“Are you going to let them fight?”
“In my own way. I think I can arrange for them to fight barehanded.” Mordan had delved back into his encyclopedic memory and had come put with a fact that Hamilton would not fully appreciate. Smith had come from a decadent period in which handfighting had become stylized as fist fighting, No doubt he was adept in it. It was necessary for one not to use the gun with which he was adept; it was equitable that the other not use fists, were he adept in their use. So Mordan wished to referee that he might define the rules.
It is not necessary to give overmuch attention to that rather unimportant and uncolorful little man, J. Darlington Smith. Hamilton was forced to withdraw as next friend, since Carruthers needed him at the time, and did not therefore see the encounter. He learned of it first by discovering that Smith was immobilized in an infirmary, suffering from some rather unusual wounds. But he did not quite lose the sight of his left eye and his other damages were mostly gone in a couple of weeks.
All of which happened some days later than the conversation with Mordan.
Hamilton turned back to his work. There were various little matters to attend to. One team of researchers in particular belonged to him alone. He had noticed when he was a boy that a physical object, especially a metallic one, brought near to his forehead above the bridge of the nose seemed to produce some sort of a response inside the head, not connected, apparently, with the physiological senses. He had not thought of it for many years, until the Great Research had caused him to think of such things.
Was it real, or was it imagination? It was a mere tightening of the nerves, an uneasy feeling, but distinct and different from any other sensation. Did other people have it? What caused it? Did it mean anything?
He mentioned it to Carruthers who had said, “Well, don’t stand there speculating about it. Put a crew to work on it.”
He had. They had already discovered that the feeling was not uncommon but rarely talked about. It was such a little thing and hard to define. Subjects had been found who had it in a more marked degree than most—Hamilton ceased being a subject for experimentation himself.
He called the crew leader. “Anything new, George?”
“Yes and no. We have found a chap who can distinguish between different metals nearly eighty per cent of the time, and between wood and metal every time. But we are still no nearer finding out what makes it tick.”
“Need anything?”
“No.”
“Call me if you need me. Helpful Felix the Cheerful Cherub.”
“Okay.”
It must not be supposed that Hamilton Felix was very important to the Great Research. He was not the only idea man that Carruthers had, not by several offices. It is probable that the Great Research would have gone on in much the same fashion, even during his lifetime, even if he had not been co-opted. But it would not have gone in quite the same way.
But it is hard to evaluate the relative importance of individuals. Who was the more important?—the First Tyrant of Madagascar, or the nameless peasant who assassinated him? Felix’s work had some effect. So did that of each of the eight-thousand-odd other individuals who took part at one time or another in the Great Research.
Jacobstein Ray called back before he could turn his mind to other matters. “Felix? You can come over and take your young hopeful away, if you will.”
“Fine. What sort of results?”
“Maddening. He started out with seven correct answers in a row, then he blew up completely. Results no better than random—until he stopped answering at all.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” remarked Hamilton, thinking of a certain flop-eared buck.
“Yes indeed. Went limp on us. I’d as leave try to stuff a snake down a hole.”
“Well, we’ll try another day. Meanwhile I’ll attend to him.”
“I’d enjoy helping you,” Jake said wistfully.
Theobald was just sitting, doing less than nothing, when Felix came in. “Hello, sport. Ready to go home?”
“Yes.”
Felix waited until they were in the family car and the pilot set on home before bracing him. “Ray tells me you didn’t help him very well.”
Theobald twisted a string around his finger. He concentrated on it.
“Well, how about it? Did you, or didn’t you?”
“He wanted me to play some stupid games,” the child stated. “No sense to them.”
“So you quit?”
“Yeah.”
“I thought you told me you would help?”
“I didn’t say I would.”
Felix thought back. The child was probably right—he could not remember. But he had had a feeling of contract, the “meeting of minds.”
“Seems to me there was mention of a flop-eared rabbit.”
“But,” Theobald pointed out, “you said I could have it anyhow. You told me so!”
The rest of the trip home was mostly silence.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The Quick and the Dead
MADAME ESPARTERO CARVALA called again, unexpectedly and with no ceremony. She simply called by telephone and announced that she was coming to see them. She had informed Phyllis on the previous occasion that she expected to come back and see the baby. But more than four years had passed with no word from her; Phyllis had given up expecting her. After all, one does not thrust oneself on a member of the cosmically remote Board of Policy!
They had seen references to her in the news: Madame Espartero re-confirmed without opposition. Madame Espartero offers her resignation. The Grand Old Lady of the Board in failing health. Madame Espartero’s alternate selected by special election. Carvala rallies in her fight for life. Planners honor sixtieth year of service of the Oldest Member. Stereostories and news bits—she had become an institution.
Felix had thought when he saw her last that she looked older than any human being could. He realized when he saw her this time that he had been mistaken. She was still more incredibly frail and shrunken and she seemed to move with great effort. She compressed her lips tightly with each movement.
But her eye was still bright, her voice was still firm. She dominated her surroundings.
Phyllis came forward. “We are delighted. I never expected to see you again.”
“I told you I was coming back to see the boy.”
“Yes, I remember, but it has been a long time and you did not come.”
“No sense in looking a child over until he has shaped up and can speak for himself! Where is he? Fetch him in.”
“Felix, will you find him?”
“Certainly, my dear.” Felix departed, wondering how it was that he, a grown man and in full possession of his powers, could permit a little old woman, ripe for cremation, to get him so on edge. It was childish of him!
Theobald did not want to leave his rabbits. “I’m busy.”
Felix considered the plan of returning to the lounge and announcing that Theobald would receive Madame Espartero, if at all, at the rabbit run. But he decided that he could not do such a thing to Phyllis. “Look, son, there is a lady in there who wants to see you.”
No answer.
“Make up your mind,” Felix announced cheerfully. “Will you walk or do you prefer to be dragged? It makes no difference to me.”
Theobald looked slowly up his father’s sheer two meters and, without further comment, started for the house.
“Madame Espartero, this is Theobald.”
“So I see. Come to me, Theobald.” Theobald stood fast.
“Go to her, Theobald.” Phyllis spoke briskly; the boy complied at once. Felix wondered why it was that the child obeyed his mother so much more readily than his father. Damn it, he was good to the child and just with him. There must have been a thousand times when he had refrained from losing his temper with him.
Madame Carvala spoke to him in a low voice, too low for either Felix or Phyllis to catch. He glowered and tried to look away, but she insisted, caught his eye, and held it. Sh
e spoke again, and he answered, in the same low tones. They talked together for some minutes, quite earnestly. Finally she straightened up in her chair and said in a louder tone, “Thank you, Theobald. You may go now.”
He fled out of the house. Felix looked longingly after him, but decided he had to stay. He selected a chair as far across the room as manners permitted, and waited.
Carvala selected another cigar, puffed until she was the center of a cloud of blue smoke, and turned her attention exclusively to Phyllis. “He’s a sound child,” she announced. “Sound. He’ll do well.”
“I’m happy that you think so.”
“I don’t think so, I know so.” They talked for a while longer about the boy, small talk. Felix had a feeling that the old woman was improvising until she was ready with whatever was on her mind.
“When do you expect to have his sister?”
“I am ready any time,” replied Phyllis. “I have been for months. They are selecting for her now.”
“What are they selecting for? Anything different from the boy?”
“Not in any major respect—except one. Of course there will be plenty of variation from what Theobald is, because in so many, many of the alternatives no attempt will be made to make a choice.”
“What is the one major respect you spoke of?”
Phyllis told her of it. Since the coming child was to be a girl, its chromosome pattern would contain two X-chromosomes, one from each of its parents. Now philoprogenitiveness is, of course, a sex-linked characteristic. Hamilton, be it remembered, lacked it to a moderate degree. Theobald derived his one X-chromosome from his mother; Mordan confidently expected that he would be normal in his desire to have children of his own when he became old enough for such things to matter to him.
But his projected little sister would inherit from both her parents in this respect. She might be rather cool to the matter of having children. However, if she did have, then her offspring need not be handicapped by any lack in this highly desirable survival trait; since she would pass on to her heirs but one of her two X-chromosomes, by selection, she could transmit only that of her mother. Hamilton’s undesirable trait would be eliminated forever.
Carvala listened carefully to this explanation—or rather to that small portion of it Phyllis had found it necessary to relate—and nodded cheerfully. “Put your mind at rest, child. It won’t matter a bit.” She offered no elaboration of her words.
She talked of other matters for a while, then said suddenly, “Any time now, I take it?”
“Yes,” Phyllis agreed.
Carvala stood up and took her departure as suddenly as she came. “I hope we will have the honor of your presence again, Madame,” Felix said carefully.
She stopped, turned, and looked at him. She took her cigar from her mouth and grinned. “Oh, I’ll be back! You can count on that.”
Felix stood scowling at the door through which she had left. Phyllis sighed happily. “She makes me feel good, Felix.”
“She doesn’t me. She looks like a corpse.”
“Now, Filthy!”
Felix went outside and looked up his son. “Hi, sport.”
“H’lo.”
“What did she have to say to you?”
Theobald muttered something in which Felix caught only the term “cuss boss!”
“Take it easy, son. What did she want?”
“She wanted me to promise her something.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“What was it?”
But Theobald wasn’t listening again.
After a late and pleasant supper in the cool of the garden Felix turned on the news, rather idly. He listened lackadaisically for a while, then suddenly called out, “Phyllis!”
“What is it?”
“Come here! Right away!”
She ran in; he indicated the spieling, flickering box:
“—dame Espartero Carvala. She appears to have died instantly. It is assumed that she stumbled near the top of the escalator, for she seemed to have fallen, or rolled, the entire flight. She will long be remembered, not only for her lengthy tenure on the Board, but for her pioneer work in—” Phyllis had switched it off. Felix saw that she had tears in her eyes, and refrained from the remark he had intended to make about her cockiness in saying that she would be sure to be back.
Hamilton did not think it advisable to take Theobald back to Jacobstein Ray again; he felt that an antipathy had already grown up. But there were others engaged in telepathy research; he selected a crew and introduced Theobald to them. But he had formed a theory about the former failure; the methods used then had been the simple methods considered appropriate for young children. This time they told Theobald what they were attempting to do and started him out with tests intended for adults.
He could do it. It was as simple as that. There had been other cases equally clear cut, and the research leader cautioned Felix not to expect too much, as telepathically sensitive children tended to fade out in the talent—which Felix knew. But he could do it. Theobald, at least within the limits of the conditions, could read minds.
So Felix called Mordan again, told him again of what was on his mind. Did Mordan think that Theobald was a mutation?
“Mutation? No, I have no data to go on.”
“Why not?”
“‘Mutation’ is a technical term. It refers only to a new characteristic which can be inherited by Mendelian rules. I don’t know what this is. Suppose you find out for me first what telepathy is—then I’ll tell you whether or not Theobald can pass it on—say, about thirty years from now!”
Well, that could wait. It sufficed that Theobald was telepathic—at least for the present. The projected telepath gadget, which had derived from the Plutonian “Life Detector,” was beginning to show promise. It had been duplicated in the auxiliary cold laboratory beneath the outskirts of Buenos Aires and had performed in the same fashion as on Pluto. It had been greatly refined, once the researchers knew the direction in which they were driving, but it had presented grave difficulties.
One of the difficulties had been straightened out in a somewhat odd fashion. The machine, while responsive to sentient beings (it would not respond to plants, nor to animal life of low form), did little else—it was not a true telepath. There was a cat, of doubtful origin, which had made itself the lab mascot—moved in and taken possession. While the gadget was sensitized the operator had stepped back without looking and stepped on pussy’s tail. Pussy did not like it and said so.
But the technician acting as receiver had liked it even less; he had snatched off the headset, yelping. It had screamed at him, he alleged.
Further experimentation made it evident that the machine was especially sensitive to the thalamic storm aroused by any sudden violent emotion. Mere cool cerebration had much less effect on it.
However, banging a man on the thumb did not count. The man expected it, and delayed his reaction, routing it through the “cooler” of the forebrain. The emotion had to be strong and authentic.
Many tails were stepped on thereafter; many cats sacrificed their temporary peace of mind to the cause of science.
Theobald developed a strange antipathy for his mother’s company during the period when she was expecting the arrival of his sister. It upset Phyllis; Felix tried to reason him out of it. “See here, sport,” he said, “hasn’t mama been good to you?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Then what’s the trouble? Why don’t you like her?”
“I like her all right…but I don’t like her.” He pointed and his meaning was unmistakable. Felix held a hurried whispered consultation with his wife. “How about it, Phil? I thought we hadn’t let him in on the news yet?”
“I haven’t”
“I didn’t—that’s sure. Do you suppose Claude—no, Claude wouldn’t spill it. Hmmm…well, there’s only one other way he could have found out…he found out for himself.” He looked at his son with a deeply wrinkled brow; it migh
t not be too convenient, he was thinking, to have a telepathic member of the household. Well, it might wear off—it frequently did.
“We’ll have to play it as it lies. Theobald.”
“Wha’cha want?”
“Is it your little sister whom you don’t like?”
The boy scowled and indicated assent.
(“It’s probably nothing but natural jealousy. After all, he’s been the big show around here all his life.”) He turned again to his son. “Look here, sport—you don’t think that little sister will make any difference in how mama and daddy feel about you, do you?”
“No. I guess not.”
“A little sister will be a lot of fun for you. You’ll be bigger than she will be, and you’ll know a lot more, and you’ll be able to show her things. You’ll be the important one.”
No answer.
“Don’t you want a baby sister?”
“Not that one.”
“Why not?”
He turned completely away. They heard him mutter, “Old cuss boss!” Then he added distinctly, “and her cigars stink.”
The threesome was adjourned. Phyllis and Felix waited until the boy was asleep, and, presumably, with his telepathic ability out of gear. “It seems pretty evident,” he told her, “that he has identified Carvala in his mind with Justina.”
She agreed. “At least I’m relieved to know that it isn’t me he has a down on. Just the same, it’s serious. I think we had better call in a psychiatrist.”
Felix agreed. “But I’m going to talk to Claude about it, too.”
Claude refused to be upset by it. “After all,” he said, “it’s perfectly natural that blood relatives should dislike each other. That’s a prime datum of psychology. If you can’t condition him to put up with her, then you’ll have to rear them apart. A nuisance, but that’s all.”
“But how about this fixation of his?”
“I’m not a psychiatrist. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. Children frequently get some funny notions. If you ignore them, they generally get over them.”
So the psychiatrist thought, too. But he was totally unable to shake Theobald’s conviction in the matter. He had made his point, he stuck to it, and he refused to argue.