Heinlein, Robert A – Expanded Universe

the race being like a vine of pink worms is true, you can’t tell birthdays because

the connection with the race is continuous at birth. Your electrical. conductor

reaches on back through the mother into a man’s remotest ancestors.”

Pinero beamed, “True, and clever, my friend. But you have pushed the analogy

too far. It is not done in the precise manner in which one measures the length of an

electrical conductor. In some ways it is more like measuring the length of a long

corridor by bouncing an echo off the far end. At birth there is a sort of twist in

the corridor, and, by proper calibration, I can detect the echo from that twist.

There is just one case in which I can get no determinant reading; when a woman is

actually carrying a child, I can’t sort out her life-line from that of the unborn

infant.”

“Let’s see you prove it.”

“Certainly, my dear friend. Will you be a subject?”

One of the others spoke up. “He’s called your bluff, Luke. Put up, or shut

up.”

“I’m game. What do I do?”

“First write the date of your birth on a sheet of paper, and hand it to one

of your colleagues.”

Luke complied. “Now what?”

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“Remove your outer clothing and step upon these scales. Now tell me, were

you ever very much thinner, or very much fatter, than you are now. No? What did you

weigh at birth? Ten pounds? A fine bouncing baby boy. They don’t come so big any

more.”

“What is all this flubdubbery?”

“I am trying to approximate the average cross-section of our long pink

conductor, my dear Luke. Now will you seat yourself here. Then place this electrode

in your mouth. No, it will not hurt you; the voltage is quite low, less than one

micro-volt, but I must have a good connection.” The doctor left him and went behind

his apparatus, where he lowered a hood over his head before touching his controls.

Some of the exposed dials came to life and a low humming came from the machine. It

stopped and the doctor popped out of his little hide-away.

“I get sometime in February, nineteen-twelve. Who has the piece of paper

with the date?”

It was produced and unfolded. The custodian read, “February 22nd, 1912.”

The stillness that followed was broken by a voice from the edge of the

little group. “Doe, can I have another drink?”

The tension relaxed, and several spoke at once, “Try it on me, doe.” “Me

first, doe, I’m an orphan and really want to know.” “How about it, doe. Give us all

a little loose play.”

He smilingly complied, ducking in and out of the hood like a gopher from its

hole. When they all had twin slips of paper to prove the doctor’s skill, Luke broke

a long silence.

“How about showing how you predict death, Pinero.”

“If you wish. Who will try it?”

No one answered. Several of them nudged Luke forward. “Go ahead, smart guy.

You asked for it.” He allowed himself to be seated in the chair. Pinero changed some

of the switches, then entered the hood. When the humming ceased, he came out,

rubbing his hands briskly together.

“Well, that’s all there is to see, boys. Got enough for a story?”

“Hey, what about the prediction? When does Luke get his ‘thirty’?”

Luke faced him. “Yes, how about it? What’s your answer?”

Pinero looked pained. “Gentlemen, I am surprised at you. I give that

information for a fee. Besides, it is a professional confidence. I never tell anyone

but the client who consults me.”

“I don’t mind. Go ahead and tell them.”

“I am very sorry. I really must refuse. I agreed only to show you how, not

to give the results.”

Luke ground the butt of his cigarette into the floor. “It’s a hoax, boys. He

probably looked up the age of every reporter in town just to be ready to pull this.

It won’t wash, Pinero.”

Pinero gazed at him sadly. “Are you married, my friend?”

“Do you have any one dependent on you? Any close relatives?”

“No. WHY, do you want to adopt me?”