99 Classic Science-Fiction Short Stories. Айзек Азимов

rear, the only original feature of which consisted in its being illuminated by a huge crystal ball hanging above the table, which diffused a soft yet powerful light throughout the room. My host indicated a chair opposite him, and we were soon giving our best attention to a dinner served by Saki with incredible dexterity, and equal in quality to that of the best Parisian restaurants. I began to feel an increased respect for the doctor. While he might throw his money away upon scientific dawdlings, he at least appreciated the value of a good cook. As Saki filled my glass with rare and costly vintages my awkwardness vanished, and in its place came a gratified sense of my own importance and of extreme good nature toward the worthy doctor who was taking so much trouble upon my account.

      Here, in the rear room, beneath the subdued radiance of the crystal ball, one could hear no sound from the outside world. It was as if we were immured in some palace dungeon far below the surface of the earth. I remember that at the time I dimly recalled some story I had read, The Legend of the Arabian Astrologer, about a fellow who dwelt in the interior of a pyramid—it was like that. You could not hear even the distant roar of an elevated train—or a cat in the back yards.

      At length we lighted our cigars—wonderful weeds bearing some strange, cabalistic symbol upon their bands —such as I had never smoked–and Saki placed the liqueurs upon the table and withdrew.

      Migraine was eying me in a friendly manner over his cigar. Good nature radiated from him. His Grand Dukedness, so to speak, had dropped off, and he seemed simply a jolly sort of a chap with a distinct taste for wines and cigars. I made up my mind that this was my chance to find out how he managed to pull ofi his tricks upon the stock market, when suddenly he interrupted my unasked question by saying quite naturally:

      "I'll tell you."

      "Eh?" I exclaimed. "I will tell you with pleasure!" he continued, smiling through the gray smoke. For the moment I was not sure whether I had asked him anything or not.

      "It is simply by applying to the world of sight and sense some of the laws of the other world that most people are unacquainted with."

      "Eh?" I stammered. "Clairvoyance—or something like that?" You see, I thought he was joking with me; but the seriousness of his expression when next he spoke convinced me that I was in error.

      "Yes," he said simply. "Something like that—if you choose."

      "'There are things in heaven and earth undreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio,'" I quoted somewhat inaccurately, trying to be jocose, although I felt distinctly nonplused. But the doctor evidently did not understand my allusion; in fact, he seemed singularly unread in general literature.

      "Not exactly," he answered, taking me literally. "Dreamed of—yes; more than that, dimly felt and understood."

      "Like wireless telegraphy,"said I with a flash of comprehension.

      "Yes—and like life and death. "We do not know what they are, but we know that they are. There is no reason for death of which we know, no explanation of the transition from inanimation to life."

      He took a puff at his cigar.

      "But that does not mean that we shall not know all about them—soon. I have taken an old dog and planted in its neck a thyroid gland taken from a puppy, reversed the order of circulation, and that dog is getting young again. The old hair is falling out and new hair is coming in. He used to be almost blind. Now he can see quite well. And you should see him try to chase cats!"

      "Come!" I exclaimed. "That won't go!" And then suddenly I recalled the patchy headpiece of the ancient Saki, and a queer sort of feeling came over me.

      "Well," he replied, smiling, "don't let's argue about it. Just between you and me, I'm in a devil of a mess to know how to stop that dog getting too young. You see, I don't know exactly what is going to happen–"

      I burst out laughing. The idea of an old dog gradually turning into a toothless puppy seemed ludicrous.

      "After all," said Migraine, reading my thoughts, "as you say, age and youth have surprisingly similar symptoms."

      "Ah!" I exclaimed, now fully alive to the situation, "but I didn't say it!"

      He nodded.

      "The same thing—you thought it."

      "By George!" I gasped, the full force of the thing coming over me. "You don't mean to tell me that there is really anything in—in—what do you call it?"

      "Telepathy? Do you doubt that one's mind can read the thoughts of another?"

      "Why," I stammered, "I always thought that was all buncombe."

      "Buncombe!" Migraine threw back his head and laughed. "Do you believe in the telephone?"

      "Of course!" I stammered.

      "And the telegraph?"

      "Sure!" I said.

      [ Illustration: "Now You Cannot Move!"]

      "Then, if you can communicate with one of your friends a thousand miles away by means of an electrical current, why doubt the possibility of doing so by means of some other current–passing from mind to mind?"

      I was stumped for a moment; you see, I had never looked into such things they had all seemed like balderdash. Then I had a flash of inspiration.

      "Ah!" I cried. "But there is the wire!"

      Migraine grunted scornfully.

      "Is there any wire in wireless telegraphy?"

      "By George!" I cried. "You're right. 'C. Q. D.'!"

      "You are like so many others!" sighed Migraine.

      "Don't you see it is all a question of the receiving apparatus! So long as you have a receiving station tuned to receive the necessary waves that is all you want. Now, the retina of the eye with its optic nerve running to the brain is like the old form of telegraphy; the message runs along the wire to the receiver. That particular sort of current needs a wire. But the electric waves used in wireless telegraphy need no wire at all; they go direct to the station. In the same way, perhaps, can be explained the so-called telepathic powers of those gifted beings who can see what is happening in other places- perhaps on the other side of the world—clairvoyants, or what you will. Their brains are tuned to receive sight waves that need no optic nerves—waves that make no primary impression upon the retina of the eye at all, but are received direct by the brain itself. Do you understand?"

      "I think so," I answered doubtfully. "You mean, if I see something in a dream, maybe it is my mind really seeing something that is actually going on somewhere else."

      "Exactly—why not?"

      I scratched my head in perplexity. You see, it sounded like tommyrot, and yet I had to admit the possibility of the thing.

      "The explanation of all these things is, of course, that it isn't the eye that sees, but the brain. The eye merely receives the light in sight waves which are thrown off by all physical objects within the range of its vision, and transmits them to the brain. Light waves are motion waves, heat and light being merely forms of motion, as, of course, you know. The retina is so constructed that it can absorb these light waves and communicate the vibrations thus received to the brain. The brain does the seeing. Now, imagine a different sort of light wave, and there is no reason for supposing that the brain could not absorb it directly without the assistance of the retina."

      "But you were talking about mental telepathy," I said. "This does not explain how you can read another's thoughts, even if it shows the theoretical possibility of seeing things with your eyes shut."

      "For mind to communicate with mind, all you have to presuppose are mind waves," answered Migraine. "But the thing is perfectly well understood in science. It is a recognized fact. Do you want another cigar? Very good—wait."

      Almost instantly the door opened and Saki entered bearing a tray of large, evenly-rolled Havanas, which he smilingly tendered to me. I must have made a botch of picking them off the tray, for Migraine began to laugh heartily, and I found myself holding half a dozen cigars in my fist and staring fixedly at Saki's scalp as he moved noiselessly away. The fellow did have patches of nice, black, shining hair mingled with the gray!

      "Tell