Coburn looked baffled. Bierce continued, “There is really nothing startling about it. The mind and will have always the possibility of complete domination over the body. Our operator simply directs your will to master its body. The technique is simple; you may learn it, if you wish. I assure you that to learn it is easier than to explain it in our cumbersome and imperfect language. I spoke of mind and will as if they were separate. Language forced me to that ridiculous misstatement. There is neither mind, nor will, as entities; there is only—” His voice stopped. Ben felt a blow within his mind like the shock of a sixteen inch rifle, yet it was painless and gentle. What ever it was, it was as alive as a hummingbird, or a struggling kitten, yet it was calm and untroubled.
He saw Joan nodding her head in agreement, her eyes on Bierce.
Bierce went on in his gentle, resonant voice. “Was there any other matter troubling any one of you?”
“Why, yes, Mr. Bierce,” replied Joan, “several things. What is this place where we are?”
“It is my home, and the home of several of my friends. You will understand more about us as you become better acquainted with us.”
“Thank you. It is difficult for me to understand how such a community could exist on this mountain-top without its being a matter of common knowledge.”
“We have taken certain precautions, ma’am, to avoid notoriety. Our reasons, and the precautions they inspired will become evident to you.”
“One more question; this is rather personal; you may ignore it if you like. Are you the Ambrose Bierce who disappeared a good many years ago?”
“I am. I first came up here in 1880 in search of a cure for asthma. I retired here in 1914 because I wished to avoid direct contact with the tragic world events which I saw coming and was powerless to stop.” He spoke with some reluctance, as if the subject were distasteful, and turned the conversation.
“Perhaps you would like to meet some of my friends now?”
The apartments extended for a hundred yards along the face of the mountain and for unmeasured distances into the mountain. The thirty-odd persons in residence were far from crowded; there were many rooms not in use. In the course of the morning Bierce introduced them to most of the inhabitants.
They seemed to be of all sorts and ages and of several nationalities. Most of them were occupied in one way, or another, usually with some form of research, or with creative art. At least Bierce assured them in several cases that research was in progress—cases in which no apparatus, no recording device, nothing was evident to indicate scientific research.
Once they were introduced to a group of three, two women and a man, who were surrounded by the physical evidence of their work—biological research. But the circumstances were still confusing; two of the trio sat quietly by, doing nothing, while the third labored at a bench..Bierce explained that they were doing some delicate experiments in the possibility of activating artificial colloids. Ben inquired, “Are the other two observing the work?” Bierce shook his head. “Oh, no. They are all three engaged actively in the work, but at this particular stage they find it expedient to let three brains in rapport direct one set of hands.”
Rapport, it developed, was the usual method of collaboration. Bierce had led them into a room occupied by six persons. One or two of them looked up and nodded, but did not speak.
Bierce motioned for the three to come away. “They were engaged in a particularly difficult piece of reconstruction; it would not be polite to disturb them.”
“But Mr. Bierce,” Phil commented, “two of them were playing chess.”
“Yes. They did not need that part of their brains, so they left it out of rapport. Nevertheless they were very busy.”
It was easier to see what the creative artists were doing. In two instances, however, their methods were startling. Bierce had taken them to the studio of a little gnome of a man, a painter in oil, who was introduced simply as Charles. He seemed glad to see them and chatted vivaciously, without ceasing his work. He was doing, with meticulous realism but with a highly romantic effect, a study of a young girl dancing, a wood nymph, against a pine forest background.