Part 2

And through his mind there passed a vision that made him swallow. Elaine--dressed in a simple frock of printed silk, garnished from the top of her beautifully coiffed hair to the bottoms of her exquisitely shod feet in an awful mixture of used crankcase oil and a tar-asphaltum--

In vain he tried to cross the twenty feet that separated him from the girl. In vain he tried to get there, to snatch that devilish box from her hand, to grab it and hurl it far enough away so that the effect wouldn't even cause a bad splash.

The idea of seeing her all gooed up. That made him shout hoarsely.

It shouldn't happen to a dog--

And then it hit him. He was fully fifteen feet from the girl and her little instrument. A half-hour's observational time went into milliseconds in Thomas Lionel's mind as he watched the open drum of asphaltum compound rise out of the open top in a parabolic arc. It arched high, just missing the ceiling, and passing in an ogee curve to miss a stanchion. Forward it came, to curve downward upon his own bare head.

Simultaneously, he was drenched from behind by the arching column of oil from the vat behind him.

In twin, converging arches, Thomas was inundated and thoroughly soaked from head to toe with a whirling mixture of oil and tar.

He cleared his eyes with squeegeeing fingers. Elaine, holding in her laughter with effort, showed him the box.

Above the button it said:

BE AN EPICENTER!

Control that mysterious power. Exert the forces of hidden nature in your behalf!

PRESS HERE!

"He's found it," croaked Thomas. "He's found it!"

"And you're a mess."

"That I am," said Thomas shaking off some of the gluck that was trickling down his arm. "That I am."

"Don't you mind?"

"I have my own revenge. My own, particular means of revenge. I'm sorry, Elaine. I must now leave you. The engineer has had his fun--now, my sweet, he may have the compensating task of cleaning up!"

Thomas turned and found the little tungsten box with its label: BE AN ENGINEER! and pressed the button.

* * * * *

Tom Lionel, Consulting Engineer, removed his finger from the button, and turned to see Elaine.

"Was it funny?" he asked.

"Very much so," she laughed.

"Who pushed it?"

"I did."

"Too bad. I'd rather he got it by his own machinations."

"He tried to stop me--"

"Uh-huh. Maybe it's better the way it is," Tom laughed in spite of the load of uncomfort he was carrying. He wiped some of the oil and tar mixture from his face and continued. "The instantaneous feeling of horror at the idea of seeing you glucked over with this mess must have given him some shock. No doubt he thought that whatever would happen would happen to the holder of the epicenter locator."

"Now what are you going to do?"

"Me?"

"Yes. You're going to clean up, aren't you?"

"Not me."

"How are you going to ... to--?"

"Cause his return?"

"Yes."

Tom considered. "I guess I'm licked. He'll just use this box of his."

"Can't you undo it?"

"Nope. It's just too tough. I'd go to work on the insides with acid if I could get inside of it. The outside is possible, but I haven't enough acid to react with the whole darned box. But I'm going to get something. Well, I'm going inside and take myself a shower. Wait--I'll be back."

* * * * *

An hour later, Tom Lionel emerged from the bathroom. Frank, the houseboy went in with a humorous shake of the head. He'd seen the embryonic mess and knew what there was to do.

"Now what?" asked Elaine.

"Well, you see, the thing is slightly out of hand," exclaimed Tom. "I started this thing because my physicist friend got out of line and shot the entire bankroll on a pile of scientific flapdoodle." He took a cigarette case from his pocket that glinted and iridesced as he opened it. "I've been able to use nearly everything," he grinned, "including the ruling engine," he waved the grating-ruled cigarette case at the girl. "Marten shelled out about ten thousand bucks for the secret of the finish on this case. He's ruling jewelry now and it is the largest thing since the discovery of diamond-faceting. I'm also getting a five percent royalty on every grating-ruled piece that's made. It ain't hay.

"Anyway, it backfired on me because I presented him with something that offered him, not frustration, but instead, he proceeded to make something of it that no sensible engineer could ignore. And," he continued ruefully, "it did two more drastic things. One, it made his continued influence necessary. There are too many things that he knows to dispense with his type of thinking. Number two, my success in reducing his discoveries to practice has resulted in the generation of a good income. That has been the basis of our argument. He's impractical to the extreme, but as long as the body is fed, both materially and intellectually, so what? So instead of finding myself the winner, I'm actually fighting for my own existence." Tom went bitter. "A fine thing. To be forced to fight for one's existence because of factors that emanate from his own success."

Elaine put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't be bitter," she said softly. "I ... I'll miss you--"

"Oh, don't worry," he told her in a strained voice. "I don't intend to give up." He cradled her face between his hands and looked her straight in the eyes. "If, as, and when, I--though the concept is purely hypothetical--might possibly lose--mind, I have no intention of losing since I intend to win unconditionally and maintaining the present status is intolerable--the other guy will have been in such a mad battle that he'll be forced into accepting some practical tenets as a factor. Then he'll be more like me."

"This may hurt," she said seriously, "but you are not as different as you might think."

"He hates the thought of practicality."

"And yet," said Elaine, "if all were engineers who would take time to seek out the little-known facts?"

"And," snorted Tom, "if all were physicists, we would still be hanging from trees, tossing coconuts at one another whilst a few bright dawn-men were contemplating the possibilities of using fire--but, of course, doing nothing about it. After all, once the physicist has considered all the angles, he's through. He doesn't give a howling hoot whether what he's considered is practical--after all, it _is_ interesting and that's all he cares about."

"But--"

"Since the physicist's thinking is actually based upon past proof--made by practical engineers--the contemplation of fire would be as far as they'd get. For there would be no engineer to ever use it to show its practical possibilities! That's based on my horribly hypothetical world where all were physicists and none were engineers."

"Who invented the bow and arrow?" asked Elaine.

"Ab, Ug, or Unguh. He, she, or it was an experimenter. Y'see, Elaine, at one time there were neither engineers nor physicists. Alexander Graham Bell was not--in our present day sense--a physicist nor was Morse, or Edison or Lodge. Nor were they engineers. Somewhere since then the line has been divided. In them days they were basement geniuses. But now," he said bitterly, "there is one set of people who think up cockeyed things and another set that figures out what to do with them."

"Y'know," smiled Elaine, "I think that getting together would be the finest thing that ever happened to you and the physicist."

Tom backed up three steps. "Look," he snapped, "I've heard a lot. I can stand for a lot. But that's something that I can't even consider."

"Both of you offer so much to--"

"Yeah," he sneered, "and we're both solid citizens! Hooey."

* * * * *

Tom stalked over to the chessboard and looked down. "Overconfidence is a dangerous thing," he said with a smile. He moved a bishop halfway across the board. "There," he said with a satisfied air, "that should be obscure enough to fool anybody, even Lasker."

"Who's Lasker?" asked the girl.

"One of the chess masters."'

"Oh."

"Now," he said, "I'm going to ask you a favor."

"Yes."

He grinned. "It might be quite personal."

"In which case I'd ask you a favor, too."

"What kind?"

"That depends on the nature of the original request. What's yours?"

"I'd like you to write a few letters for me."

"In which case there'll be no counterproposition."

For three solid hours, Elaine sat at the typewriter. At the end of that time, Tom smiled, patted her on the top of the head and said: "You've been a good girl, kiddo."

"Thanks," she mumbled. "But there are things about your physicist that I do admire. He never makes his women work."

"Impractical lad," laughed Tom.

"Impractical, but fun."

"Bah. You, too, huh?"

"Well fun is--"

"Impractical."

"When you find time to be impractical," said Elaine, rising, "you may invite me over long enough to find out just exactly how practical an impractical batch of fun can be. Practically, I am an impractical asset with indispensable attributes." She arched one eyebrow at him and leered in a ladylike fashion. "You'll find out," she told him.

"Dinner?" he suggested.

"That I cook? Ah-ahhh." She touched his cheek lightly and then said: "I gotta go. I'm late as it is. Sorry, Tommy. But that's how it stands. Take it easy--and I'll be seein' you."

Tom Lionel, Consulting Engineer, saw her away, and then returned to his desk full of work. He sorted papers, did some computations, manipulated some theory, and then sat still, thinking out his plan.

His evening was full. He experimented in the laboratory until the wee small hours, and then spent another two hours contemplating, with relish, the results. He finished by writing another letter, taking a last look at the chessboard, and then retired with a final look at the calendar.

* * * * *

Thomas Lionel, Ph.D., M.M., awoke with a feeling of self-satisfaction. The world was his onion and he knew it. There was nothing to detract from his success. After all, every time he returned it was because the engineer had been frustrated. The same thing had happened again.

He breakfasted lazily, reading the mail and the notes made by the engineer. The notes satisfied him. He added some notations and made some calculations himself that would further frustrate the engineer when again possession of the body changed minds. He noted with relish that the bank account was growing by leaps and bounds--a backfired result of the engineer's own machinations.

How long it would be before the engineer was completely vanished he did not know, but it would not be too long.

A few more developments of the poltergeist effect, another series of new sciences--with their attendant publicity, sales, and, of course, royalty and licensing fees--and the engineer would find nothing in his life worth living for. He then would turn, bending his naturally curious mind to the more obscure realm of physics.

In other words, the mind of Tom Lionel would become congruent with the mind of Thomas Lionel. Tom Lionel would vanish. Thomas Lionel, the ultimate desire of the engineer's mind would take control and the period of schizophrenia would end.

It was more than just logical. The consulting engineer wanted to be a physicist. Now that all barriers were removed, he would.

The hearty dislike of physicists that characterized the mind of the engineer was sheer jealousy; psychological block; that factor of the mind which, when denied a desire, hates all others who successfully achieve it.

Aesop called it "Sour Grapes."

He noted the calendar for the day. He nodded. He was to see a group of physicists from one of the government bureaus. That would be O.K. Later in the afternoon there was a conference between a group of production superintendents who were about to start producing items using the poltergeist effect. He made a notation to investigate the epicenter effect and see what could be generated out of it.

The latter was interesting, and presented a problem.

He arose from the breakfast table and sought the chessboard. He laughed quietly and advanced a knight to cover his opponent's bishop. That was in accordance with a well-known theory of chess. If, after several moves, no apparent pattern is manifest, attack with a minor piece--or even capture or exchange minor pieces. The plan of attack may be obscure to you, but the chances are that a bold counterattack or exchange of minor pieces will disrupt the attack.

Well, all was well.

His plans? They were simple enough. He would carry on. He would do more research, and confound the engineer whenever next he returned. It was as simple as that.

* * * * *

"The poltergeist effect," said Thomas, facing the group of government physicists, "is still in the field of research and development--and wide open on all sides. Much is still unknown about it, in spite of the fact," he added distastefully, "that certain aspects of it have already been put to work.

"You are all familiar with the initial theories, though I shall touch upon them briefly here again. The spatial strains, when under the influence of solar gravity, lunar gravity, and terrestrial gravity all in proper vectorial relationship, add to the spatial strains caused by the magnetic fields of the three main bodies mentioned. The electrostatic fields in the terrestrial atmosphere--the same which cause lightning in another manifestation--also add to the spatial strain. These are all natural phenomena.

"The radiation of a thinking brain, gentlemen, is not a natural phenomena--not a natural characteristic warp in space," he corrected with a slight smile. "It causes a vibration in the region of the end-hysteresis loop of space itself when space is saturated to that threshold by the natural warps and strains. It exerts a triggering action that releases a more powerful nonphysical radiation, which in turn releases the space strain that causes--things--to move. Also this final buckling of the space strain releases a component of the initial wave which again exerts the triggering action. The proposition is self-sustaining as long as the gravitic, magnetic, and electrostatic effects are such as to maintain the saturation of space at the hysteresis-loop level.

"However," continued Thomas, "it has been discovered that these potentials are not only released, but are dirigible, under the complex force-fields generated by the equipment so far developed. Some effects are akin to gravitic effects--the real nature of which none of us can state, or even guess."

"Your statements border on the fantastic," smiled the head visitor, Lowell Johnstown. "Were it not for the fact that your statements have been accompanied by experimental proof, we would be forced to discount them as the ravings of an insane mind. However, your paper before the American Physical Society plus your experimental data--which we all have duplicated--gives proof. The nullification of gravity--"

"Not nullification," insisted Thomas. "I do not claim nullification. The effect is a development of diagravitic force."

"The difference--?"

"Does exist. The generation of a counter-force may, in some cases be considered nullification. But nullification does not describe all aspects of counter-force. I prefer to use the counter-force definition, since vectorial components may be generated in the object under observation. These forces have no relation to the force of gravity acting upon the object, other than can be similarly observed in the free flight of a projectile, where both the forward motion and the gravitic attraction cause summation of forces into a parabolic path."

"I'll accept your remarks. But we are here to discuss the epicenter effect."

"The epicenter is a generator of the radiation which causes release of the potentials indigenous to all material bodies. This radiation is of a complex nature. It requires both physical, electrostatic, electromagnetic generators to produce the radiation that triggers the poltergeist potential.

"Incidentally, gentlemen, this may be why some people always seem to be getting into accidents. I believe that we have the true answer to the 'Accident-Prone' within our grasp."

"How does this manifest in experimental work?" asked Johnstown.

"By crystallographic generation of the force-fields coupled with the radiation of the brain in question. The effect is probably more pronounced with a man whose prevalence toward poltergeist effects and accident prone-ness is higher than normal. I am seeking such a man now. By further filtering through crystals the random release of poltergeist energy is directed and controlled so that a desired object may be moved almost at will."

"This equipment--can we hope to get it in practical size?"

Thomas considered and then said with a touch of disinterest: "It is possible. No doubt the practical viewpoint will appeal to many."

"To sum up your statements," interjected Johnstown, "we have an effect that will cause the movement of any desired object by the use of nonmaterial supporting and actuating means."

"Right. And one other interesting effect. The generation of direct current electricity is also possible in the same manner. I might even add," he concluded with a smile, "that manifestation of any physical effect is possible."

Johnstown packed the pages of data in his briefcase. "You have unlocked a veritable universe of basic study," he said. "You should feel gratified. We'll keep in touch with you, Lionel. And, we'll return once we have had a chance to digest this information. Also, we'll furnish you with whatever observations we make."

Thomas watched them leave. He smiled. Adding to the discomfiture of the engineer at really having nothing left to work for--the bank account being filled daily--he was tossing his discoveries to the world of physicists, and other engineers and scientists would take over, more than likely leaving the engineer foundering in a sea of uncertainty.

* * * * *

The group of production superintendents entered and seated themselves. Their spokesman, Charles Norden said: "We are here because of certain difficulties we are having in making your effect operate satisfactorily."

"I can, of course, assist you," smiled Thomas, affably.

"Good," answered Norden. "Here is the first difficulty." He pulled from his case a sheaf of blueprints, and he spread them out across the desk. "Our design department claims that the arrangement of knobs on the panel is inconvenient. A suggested change is to put them like this."

Franklen, who was one of Norden's associates objected: "That means you'll have to shunt the snivvy over here. That lengthens the leads and cause instability."

"But we can reinstate the stability by running the leads through a dingink."

"That won't help. Shielding the leads only adds distributed capacity."

"It works. Only one percent loss in efficiency and better stability, believe it or not."

"Well," said Norden, "I'll leave it up to Lionel, here. What do you think?"

"I'll have to consider it," answered Lionel.

"You understand that it is important," urged Norden.

"But why?"

"Why?" exploded Norden. "Great Scott! Look Lionel, the arrangements of these knobs are such that the operator must cross the calibration-scale with his hand while adjusting the output. That means that he must either assume a cramped position or he must adjust, observe, adjust, observe, and so on, taking the adjustment of output by increments instead of a stepless arrival at the precise value."

"Um."

"Look, Lionel, we aren't toying with the job of lifting a standard weight. We are hoisting three hundred tons of semirigid structure that mustn't be joggled too much."

"I see. Well under the circumstances I'll take quick action and give you the answer within twenty-four hours."

"We can't have it immediately?"

"I'm afraid not. I must make some tests before I can pass judgment on the matter."

"We are more or less forced to accept your time-limit," said Norden glumly. "Please understand that time is essential because every minute that our production line is down costs the company about twenty dollars."

"I'll get your answer in twenty-four hours," Thomas faced another man. "And your trouble?"

He was Mawson, of Technical Manufacturing, Inc.

"You specify this part," indicating another set of blueprints, "as pure copper. Anything else do?"

"It carries high frequency. Copper is best--unless you could get silver. If that is--"

"Look we're making production and hope to hit fifteen thousand completed assemblies per day. That piece would weigh about two pounds. Silver is out."

"What's the matter with copper?" asked Lionel.

"It cuts like cheddar cheese, gums up the tools, and is generally not good for close tolerance work."

"The first one was all right."

"Listen," said Mawson, "you carved the first one out by hand and I'll bet it took you four or five hours. We're going to 'run 'em on an automatic screw machine at the rate of ten per minute."

"So?"

"I want to use free cutting brass."

"You'll lose conductivity--"

"The rig will be only seven percent less efficient. Tests--"

"Your tests may be right. But seven percent loss is pretty bad," grumbled Thomas. "I'd say no."

"Then I'm going to ask you to name a substitute. What alloy would suffice? I want a free cutting alloy that'll come off of the tools clean."

* * * * *

Will White spoke up at this point. "We've got a bit of regeneration in our driver system," he said.

"That's easy. Have one of your engineers remove it."

"Can't. Anything they do to remove regeneration also destroys the driver's efficiency."

"Efficiency," said Thomas, "is the inverse function of the frequency of drive divided by the number of full-phase poles in the genedyne. Expressed by the quadratic equation in which A equals the number of full-phase poles--"

"But we can't get rid of the regeneration!" exploded White.

"Look, that driver is as simple as ABC. It has and will be a standard assembly for seven generations past and forward. Now don't tell me--"

"I'm telling you that we're burning up our test stands left and right. How long can you take a forty percent regeneration in a hundred kilowatt genedyne?"

"Well, not long," admitted Thomas. "You understand the principles involved?"

"Not entirely."

"I'll explain. The force-fields created by the full-phase poles under the power output from the driver create a nonelectromagnetic field radiation. The intensity of this field is a function of the driver output, derived tertially through the pole system. Now the development of the field radiation creates a space hysteresis that--"

"Look," snapped White, "I don't give a care about field theory. It doesn't apply in my job. I merely want to know what to do about the regeneration."

"How can you work without understanding the theory?" asked Thomas with a sneer.

"How can a musician play a pipe organ without a course in first year physics?" shouted White. "Just tell me what to do!"

"Tell 'em to retune the driver to another band."

"They aren't certain that the pick-up loop is itself tuned or not."

"It is."

"Then that means tuning the entire feeder line."

"Naturally."

"But the feeder line is a silver plated die casting."

"Change the dies," said Thomas.

"May we charge you for them?" asked White, sweetly. "And also for scrapping the three hundred and seventy thousand parts we have cast already?"

"Why get so far ahead?"

"Look, Thomas Lionel, we did it because it was cheaper not to tie up the die-caster's shop in weekly driblets rather than get the whole order in a lump. Now--what do we do about regeneration?"

"Anybody can clear up regeneration," snapped Lionel.

"Good--you show us how. That's what we're retaining you for. Your developments and whatever technical assistance is required."

Thomas Lionel looked up, and scanned each face at the big table. "From left to right, can you state your problems?" he asked.

"Plating specs on the genedyne."