Mack Reynolds - Earth Unaware

“All right,” Ed said. “So Tubber put in a hitch studying philosophy. Look, Professor, I’m going to turn you over to a brace of my assistants who’ll take down everything you can remember about Tubber, and also everything you can think of about libans, witchdoctors, spells and curses.”

When the professor was gone, Ed looked at Buzz who looked back at him.

Finally Ed flicked his screen and said, “Major Davis.” When Davis’ face faded in, Ed said, reproachfully, “Lenny, ethnologists might be scientists but they don’t know what curses are. Round us up some scientists who can tell us what a curse is. Snap into this, Lenny. We want results.”

Major Leonard Davis looked at him plaintively, opened his mouth in what was obviously going to be protest or at least complaint, but then dosed it again. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Scientists who know what a curse is.” His face faded.

Buzz said approvingly, “You’re catching onto this routine fast.”

They looked at each other some more.

Finally Ed flicked on his switch and said, “Get me James C. Westbrook. He lives just south of Kingsburg.”

Randy said, “Yes, sir,” and in moments, Jim Westbrook’s face faded in on the screen.

He said, “Hello, Little Ed. Sorry, I’m awfully busy. If you don’t mind…”

Ed Wonder ignored his words. “Listen, the other day when we were talking about miracles, you said you believed in them. That is, that you believe in things happening that we can’t explain by our present scientific knowledge.”

Jim Westbrook, in the phone screen, looked as though he were in a hurry, but he took the time to say, “I’m glad you qualified, friend, I don’t like the term miracle.”

Ed said, “Well, look, do you believe in hexes?” He waited for the other’s disclaimer.

“Sure,” Westbrook said. “I’ve looked into the subject a bit.”

“Now, I’m not talking about this voodoo sort of thing where the victim is convinced he’s going to fall sick if the voodoo priest puts a spell on him, and then, of course, does. I mean…”

Westbrook said, “Really, I’m in a hurry but… Look, friend, the witchman does not have to convince his victim he’s going to be a victim. The victim gets convinced because he does get sick. I’ve found that it most bodaciously is not something to play games with. It does not depend on faith or belief, on either the part of the victim or of the practitioner. In the same way that dowsing rods work for people who are completely positive they don’t work.”

“Go on,” Ed told him.

“Hexing happens the same way. I found out one Halloween party. If you want some, well, unusual, let’s say, emotional feelings, try figuring out how to go about taking off a hex you didn’t believe you could put on, because hexes don’t exist, only the poor victim is very well hexed and you don’t know anything about unhexing whatsoever. Friend, it’s about six degrees worse than the amateur hypnotist who’s gotten somebody into a trance, imposed a posthypnotic suggestion, and now can’t unsuggest the thing. At least, there are books on hypnotism in the libraries to tell what to do in that case. But try finding a book on unhexing somebody you’ve accidently and unbelievingly hexed. Friend, it’s a matter of I didn’t know the gun was loaded !”

Jim Westbrook began to say more, but then darted a glance down at his wrist. “Listen, Little Ed, I can’t spend any more time with you talking about hexes.”

“That’s what you think,” Ed grinned at him.

Westbrook scowled. “What does that supposed to mean, friend?”

Ed said, happily, “You’ve just been drafted into talking your head off about every aspect of hexes you know about, pal.”

The other said, “Little Ed, you better see a doctor. So long.” He cut the connection.

Ed Wonder said happily, “Stereotype, eh?” He flicked the intercom switch. “Major Davis,” he said.

The major’s face came on and he said, both warily and wearily, “Yes, sir.”

“There’s a James C. Westbrook, who lives on the outskirts of Kingsburg. Have him brought in immediately and take down everything he knows about hexes. And, Major, listen. He might not want to come. However, he’s, ah, crash priority. You’d better send four men.”

“Yes, sir, to speed things up, do we have anything else on him, sir. Where does he work? What does he do? He might not be at home.”

Ed Wonder said, “He’s a consulting engineer, specializes on rhabdomancy.”

“Rhabdomancy,” Major Davis said blankly.

“Yes, rhabdomancy, radiesthesia. He operates dowsing rods.”

Major Davis looked as though he had been cruelly hurt. “Yes, sir. Crash priority. Pick up this man who operates dowsing rods.” His face faded pathetically from the screen.

Ed Wonder had been assigned an apartment in the New Woolworth Building while Helen Fontaine and Buzz De Kemp found accommodations in nearby hotels. In the morning, Ed Wonder got down to his office early, but evidently not early enough. His assistants, male and female, in the outer offices were in a flurry of activity. He wondered, vaguely, what they were doing. He hadn’t issued enough in the way of directions to have kept a fraction of them busy.

He stopped at one desk long enough to say, “What are you doing?”

The young man looked up. “Incantations,” he said. He had a pile of books, pamphlets and manuscripts before him and a mike connected to a dicto in his left hand.

“Incantations?” Ed said.

The other had gone back to his perusal, now he looked up again. He obviously didn’t recognize Ed as his chief. For that matter, Ed didn’t recognize him. He had never seen him before.

The other said, “Incantations. The chanting or uttering of words purporting to have magical powers. I’m accumulating basic data.”

“You mean we’ve got a full time man working on nothing but finding out about incantations?”

The young man looked at him pityingly. “ I’m translating incantations in Serbo-Croat. They’ve got fifty-odd others on other languages. Now, if you’ll please excuse me.” He went back to his books.

Ed Wonder went into his own office.

There had been a few matters which had come up that Randy Everett informed him about. The extent of the offices allotted to Project Tubber had been upped considerably during the night, as well as the number of personnel. They were now working on a three shift basis. Ed hadn’t known about that.

Mr. De Kemp hadn’t come in yet but had called to let them know he was feeling indisposed.

At that point in Miss Everett’s report, Ed snarled, “Indisposed! Call that bum and tell him to get in here, hangover or no hangover. Tell him I’ll send a squad of marines, if he doesn’t.”

Randy said, “Yes, sir.”

Ed said, “Put Major Davis on.”

The face that faded into the phone screen had a major’s leaves on the shirt collar, but it wasn’t the face of Major Davis.

Ed Wonder said, “Where’s Lenny Davis?”

“Davis isn’t with us any more, sir. He had a breakdown of some sort or other. My name is Wells.”

“Oh, he did, huh? Well, look here Wells, no more breakdowns among you army types, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If there are any breakdowns around here, I’ll have them.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ed tried to remember why he had called Major Davis, and couldn’t. He flicked off the screen. It lit up again immediately to display the face of Colonel Fredric Williams.

The colonel said, “Dwight Hopkins wants to see you immediately, Wonder.”

“Okay,” Ed said. He got to his feet. He wished that Buzzo were here to back him. There were angles to this big executive bit.