‘The highly-refined light I have just described is able to conjugate with, and be a carrier for, consciousness.’
Jasperodus spoke admiringly. ‘Conjugation apart, this modulation you have accomplished is a technical miracle.’
‘It is the least of what we have done.’
‘You moved the cylinder,’ Jasperodus observed. ‘Is that not to risk deterioration of the beam?’
‘No; the schematic is tolerant of small accelerations—the container can be handled. Some deterioration does occur because the beam is reflected from mirrors, near-perfect though these are. Serious degradation will begin after a period of about one year, so that is the maximum period of storage.
‘The beam, incidentally, is exactly one imperial foot in length, as measured by an observer at relative rest. More interesting, perhaps, is that for the sake of stability we took special steps to ensure that it is perfectly paralleclass="underline" it will never diverge from its vector of its own accord. The reflecting mirrors are absolutely flat, not slightly parabolic as would have to be the case for an ordinary laser beam.’
‘It will never spread?’
‘Never. It is a perfect rod of light, conscious of itself. If released into the endless void, it would speed on its way forever, never deteriorating. There is poetry in that thought.’
‘A rod of conscious light,’ Jasperodus repeated softly. ‘Gargan, you have triumphed. You have accomplished the impossible.’
‘Or we shall, when the final operation is executed.’
‘Yes. You have not yet carried out the infusion process.’
Gargan swivelled his head briefly to the ranked glass globes. ‘A whole new set of difficulties arises there, Jasperodus! But all have been overcome, and yonder is the requisite instrument. You can guess for yourself where the main difficulty lay. To draw consciousness out of a brain, we attract it to a higher potential. To do the reverse, we are trying to pass it from a higher potential to a lower, which is against the general law of nature. When this situation is met with in more mundane technology a pump of some kind is employed, but if consciousness could be pumped how much simpler our task would have been!
‘We have outflanked the difficulty with a subterfuge. We set up a terminal of even higher potential yet—no mean feat, I assure you. The target brain is interposed in the current created between this and the containment vessel, which is used now as the negative terminal. In the instant that consciousness is transferred, both terminals are abruptly, totally, absolutely disconnected. The stuff of consciousness is stranded, left without residence. A proportion of it, rather than dissipate is attracted to the target brain and settles there. The timing of the disconnection, which must occupy an interval of less than one picosecond, is troublesome. This is, of course, the merest sketch of the operation.’
‘Can one speak of quantity in relation to consciousness? Of intensity…?’
‘One can, though as it is not material, all quantitative descriptions are both inaccurate and interchangeable.’
‘And how much have you collected…?’ Jasperodus asked, eyeing the cylinder.
‘In the retort is sufficient to illuminate five human brains at full strength,’ Gargan told him.
‘Why… at one-twentieth efficiency, that means you must have exhausted one hundred!’
Jasperodus mulled over the figure, then in an attempt to hide his involuntary horror, he asked: ‘What is the efficiency of infusion?’
‘Due to that ratio, we are finding it difficult to obtain a sufficient number of donors, isolated as we are,’ Gargan responded. ‘Something must be done soon to arrange a regular supply. As for infusion, paradoxically it is more efficient. Loss should not be more than fifty percent. With the content of this retort, then, I can acquire a soul two to three times stronger than a human soul. There is no reason for us to restrict ourselves to a human intensity of consciousness; we shall all be greater than they.
‘Jasperodus, perhaps you would care to see some of the beam schematic.’ Jasperodus realized that Gargan took pride in expounding the project to him. He stepped to the third item in the compartment: an oblong, walnut-panelled piece of furniture with a polished top. He touched the top: it immediately became a limpid viewscreen.
Against an inky background, a glowing red beam became visible, for all the world like a ruby rod. The beam expanded, selecting a small section of itself which in turn expanded, and expanded, until there emerged what looked like a gargantuan marshalling yard with millions of tracks and billions of locomotives. They were seeing the wave tracks of the beam, plan style.
Gargan began to describe how the pattern had been designed. He seemed to take pleasure in the exposition. But after a few minutes he was interrupted by the entry of Gasha.
Olfactory proboscis bobbing, Gasha carried in one hand an object which Jasperodus recognised as the transmitter Igor had secretly been carrying. ‘Master, I took the precaution of examining the Borgor robot internally,’ he said to Gargan. ‘I found this transmitting device.’
He offered the article to the cult leader who turned it over in his hands. Torn welding marks on one side showed where it had been ripped away from Igor’s body-shell. ‘It transmits an identifying signal at timed intervals, but nothing else,’ Gasha continued. ‘It is a tracing device. It has its own power source and therefore could have been operating for several years.’
‘It is very crude. See, here is a ring for setting the timings.’
‘It was due to make a transmission about now,’ Gasha said. ‘I have stopped the count.’
Gargan looked at Jasperodus. ‘What comment do you have?’
‘Very likely the Borgors put such a device in their robots so they can find them if they wander off,’ Jasperodus suggested mildly. ‘They don’t like footloose constructs.’
‘Alternatively, perhaps the Borgors are trying to locate our establishment,’ Gasha countered. Again, he was addressing Gargan. ‘Perhaps the construct never was in Gordona.’
‘That would require the collusion of Jasperodus.’
‘Something is amiss,’ Gasha insisted. ‘I both feel it and calculate it. The probability that there is danger to ourselves has increased. We must take probabilities into account. To be safe, we should plan our relocation.’
Jasperodus noted how theoretical, how elliptical, Gasha’s argument was—yet how correct. Gargan paused before replying.
‘The probability that Jasperodus is involved in treachery must be reckoned vanishingly small, knowing what we do of his history,’ he decided. ‘Still, a construct with a secret transmitter in our midst is disconcerting. Even if in all innocence, he could have sent out a signal while in our vicinity which could cause an unfriendly power to investigate. Since to relocate all our apparatus will delay our activities considerably, we shall complete our current programme first. The first infusion is scheduled for twenty-one days hence—this is too far ahead for safety. We shall advance the programme. Call the others here. The infusion will take place today.’