforms at the door examined the tickets of all who entered. The gues
ts strode down the corridors on either side to the rear where they turned toward the center and came into the big room through the open door in the center. At seven-thirty the room was stuffy with smoke and alive with the roar of conversation.
At exactly twenty minutes before the hour, four police cars drew up before the building, bringing twelve spotlessly attired policemen who fell into formation when they got out of the cars and marched through the doors of the building two abreast.
Theirs was the place of honor in the reserved area before the Needle’s Eye, all of them clear-eyed, ramrod straight, jut-jawed and stern. They were obviously the city’s best and Devan wondered how many filled teeth they had among them.
The police brass, the city politicos and dignitaries all took their seats in the reserved area to the right of the Needle’s Eye. Devan counted five hundred people in various sections of the room, wondered who and what at least four hundred of them were.
Devan and the members of the board of directors of Inland Electronics and those connected officially with the Needle sat in a small roped-off section to the right of the volunteer policemen. Orcutt, Holcombe and Tooksberry were more or less indifferent to what was going on because they had been part of it before and now could only stand by and observe what the city had turned the Needle into, but other members of the board were not silent and unmoved by the circus atmosphere. Mrs. Petrie had forsaken her knitting and sat open-mouthed for the most part; Homer Parrett stared at the Eye, the bigwigs and the volunteers in turn while he chewed his cigar; Clarence Gleckman champed his gum with unconscious savagery; and Spencer O’Grady looked uncomfortable and a little fearful, not knowing what to expect.
Precisely at eight o’clock the mayor mounted the little platform to the right of the Needle’s Eye. He addressed himself to the twelve volunteers. He told them of the honor they were doing Detective Griffin and Mr. Basher, and underscored their bravery. He touched on their patriotism, on the efficiency of the city administration and its various departments. He then commented on the Needle itself, praising it as a product of free enterprise. When he concluded his talk, he bowed first to the applause, then in the direction of the television cameras because that is where there were more eyes and ears.
The last thing the mayor did before moving from the speaker’s stand was to introduce Lieutenant Johnson, who in turn introduced a sergeant named Spencer who reminded Devan of an infantry physical-training instructor he had known. Sergeant Spencer bawled instructions at the twelve volunteers.
The policemen were stripping. They took off everything except briefs, tennis shoes and socks, then each took a turn at a resin bag.
It was a breathless moment when they all joined hands and the sergeant yelled more orders. They walked, a wonderful display of muscles and coordination, all of them young and agile, toward the Eye, each holding the hand of the man behind him, with the exception of the first man who had the resin bag in his right hand. They stopped.
As they stood at the Eye’s opening, they threw the resin bag around among themselves until all were satisfied. Then they threw the bag to the sergeant. He barked an order and they all got in chain formation again.
The first man walked bravely into the Eye, chin up, chest out.
Instantly the second man gave a cry and went down to his knees, his right arm, muscles powerfully knotted, extending down into the Eye. He was gritting his teeth. Those behind him were tense, were pulling away from the Needle.
“I’ll go in,” the policeman rasped. “I’ve still got him, but he’s down.”
The line eased him into the Eye.
The third policeman, his body wet with sweat that reflected the lights brightly from bunched muscles, now went through the agony at the Eye’s opening. He could say nothing, he was straining so hard. Little by little his feet were sliding toward the opening and he and everyone else watched the progress of his feet inch by inch across the floor.
The nine other policemen had no difficulty in holding the line, but the third policeman nodded toward the Eye and his buddies moved forward with him until he slipped over the edge little by little.
When the third policeman disappeared, the fourth policeman fell flat on the floor, his right arm disappearing into the Eye at floor level. His eyes were bright and round, the white showing more than it should have, his tongue between his teeth, and his face at first red, then a darker red, and finally purple.
Suddenly he gasped and collapsed, his head, which he had managed to hold off the floor a few inches, hitting the floor with a dull thud as the pull of his eight colleagues yanked him away from the Needle’s Eye.
His right hand was empty.
There was a gasp from many throats, then there was a silence so quiet it hurt Devan’s ears. Then all that could be heard was the weeping of a man who had to let go.
9
“It was horrible,” Miss Treat said. “I saw it on TV.”
“You and a few million more,” Devan said, hanging his coat in his office closet and wishing Miss Treat, who had followed him in, would go away. “Last night is one night I want to forget.” He meant that in more ways than one. Devan eased himself gently into his desk chair; any sudden, violent motion, he knew, would snap his head off his shoulders.
“You look ill.” Miss Treat, he knew, was examining him closely. Mustn’t give any sign, I suppose. “Are you sick, Mr. Traylor?” He would have laughed if he had had the energy. He couldn’t say he was ill because then she’d be too solicitous.
“Yes and no,” he said, finally. “Yes, if illness is how you feel, no if you mean the bug-inspired kind of sickness. To be quite frank with you, Miss Treat, my indisposition comes from something I drank. Do I make myself clear?”
“I think so,” she said. He recalled that she had never seen him with a head like this before. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“That’s an inspiration,” he said. It sounded as if he meant it, but he actually wanted to be alone more than he wanted coffee. Even her voice was beginning to get on his nerves. “You needn’t hurry back.”
Miss Treat left him and when she closed the office door, everything closed in on him. He should have known better the night before, but the situation had demanded it and now, he knew, he’d have to pay. When you drink last night you borrow today’s good feelings. It was an axiom. And then when you live today, all of today’s good feelings you find were withdrawn from the bank of good feeling yesterday and aren’t there. He tried massaging his temples. Sometimes that helped push the two parts of his head back together.
He could try to justify what he’d done. Three policemen had gone through the Eye the night before and weren’t coming back. They had gone into the Eye under circumstances that he would never have allowed. All that show and pomp and then the miserable failure! The city and the police department should have turned the experiment over to Inland. Still, he couldn’t say just how he’d have done it differently, but he was sure the fewer people there were around to observe it, the less hectic it would have been. The athletic policemen were pushed into the Eye because of the mayor’s speech and the pressure of the onlookers much as a football player makes a tremendous run because of the thousands who yell hurrahs.
All that fanfare and show—and then, afterwards, the stunned silence, the waiting. Then the people who had so suddenly become very quiet left their seats and found their way out of the building, carrying with them the mental picture of three men who had stepped through the Needle’s Eye that night, presumably never to return. Why should they return? Basher and Griffin had never come back.
He was one of the last to leave, still in a state of shock. He knew he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, had a gnawing and undefined uneasiness. He went into the first tavern he could find.
Much later he went to his hotel in the Loop, had a few more drinks at the hotel bar and remembered becoming unnerved again when all the people at the bar could talk about was the three policemen who had gone through the Needle’s Eye.
“Yo
u think that’s on the level?”
“Naw, it’s all done with mirrors.”
“It’s a big build-up for something. It’ll end up being a big commercial.”
“You don’t believe in the Needle?”
“Listen, do you know anybody who ever saw it?”
“I never thought about that.”
“They can do anything with trick photography.”
“Anybody who thinks those people are disappearing is just plain nuts.”
“Fill ‘em up all the way around again, Ray.”
“Yeah, give that glum-looking guy down at the end of the bar a drink, too. Looks like he could stand it.”
“What’s troubling you, buddy?”
That decided him. He bought a bottle and went to his room. In a little while he forgot all about Needles and Eyes and everything else, though now he vaguely remembered calling his wife later—much later. He was startled to recall that he had bawled like a baby through part of the call.
Sherman was only half right. War and the Day After were both hell. He massaged his temples again. He had tried running away from the problem and had succeeded, for a while. Now he had to think about the yawning Needle’s Eye again.
Five guys walk through a Needle’s Eye. A big Needle. With a big Eye. The last three trying to get the first two. And now all five of them are in there.
What would happen if I walked in? Say... he smiled to himself. Maybe everybody has the wrong idea. Maybe it’s paradise on the other side of the Needle. And none of the men want to come back. Had anybody thought of that? But then he remembered how cold his arm got when he had put it in the hole of the first Needle. He decided paradise would never get that cold.
How to get five guys back—if they’re still alive. But we’ve tried everything. Holding hands... Maybe we could get a snake long enough for a guy to hold onto and he could crawl into the Eye with it, somebody else holding the tail on this side of the Needle. It would have to be something like a snake. Something alive and long enough.
