Eye to Eye: Ashton Ford, Psychic Detective (13 page)

"How about Russia?"

"Look, Ash...I'm already in violation of
my—I can't discuss this matter."

I said, "We're not discussing that matter,
then, Greg. We're just talking science stuff. Like, maybe, a group
of whiz kids. Is that what we're talking about?"

"
Whiz
kids? I don't believe so, no. I
had the impression these were senior people. Like Don—the other
guy."

"You sure about that?"

"No. I'm not sure of anything."

I said, "Russia?"

He said, "Uh, I think—you
know, Ash, anything happens in this country usually happens over
there, too."

I said, "Okay. Thanks. Take care."

"You, too," he replied, and hung up.

I sat there chewing that conversation for a
minute or two, then decided I wanted one with Holden, too. Before I
could make a move, though, Esau came gliding up behind me and gave
a warm squeeze to my shoulder as he settled onto the stool beside
me.

"Sorry," he said quietly,
"I am afraid no one thought of the possibility that you may have
someone to worry about you." He placed a leather folder on the bar
and tapped it with a delicate finger. "Nothing in here to indicate
it."

I said, dryly, "You have my dossier."

"Nothing quite that formal," he said,
smiling. "But we did feel it imperative that we have your medical
records, that sort of thing."

I asked him, "How many sorts outside of
medical?"

He raised eyebrows at me, started to
question the question, then checked himself with a smile and
replied, "You are very perceptive. Yes, of course, we did run a
thorough background check on you."

"How'd I come out?"

He laughed softly, nodded his head several
times—actually, the whole upper part of his body nodded—then
replied, "I would say quite well, quite well indeed. Almost a
Renaissance man, aren't you?"

I said, "Well, I try."

"You could have had an impressive career in
science."

I said, "Never really wanted that. Actually,
I think I would like to conduct the Boston Pops. Or maybe the New
York Philharmonic."

He stared at me quizzically for a moment,
then his eyes strayed to the leather folder. "I found nothing
concerning musical ability."

So my humor was lost on
this guy. I told him, "All of the ability is in appreciation, I'm
afraid. But I do listen one hell of a great French horn and
sometimes an entire string section in the bargain."

He had not the foggiest notion of what the
hell I was talking about, I could see that in the eyes, but he
laughed anyway and said, "Well, hobbies are nice but the work is
what it is all about. Have you found that so?"

I said, "Is that with a capital 'W'?"

He laughed some more, said, "So right, so
right"—then suddenly became very serious: "We believe that you
could be an asset to our research. We would like for you to join
us. For a few days, at most."

I said, 'Think you can drain the whole brain
in just a few days, eh?"

The look he gave me was totally blank as he
replied, "We really would like to know how the field interacts with
your extrasensory perception. We have already devised the tests. A
few days, at most, should satisfy all our questions."

I said, very quietly, "Let
me think about it, Esau."

"Certainly, Ashton, certainly. Think about
it. I will speak to you again at dinner." He slid off the stool,
turned back to retrieve his leather folder, showed me a charmer
smile.

I asked him, very quietly, "Ever been aboard
a flying saucer?"

He replied, just as quietly, "No, and I
should think I would not wish to attempt it."

"Why not?" I asked soberly.

"I am having a bit of trouble with you,
Ashton," he said. "I never learned sophisticated repartee, you see.
I rather grew up in the very lap of science."

I grinned and said, sincerely, "Sorry, Esau.
I was not trying to put you down, please believe that. I imagine
you have a real rapier thrust with field equations."

He smiled back. "I am much
more at home there, yes, thank you. As for riding a flying saucer,
I doubt that you would enjoy it."

Again, I asked, "Why?"

He replied, "Because if such a thing exists,
as it has been universally described in the reports, it is no more
than a three-dimensional hologram."

I said, "Really."

He said, "Yes. Consider the motions that
have been reported. Fluttering, swinging, precise ninety degree
turns at great speeds, instant dislocation and reappearance in a
different sector, sudden appearance and disappearance. Each such
motion is physically impossible in Newtonian physics, as that
relates to mass and momentum. However..."

"A holographic image, however..."

"Yes, very good, you have my meaning
already. A reflective surface, such as a mirror or a crystal, will
focus light rays over considerable distances, and the merest
vibration of the reflector will cause the light image to shimmer or
flutter, to race about in senseless patterns this way and that, to
fairly dance, to appear and disappear as though in total defiance
of Newtonian physics. Of course, there is no actual mass involved,
so..."

I said, "So someone is playing tricks with
giant minors in the sky."

"I am suggesting no such
thing," he replied primly. "Nature herself plays such
tricks
all the time. Who
has never seen a rainbow? Have you noticed that the classic
representation of a flying saucer looks very like a spiral galaxy
in one of our photographs from earth? Under certain conditions, our
atmosphere can become highly prismatic. It takes no great stretch
of the imagination to infer a holographic image of a spiral galaxy
as the perfect solution to all purported sightings of flying
saucers. Night or day, I might add."

I said, "Yes, that's very interesting. But
what about encounters of the second and third kind?"

"That falls under a whole different class of
phenomena. You'll have to speak to the behavioral scientists about
that."

I said, quietly, "Mental phenomena, mass
hallucinations, that sort of thing."

"I should think so, yes."
He picked up the folder, tucked it beneath his arm. Had he been
wearing a hat, he would have tipped it, I'm sure. "Well. See you at
dinner, Ashton."

I watched him walk away and kept on staring
after him long after he disappeared from view.

And I felt better, somehow. Yes. I was
really glad to have had that most illuminating conversation with my
old friend Esau. Or was it Jacob, in goatskins?

Naw. Naw. It was Esau.

Chapter Fifteen: The Crucible

I asked Holden, "All those people I met the
other night— are they staying here with you? All of them?"

He waggled his eyebrows at me as he replied,
"Why, yes, I believe—let me see—I think so, yes. Don't remember
just who all was here, you see, but..."

"But you do have a house full of
guests?"

"That is my good fortune, yes."

I asked him, "Where are they now?"

The eyebrows kept right on twitching.
"Working, I would think." He laughed heartily. "I would hope."

"I mean, where? Where are they working?"

"Oh, in the
lab
." He gazed about him
as he laughed some more. "Couldn't expect them to just flop about
here in the club, could we."

Very jovial fellow. I asked him, "Where is
the lab, Holden?"

He sprang to his feet
again. "What an ass I am!" He was actually embarrassed, beet-red.
"Of
course
you
haven't seen the lab yet. Dear me. I'm getting old, Ashton. Senile,
I do believe." He had me by the arm. "We'll just take care
of—"

"No no, that's okay," I protested. "Actually
I'd like to just sit down and talk with you for awhile. The lab,
later."

He released me, with a
delighted grin, and sat himself down abruptly like an anxious child
just given his fondest wish. "Of
course,
Ashton, of
course
. Sit. Let's
talk."

I told him, "I love your home."

He beamed. "Me, too. Years
in the planning. Delighted with it, absolutely delighted. Too
large, though, for one old man to rattle around in. I like it
filled, like now, filled and overflowing with delightful people and
delightful ideas and unknown worlds to conquer. Listen to me,
Ashton, nothing else in this old world makes a damn bit of sense.
You can take all of your trashy television and your trashy books
and shoot 'em off to the moon, for all I care. Too damn much
valuable human time spent frittering—yes, frittering. The damnation
of mankind is the seduction of pleasure and—seduction of pleasure?
Should that be pleasure of seduction? Never mind, same thing, it's
all the same thing. Too damn much playing around and not nearly
enough—I say, not
nearly
enough dedication to the work."

Well shit, I'd turned him on—the least I
could do was sit still and listen.

"Now you take these people,
these people here with me, now—and I include you in that, Ashton,
you are part of it, now—you people have got spunk. You're building
a
world,
you're
bringing forth the
dream
from the
crucible
. By
God
I wish I could go back, too,
roll back those years and..."

Wait
a minute!
What the hell was he
saying
?

"... roll up the mental
shirtsleeves and by God
make
a
difference
. That's what I wish, and
I envy you, Ashton, I really do."

I had moved to the edge of my chair, one ear
turned to that rumbling voice, wondering if I had heard...

I said, "Holden..."

He held up both hands,
turned his head away. "Yes, Ashton, I know, I know. Told you I'm
getting senile. You wanted to talk. I gave you an oration. It's
just that I get so damned lonely. Even with the house filled with
delightful people...I get very lonely."

I said, quietly, "That's
the human condition, isn't it."

He beamed at me. "You're right. Ever since
the expulsion from Eden. Charming allegory. Man coming finally into
the awareness of himself. In that awareness, automatically shut off
from the rest of nature, from God's protection, cast out. Into the
crucible. That's where we are, you know, Ashton. In the goddamned
crucible."

I said, "And it gets lonely out there."

"Damn right it does. There
are times when I think I will go mad if I do not encounter a truly
intelligent, a truly delightful person
right now
—but it passes, it passes,
as all things do, it passes."

I quietly suggested,
"There's Laura, now, Holden."

He dropped his chin and peered at me from
beneath those shaggy eyebrows. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact,
I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Ashton." He laughed.
"Well, for the past half-hour or so, that is."

I said, "You're a lucky man. She is a
beautiful and intelligent woman."

He laughed uproariously.
'Too god
damned
intelligent, let me tell you! Yes, I am a lucky man." The
eyebrow treatment again. "Of course I would be
a much luckier
man if I was fifty
years younger." Still laughing. "Don't know why the hell I couldn't
qualify. I've always been a generous man, always worked
hard—"

There it was again.

"—never walked on any man's back, but
well...forgive me, Ashton, self-pity is a cardinal sin, much worse
than vanity, isn't it. Forgive me. What were we saying?"

I smiled and said, "Well, you've got your
house on the mountain. And Laura. And good friends."

"We were talking about Laura." All sobriety,
now. "Ashton...? How do I say this? So that it doesn't sound...
Ashton, our marriage is a social convenience."

I said, "Aren't they all?"

"No no, I mean that it
is
purely
a
social convenience. For the both of us. She has her work and I
have...well, I have mine, and it gets lonely up here. I don't want
you to misconstrue..." He cleared his throat. "This is very
delicate. What I'm trying to say is...we don't sleep together. For
me, that's okay. For her, terribly unnatural. Get my
meaning?"

I nodded assent. "Got you, Holden."

"Fine."

I said, "Well, no, wait a minute. I got you
to that point. But I'm not sure..."

"Damn it, man, she finds you highly
attractive."

I said, "Great. I find her the same
way."

"It's a clear field."

I said, "Okay, now I've got you."

He beamed. "Thank you for
the nice talk, Ashton. By
God
I enjoyed it."

I said, "So did I. Are we finished?"

He sprang to his feet, said, "Now, the
lab."

As we walked away, arm in arm I said to him,
"Why wouldn't they qualify you, Holden?"

"Some sort of damned mismatch," he growled.
"Nonsense. It's nonsense. I can take it if the rest of them can.
Don't I look hale and hearty to you?"

He looked, yes, entirely hale and hearty to
me.

But hale and hearty enough
to
qualify
for
what
?

The makeshift "lab" had
been set up in the basement of the big house and it was now a
beehive of activity—scintillating activity, naturally. I had never
seen a happier and more cooperative group undertaking. The
enthusiasm and obvious commitment was a living atmosphere in
there—all, however, with that same sense of excited restraint noted
earlier with this group. All wore white lab smocks over blue jeans,
some carried clipboards, in small clumps here and there at various
instruments and machines—taking readings, comparing notes, the
clumps breaking and reforming spontaneously at other instruments
with different combinations of players.