to that question … for reasons which will become apparent in due course.”
“Hey, that sounds kind of sinister. What are you trying to tell us, Karl?”
“Oh, nothing to be alarmed about. Let’s just say that I would not wish to lay
myself open to charges of indiscretion by the authorities. As I say, the reason
will soon become clear. There really is no need for alarm—caution, maybe, but
not alarm.”
“Now, I wonder what that could mean. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,
huh? I hope all you people back there are taking notes of this. Karl, another
thing I wanted to ask you concerns all the scientists and other specialists that
we’ve got with us on the ship. Do they worry you at all?”
“Certainly not. Why should they? Aren’t we all scientists in some way or
another?”
“Well, maybe, but it is a fact that a lot of people from the more, shall we say,
orthodox branches of science tend to express skepticism toward your particular
branch of—of exploration. Being shut up in a spaceship with so many unbelievers
doesn’t bother you?”
“Facts are not changed by the intensity of human beliefs or the number of people
who hold them,” Zambendorf replied. He was about to say something more when the
production assistant off-camera nodded to someone behind a door situated to one
side, and beckoned. Moments later, Gerold Massey appeared. Zambendorf jerked his
head round sharply and gave Connel a puzzled look. Massey and Zambendorf had so
far tended to avoid a direct confrontation, confining their acknowledgment of
each other’s presence to stiff nods exchanged in passing or from a distance.
Connel had set up the surprise on direct instructions from Patrick Whittaker at
GCN headquarters. “Karl, people are always trying to spring things on you,
aren’t they,” he said amiably. “I have taken the liberty of asking one of those
skeptics to join us because I’m told he has a challenge that he’d like to put to
you himself. I’m sure the viewers would all like to hear it too.” Before
Zambendorf could answer, the assistant ushered Massey forward, and Connel
brought him on-camera with a gesture. “Folks, I’d like to introduce Gerry
Massey. Now, Gerry is one of the psychologists with us here on the Orion, but in
addition to that he’s also a pretty good stage conjuror, I’m told. Is that
right, Gerry?”
“It is an area of interest of mine,” Massey replied as he moved forward to join
them.
“And you’re not a believer in the existence of forces or powers beyond those
that are familiar to orthodox science,” Connel said. “In particular, you claim
you can reproduce any effect by ordinary stage magic, which Karl attributes to
paranormal abilities. Is that so, Gerry?”
Massey took a long breath. To say all the things he’d have liked to say would
have taken hours. “That is correct. For a long time now I have been attempting
to persuade Herr Zambendorf to agree to demonstrate his alleged powers under
conditions which I am able to specify and control. That, after all, is no more
than would be expected in any other branch of science. But he has persistently
evaded giving a direct answer. My suggestion is quite simply that the voyage
ahead of us, and the period we will be spending on Mars, offer an ideal
opportunity and ample time for this to be settled once and for all. I have a
schedule of some initial tests with me right now, but I’m open to further
suggestions.”
Connel turned and looked at Zambendorf questioningly. Although he maintained his
outward calm, inside Zambendorf was thinking frantically. He should have guessed
Massey would do something like this, should have watched him more closely. The
team had been too busy, with too little time. “Oh, we’ve heard this kind of
thing before,” he replied without hesitation. “Just because a stage magician can
duplicate an effect, it doesn’t prove at all that what’s being imitated was
achieved in the same way. After all, I’m sure Mr. Massey can produce a rabbit
from a hat very convincingly, but he could hardly argue on that basis that all