“The trigger was your flat statement-axiomatic to you-that the atom exists in three
dimensions. Since that alleged fact can not be demonstrated, it probably is not true. If it
is not true, the reverse-the Occam’s-Razor explanation-would almost have to he that
space possesses at least four physical dimensions.”
“Hell’s . . . flaming . . , afterburners . . .” Deston breathed.
“Exactly. The fact that this theory-to my knowledge, at least-has never been propounded
seriously does not affect its validity. It explains every phenomena with which I am familiar
and conflicts with none.”
There was a long silence, which Deston broke. “Except one, maybe. According to that
theory, psionic ability would be the ability to perceive and to work in the fourth physical
dimension of space. Sometimes in time, too, maybe. But in that case, if anybody’s got it
why hasn’t everybody? Can you explain that?”
“Quite easily. Best, perhaps, by analogy. You’ll grant that to primitive man it was
axiomatic that the Earth was flat? Two-dimensional?”
“Granted.”
“That belief became untenable when it was proved conclusively that it was `round’. At
that point cosmology began. The Geocentric Theory was replaced by the Heliocentric.
Then the Galactic. Where are we now? We don’t know. Note, however, that with every
advance in science the estimated size of the physical universe has increased.”
“But what has that got to do with psionics?”
“I’m coming to that. While intelligence may not have increased very greatly over the
centuries, mental ability certainly has. My thought is that the process of evolution has
been, more and more frequently, activating certain hitherto-dormant portions of the brain;
specifically, those portions responsible for the so-called `supra-normal’ abilities.”
“Oh, brother! You really went out into the wild blue yonder after that one, professor.”
“By no means. It may very well be that not all lines of heredity carry any of the genes
necessary to form the required cells, even in the dormant state, and it is certain that
there is a wide variation in the number and type of those cells. But have you ever really
considered Lee Chaytor? Or George Wesley?”
“Just what everybody knows. They were empiricists -pure experimenters, like the early
workers with electricity. They kept on trying until something worked. The theory hasn’t all
been worked out yet, is all.”
” `Everybody knows’ something that, in all probability, simply is not true. I believed it
myself until just now; but now I’m almost sure that I know what the truth is. They both
were-they must have been-tremendously able psiontists. They did not publish the truth
because there was no symbology in which they could publish it. There still is no such
symbology. They concealed their supra-normal abilities throughout their lives because
they did not want to be laughed at-or worse.”
Deston thought for a minute. “That’s really a bolus . . . what can we-any or all of us-do
about it?”
“I’m not sure. Data insufficient-much more work must be done before that question can
be answered. As we said, Stella and I have learned much, but almost nothing compared
to what is yet to be learned. To that end-but it is long past bedtime. Shall all eight of us
meet after breakfast and learn from each other?”
“It’ll be a one-way street, professor,” Deston said, “but thanks a million for the
compliment, anyway. We shall indeed.”
The Adamses left the room and Carlyle Deston stared unseeingly at the doorway through
which they had passed.
And next morning after breakfast the four couples sat at a round table, holding hands in a
circle.
Very little can be said about what actually went on. It cannot be told in either words or
mathematics. There is no symbology except the esoteric jargon of the psiontist-as
meaningless to the non-psionic mind as the proverbial “The gostak distims the
doshes”-by the use of which such information can be transmitted.
Results, however, were enormous and startling; and it must be said here that not one of
the eight had any suspicion then that the Adams fusion had any help in doing what it did.
Andrew Adams’ mind was admittedly the greatest of its time; combining with its perfect
complement would enhance its power; everything that happened was strictly logical and
only to be expected.
The physical results of one phase of the investigation, that into teleportation, can be
described. Each pair of minds was different, of course. Each had abilities and powers
that the others lacked; some of which were fully developable in the others, some only
partially, some scarcely at all. Thus, when it came to the upper reaches of the Fourth
Nume, even Adams was shocked at the power and scope and control that flared up
instantly in the Trains’ minds as soon as the doors were opened.
“Ah,” Adams said, happily, “That explains why you would not start out without them.”
“And how!” Deston agreed; and it did.
It is also explained why Cecily had always been, in Bernice’s words, “such a sex-flaunting
power-house.” It accounted for Train’s years of frustration and bafflement. At long, long
last, they had found out what they were for.
“You two,” Adams said, “have, among other things, a power of teleportation that is
almost unbelievable. You could teleport, not merely yourselves, but this entire starship
and all its contents, to any destination you please.”
“They could, at that,” Deston marveled. “Go ahead and do it, so Bobby and I can see
how much of the technique we can learn.”
“I’m afraid to.” Cecily licked her lips. “Suppose we-I, my part of it, I mean-scatter our
atoms all over total space?”
“We won’t,” Train said. Although he had not known it before, he was in fact the stronger
of the two. “Give us a target, Babe. We’ll hit it to a gnat’s eyeball.”
“Gahreetia. GalMet Tower. Plumb with the flagpole. One thousand point zero feet from
the center of the ball to our center of gravity.”
“Roger.” The Trains stared into each other’s eyes and their muscles set momentarily.
“Check it for dex and line.”
Deston whistled. “One thousand point zero zero feet and plumb to a split blonde hair.
You win the mink-lined whatsits. Now back?”
“As we were, Sess,” Train said, and the starship disappeared from Galmetia’s
atmosphere, to reappear instantaneously at the exact point it would have occupied in
subspace if the trip had not been interrupted.
The meeting went on. There is no need to report any more of its results; in fact, nine
tenths of those results could not be reported even if there were room.
An hour or so after the meeting was over, Adams sat at his desk, thinking; staring
motionlessly at the sheet of paper upon which be had listed eighteen coincidences. He
knew, with all his mathematician’s mind, that coincidence had no place in reality; but
there they were.
Not merely one or two, but eighteen of them … which made the probability a virtually
absolute certainty.
There was an operator. The babies? Barbara? Of all the people he knew, they were . . .
but why should it be anyone he knew, or any given one or thing in this or any other
galaxy? There were no data. A mutant, hiding indetectably behind his own powers? An
attractive idea, but there was no basis whatever for any assumption at all . . . anything to
be both necessary and sufficient must of necessity be incomprehensible. Anything . . .
anywhere … anywhere….
At this point in his cogitations Barbara knocked on his door and came in, with her
mind-blocks full on. He knew what was on her mind; he had perceived it plainly during the
wide-open eight-way they had just held. Nevertheless:
“Something is troubling you, my dear?”
“Yes.” Barbara nibbled at her lip. “. . . it’s just . . . well, are you positively sure, Uncle
Andy, that the babies are … well . . .” She paused, wriggling in embarrassment.
“Normal? Of course I’m sure, child. Positive. I have a file four inches thick to prove it.
Have you any grounds at all for suspecting that they may not be?”
“Put that way, no, I haven’t. It’s just that . . . well, once in a while I get a . . . a feeling . .
. Indescribable . . .” she paused again.
“It is possible that there is an operator at work,” he said, quietly. The girl’s eyes
widened, but she didn’t say anything and he went on, “However, I can find no basis
whatever for any assumption concerning such a phenomenon. It is much more logical,
therefore, to assume that these new and inexplicable ‘feelings’ are in fact products of our
newly enlarged minds, which we do not as yet fully understand.”
“Oh?” she exclaimed. “You have them, too? You’ve been working on it? Watching it?”
“I have been and am working on it.”
“Oh, wonderful! If there’s anything to it, then, you’ll get it!” She hugged him vigorously,