Ivo finally turned away from the prob scene. “Same thing happen to them?”
“Yes. They never solved the problem.”
“What is it — a death-beam that still has punch after ten or fifteen thousand years? Talk about comic books—”
“Yes and no. Our safeguards prevent the relay of any physically dangerous transmission — the computer is interposed, remember — but they can’t protect our minds from dangerous information.”
“I should hope not! The day we have thought control—”
“Forget the straw men, Ivo. We do have drug-induced thought control, and have for years. But this — five of the true geniuses of Earth are imbeciles, because of the macroscope. Something came through — some type of information — that destroyed their minds.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t something internal? Overwork, nervous breakdown…?”
“We are sure. The EEG’s — I’d better explain that—”
“You simplified things for me with that pepped-up rocket you call Joseph. You simplified them again describing the macroscope. It’s like income-tax forms: I don’t think I can take another explanation.”
“All right, Ivo. I’ll leave the EEG’s out of it. Just take my word that though we haven’t performed any surgery, we know that this alien signal caused a mental degeneration involving physical damage to the brain. All this through concept alone. We know the hard way: there are certain thoughts an intelligent mind must not think.”
“But you don’t know the actual mechanism? Just that the beamed program — I mean, the radiated program — delivers stupefaction?”
“Roughly, yes. It is a progressive thing. You have to follow it step by step, like a lesson in calculus. Counting on fingers, arithmetic, general math, algebra, higher math, symbolic logic, and so on, in order. Otherwise you lose the thread. You have to assimilate the early portion of the series before you can attempt the rest, which makes it resemble an intelligence test. But it’s geared so that you can’t skip the opening; it always hits you in the proper sequence, no matter when you look. It’s a stiff examination; it seems to be beyond the range of anyone below what we term IQ one fifty, though we don’t know yet how much could be accomplished by intensive review. A group of workmen viewed it and said they didn’t go for such modernistic stuff. Our top men, on the other hand, were fascinated by it, and breezed through the entire sequence at a single sitting. Right up until the moment they — dropped off.”
“They can’t be cured?”
“We just don’t know. The brain of an intelligent man does not necessarily have more cells than that of a moron, any more than the muscle of a circus strongman has more than the ninety-seven pound specimen. It all depends on the competence of the cells that are there. The cells of the genius have many more synapses — more connections between cells. This concept from space seems to have introduced a disruptive factor that acts on those extra synapses. That puts it beyond stereotaxic surgery—” Anticipating Ivo’s renewed objection to the technical language, he broke off and came at it again. “Anyway, it is the expensive watch that gets hurt most by being dropped on concrete.”
“Ah, this cheap watch begins to tick. I might look at it and yawn, but if you—”
“I don’t think you’d better view it, Ivo.”
“Anyway, I admit it’s a pretty neat roadblock. If you’re dumb, you lose; if you’re smart, you become dumb.”
“Yes. The question is, what is it hiding? We have to know. Now that we’ve felt its effect, we can’t simply ignore it. If an elementary progression visually presented after being filtered through our own computer can do this, what other nasty surprises are in store? We can’t be certain the danger is confined to the programmed broadcast. There may be worse traps lurking elsewhere. That may be why the probs lost their nerve.”
“Worse than imposed idiocy?”
“Suppose someone came through it, but subtly warped — so that he felt the need to destroy the world. There are those at this station who very well might do it, given the proper imperative. Someone like Kovonov — he just may be more intelligent than I am, and he’s a lot more experienced. The scope could provide him with exact information on military secrets, key personnel — or perhaps he could derive some incomprehensible weapon…”
“I finally begin to see your need for Schön.”
Brad removed the headpiece, blinked at Ivo, and nodded. “Will you — ?”
“Sorry, no.”
“You aren’t convinced? I can document everything I’ve told you. We have to have access to the information available from space, from this Type II source. We fear that mankind will not bring down its birthrate or reduce its population in any other disciplined fashion, or even make sane use of the world’s expiring resources. The problem is sociological, not physical, and no dictated solution we can presently conceive will overcome that barrier. We must go to the material and technology of the stars, before we begin — literally — eating ourselves. There is no salvation on Earth. The macroscope evidence — you’ve seen just some of it — is inarguable.”
Ivo remained recalcitrant. “All right — all right! I accept that, for the moment. I’m just not sure yet that the situation requires this measure.”
“I don’t see how else I can put it, Ivo. Schön is the only one I believe has a chance to handle it. We don’t dare tune in that band on the macroscope until we clear this up, and if any of it extends into the peripheral—”
“I didn’t say no-final. I said no-presently. I don’t have enough information, yet. I’d like to take a look at those casualties, for one thing. And the mind-blasting series. Then I’ll think about it.”
“The casualties, sure. The sequence, no.”
“I have a notion, Brad. How about letting me work it out my own way?”
Brad sighed, covering his frustration with banter. “You always did, junior. Stubbornest mortal I know. If you weren’t my only key to Schön—”
It was no insult. They both knew the reason for that stubbornness.
CHAPTER 2
Afra Summerfield was waiting for them at the torus airlock. She spoke to Brad as soon as his helmet came off: “Kovonov wants to see you right away.”
Brad turned immediately to Ivo. “That Russian doesn’t chat for the joy of it. There’s trouble already, probably political, probably American, or he wouldn’t ask for me. I have to run. You won’t object if I dump you on Afra?” He was out of his suit and moving away as he spoke.
Who was this Kovonov who compelled such alacrity?
Ivo looked at Afra, and found her as stunning as before. She was in a blue coverall, with a matching ribbon tying back her hair, the whole almost matching her bright eyes. The astonishing revelations in connection with the macroscope had diverted his mind from her for an hour, but now he was smitten with renewed force.
“Take your time!” he yelled magnanimously, but Brad was already in the elevator. Afra smiled fleetingly, showing a dimple and striking another chord upon his fancy.
Ivo did not believe in love at first sight, ridiculous as it was to remind himself of that now. He did not believe in coveting one’s neighbors things, either, but Afra overwhelmed him. It was a measure of Brad’s confidence in himself that he flaunted her so casually, heedless of her impact on other men.
“I suppose I’d better show you the common room,” she said. “He’ll look there first for us, when he’s free.”
The thought of accompanying her anywhere in any guise excited him. The imponderables of mankind’s future receded into the background as Afra preempted the foreground. For the moment, her person and her attention belonged to him, however casual the connection might be. There was pleasure merely in walking with such a beautiful girl, and he hoped the tour would be a long one.