COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 276
"Can mutually contradictory truths coexist?" Pell asked.
"It isn't likely," Cameron said. "I'd say no. However, let's take it for granted that such an equation does exist—for the sake of the theory. The ordinary technician, trained to intricate work, has had a sound groundwork in basic physics; he takes some things for granted. Like the law of gravitation. Or—conduction of heat. If he dips both hands in boiling water and his right hand is burned while his left freezes, he won't be able to understand it. If enough things like that happen—" Cameron paused.
Pell said, "Yeah?"
"Oh ... he'll find refuge in insanity. His imagination, his mind, won't be sufficiently elastic to embrace a whole new set of variable truths. It would be like going through the looking glass. Alice did it without trouble, but she was a child. An adult would have gone insane."
"Every type of adult mind?"
Cameron said thoughtfully, "Lewis Carroll could have solved this hypothetical equation of yours, Seth. Yes, I'm sure of it."
Pell nodded. "A thoroughly elastic mind, one that isn't bound too much by familiar values, the sort of guy who invents woolly dog stories. Is that it?"
"A man who makes up rules of his own. That's it, all right."
"I want to find some men like that and chart their psychology," Pell said. "Got any suggestions?"
"Offhand, no. The average scientifically trained mind is inelastic by definition; it's fan-shaped. It's imaginative at the wide part of the fan, but it's rigidly censored by the narrow part—the accepted basics. I'll see if I can think of a screening process for you, Seth."
"All right," Pell said, rising.
Back in DuBrose's office, the two looked at each other blankly. Pell chuckled.
"So far, so good, at least. Find a man like Lewis Carroll. Can you think of a candidate?"
"Not without a screening process. Are there any mathematicians today who write fairy tales?"
"Not a one. And there aren't any fairy tale writers who make math their avocation. Not that Alice is a fairy tale, Ben."
"What is it? Allegory?"
"Symbolic logic, beautifully worked out from arbitrarily assigned basics. Pure fantasy—the purest kind. Well, we'll have to try screenings. Maybe the chief will think of something. Meanwhile, screen technicians by avocation; use the big files downstairs. I'll try for psychological patterns that might fit."
"O.K.," DuBrose said.
-
Twenty minutes later he was at the dictagraph when the visor hummed. The wrinkled, gnomish face of Dr. Emil Pastor checkered in.
DuBrose pushed a button that would summon Pell as he jumped up. "Dr. Pastor. Glad you called. Anything new?"
The tousled head nodded. Something flickered in the blue background; it looked like a bird. Blue background? What—
"I have finished with it," Pastor said. "Understanding it showed me the unreality of all things."
"You've solved it, then?"
"Solved the ... equation? Not all of it, no. But enough. Enough to show me the way. I can solve the rest now, if I wish. Ah, Mr. Pell."
"Hello, doctor," Pell said, stepping into the scanner's range. "I asked Mr. DuBrose to call me when you vised. Thanks, Ben. Now have I missed anything?"
"Dr. Pastor says he can solve the equation," DuBrose said.
"But I won't," Pastor said, blinking.
Pell didn't show surprise. "Mind telling us why not?"
"Because nothing matters any more," Pastor explained. "I've found that out. It settled my problem. Everything is hollow, like a soap bubble. Maintained in existence simply by a certain coherence of will, the acceptance of the expected."
Insane.
DuBrose saw Pell's shoulders slump a little.
"I'd like to discuss that with you personally," he said. "May I fly in to your hideout? If you'll shut off the force-field when I—"
"Oh, it's gone," Pastor said mildly. "I stopped believing in it and it disappeared. My house is gone, too—most of it. I let the televisor stand and part of the wall, because I'd promised to call you. But now ... I don't know. What would we have to talk about?"
"The equation?" Pell suggested. A shadow crossed Pastor's face.
"No, I don't want to discuss that."
DuBrose saw Pell's hand move. He said, "Excuse me," and slipped quickly out of the office. It took him three minutes to vise Wyoming Emergency and have an ambulance copter dispatched to the peak where Pastor was now.
DuBrose went back into his office, and moved up behind Pell. Pastor was still talking.
"... couldn't explain the theory to you very well. It deals with certain variables I'm sure you wouldn't accept. But they're surprisingly effective in practice. I simply used will power on my house and it was gone."
"And that's an integral part of the equation?"
"Oh, yes."
"I don't see—"
"Like this," Pastor said. His wrinkled face twisted into an agony of concentration. He lifted his hand and pointed. DuBrose felt a sudden tension knot along his spine.
"You don't exist," Pastor said to Pell.
Seth Pell vanished.
-
In his office Cameron was about to eat lunch. The laden tray was on the desk before him. He dipped the soup spoon into onion broth and lifted it toward his mouth.
The edges of the spoon thickened, curled, spread into cold metallic lips.
And kissed him.
-
VII.
The office had not changed. That seemed a minor miracle, somehow. The desk might have sprouted wings, the televisor could have scampered off on its bulky plastic base, and the White Queen should have jumped into the soup tureen. But the office was the same. The background to illogic remained cold, familiar logic. Emil Pastor's gnomish face blinked at DuBrose from the visor screen, and beyond it Pell's door stood half open.
"Like that," Pastor said quietly. "That's how I do it, Mr. DuBrose."
Psychosis unclassified—but a tentative prognosis was possible. The impossible part of it was that Pastor's psychosis was founded on paradox. He was insane and believed he could make things stop existing by applying will power.
He could do it, too. Seth Pell had—blinked out.
DuBrose didn't want to move. The numbness of shock held him. But slowly his mind began to work again, and to see the danger. If someone came into the office now—the director, or anyone at all—Pastor's precarious balance might be upset. The man was responsible, and he held a bomb that could blow up—
All creation?
Habit takes over when the planning faculty is paralyzed. Dimly DuBrose sensed that there were a dozen things to be done, but first of all it would be necessary to pacify Pastor. Though it had been years since his internship in Psychometric Base and the sanatoriums, old habits came to his aid. He knew he was facing a patient.
Deliberately DuBrose let his mind go blank. He studied Pastor's face. Visible symptoms? Case history? That eyrie lab in the Rockies, with its clutter of ill-assorted furniture, the nonconventional color "stories" on the Fairyland projector, the very fact that Pastor had settled on this particular wild talent of controlled obliteration out of the variety of powers the equation apparently could bestow—adding up to what? There was a key to the man's personality somewhere, a familiarity he had not sensed until now.
Sentiment. That picture of Pastor's wife and children—an emotional appeal?
Essential amorality, lack of empathy, tremendous egotism, that could enable Pastor to wipe a man out of existence with utter casualness. As a child destroys a toy.
A child is to a toy as Dr. Emil Pastor is to mankind—
That was it. The subconscious motive. The murderous quintessence of rationalization. A madman will believe himself to be Christ, wound himself with the stigmata, and thereafter sincerely believe that the scars have appeared spontaneously and miraculously. Corroborative evidence. But Pastor's mind had worked more clearly. First he had chosen and acquired the power that would prove the reality of his role; as yet he might not even have realized consciously that he was God.
The ultimate paranoid egotism. Perfectly rationalized insanity!
Pastor said, "Didn't you see what I did? You weren't watching—"
DuBrose was rather surprised that he spoke instead of screaming. "Oh, I saw it. It surprised me, that was all. My reaction was pretty complicated. There's an instinctive attempt at rationalization." He was choosing carefully the words with useful emotional indexes.
Pastor looked surprised. "But rationalization with what? You can't do it. Only I can. You can't possible perceive that everything's hollow as a soap-bubble. You instinctively accept the expected. I'm able to do this because I'm skeptical."
"That's true, I guess," DuBrose said. Too facile agreement would strike the wrong note; but provoking an argument would be dangerous, because the physicist could so convincingly demonstrate the truth of his argument. "Anyway," he went on, "I'm glad you remembered to vise me. You've an almost miraculous power. Or—is it miraculous?"
Pastor smiled. "I don't know. I'm still surprised. I don't really know the extent of my power."
"It's a responsibility, I can see."
The physicist didn't quite like that. He scowled a little. DuBrose went on quickly, "I'm not presuming to inquire about your plans—" He had almost used the word advise. But he had suddenly found a key to Pastor's personality; there was a parallel of sorts in history—an isolated mountain retreat, cluttered with disorganized and tasteless furniture—a magpie's nest—and a man who studied occultism instead of composing unorthodox color-treatments. Dr. Emil Pastor had much in common with the German Hitler.
Pastor said doubtfully, "My plans? I don't want—" He hesitated.
"I'm extremely interested," DuBrose said. "You can do miraculous things, Dr. Pastor. But you know much more about the possibilities than I do. You remember you showed me one of your Fairyland compositions?"
"Yes," Pastor said. "You didn't pay much attention, though."
"I wanted to see more, but I knew you were busy. I did see enough to realize what sort of creative mind you must have. And now you'll be able to compose on an indefinitely larger scale."
Pastor nodded. "I've just been destroying some things so far. Do you think that was wrong? I don't know if I can create—"
"Right and wrong are arbitrary values. They can be transcended." Dangerous words, but necessary. DuBrose was trying to work on Pastor's subconscious, which knew it was God, even though the conscious mind had not yet felt the impact of that delusion. "As I said, I'm very glad you vised me. I appreciate it. And, while I don't know what you intend, I'm sure it will be—remarkable. I'll be expecting an extraordinary composition."
Pastor said helplessly, "But I haven't made any plans yet."
"The power is still new to you. You'll need to learn how to handle it to the best effect, I suppose—is that right? Even if you make a few mistakes through being hasty, it won't matter—right and wrong are arbitrary. But I would like to see what you'll do. Would that be possible?"
The flood of words had disconcerted Pastor. "You're seeing me now."
"The visor screen's limited. Would you let me come to your lab by copter? Don't forget," DuBrose said, "you can do exactly as you want. Nobody can stop you now. Forget my ideas if you don't like any of them. I can't help being enthusiastic. Sometimes I talk before I think. I've often jumped the gun and regretted it. If I were smart, I'd plan my moves in advance. But—" He shrugged.
"Planning's wise," Pastor said. "Yes, it is! I want to think." The screen suddenly went blank.
DuBrose took a few steps and caught the edge of his desk. His whole body began to shake uncontrollably.
-
He got that under control and vised Wyoming Emergency again. The same medic in charge came on.
"Has that ambulance copter gone out for Pastor yet?"
"Hello, Mr. DuBrose. Yes, we sent it out stat. You said emergency."
"Recall it. Double emergency. Don't let your men get near Pastor."
"But if he's psychotic—is he a violent case?"
"He's homicidal en masse." DuBrose said grimly, "But as long as he's sitting on top of the Rocky Mountains, it's O.K. I hope. I don't want him disturbed. He mustn't be disturbed. Recall that copter!"
"Right. I'll call you back."
DuBrose said, "Yeah," broke the connection, and put in a call to the Secretary of War. When Kalender's heavy, hard face appeared on the screen, DuBrose was ready.
"I need help," he said. "You're the only man who can authorize this, Mr. Secretary. It's extralegal. But it's absolutely vital."
"You're Ben DuBrose," Kalender said. "Well? What is it?"
"Dr. Pastor—"
"Has he solved the equation?"
"He's gone insane," DuBrose said. Kalender grimaced.
"Like the others. Well—"
"Worse than the others. You remember that sanatorium case—M-204? The one who could nullify gravity. Pastor's got hold of a power a lot more dangerous."
Kalender's harsh face changed. Brass hat though he was, he was competent in his job.
"How dangerous? Where is he?"
"His Rocky Mountain lab. I just talked to him on the visor. I think he'll stay put for a little while anyhow, making plans. And he's expecting me. A copter can rocket down and blast him before he has time to retaliate."
"Retaliate how?"
"By making the copter disappear." DuBrose said carefully. "By making the Rocky Mountains disappear or by making the whole world disappear."
Kalender's lips parted. His eyes tightened.
DuBrose said, "I'm not insane. I haven't been working on the equation myself. Pastor showed me proof, that's all. Put a scanning ray on him, but be careful he doesn't detect it. He's destroyed most of his lab already."
"That's fantastic," the Secretary of War said.
The visor hummed. DuBrose twisted a dial, saw a cameo face blink into view at one corner of the screen, and instantly snapped it blank again. He nodded at Kalender.
"Pastor. Calling me back. Oversee this."
-
Kalender's face faded as Pastor's gnomish features checkered into a recognizable pattern. "Mr. DuBrose?"
"You just caught me. I was about to leave—"
"Don't come. I've changed my mind."
"What?"
"I thought it over," Pastor said slowly, "and I saw the possibilities. I hadn't quite realized before. I was intoxicated. At first. But when I sat down and tried to make plans, I realized what having this power means. I'm not going to use it. I'm not meant to use it."
DuBrose said, "You've decided that?"
"Don't you agree?"
"I can see you must have your reasons. May I hear them?"
"I think this may be—a test of humility. I know I have the power. That's enough. I know all things are hollow. That's enough too. On this mountain I have been shown the kingdoms and powers of the world. I have been tempted. But I'll never use the power again."
"What do you intend to do?"
"Think," Pastor said. "Thoughts are the only real things in a hollow world. Gautama knew that. I'm wiping out my past. I was too much concerned with the hollow things ... technology—" He smiled slowly. "So I won't need to use my power. It was given to me as a test. And I survived that test. I know that meditation is more important than anything else."
DuBrose said, "You're wise, I think. I agree with you."
"You can see why I mustn't use the power again."
"Yes," DuBrose said, "you're right. And it's symbolic that you destroyed your laboratory. It was the symbol of your past, and I believe you were meant to destroy just that much."
"Do you think so? Yes, I suppose ... yes. My past has vanished. I can go forth without chains to a new life of meditation."
"Did you destroy all the past?"
Pastor brought his eyes into focus. "All my—what?"
"The laboratory. If you leave one part of your past still alive, it'll be a bond, won't it? And the lab is the symbol."
Pastor said, "One wall still stands."
"Should it stand?"
"But I swore never to use the power again. It won't matter."
"The symbol represents the truth," DuBrose said. "It will matter. You must start fresh. A single bond now—"
