F. Wallace - 10 Lost Pulp Sci-Fi Masterpieces

Almost at once, one of the younger chemists named Dr. Carmen, was on his feet exclaiming excitedly that one of the transformation compounds was a chemical on which he had conducted an extensive research. He had produced enough to know that it had a multitude of intriguing properties, and now he was exuberant at the revelation of a method of producing it in quantity and also further transforming it.

At his sudden enthusiasm the lecturer’s face took on what they had come to recognize as a very dour look. “That series of transformations has no interest for us,” he said. “I merely indicated its existence to show one of the possibilities which should be avoided. Over here you see the direction in which we wish to go.”

“But you never saw anything with properties like that!” Carmen protested. “It goes through an incredible series of at least three crystalline-liquid phase changes with an increase in pressure alone. But with proper control of heat it can be kept in the crystalline phase regardless of pressure. It is closely related to a drug series with anesthetic properties, and is almost sure to be valuable in—”

The Ryke lecturer cut him off sharply. “I have explained,” he said, “the direction of transformation in which we are interested. Your concern is not with anything beyond the boundaries which our study has proven to be the direct path of research and study.”

“Then I should abandon research on this series of chemicals?” Carmen asked with a show of outward meekness.

The Ryke nodded with pleasure at Carmen’s submissiveness. “That is it precisely. We have been over this ground long ago. We know where the areas of profitable study lie. You will be told what to observe and what to ignore. How could you ever hope to make progress if you stopped to examine every alternate probability and possibility that appeared to you?” He shook his head vigorously and his plume vibrated with emotion.

“You must have a plan,” he continued. “A goal. Study of the Universe cannot proceed in any random, erratic fashion. You must know what you want and then find out where to look for it.”

Carmen sat down slowly. Hockley was sure the Ryke did not notice the tense bulge of the chemist’s jaw muscles. Perhaps he would not have understood the significance if he had noticed.

Hockley was a trifle late in getting to the dining room at lunch time that day. By the time he did so the place was like a beehive. He was almost repelled by the furor of conversation circulating in the room as he entered.

He passed through slowly, searching for a table of his own. He paused a moment behind Dr. Carmen, who was declaiming in no mild terms his opinions of a system that would pre-select those areas of research which were to be entered and those which were not. He smiled a little as he caught the eye of one of the dozen chemists seated at the table, listening.

Moving on, he observed that Silvers had also cornered a half dozen or so of his colleagues in his own field and was in earnest conversation with them—in a considerably more restrained manner, however, than he had used the previous evening with Hockley, or than Carmen was using at the present time.

The entire room was abuzz with similar groups.

The senators had tried to mingle with the others in past days, always with more or less lack of success because they found themselves out of the conversation almost completely. Today they had no luck whatever. They were seated together at a couple of tables in a corner. None of them seemed to be paying attention to the food before them, but were glancing about, half-apprehensively, at their fellow diners—who were also paying no attention to food.

Hockley caught sight of his political colleagues and sensed their dismay. The field of disquietude seemed almost tangible in the air. The senators seemed half frightened by what they felt but could not understand.

Showalter’s wild waving at the far corner of the room finally caught Hockley’s eye and he moved toward the small table which the assistant had reserved for them. Showalter was upset, too, by the atmosphere within the room.

“What the devil is up?” he said. “Seems like everybody’s on edge this morning. I never saw a bunch of guys so touchy. You’d think they woke up with snakes in their beds.”

“Didn’t you know?” said Hockley. “Haven’t you been to any of the lectures this morning?”

“No. A couple of the senators were getting bored with all the scientific doings so I thought maybe I should try to entertain them. We took in what passes for such here, but it wasn’t much better than the lectures as a show. Tell me what’s up.”

Briefly, Hockley described Silvers’ upset of the day before and Carmen’s experience that morning. Showalter let his glance rove over his fellow Earthmen, trying to catch snatches of the buzzing conversation at nearby tables.

“You think that’s the kind of thing that’s got them all going this morning?” he said.

Hockley nodded. “I caught enough of it passing through to know that’s what it is. I gather that every group has run into the same kind of thing by now, the fencing off of broad areas where we have already tried to do research.

“After the first cloud of awe wore off, the first thing everyone wanted was an answer to his own pet line of research. Nine times out of ten it was something the Rykes told them to chuck down the drain. That advice doesn’t sit so well—as you can plainly see.”

Showalter drew back his gaze and stared for a long time at Hockley. “You knew this would happen. That’s why you brought us here—”

“I had hopes of it. I was reasonably sure this was the way the Rykes operated.”

Showalter remained thoughtful for a long time before he spoke again. “You’ve won your point, I suppose, as far as this group goes, but you can’t hope to convince all of Earth by this. The Rykes will hold their offer open, and others will accept it on behalf of Earth.

“And what if it’s we who are wrong, in the end? How can you be sure that this isn’t the way the Rykes have made their tremendous speed—by not going down all the blind alleys that we rattle around in.”

“I’m sure it is the way they have attained such speed of advancement.”

“Then maybe we ought to go along, regardless of our own desires. Maybe we never did know how to do research!”

Hockley smiled across the table at his assistant. “You believe that, of course.”

“I’m just talking,” said Showalter irritably. “The thing gets more loopy every day. If you think you understand the Rykes I wish you would give out with what the score is. By the looks of most of these guys I would say they are getting ready to throttle the next Ryke they see instead of knuckle under to him.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Hockley fervently. “I certainly hope you’re right.”

By evening there was increasing evidence that he was. Hockley passed up the afternoon lecture period and spent the time in the lounge doing some thinking of his own. He knew he couldn’t push the group. Above all, he mustn’t give way to any temptation to push them or say, “I told you so.” Their present frustration was so deep that their antagonism could be turned almost indiscriminately in any direction, and he would be offering himself as a ready target if he were not careful.

On the other hand he had to be ready to take advantage of their disaffection and throw them a decisive challenge when they were ready for it. That might be tonight, or it might be another week. He wished for a sure way of knowing. As things turned out, however, the necessity of choosing the time was taken from him.

After dinner that night, when the group began to drift into the lounge, Silvers and Carmen and three of the other men came over to where Hockley sat. Silvers fumbled with the buttons of his coat as if preparing to make an address.