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diff --git a/58730-0.txt b/58730-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a65721a --- /dev/null +++ b/58730-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,490 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58730 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + + MIRACLE BY PRICE + + BY IRVING E. COX, JR. + + _They said old Doctor Price was an inventive + genius but no miracle worker. Yet--if he didn't + work miracles in behalf of an over-worked + little guy named Cupid, what was he doing?_ + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Worlds of If Science Fiction, October 1954. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +MEMO TO: Clayton, Croyden and Hammerstead, Attorneys + +ATTENTION: William Clayton + +FROM: Walter Gordon + +Dear Bill: + +Enclosed is the itemized inventory of the furnishings of the late Dr. +Edward Price's estate. As you requested, I personally examined the +laboratory. Candidly, Bill, you needed a psychiatrist for the job, not +a graduate physicist. Dr. Price was undoubtedly an inventive genius a +decade ago when he was still active in General Electronics, but his lab +was an embarrassing example of senile clutter. + +You had an idea, Bill, that before he died Price might have been +playing around with a new invention which the estate could develop and +patent. I found a score of gadgets in the lab, none of them finished +and none of them built for any functional purpose that I could discover. + +Only two seemed to be completed. One resembled a small, portable radio. +It was a plastic case with two knobs and a two-inch speaker grid. There +was no cord outlet. The machine may have been powered by batteries, for +I heard a faint humming when I turned the knobs. Nothing else. Dr. +Price had left a handwritten card on the box. He intended to call it +a Semantic-Translator, but he had noted that the word combination was +awkward for commercial exploitation, and I suppose he held up a patent +application until he could think of a catchier name. One sentence on +that card would have amused you, Bill. Price wrote, "Should wholesale +for about three-fifty per unit." Even in his dotage, he had an eye for +profit. + +The Semantic-Translator--whatever that may mean--might have had +possibilities. I fully intended to take it back with me to General +Electronics and examine it thoroughly. + +The second device, which Price had labeled a Transpositor, was large +and rather fragile. It was a hollow cylinder of very small wires, +perhaps a foot in diameter, fastened to an open-faced console crowded +with a weird conglomeration of vacuum tubes, telescopic lenses and +mirrors. The cylinder of wires was so delicate that the motion of my +body in the laboratory caused it to quiver. Standing in front of the +wire coil were two brass rods. A kind of shovel-like chute was fixed to +one rod (Price called it the shipping board). Attached to the second +rod was a long-handled pair of tongs which he called the grapple. + +The Transpositor was, I think, an outgrowth of Price's investigation +of the relationship between light and matter. You may recall, Bill, +the brilliant technical papers he wrote on that subject when he was +still working in the laboratories of General Electronics. At the time +Price was considered something of a pioneer. He believed that light and +matter were different forms of the same basic element; he said that +eventually science would learn how to change one into the other. + +I seriously believe that the Transpositor was meant to do precisely +that. In other words, Price had expected to transpose the atomic +structure of solid matter into light, and later to reconstruct the +original matter again. Now don't assume, Bill, that Price was wandering +around in a senile delusion of fourth dimensional nonsense. The theory +may be sound. Our present knowledge of the physical world makes the +basic structure of matter more of a mystery than it has ever been. + +Not that I think Price achieved the miracle. Even in his most +brilliant and productive period he could not have done it. As yet +our accumulation of data is too incomplete for such an experiment. I +believe that Price created no more than a very realistic illusion with +his arrangement of lenses and mirrors. + +I saw the illusion, too; I used the machine. + +There were two dials on the front of the console. One was lettered +"time", and the other "distance". The "time" dial could be set for +eons, centuries or hours, depending upon the position of a three-way +switch beneath it; the "distance" dial could be adjusted to light +years, thousand-mile units, or kilometers by a similar device. Since +there was no indication which position would produce what results, +I left the dials untouched. I plugged the machine into an electric +outlet and pushed the starter button. The coil of wire blazed with +light and the chute slid rapidly in and out of the cylinder. + +That was all, at first. The starter button was labeled "the shipper", +and I gathered that Price had visualized the practical application of +the Transpositor as a device for transporting goods from one point to +another. + +I looked around the lab for something I could put into the chute. +There was a card, written in red, warning me not to load beyond +the dimensional limits of the chute. The only thing I saw that was +small enough was the little radio-like gadget Price had called a +Semantic-Translator. Loaded horizontally, it just barely fit the chute. + +I pushed the shipper button a second time. Again there was a blaze +of light, brighter than before, which temporarily blinded me. For a +moment I saw the Semantic-Translator in the heart of the fragile, wire +cylinder. It had the glow of molten steel, pouring from a blast furnace. + +Then it was gone. The chute shot back to the front of the machine. The +tray was empty. + +Was it an illusion? I believe that, Bill, because later on, when I +thought of using the grapple.... + + * * * * * + +Miss Bertha Kent walked back the gravel trail from the dressing room. +The early morning sun was bright and warm, but she held her woolen +robe tight across her throat. She tried to avoid looking at the other +camps--at the sleepy-eyed women coming out of tents, and the men +starting morning fires in the stone rings. + +Bitterness was etched in acid in her soul. She made herself believe +it was because she hated Yosemite. The vacation had been such a +disappointment. She had expected so much and--as usual--it had all gone +wrong. + +Her hope had been so high when school closed; this year was going to be +different! + +"Are you going anywhere this summer?" Miss Emmy asked after the last +faculty meeting in June. + +"To Yosemite for a couple of weeks, I think." + +"The Park's always crowded. You ought to meet a nice man up there, +Bertha." + +"I'm not interested in men," Miss Kent had replied frostily. "I'm a +botany teacher and it helps me professionally if I spend part of the +summer observing the phenomenon of nature." + +"Don't kid me, Bertha. You can drop the fancy lingo, too; school's out. +You want a man as much as I do." + +That was true, Miss Kent admitted--in the quiet of her own mind. +Never aloud; never to anyone else. Six years ago, when Bertha Kent +had first started to teach, she had been optimistic about it. She +wanted to marry; she wanted a family of her own--instead of wasting +her lifetime in a high school classroom playing baby sitter for other +people's kids. She had saved her money for all sorts of exotic summer +vacations--tours, cruises, luxury hotels--but somehow something always +went wrong. + +To be sure, she had met men. She was pretty; she danced well; she was +never prudish; she liked the out-of-doors. All positive qualities: she +knew that. The fault lay always with the men. When she first met a +stranger, everything was fine. Then, slowly, Miss Kent began to see his +faults. Men were simply adult versions of the muscle-bound knot-heads +the administration loaded into her botany classes. + +Bertha Kent wanted something better, an ideal she had held in her mind +since her childhood. The dream-man was real, too. She had met him +once and actually talked to him when she was a child. She couldn't +remember where; she couldn't recall his face. But the qualities of his +personality she knew as she did her own heart. If they had existed once +in one man, she would find them again, somewhere. That was the miracle +she prayed for every summer. + +She thought the miracle had happened again when she first came to +Yosemite. + +She found an open campsite by the river. While she was putting up +her tent, the man from the camp beside hers came to help. At first +he seemed the prototype of everything she hated--a good-looking, +beautifully co-ordinated physical specimen, as sharp-witted as a +jellyfish. The front of his woolen shirt hung carelessly unbuttoned. +She saw the mat of dark hair on his chest, the sculpted curves of +sun-tanned muscle. No doubt he considered himself quite attractive. + +Then, that evening after the fire-fall, the young man asked her to +go with him to the ranger's lecture at Camp Curry. Bertha discovered +that he was a graduate physicist, employed by a large, commercial +laboratory. They had at least the specialized area of science in +common. By the time they returned from the lecture, they were calling +each other by first names. The next day Walt asked her to hike up the +mist trail with him to Nevada Falls. + +The familiar miracle began to take shape. She lay awake a long time +that night, looking at the dancing pattern of stars visible through the +open flap of her tent. This was it; Walt was the reality of her dream. +She made herself forget that every summer for six years the same thing +had happened. She always believed she had found her miracle; and always +something happened to destroy it. + +For two days the idyll lasted. The inevitable awakening began the +afternoon they drove along the Wawona highway to see the Mariposa Grove +of giant sequoias. They left their car in the parking area and walked +through the magnificent stand of cathedral trees. The trail was steep +and sometimes treacherous. Twice Walt took her arm to help her. For +some reason that annoyed her; finally she told him, + +"I'm quite able to look after myself, Walt." + +"So you've told me before." + +"After all, I've been hiking most of my life. I know exactly what to +do--" + +"There isn't much you can't take care of for yourself, is there, +Bertha?" His voice was suddenly very cold. + +"I'm not one of these rattle-brained clinging vines, if that's what you +mean. I detest a woman who is always yelping to a man for help." + +"Independence is one thing, Bertha; I like that in a woman. But somehow +you make a man feel totally inadequate. You set yourself up as his +superior in everything." + +"That's nonsense, Walt. I'm quite ready to grant that you know a good +deal more about physics than I do." + +"Say it right, Bertha. You respect the fact that I hold a PhD." He +smiled. "That isn't the same thing as respecting me for a person. I +knew you didn't need my help on the trail, but it was a normal courtesy +to offer it. It seems to me it would be just as normal for you to +accept it. Little things like that are important in relations between +people." + +"Forget it, Walt." She slipped her hand through his. "There, see? I'll +do it just the way you want." + +She was determined not to quarrel over anything so trivial, though what +he said seemed childish and it tarnished the dream a little. But the +rest was still good; the miracle could still happen. + +Yet, in spite of all her effort, they disagreed twice more before they +left the Mariposa Grove. Bertha began to see Walt as he was: brilliant, +no doubt, in the single area of physical science, but basically no +different from any other man. She desperately wished that she could +love him; she earnestly wished that the ideal, fixed so long in her +mind, might be destroyed. + +But slowly she saw the miracle slip away from her. That night, after +the fire-fall, Walt did not ask her to go with him to the lecture. +Miserable and angry, Bertha Kent went into her tent, but not to sleep. + +She lay staring at the night sky, and thinking how ugly the pin-point +lights of distant suns were on the velvet void. As the hours passed, +she heard the clatter of pans and voices as people at the other +campsites retired. She heard Walt when he returned, whistling +tunelessly. He banged around for nearly an hour in the camp next to +hers. He dropped a stack of pans; he overturned a box of food; he +tripped over a tent line. She wondered if he were drunk. Had their +quarreling driven him to that? Walt must have loved her, then. + +After a time all the Coleman lanterns in the camp were out. Still +Bertha Kent did not sleep. The acid grief and bitterness tormented +her with the ghost of another failure, another shattered dream. She +listened to the soft music of the flowing stream, the gentle whisper of +summer wind in the pines, but it gave her no peace. + +Suddenly she heard quiet footsteps and the crackling of twigs behind +her tent. She was terrified. It must be Walt. If he had come home +drunk, he could have planned almost any kind of violence by way of +revenge. + +The footsteps moved closer. Bertha shook off the paralysis of fear +and reached for her electric lantern. She flashed the beam into the +darkness. She saw the black bulk of a bear who was pawing through her +food box. + +She was so relieved she forgot that a bear might also be a legitimate +cause of fear. She ran from the tent, swinging the light and shooing +the animal away as she would have chased a puppy. The bear swung +toward her, roaring and clawing at the air. She backed away. The bear +swung its paws again, and her food box shattered on the ground, in a +crescendo of sound. + +Bertha heard rapid footsteps under the pines. In the pale moonlight she +saw Walt. He was wearing only a pair of red-striped boxer shorts. He +was swinging his arms and shouting, but the noise of the falling box +had already frightened the bear away. + +Walt stood in the moonlight, smiling foolishly. + +"I guess I came too late," he said. + +"I'm quite sure the bear would have left of its own accord, Walt. +They're always quite tame in the national parks, you know." As soon +as she said it, she knew it was a mistake. Even though he had done +nothing, it would have cost her little to thank him. The words had come +instinctively; she hadn't thought how her answer would affect him. Walt +turned on his heel stiffly and walked back to his tent. + +With a little forethought--a little kindness--Bertha might even then +have rescued her miracle. She knew that. She knew she had lost him now, +for good. For the first time in her life she saw the dream as a barrier +to her happiness, not an ideal. It held her imprisoned; it gave her +nothing in exchange. + +She slept fitfully for the rest of the night. As soon as the sun was +up, she pulled on her woolen robe and went to the dressing room to +wash. She walked back along the gravel path, averting her eyes from +the other camps and the men hunched over the smoking breakfast fires. +She hated Yosemite. She hated all the people crowded around her. She +had made up her mind to pack her tent and head for home. This was just +another vacation lost, another year wasted. + +She went into her tent and put on slacks and a bright, cotton blouse. +Then she sat disconsolate at her camp table surveying the mess the bear +had made of her food box. There was nothing that she could rescue. She +could drive to the village for breakfast, but the shops wouldn't open +for another hour. + +Behind her she heard Walt starting his Coleman stove. Yesterday he +would have offered her breakfast; now he'd ignored her. All along the +stream camp fires were blazing in the stone rings. Bertha wondered if +she could ask the couple on the other side of her campsite for help. +They had attempted to be friendly once before, and Bertha hadn't +responded with a great deal of cordiality. They weren't the type she +liked--a frizzy-headed, coarse-voiced blonde, and a paunchy old man who +hadn't enough sense to know what a fool he looked parading around camp +in the faded bathing trunks he wore all day. + +Suddenly a light flashed in Bertha's face. A metal shovel slid out of +nothingness and deposited a tiny, rectangular box on the table. For a +long minute she stared at the box stupidly, vaguely afraid. Her mind +must be playing her tricks. Such things didn't happen. + +She reached out timidly and touched the box. It seemed real enough. A +miniature radio of some sort, with a two-inch speaker. She turned the +dials. She heard a faint humming. + +The coarse-voiced blonde came toward the table. + +"We just heard what happened last night, Miss Kent," she said. "Me and +George. About the bear, I mean." + +Bertha forced a smile. "It made rather a shambles, didn't it?" + +"Gee, you can't make breakfast out of a mess like this. Why don't you +come and eat with us?" + +The blonde went on talking, apologizing for what she was serving and +at the same time listing it with a certain pride. Strangely, Miss Kent +heard not one voice, but two. The second came tinnily from the little +box on the table, + +"You poor, dried-up old maid. That guy who's been hanging around would +have been over long before this, if you knew the first thing about +being nice to a man." + +Bertha gasped. "Really, if that's the way you feel--" + +"Why, honey, I just asked you over for breakfast," the blonde answered; +at the same time the voice from the machine said, + +"I suppose George and me ain't good enough for you. O.K. by me, sister. +I didn't really want you to come anyway." + +Trembling, Miss Kent stood up. "I've never been so insulted!" + +"What's eating you, Miss Kent?" The blonde seemed genuinely puzzled, +but again the voice came from the plastic box, + +"The old maid's off her rocker. You'd think she was reading my mind." + +Switching her trim little hips, the blonde walked back to her own camp. +Bertha Kent dropped numbly on the bench, staring at the ugly box. +"Reading my mind," the woman had said. Somehow the machine had done +precisely that, translating the blonde's spoken words into the real, +emotional meaning behind them. It was a terrifying gadget. Bertha was +hypnotized by its potential horror--like the brutal, devastating truth +spoken by a child. + +A camper walked past on the road, waving at Miss Kent and calling out +a cheerful good morning. But again the machine read the real meaning +behind the pleasant words. + +"So you've finally lost your man, Miss Kent. The way you dished out the +orders, it's a wonder he stayed around as long as he did. And a pity: +you're an attractive woman. You should make some man a good wife." + +They all thought that. The whole camp had been watching her, laughing +at her. Bertha felt helpless and alone. She needed--wanted--someone +else; it surprised her when she faced that fact. + +Then it dawned on her: the camper was right; the blonde was right. She +had lost Walt through her own ridiculous bull-headedness. In order to +assert herself. To be an individualist, she had always thought. And +what did that matter, if it imposed this crushing loneliness? + +For a moment a kind of madness seized her. It was the diabolical +machine that was tormenting her, not the truth it told. She snatched a +piece of her broken food box and struck at the plastic case blindly. +There was a splash of fire; the gadget broke. + +She saw Walt look up from his stove. She saw him move toward her. But +she stood paralyzed by a shattering trauma of pain. The voice still +came from the speaker, and this time it was her own. Her mind was +stripped naked; she saw herself whole, unsheltered by the protective +veneer of rationalization. + +And she knew the pattern of the dream-man she had loved since her +childhood; she knew why the dream had been self-defeating. + +For the idealization was her own father. That impossible paragon +created by the worship of a child. + +The shock was its own cure. She was too well-balanced to accept the +tempting escape of total disorientation. Grimly she fought back the +tide of madness, and in that moment she found maturity. She ran toward +Walt, tears of gratitude in her eyes. She felt his arms around her, and +she clung to him desperately. + +"I was terrified; I needed you, Walt; I never want to be alone again." + +"Needed me?" he repeated doubtfully. + +"I love you." After a split-second's hesitation, she felt his lips warm +on hers. + +From the corner of her eye she saw a chute dart out of nowhere and +scoop up the broken plastic box from the camp table. They both vanished +again. That was a miracle, too, she supposed; but not nearly as +important as hers. + +Then the reason of a logical mind asserted its own form of realism: +of course, none of it had happened. The mind-reading gadget had been +a device created in her own subconscious, a psychological trick to +by-pass the dream that had held her imprisoned. She knew enough +psychology to understand that. + +She ran her fingers through Walt's dark hair and repeated softly, + +"I love you, Walt Gordon." + + * * * * * + +Was it an illusion? I believe that, Bill, because later on, when I +thought of using the grapple, I brought the Semantic-Translator back +from nowhere. Apparently the smaller gadget had been in the console or +behind it. I hadn't seen it when I searched, because my eyes had been +hurt by the glare of light. + +In the process the Translator somehow got twisted around, for the chute +dragged it back vertically through the coil of wire. It touched the +wall of the cylinder, and the whole machine exploded. + +It was impossible to save anything from the wreckage. But as a +physicist I assure you, Bill, the transposition of matter into light +is, in terms of our present science, a physical impossibility. It is +certainly not the sort of invention that could have been produced by a +senile old man, pottering around in a home laboratory. The only thing I +regret is that I had no opportunity to examine the Semantic-Translator, +but I'm sure it would have proved just as much nonsense. + +I'm going up to Yosemite tomorrow for a couple of weeks. If you want +any further details on the Price inventory, look me up at the office +when I come home. + +Yours, + +Walt Gordon + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Miracle by Price, by Irving E. Cox + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 58730 *** |