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Ebook has 581 lines and 22230 words, and 12 pages

THE CATSPAW

BY GEORGE O. SMITH

Illustrated by Orban

Thomas Barden slept fitfully. The dream was not nightmare, but it was annoying. It was like the important thought that does not quite struggle up through into consciousness but which remains unformed though the mind is aware of the hidden importance. It was like trying to read small print through a silk screen or to see fine detail through a sheet of florentine glass.

Furthermore it was recurring.

Strangely, Tom Barden seemed to know that there was something strange about the dream, that it was more than just the ramblings of the subconscious mind. He knew that there was something to be gained by permitting the dream to run while he watched, so to speak. But the trouble was that the dream could not run so long as he remained cognizant enough in sleep to make mental notes. When he slept deep enough to permit the strange dream, he was deep enough to lose track of the delicate, and so very alien, train of thought.

The fitful sleep itself was a contributing factor to ultimate success. Since he slept not, he became drowsily tired and found himself lying wide awake time and again with strange semi-daydreams in which conscious thought and dream intermingled in a bizarre fantasy of fact and fiction.

He had been asleep or awake for hours. It was nearing four o'clock in the morning when Tom Barden slipped into a prolonged half-sleep and the dream, as it had before, came again.

He slipped into sleep and in dream, he saw himself luxuriously lounging on a broad couch. Above his head was a draped canopy of silk, its draped folds hanging low in a gorgeous pattern of silken folds. It was gently tinted in delicate colors that blended in a complete lack of regular pattern. It seemed more beautiful for lacking pattern than it could have been with any regularity.

It was none-ending, that canopy. From the draped dome above his couch the silken cyclorama fell in a colorful swirl to the floor where it folded over and over somewhere miles below the couch.

He--was isolated. He was protected. No intrusion could come even though Thomas Barden wanted the intrusion. Certainly if he denied entry, nothing could enter.

And yet he knew that beyond the many layers of flowing silk there was something demanding entry. He could not see nor hear the would-be intruder. He could not even see motion of the silk to show that there was such a being. Yet he seemed to sense it.

And when, finally, the intruder breached the outer layers of shrouding silk, Tom Barden knew it and was glad. Course after course of silken screen was opened by the intruder until finally the silk parted before his eyes and there entered--

Sentience!

It was without form and void.

But it was sentience and it was there for a definite purpose. It came and it hovered over Thomas Barden's broad couch and its thoughts were apparent. It was in communication with another sentience outside--

"I am in."

"Good," was the mental reply, also clear to Thomas Barden. It was not a direct communication from the other. It came relayed through the sentience above his bed, and since he was in direct mental communication with the other, thought and reply were clear also to Barden. "Good," replied the other. "Be quick and be thorough. We may never return!"

"You, sentience, listen for we have too little time. Those of your system are numbered in the billions, and, of them all, you are the only one we have been able to contact though we have tried constantly for several years.

"As I communicate with you, your subconscious mind is being filled with a specialized knowledge of a science new to you. This science is not foreign to you, for it would normally follow the paths of discovery, yet you are not quite ready to discover it for yourselves. We give it to you, knowing that it will only speed up your advancement and it will not cause a passed-over space in the normal trend of advancing technology."

"Why are you giving this to us?" demanded Barden.

"A natural caution. You fear the complete altruist. I'll explain. This science will enable you to develop your spacecraft drive into a means of interstellar travel. This science is known to us. We are using it now. However, there is a political difficulty on our world. We have two factions. One faction wants conquest and subjugation of all systems that are less fortunate in their sociological and technological development. The other faction believes that any kind of subjugation of another people will lead to war upon war in pyramiding terror. I and my friends are members of this second belief. Since the first group has control, they are preparing to sweep out from our system with their ideal in force. The only way that subjugation of your race, complete with the attending strife, may be stopped is for you to have the same technological developments. Once you meet us as an equal, thoughts of enslaving you can not exist."

"Logical," admitted Barden.

"This science is entering your subconscious mind. It will not be clear to you for many days. I'd suggest rest and contemplation, but not heavy concentration. Learning is a matter of accepting facts and filing them logically in the subconscious mind. Unlike a course of study where fact follows fact, this knowledge is being poured in at high speed. Your subconscious mind is very much like a librarian who has just received a complete file of facts on a new world. Unfortunately these facts must be evaluated in terms of your own world and your own thought. After evaluation, they must be filed in the proper order. The subconscious never sleeps, but it will take time before the logical order is complete. At that time you will be able to speak with authority on the subject."

"I hope," replied Barden.

"You must! For we have had enough of war and talk of war. War is never fought between peoples who respect one another's ability. Take this knowledge and use it. And some day when you get the honest chance, pass it along to another race so that all men can be equal throughout the galaxy!"

The outsider made swift thought: "Quickly, for the veil thickens!"

"I must go. It would be dangerous for us both if I am trapped here when the veil closes. Just remember the billions of your men and the constant attempt to penetrate the mind of any one of them. Even this was sheer chance and it is failing--"

The sentience withdrew after a warning cry from the one on the outside. The silken screen closed, joined, and flowed to the floor without scar.

Barden was once more alone, protected, isolated.

Three weeks. It took Barden three long weeks. He awoke after the initial contact with the alien, and following the alien's advice, considered the matter coolly. It might be true and it might be a dream, but the fitfulness of his nature was gone. Barden then turned over and entered the sleep of the just for nine hours. After this awakening, he contemplated the dream and found it true.

Amazement at the accomplished fact was high, but the flood of knowledge occupied Barden's attention. Things kept coming up out of the dark in his mind that made little sense; other things were clear and sharp and Barden wondered whether these had ever been tried on Terra. They seemed so logical. Then as the days passed, these disconnected facts began to match together. The matrix of knowledge became less broken as the days went by, and--

At the end of three weeks, the sentience was proven correct. Thomas Barden knew, and he knew that he knew the last detail of a new science.

His only problem was getting this science into operation before the alien world could come--

He was all alone in this. No one on earth would believe his wild tale. They'd lay it to a nightmare and offer him medical advice. If he persisted, Thomas Barden would be writing his equations on the walls of a padded cell with a blunt crayon when the alien horde came.

And to walk into the Solar Space Laboratory and tell them he had a means of interstellar travel, complete with facts and figures would get him the same reception as the Brothers Wright, Fulton, and a horde of others. He would be politely shown the door and asked to go away and not bother them with wildness.

If he had time, he could declare the discovery of a phenomenon and offer it to the scientific world. Then step by step he could lead them all in the final disclosures, or even after a few discoveries had been turned over, he could act the part of a genius and force their hands by making great strides. He had too little time.

If he were wealthy, he could set up his own laboratory and gain recognition by proof. To go to work for another laboratory would mean that he would be forced to do work that he felt unimportant for sufficient a period to gain the confidence of his superiors. To be his own boss in his own laboratory would mean that he would not be required to follow other lines of research; he could do things that would seem downright idiotic to those uninformed of the new science. That plus the fact that not one of the large laboratories would care to spend a small fortune on the cold predictions of a young unknown.

Thomas Barden wondered just how many men had found themselves hating the everlasting Time and Money factors before. A fine future!

Barden pondered the problem for almost a week. That made a total of four weeks since the incident.

Then came a partial solution. He was an associate member of the Terran Physical Society. He could prepare a paper, purely theoretical in nature, and disclosing the basis for the new science. It would be treated with skepticism by most of the group, and such a wild-eyed idea might even get him scorn.

Yet this was no time to think of Thomas Barden and what happened to him. This was time to do something bold. For all the men of science who would hear of his theory, a few of them might try. If they tried one experiment, they would be convinced. Once convinced, he would be given credit.

The paper could not be very long. A long paper would be thrown out for divers reasons. A very short, terse paper might get by because it would show the logical development of thought. The reviewing members might think it sheer sophistry, but might allow it if for no other reason than to show how sophistic reasoning could build up a complete technology.

Barden began to make notes. A five-minute paper, packed with explosive details. He selected this fact and that experiment, chosen for their simplicity and their importance, and began to set them down.

His paper was ten pages long, filled with complex equations and terse statements of the results of suggested experiments. He sent it in to the reviewing board and then returned to his studies. For he would have to wait again.

Barden believed that the alien was cognizant of the difficulties of introducing a new science to a skeptical world--especially when done by an unknown. Perhaps if the famed Dr. Edith Ward had received the science, a word from her would have sent the men of all Terra, Venus and Mars scurrying to make their own experiments. Of course, Dr. Ward was head of the Solar Space Laboratory and could write high-priority orders for anything short of complete utilization of Luna. She would not require disclosure to have her theories recognized.

Tom Barden wished that she were a member of the reviewing board, for then she might be directly interested. But he noted with some satisfaction that the Laboratory was represented. He faced the chairman confidently, though within him he was praying for a break.

"Mr. Barden," said the chairman, "you are not familiar with us. Introductions are in order. From left to right, are Doctors Murdoch, Harrison, and Jones. I am Edward Hansen, the chairman of this reviewing board. Gentlemen, this is Thomas Barden. You have read his brochure?"

There was a nod of assent.

"We have called you to ask a few questions," said the chairman.

"Gladly," said Barden. At least they were considering it. And so long as it was receiving consideration, it was far better than a complete rejection.

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