Brian n ball, p.9
Brian N Ball, page 9
“Pigeons!”
“It was when you were talking about folk-lore. That gave me the idea.”
Rudge concentrated and then moaned in despair. “Can’t you tell me anything else?”
“It was just a random idea,” Dod shrugged. “If you could put it to your comps-about here somewhere, aren’t they?”
“Right below! But the pigeons!”
“Well,” and Dod pointed to the halo shimmering above his head, “they used to ring pigeons, didn’t they?”
Rudge shot off, calling orders to his assistants in his high-pitched voice as he went. They scattered, thought Dod, like a flock of pigeons when a cat appears. And they were all heading the same way.
Dod felt that at last things were moving. He had sat,for hours in his luxurious quarters thinking out schemes and plans, but nothing had seemed viable: until by a happy chance, the pigeon idea had suggested itself. At one time he had thought of escape from Serampur, but it was out of the question. He had given up counting the sonic pickups and the beamer-bugs in his quarters; after the first two dozen, he was sure he would never be able to locate more than half of them. And it was the same wherever he went: always Psychmen watching, and Flagmen guarding him. His only chance of escape would be through an accomplice, and the only man he could trust, Scrimgouer,
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had not turned up at Serampur; there was no way out. Only through working within the Psych organization could he hope to find out who he was; once that was accomplished it would be time to think of escape.
Rudge had fallen for the idea. When Dod saw him the next day, the Psychman’s eyes shone with excitement; the scores of section leaders and their team-members talked of nothing but the pigeon idea; Rudge’s prestige had increased tremendously.
“A most interesting theory,” Rudge told him when Dod asked what he thought of it. He avoided any further mention of the subject, however, changing the discussion by asking about Dod’s earlier work on the Ruins.
Dod treated him to a half-hour lecture on the Ruins before introducing the first stage of the plan he had evolved. Rudge had accepted the cosmic pigeon theory and in consequence the Psychman must be grateful; there was at hand another battery of comps which could tell Dod about himself: if the ambitious Rudge could be persuaded that it was in his own interest to let Dod get at them…
“Most interesting,” Rudge told him. He looked anxious to get away, but Dod would not let him go.
“You found that theory you suggested useful?” Dod asked.
Rudge found no difficulty in accepting that the idea was his alone now. “Yes,” he admitted. “In fact the Psychiarch wants a report soon, and really I must get to work on it!”
“If anything else should crop up-if I remember anything that might be of use again …?” He left the suggestion in midair. The Psychman looked unimpressed, but that was only a professional trick, Dod thought.
“You could let me know,” said Rudge. “Personally.”
“These machines don’t seem particularly helpful,” said Dod, pointing to the row of comps and laughing.
The Psychman’s eyes narrowed. “If you have anything useful-really useful, we could get around that difficulty.”
Success meant everything to Rudge, Dod thought happily. Having sown the seed of hope, he let the Psychman go. Now all he had to do was to convince Rudge that he had something really good. And then there was the matter of persuading him that Dod should get to the other comps-alone.
After the day’s sessions of tests, Rudge sent a copy of 77
the comps’ first reaction to the pigeon theory. It made interesting reading, if only for the fact that it confirmed Psych’s susceptibility to the more hare-brained of theories. “pigeons-dove family-as food delicacy amongst primitive teutonic groups–early means of communication–trained birds achieve great accuracy and
reliability …”
And so it went on, voluminously. What impressed Dod was the fantastic inventiveness of man when it came to means of communication. The survey took the ringing of pigeons, extended the subject by analogy until it had covered comprehensively every known method of branding animal life: the sonic beams in the oceans which kept all fish life surveyed; the minute beamers in birds, based on their own sense of orientation; the radioactive particles used to study insect migration-the sheer ingenuity of it all brought him to an optimistic state of mind. Wherever a problem had occurred, an answer had been found; and so it would prove in his case.
Pacing about his quarters, Dod tried every trick of memory-jogging he was able to pick up from the Psychmen, trying to make sense of the hints that baffled him. He could remember odd incidents of Space School now-especially where Scrimgouer was concerned; but obviously this part of his life had come back because of the impact his mind had received during the stress of sudden action in the Ruins when Scrimgouer had been there; nothing more about Grandma had emerged, nothing to connect her with his growing feeling that, somehow, it had all begun with her. It would be useful to set Scrimgouer to work on the connection of Grandma with Psych-there was one, he was sure-but the fat Psychman had not yet turned up. It was beginning to look as if he was alone, as he had been when the halo first appeared.
*
In the three days that followed, Dod set himself only one target: to discover the whereabouts of the entrance to the comps which Psych used. The comps lay in the bottom gallery of the northern segment of the huge circle which was the Psych establishment at Sefampur, but these were only the fake machines; somewhere-somewhere close, Dod estimated-was the entrance to the effective machines. It hadn’t taken Rudge long to run a first check on Dod’s pigeon theory; in fact the Psych leader had been
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back in ten minutes, and several minutes of that time would have been taken up with punching in queries and waiting for answers. Wherever it was, it was close to the useless comps.
Dod watched the movements of the Psychmen, timing their absences when they went to correlate information, noting the position of each door, eliminating the exits and entrances one by one as he discovered the lay-out of the gallery; but it was of no use. The place was too big; his resources-the acumen of one man-were insufficient; he would have to take the bull by the horns. Instead of waiting for a suitable opportunity to arise, he had to create one. It was time to put into operation the second stage of his plan to use Rudge’s ambition as a lever.
“I’m bored,” he told Rudge. “Not what you’re thinking -it’s not that I miss the life I’ve been used to, though sometimes I get to thinking of the Pluto run.” He smiled sadly. Rudge looked sympathetic, and so he should, thought Dod-the Psychman knew that Dod, as a loyal Companion, must feel unhappy when he wasn’t doing the job that he had been tailored for.
“Just talk-say the first thing,” said Rudge.
“I’ve thought of trying in the Games,” Dod told him. “You know, just for variety.”
“It could be arranged,” said Rudge. “We could do that for you. What else?”
“It’s just that I got kicking around part of an idea––”
“YesI” There was no mistaking Rudge’s interest. His big ears had nickered back against his skull in an age-old instinctive movement.
“Well, it’s this pigeon angle set me thinking.” He let Rudge absorb that, and continued, “You can get me a Games fixture?”
“Easilyl A Games series would be an excellent thing for you—your aggression ratings are up. But this idea of yours?”
Dod simulated deep, slow-moving thought. Rudge’s eyes darted about in annoyance, yet could not risk offending Dod, as Dod knew. Too much might hang on Dod’s intuitions.
Dod shook his head after several moments. “I don’t seem to be able to get anything out-if I could only have a bit of time to plan a program. There’s a bundle of ideas I’d like to sort out, but these machines aren’t any use!
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I’m used to putting my thoughts into a comp, like they taught us at Space School, but every time I try anything, look what happens!”
Rudge looked about quickly; he motioned Dod to walk with him down a busy line of Psych technicians where the background noise of the clattering computers would drown their conversation.
“What do you want?” He was ready to trade.
“I want to help the Company!” Dod protested.
“Of course,” agreed Rudge. He had expected no less and showed it.
“But I can’t whilst I’m treated like a dolt.”
Rudge eyed him superciliously, and Dod was relieved: it had seemed a shame to betray a confidence, but now it would be easy. Rudge despised him. Very well.
“It’s difficult,” Rudge suggested. “You want to put a series through?”
“If I could just do that and tie up my notions with the Aliens, we’d both be serving the Company. As things stand, the comps will just blow if I try it here.”
“Right.” He looked about fearfully. “I’ll do it. Give me the program.”
“No dice! I don’t even know what the program is yet!”
“I thought you said you’d got some notions?”
“I’d have to do this myself,” Dod said firmly. “That’s the way I am.”
Rudge looked at him shrewdly. He would be thinking about the block, about the risk he was taking; and about the reward he would have.
“I’ll let you know. Keep this to yourself.”
He was back the next day with his answer. He wouldn’t help Dod directly-Dod must understand his position as leader of the investigation-but he wouldn’t put any obstacles in his way. And without committing himself to any direct form of assistance, nevertheless if Dod happened to be walking along the entrance to the lower galleries at exactly fifteen hours, Rudge would walk through the entrance to the Psych comps. There was another thing, too.
Eiserer had called a conference to hear Rudge’s pigeon theory; most of the senior Psych staff would attend, and Dod would not be called in for several hours. If Dod used his time to advantage…
It wasn’t as easy as that, though. Dod reconnoitered the northern area of the Psych establishment once Rudge had
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indicated the comp entrance, and he saw that there would be several snags. Once in the comp room he would need three to five minutes to punch in the queries, and another half-minute to collect the answers; but getting into the room unnoticed was the difficulty.
First, there were the two Flagmen who waited at the bottom of the long corridor in which was the comp entrance. They were only two of many dotted about the establishment, but they constituted the most serious difficulty. Their job was to guard him, and they took their work seriously, staring about with their hard eyes, checking off each person that passed against a mental list of persons permitted to be in that part of the building.
Then there were the Psychmen. Whenever he walked about the Psych block, the younger members of staff watched him, partly marvelling at the halo, and partly hoping for sudden inspiration as had happened to the fortunate Rudge; a conference specially called to hear one’s own idea would lift any junior Psychman high and speedily through the ranks of an overcrowded and highly privileged profession. They were only young men, thought Dod. Impressionable young men.
Two sets of diversion were necessary, one for the Flagmen and the other for the Psych personnel. They had to miss him. And the plans had to be ready, timed for the most favorable moment in two days’ time.
The problem of the five-second distraction of the Flagmen was more difficult than that of the four-minute diversion needed to get the Psychmen away from the area of the unrestricted comps; both had to be surprise happenings, but whilst the Psychmen would react intelligently to a new situation, assessing it, analyzing it, the hard-eyed Flagmen would act as they would always act, on a level of normalcy that was the equivalent of an intestinal worm’s. Instinctively. Yet it could be done-if his luck held. If the Flagmen’s relief came at the same time as usual. If-it rested, finally, on his luck.
*
The day of the conference came, and Dod was ready. Rudge had been acting more nervously than ever, alternating between an unusual jocularity when the members of his teams praised his abilities, and fits of depression when he noticed Dod about the establishment; he had bitten his nails down to the quick, Dod saw. Could he be
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trusted to keep their arrangement a secret? There was no help for it, though. If Rudge did crack, there might never be an opportunity quite like this again.
Excitement had infected the junior Psychmen as well as their seniors. They went through the routine tests that morning in an earnest way, taking extensive notes on all Dod’s answers and reactions to the series of tactile tests that had been started the previous day, relishing their unaccustomed authority in the absence of the senior Psychmen. Dod watched the hours slowly dragging by-nine hours, ten hours, a quarter past ten. At eleven the conference would begin, and his diversions were planned for twelve.
Twenty past ten. Couldn’t they devise something more original than this time-worn dabbling with electric impulses? Didn’t they know enough about his reactions? Hammers! Now it was little rubber hammers! They were taking extensive notes, recording at length every minute action and reaction. Twenty-five past ten. The senior Psychmen would be reading through their notes, getting their suggestions in a more polished form. Dod looked about him. What future had these Psychmen? What original work would they ever do?
Then Eiserer came through the entrance.
Dod leapt off the couch in astonishment. Eiserer shouldn’t be here! Rudge had said he would be busy preparing for the conference! Had Rudge cracked? Dod had his answer ready: Rudge had tricked him, led him into unCompanionlike ways-deceived him …
“Carry on! Please don’t let me disturb you! I called in to see the Commander, but please finish what you were doing first.”
What did he want? Was he just prolonging Dod’s agony before confronting him with Rudge’s confession? You couldn’t tell what the Psychiarch was thinking-his light, contemptuous smile could hide anything. Dod sweated, along with the embarrassed Psychmen, who raced through the remainder of the tests in the series.
“Completed? Good! I wanted to have your opinion-informally before I heard Rudge’s paper-about this theory, Commander. Now then, what views have you formed?”
It was all right. But there wasn’t much time before the 82
diversions Dod had planned would go off: he had to get rid of Eiserer quickly.
“It’s brilliant theorizing,” Dod said. If he praised the theory, Eiserer might go quickly. The thing to avoid was introducing any deviations. Stick to bewildered praise like a good, stupid, inhibited Companion. He shook his head dumbly. “I’m afraid it’s beyond me, though.”
The Psychiarch did not seem surprised. “Putting it into nontechnical language, this is the idea. You appreciate that we know nothing about the Aliens other than the fact of the existence of a force-screen about the System.”
“An effective barrier,” agreed Dod.
“And we don’t know why it’s there. We don’t know whether or not they know they’re putting a barrier in our way. We don’t even know if they realize we’re here at all.”
“It’s difficult,” said Dod.
“This theory holds that they know there’s life of a kind, but that our life-form is outside their experience. They can’t identify us. We’re as strange to them as the minutiae of pond-life was to human beings before the invention of the optical microscope, though I’m not saying that the comparison holds. What is obvious is the tremendous degree of difference between us and them.”
“Not our sort at all,” Dod put in, since a comment seemed to be called for. A quarter to eleven, he noticed. Wouldn’t Eiserer go?
“Quite right, Commander.” The Psychiarch smiled encouragingly. “I see you’re achieving a mastery of the subject.” His contempt was barely concealed. “But to continue: one might say-as indeed Rudge is saying-that the Aliens are in the same position as man in Mid-European times when he was engaged on his first full study of the movements of migratory species on this planet between the various countries––”
“Countries?” asked Dod, losing no opportunity to demonstrate his abysmal ignorance and thoroughgoing stupidity. Eiserer exchanged glances with the junior Psychman who smiled back sarcastically.
“Tribal division of Terra by area and ethnic groups,” said the Psychiarch.
“Thanks. I’m lost in this, I’m afraid. But I think I know what you mean. It’s a brilliant idea.” Maybe Eiserer would give up.
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“Good! Now: when populations were transient to some degree, a check on mass movements could be made by taking a sample from every migrant group, and thus a picture of the whole could be formed. This applies as much to the movements of humans as to animals. Thus, starting from the original idea of the ringing of pigeons to check on their movements to––”
“Me!” Dod shouted. Eiserer looked pleased with his astonishment.
“Exactly, Commander. Comp put a number of ideas together and gave us a picture of something very like the early studies of bird migration, or population movement control. To check on the seemingly inexplicable series of bird movements, the early ornithologists caught birds and placed an identifying mark on them.”
And they were falling for this! It was pitiful. The best brains on the planet, and they could not see the inanity of the idea. Dod registered bewilderment. Ten past eleven. The conference would start late; in three-quarters of an hour the diversion in the fake comp room was timed to begin. He hoped his anxiety did not show in his face.
