The Paradox Men Read online

  Haze-Gaunt inclined his head slightly toward Shey. “How long will this go on?” His furry pet chattered nervously, ran down his sleeve, then back to his shoulder again.

  Shey, his face wreathed in perpetual smiles, raised a pudgy hand in warning. “Patience, Bern. We must await the end of the present net runs.”

  “Why?” asked Thurmond with mixed curiosity and indifference.

  The psychologist smiled benignly. “At present the Meganet Mind is in a deep autohypnosis. To expose him to unusual exterior stimuli would rupture some of his subconscious neural networks and his usefulness to the government as an integrator of disconnected facts would be seriously impaired.”

  “Facts?” said Thurmond distantly. “What are these facts? Please explain.”

  “Of course,” replied the rotund psychologist with amiable eagerness. “At the outset, let me say that here in this room all we have is the terminal. There’s a lot you don’t see: logic circuits, memory, current input, and associated hardware. All of that is located far underground, to minimize radiation damage. Memory is comprehensive, with ten to the fifteenth bytes. We access all items in all libraries: some three billion books and documents, in all languages. We have all graphics: maps of villages and galaxies. We get data from several hundred spy satellites. The Mind designed the whole thing. The logic and memory are combined into one superchip. Not really a chip, though. More of a polymeric, grapefruit-sized blob, traced out by electronmicroscope. The Mind selected the tri-di shape deliberately. It permits complete memory access in a matter of nanoseconds. The entire data output is integrated into a series of microscopic networks and fed into a viewer, to form a meganet. Each of the Mind’s eyes is observing a different net projection, and each projection passes through the viewer at a speed of forty frames a second.

  “One-fortieth of a second is the approximate reversal rate of the visual purple of the retina and this represents the upper limit at which the Meganet Mind can operate. His actual thought processes, of course, are much faster.”

  “I begin to see,” murmured Haze-Gaunt, “how the Mind can read an encyclopedia within minutes but I still don’t understand why he must work under autohypnosis.”

  Shey beamed. “One of the main traits of the human mind that distinguishes it from, for example, that of your pet is its ability to ignore trivia. When the average man sets about solving a problem he automatically excludes all that his conscious mind considers irrelevant.

  “But is the rejected matter really irrelevant? Long experience tells us we can’t trust our conscious mind in its rejections. That’s why we say, ‘Let me sleep on it.’ That gives the subconscious mind an opportunity to force something to the attention of the conscious mind.”

  “What you’re saying,” said Haze-Gaunt, “is simply that the Meganet Mind is effective because he functions on a subconscious level and uses the sum total of human knowledge on every problem given him.”

  “Exactly!” cried the psychologist with pleasure. “How clever you are, Bern!”

  “I believe the viewer is being retracted,” observed Thurmond.

  They waited expectantly as the man within the globe slowly sat erect and stared at them, still half-unseeing.

  “Do you notice his face and hands?” burbled the psychologist. “He was burned badly in a circus fire. He used to be a mere entertainer before I discovered him. Now he’s the most useful instrument in my whole collection of slaves. But look, Bern, he’s going to discuss something with Gaines. Listen and judge for yourself whether you want to ask him some questions.”

  A transparent panel rolled aside in the dome. The Mind addressed Gaines, a tall, cavern-cheeked man.

  “Yesterday,” said the Mind, “you asked whether the Muir drive could be adapted for use in the T-twenty-two. I think it could. The conventional Muir drive depends upon the fission of muirium into americium and curium, with an energy output of four billion ergs per microgram of muirium per second.

  “However, when Muir synthesized muirium from americium and curium in his first trip to the sun, he failed to realize that the element could also be synthesized from protons and energy quanta at a temperature of eighty million degrees. And the reverse is true.

  “If the muirium nucleus is disrupted at eighty million degrees, the energy developed would be over forty quintillion ergs per microgram, which would be power enough to accelerate the T-twenty-two very quickly to a velocity beyond the speed of light, except for the theoretical limiting velocity of the speed of light.”

  Gaines looked dubious. “That’s too much acceleration for a human cargo. Ten or eleven G’s is the limit, even with a pressure-packed abdomen.”

  “It’s an interesting question,” admitted the Mind. “Like slow freezing, a few G’s could be expected to rupture and destroy cell life. On the other hand, a few million G’s administered ab initio with no transition from low to high acceleration, might be comparable to quick freezing in its preservation of body cells.

  “However, the analogy ends there, for while freezing inhibits cell change, gravity stimulates it. Observe the effect of only one G on a plant. It causes certain of the plant cells slowly to accumulate skywards to constitute a stalk, and certain others slowly to accumulate earthward to form the rhizome structure.

  “Several million G’s would undoubtedly cause drastic but unpredictable micro- and macropathologic geotropic transformations. Check with the scientists working on the Geotropic Project. I can only suggest that you try various biota as passengers in the T-twenty-two before human beings make the trip.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ll install a Muir drive with the proper converting system at eighty million degrees.”

  The conversation ended perfunctorily. Gaines bowed to the group and left.

  Shey turned a delighted face up to Haze-Gaunt. “Remarkable chap, this Mind, isn’t he?”

  “Really? I could do as well myself by mixing some old newspaper reports with a little pseudoscience and mumbojumbo. What can he do with something only I know about?” He caressed the little animal on his shoulder. “My pet here, for example?”

  The Mind was not addressed directly. Yet he replied immediately in his factual monotone. “His excellency’s pet appears to be a spectral tarsier.”

  “Appears? You are already lost in speculation.”

  “Yes, he appears to be a tarsius spectrum. He has the great eyes, large sensitive ears and elongated heel bone that help the tarsius in detecting insects at night and in jumping to catch them on the wing. He has the small platyrhine nose, too.

  “Structurally he appears, like the spectral tarsier, higher in the evolutionary tree than the tree shrews and lemurs, lower than the monkeys, apes, and man. But appearances are deceptive. Tarsius is at most an arboreal quadruped. Your pet can brachiate, the same as the primates. His thumbs are opposable and he can walk erect on his hind legs for short distances.”

  “All that would be obvious to a keen observer,” said Haze-Gaunt. “I suppose you’d say he’s a mutated lemur evolving toward the primates?”

  “I would not.”

  “No? But surely of terrestrial stock?”

  “Very likely.”

  The chancellor relaxed and tweaked his pet’s ears idly. “Then you can learn something from me.” His voice was ominously cold. “This creature was recovered from the wreckage of a ship that almost certainly came from outer space. He is the living proof of an evolving biota remarkably parallel to our own.” He turned languidly to Shey. “You see? He can do nothing for me. He’s a fraud. You ought to have him destroyed.”

  “I know about the wreckage referred to,” interjected the Mind quietly. “Despite its interstellar drive, as yet unknown on Earth—with the possible exception of the mechanism I just explained to Gaines for the T-twenty-two—there is other evidence that points to the terrestrial origin of the ship.”

  “What evidence?” asked Haze-Gaunt.

  “Your pet. Instead of being a tarsioid reaching toward primatehood, he is
more likely of human stock that has degenerated into a tarsioid line.”

  Haze-Gaunt said nothing. He stroked the little animal’s sleek head, which peeped fearfully over his shoulder toward the Mind.

  “What is the Mind talking about?” whispered Shey.

  Haze-Gaunt ignored him and looked down at the Mind again. “You realize I cannot permit such inference to go unchallenged.” The edge on his voice was growing sharper.

  “Consider the whale and porpoise,” said the Mind unhurriedly. “They seem to be as well as or better adapted to the sea than the shark. And yet we know they are not fishes but mammals, because they are warm-blooded and breathe air. From such evolutionary residua we know that their ancestors conquered dry land and later returned to the water. And it’s the same with your pet. His ancestors were once human, perhaps even higher, and dwelled the earth—because he can speak English!”

  Haze-Gaunt’s lips were pressed together in a thin white line. The Mind continued relentlessly. “He talks only when the two of you are alone. Then he begs you not to go away. That’s all he ever says.”

  Haze-Gaunt addressed Keiris without turning his head. “Have you eavesdropped?”

  “No,” she lied.

  “Perhaps you do have some extraordinary power of factual synthesis,” Haze-Gaunt said to the Mind. “Suppose, then, you tell me why the little beast keeps begging me not to ‘go away’ when I have no intention of leaving the Imperium?”

  “He can foresee the future to that extent,” stated the Mind tonelessly.

  Haze-Gaunt gave no sign of either believing or disbelieving. He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb and regarded the Mind thoughtfully. “I am not ignoring the possibility that you may be a fraud. Still, there is a question that has been troubling me for some time. On the answer to this question my future—even my life—may depend. Can you tell me both the question and its answer?”

  “Oh, come now, Bern,” interrupted Shey. “After all—”

  He was interrupted in turn. “The Imperial American government,” intoned the Mind, “would like to launch a surprise attack on the Eastern Federation within six weeks. The chancellor wishes to know whether factors unknown to him will require the postponement of the attack.”

  Haze-Gaunt was leaning forward in his chair, body tense. Shey was not smiling.

  “That’s the question,” admitted the chancellor. “What is the answer?”

  “Factors that may require postponement of the attack do in fact exist.”

  “Indeed? What are they?”

  “One of them I do not know. The answer depends on data presently unavailable.”

  “I’ll get the data,” said Haze-Gaunt with growing interest. “What’s necessary?”

  “A competent analysis of a section of a certain star chart. Four years ago the Lunar Station began sending me microfilm plates of both celestial hemispheres by the square second. One of these plates is of particular interest, and I feel that what it shows may have a bearing on the future of civilization. It should be analyzed immediately.”

  “What sort of bearing?” demanded Haze-Gaunt.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Eh? Why not?”

  “His conscious mind can’t fathom his subconscious,” explained Shey, fingering his rich robes. “All his conscious mind can do is bring to light the impressions of his subconscious mind.”

  “Very well. I’ll put the lunar staff to work on it.”

  “A routine examination will prove worthless,” warned the Mind. “I could recommend only two or three astrophysicists in the system capable of the necessary analysis.”

  “Name one.”

  “Ames has recently been attached to the staff of Undersecretary Gaines. Perhaps Gaines could be persuaded to lend—”

  “He’ll do it,” said Haze-Gaunt succinctly. “Now, you mentioned ‘factors’—in the plural. I presume the star plate isn’t the only one.”

  “There is another factor of uncertainty,” said the Mind. “It involves the personal safety of the chancellor as well as the ministers and consequently bears on the question of postponing the attack.”

  Haze-Gaunt looked sharply at the man in the globe. The Mind returned the stare with emerald-basilisk eyes. The chancellor coughed. “This other factor—”

  The Mind resumed placidly, “The most powerful creature—I hesitate to call him a man—on Earth today is neither Lord Chancellor Haze-Gaunt nor the Dictator of the Eastern Federation.”

  “Don’t tell us it’s Kennicot Muir,” said Haze-Gaunt sardonically.

  “The creature I have in mind is a professor at the Imperial University named Alar—possibly so named because of his winged mind. He is very likely a Thief, but that’s of minor consequence.”

  At the word “Thief,” Thurmond looked interested. “Why is he dangerous? Thieves are limited to defense by their code.”

  “Alar seems to be a mutant with potentially great physical and mental powers. If he ever discovers he has these powers, considering his present political viewpoint, no human being on earth would be safe from him, code or no code.”

  “Just what are his potentialities?” queried Shey. “Is he a hypnotist? A telekineticist?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted the Mind. “I can only offer my opinion that he is dangerous. Why is another matter.”

  Haze-Gaunt appeared lost in thought. Finally, without looking up, he said, “Thurmond, will you and Shey be in my office in one hour? Bring Eldridge of the War Office with you. Keiris, you will return to your rooms in the company of your bodyguard. It will take you all evening to dress for the Imperatrix’s ball tonight.”

  A few minutes later the four left the room. Keiris, taking a last look backward, met the enigmatic, unblinking eyes of the Mind and was troubled. He had been telling her at various intervals during the interview, by the code they had worked out long before, that she must be prepared to receive a Thief in her rooms tonight and protect him from his pursuers.

  And Haze-Gaunt would be expecting her at the masked ball simultaneously.

  4

  The Raid

  FROM HIS SEAT at the grand piano Alar peered over the music sheets toward his two friends, Micah Corrips, Professor of Ethnology, and John Haven, Professor of Biology, who were huddled in complete absorption over their voluminous manuscript.

  Alar’s dark, oversized eyes glanced at the two savants briefly; then his gaze went past them, by the disordered stacks of books and papers, beyond the mounted row of human and semi-human skeletons, past the urn of coffee gradually boiling dry near the street window and out over the university campus, where a large black truck was pulling up quietly in the late afternoon behind a hedge of Grecian junipers. It simply stopped. Nobody got out.

  His pulse was climbing slowly. He sounded a certain chord on the piano keyboard. Two men heard him, he knew, but did not seem alarmed.

  “Now, Micah, read what you have there,” said Haven to the ethnologist.

  Corrips, a large vigorous man with friendly blue eyes and a classroom manner so seductive that the great university auditorium had been assigned to him as a lecture room, picked up the preface and began to read.

  “‘We may imagine, if we like, that early one afternoon in the year forty thousand B.C. the advance group of Neandertals reached the Rhone Valley, about where Lyons now stands. These men and women, driven southwest from their hunting grounds in Bohemia by slowly encroaching glaciers, had lost nearly a third of their number since crossing the frozen Rhine the previous January. There were no longer any children or very aged people in the group.

  “‘These men from eastern Europe were not handsome. They were squat, massive, almost neckless, with beetling brow ridges and flattened nostrils. They walked with bent knees, on the outer edges of their feet, as do the higher anthropoids.

  “‘Even so, they were tremendously more civilized than the brutish Eoanthropus (Heidelberg man?) into whose territory they were marching. Eoanthropus’s sole tool was a crude piece of flint, ch
ipped and shaped to fit his hand, which he used to grub at roots and occasionally to strike at reindeer from ambush.

  “‘He passed his short dim-witted life in the open. Neanderthal, on the contrary, made flint spearheads, knives and saws. For these he used large flintflakes rather than the core of the flint. He lived in caves and cooked over a fire. He must have had some idea of a spirit world and a life in the hereafter, for he buried his dead with weapons and artifacts. The group leader—’”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Alar broke in quietly. “I register one fifty-five.” His fingers continued to ripple on through the second movement of the “Pathétique.” He had not taken his eyes from the music sheets since he had first looked across the room and through the window in response to the warning acceleration of his strange heart.

  “‘The leader,’” continued Corrips, “‘gray, grizzled, ruthless—paused and sniffed the air moving up the valley. He smelled reindeer blood a few hundred yards down the draw, also another, unknown smell, like yet unlike the noisome blend of grime, sweat and dung that characterized his own band.’”

  Haven arose, tapped his pipe gently on the ash tray lying on the big table, stretched his small, wiry frame with tigerish languor and walked slowly toward the coffee urn by the window.

  Alar was now well into the final movement of the “Pathétique.” He watched Haven carefully.

  Corrips droned on resonantly without the faintest change of inflection, but Alar knew the ethnologist was watching his collaborator from the corner of his eye.

  “‘The old man turned to the little band and shook his flint-tipped spear to show that the spoor had been struck. The other men held their spears up, signifying that they understood and would follow silently. The women faded into the sparse shrubbery of the valley slope.

  “‘The men followed the reindeer path on down the gully and within a few minutes peered through a thicket at an old male Eoanthropus, three females of assorted ages and two children, all lying curled stuporously under a windfall of branches and debris that overhung the gully bank. Blood still drained sluggishly from a half-devoured reindeer carcass lying under the old man’s head.’”