Beyond This Horizon (27 page)

“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 might 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.

It was a matter of prime significance, aside from Theobald’s fantastic delusion, that a telepathic person had been able to locate a person whom he had never seen and whose existence he had no reason to suspect. It was a fair-sized brick in the Great Research. Dutifully, Hamilton reported the affair to Carruthers.

Carruthers was intensely interested. He asked questions about it, took the matter home with him, and nursed it. The next day he called Felix to explain a plan he had conceived. “Mind you,” he said, “I’m not urging you to do this. I’m not even asking you. It’s your wife, and your baby, and your boy. But I think it’s a unique opportunity to advance the Research.”

Felix thought about it. “I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

“How would you like,” he said to Phyllis, when they were alone that night, “to go to Buenos Aires to have Justina?”

“Buenos Aires? Why there?”

“Because there is the only telepath machine on Earth. And it can’t be moved out of the cold laboratory.”

Da Capo

“I
’VE GOT it again.” The receiver for the telepath made the announcement grimly. The gadget was still cantankerous; during the past few days it had worked beautifully part of the time—about twenty minutes in all!—and had refused to come to life the rest of the time. It seemed to have soaked up some of the contrariness of the subtle life-force it tapped.

“What are you getting?”

“Feels like a dream. Water, long stretches of water. Shore line in the back with mountain peaks.” A recorder at his elbow took down everything he said, with the exact times. “Are you
sure
it’s the baby?”

“Sure as I was yesterday. Everybody is different over it. They
taste
different. I don’t know how else to express it. Hold on! Something else…a city, a damn big city, bigger than Buenos Aires.”

“Theobald,” said Mordan Claude gently, “can you still hear her?” Mordan had been brought because Felix conceded that Claude had a handier way with the child than Felix. The child could not hear the telepath receiver where they had spotted him, although Claude could cut in through an earphone. Phyllis, of course, was in another room, busy with her fundamental affairs…it made no difference to the gadget, nor to Theobald. Felix had a roving assignment, privileged to make a nervous nuisance out of himself to anyone.

The boy leaned back against Mordan’s thigh. “She’s not over the ocean any more,” he said. “She’s gone to Capital City.”

“Are you sure it’s Capital City?”

“Sure.” His voice was scornful. “I’ve been there, ain’t I? And there’s the tower.”

Beyond the partition someone was asking, “A modern city?”

“Yes. Might be the Capital. It’s got a pylon like it.”

“Any other details?”

“Don’t ask me so many questions—it breaks into the revery…she’s moving again. We’re in a room… Lot of people, all adults. They’re talking.”

“What now, son?” Claude was saying.

“Aw, she’s gone to that party again.”

Two observers, standing clear of the activity were whispering. “I don’t like it,” the short one said. “It’s ghastly.”

“But it’s happening.”

“But don’t you realize what this means, Malcolm? Where can an unborn child get such concepts?”

“Telepathically from its mother, perhaps. The brother is certainly a telepath.”

“No, no, no! Not unless all our ideas of cerebration are mistaken. Conceptions are limited to experiences, or things similar to experiences. An unborn child has experienced nothing but warmth and darkness. It
couldn’t
have such conceptions.”

“Ummm.”

“Well—answer me!”