Baker closed the book. "Nothing more?" he asked Fenwick.

"Nothing. We thought maybe you had found out something else when he worked to save your life."

* * * * *

Baker kept his eyes on the ceiling. "I found out a few things," he said. "I could scarcely believe they were true. I have to believe after hearing your story."

"What did you find?"

"Sam Atkins came from—somewhere else. He went back in the ship he had hidden in the silo."

"Where did he come from? What was he doing here?"

"I don't know the name of the world he was from or where it is located. Somewhere in this galaxy, is about all I can deduce from my impressions. He was here on a scientific mission, a sociological study. He was responsible for the crystals. I suppose you know that by now?" Baker glanced at Ellerbee.

Jim Ellerbee nodded. "I suspected for a long time that I was being led, but I couldn't understand it. I thought I was doing the research that produced the crystals, but Sam would drop a hint or a suggestion every once in a while, that would lead off on the right track and produce something fantastic. He knew where we were going, ahead of time. He led me to believe that we were exploring together. Do you know why he did this?"

"Yes," said Baker. "It was part of his project. The project consisted of a study of human reaction to scientific processes which our scientific culture considered impossible. He was interested in measuring our flexibility and reaction to such introductions."

Baker smiled grimly. "We sure gave him his money's worth, didn't we! We really reacted when he brought out his little cubes. I'd like to read the report he writes up!"

"Why did he leave so suddenly?" asked Fenwick. "Was he through?"

"No, that's the bad part of it. My reaction to the crystals was a shock that sent me into a suicidal action—"

Fenwick stared at him, shocked. "You didn't—"

"But I did," said Baker calmly. "All very subconsciously, of course, but I did try to commit suicide. The crystals triggered it. I'll explain how in a minute, but since Sam Atkins was an ethical being he felt the responsibility for what had happened to me. He had to reveal himself to the extent of saving my life—and helping me to change so that the suicidal drive would not appear again. He did this, but it revealed too much of himself and destroyed the chance of completing his program. When he gets back home, he's really going to catch hell for lousing up the works. It's too bad."

Jim Ellerbee let out a long breath. "Sam Atkins—somebody from another world—it doesn't seem possible. What things he could have taught us if he'd stayed!"

Fenwick wondered why it had to have been Baker to receive this knowledge. Baker, the High Priest of the Fixed Position, the ambassador of Established Authority. Why couldn't Sam Atkins—or whatever his real name might be—have whispered just a few words of light to a man willing to listen and profit? His bowels felt sick with the impact of opportunity forever lost.

* * * * *

"How did the crystals trigger a suicidal reaction?" asked Fenwick finally, as if to make conversation more than anything else.

Baker's face seemed to glow. "That's the really important thing I learned from Sam. I learned that about me—about all of us. It's hard to explain. I experienced it—but you can only hear about it."

"We're listening," said Fenwick dully.

"I saw a picture of a lathe in a magazine a few months ago," said Baker slowly. "You can buy one of these lathes for $174,000, if you want one. It's a pretty fancy job. The lathe remembers what it does once, and afterwards can do it again without any instructions.

"The lathe has a magnetic tape memory. The operator cuts the first piece on the lathe, and the tape records all the operations necessary for that production. After that, the operator needs only to insert the metal stock and press the start button.

"There could be a million memories in storage, and the lathe could draw on any one of them to repeat what it had done before at any time in its history."

"I don't see what this has got to do with Sam and you," said Fenwick.

Baker ignored him. "A long time ago a bit of life came into existence. It had no memory, because it was the first. But it faced the universe and made decisions. That's the difference between life and nonlife. Did you know that, Fenwick? The capacity to make decisions without pre-programming. The lathe is not alive because it must be pre-programmed by the operator. We used to say that reproduction was the criterion of life, but the lathe could be pre-programmed to build a duplicate of itself, complete with existing memories, if that were desired, but that would not make it a living thing.

"Spontaneous decision. A single cell can make a simple binary choice. Maybe nothing more complex than to be or not to be. The decision may be conditioned by lethal circumstances that permit only a 'not' decision. Nevertheless, a decision is made, and the cell shuts down its life processes in the very instant of death. They are not shut down for it.

"In the beginning, the first bit of life faced the world and made decisions, and memory came into being. The structures of giant protein molecules shifted slightly in those first cells and became a memory of decisions and encounters. The cells split and became new pairs carrying in each part giant patterned molecules of the same structure. These were memory tapes that grew and divided and spread among all life until they carried un-numbered billions of memories.

"Molecular tapes. Genes. The memory of life on earth, since the beginning. Each new piece of life that springs from parent life comes equipped with vast libraries of molecular tapes recording the experiences of life since the beginning.

"Life forms as complex as mammals could not exist without this tape library to draw upon. The bodily mechanisms could not function if they came into existence without the taped memories out of the ages, explaining why each organ was developed and how it should function. Sometimes, part of the tapes are missing, and the organism, if it endures, must live without instructions for some function. One human lifetime is too infinitesimally small to relearn procedures that have taken aeons to develop.

"Just as the lathe operator has a choice of tapes which will cause the lathe to function in different ways, so does new life have a choice. The accumulated instructions and wisdom of the whole race may be available, except for those tapes which have been lost or destroyed through the ages. New life has a choice from that vast library of tapes. In its inexperience, it relies on the parentage for the selection of many proven combinations, and so we conclude certain characteristics are 'dominant' or 'inherited,' but we haven't been able to discover the slightest reason why this is so.

"A selection of things other than color of eyes, the height of growth to be attained, the shape of the body must also be made. A choice of modes of facing the exterior world, a choice of stratagems to be used in attaining survival and security in that world, must be made.

"And there is one other important factor: Mammalian life is created in a universe where only life exists. The mammal in the womb does not know of the existence of the external universe. Somewhere, sometime, the first awareness of this external universe arises. In the womb. Outside the womb. Early in fetal life, or late. When and where this awareness comes is an individual matter. But when it comes, it arrives with lethal impact.

"Awareness brings a million sensory invasions—chemical, physical, extrasensory—none of them understood, all of them terrifying.

"This terrible fear that arises in this moment of awareness and non-understanding is almost sufficient to cause a choice of death rather than life at this point. Only because of the developed toughness, acquired through the aeons, does the majority of mammalian life choose to continue.

"In this moment, choices must be made as to how to cope with the external world, how to understand it so as to diminish the fear it inspires. The library of genetic tapes is full of possible solutions. Parental experience is examined, too, and the very sensory impacts that are the source of the terror are inspected to a greater or lesser extent to see how they align with taped information.

"A very basic choice is then made. It may not be a single decision, but, rather, a system of decisions all based on some fundamental underlying principle. And the choice may not be made in an instant. How long a time it may occupy I do not know.

"When the decision has been made, reaction between the individual and the external universe begins and understanding begins to flow into the data storage banks. As data are stored, and successful solutions found in the encounter with the world, fear diminishes. Some kind of equilibrium is eventually reached, in which the organism decides how much fear it is willing to tolerate to venture farther into areas of the unknown, and how much it is willing to limit its experience because of this fear.

"When the decision has been made, and the point of equilibrium chosen, a personality exists. The individual has shaped himself to face the world.

"And nothing short of a Heavenly miracle will ever change that shape!"

"You have said nothing about how the crystal caused you to attempt suicide," said Fenwick.

"The crystal invalidated the molecular tape I had chosen to provide my foundation program for living. The tape was completely shattered, brought to an end. There was nothing left for me to go on."

* * * * *

"Wait a minute!" said Fenwick. "Even supposing this could happen as you describe it, other programs could be selected out of the great number you have described."

"Quite true. But do you know what happens to an adult human being when the program on which his entire life is patterned is destroyed?"

Fenwick shook his head. "What is it like?"

"It's like it was in the beginning, in that moment of first awareness of the external universe. He is aware of the universe, but has no understanding of it. Previous understanding—or what he thought was understanding—has been invalidated, destroyed. The drive to keep living, that was present in that first moment of awareness, has weakened. The strongest impulse is to escape the terror that follows awareness without understanding. Death is the quickest escape.

"This is why men are inflexible. This is why the Urbans cannot endure the Galileos. This is why the Bill Bakers cannot face the Jim Ellerbees. That was what Sam Atkins wanted to find out.

"If a man should decide his basic program is invalid and decide to choose another, he would have to face again the terror of awareness of a world in which understanding does not exist. He would have to return to that moment of first awareness and select a new program in that moment of overwhelming fear. Men are not willing to do this. They prefer a program—a personality—that is defective, that functions with only a fraction of the efficiency it might have. They prefer this to a basic change of programs. Only when a program is rendered absolutely invalid—as mine was by the crystal communicator—is the program abandoned. When that happens, the average man drives his car into a telephone pole or a bridge abutment, or he steps in front of a truck at a street intersection. I drove into a gully in a storm."

"All this would imply that the tape library is loaded with genetic programs that contain basic defects!" said Fenwick.

Baker hesitated. "That's not quite true," he said finally. "The library of molecular tapes does contain a great many false solutions. But they are false not so much because they are defective as because they are obsolete. All of them worked at one time, under some set of circumstances, however briefly. Those times and circumstances may have vanished long since."

"Then why are they chosen? Why aren't they simply passed over?"

"Because the individual organism lacks adequate data for evaluating the available programs. In addition, information may be presented to him which says these obsolete programs are just the ones to use."

Fenwick leaned against the bed and shook his head. "How could a crazy thing like that come about?"

"Cultures become diseased," said Baker. "Sparta was such a one in ancient times. A more psychotic culture has scarcely existed anywhere, yet Sparta prevailed for generations. Ancient Rome is another example. The Age of Chivalry. Each of these cultures was afflicted with a different disease.

"These diseases are epidemic. Individuals are infected before they emerge from the womb. In the Age of Chivalry this cultural disease held out the data that the best life program was based on the concept of Honor. Honor that could be challenged by a mistaken glance, an accidental touch in a crowd. Honor that had to be defended at the expense of life itself.

"Pure insanity. Yet how long did it persist?"

"And our culture?" said Fenwick. "There is such a sickness in our times?"

* * * * *

Baker nodded. "There's a disease in our times. A cultural disease you might call the Great Gray Plague. It is a disease which premises that safety, security, and effectiveness in dealing with the world may be obtained by agreement with the highest existing Authority.

"This premise was valid in the days when disobedience to the Head Man meant getting lost in a bog or eaten by a saber-toothed tiger. Today it is more than obsolete. It is among the most vicious sicknesses that have ever infected any culture."

"And you were sick with it."

"I was sick with it. You remember I said a molecular program is chosen partly on the basis of data presented by parental sources and the spears of invasion from the external world. This data that came to me from both sources said that I could deal with the world by yielding to Authority, by surrounding myself with it as with a shell. It would protect me. I would have stature. My world-problems would be solved if I chose this pattern.

"I chose it well. In our culture there are two areas of Authority, one in government, one in science. I covered myself both ways. I became a Government Science Administrator. You just don't get any more authoritative than that in our day and time!"

"But not everyone employs this as a basic premise!" exclaimed Fenwick.

"No—not everyone, fortunately. In that, may be our salvation. In all times there have been a few infected individuals—Pope Urban, for example. But in his time the culture was throwing off such ills and was surging forward under the impetus of men like Galileo.

"In our own time we are on the other end of the stick. We are just beginning to sink into this plague; it has existed in epidemic form only a few short decades. But look how it has spread! Our civil institutions, always weak to such infection, have almost completely succumbed. Our educational centers are equally sick. Approach them with a new idea and no Ph. D. and see what happens. Remember the Greek elevator engineer who did that a few years ago? He battered his way in by sheer force. It was the only way. He became a nuclear scientist. But for every one of his kind a thousand others are defeated by the Plague."

Fenwick was grinning broadly. He suddenly laughed aloud. "You must be crazy in the head, Bill. You sound just like me!"

Baker smiled faintly. "You are one of the lucky ones. You and Jim. It hasn't hit you. And there are plenty of others like you. But they are defeated by the powerful ones in authority, who have been infected.

"It's less than fifty years since it hit us. It may have five hundred years to run. I think we'll be wiped out by it before then. There must be something that can be done, some way to stamp it out."

"Well," said Fenwick. "You could give Clearwater enough to get us on our feet and running. That would be a start in the right direction."

"An excellent start," said Baker. "The only trouble is you asked for less than half of what you need. As soon as I get back to the office a grant for what you need will be on its way."

* * * * *

William Baker stayed in the hospital two more days. Apart from his family, he asked that no visitors be admitted. He felt as if he were a new-born infant, facing the world with the knowledge of a man—but innocent of experience.

He remembered the days before the accident. He remembered how he dealt with the world in those days. But the methods used then were as impossible to him now as if he were paralyzed. The new methods, found in that bright portal to which Sam Atkins had helped guide him, were untried. He knew they were right. But he had never used them.

He found it difficult to define the postulates he had chosen. The more he struggled to identify them, the more elusive they seemed to become. When he gave up the struggle he found the answer. He had chosen a program that held no fixed postulates. It was based on a decision to face the world as it came.

He was not entirely sure what this meant. The age-old genetic wisdom was still available to guide him. But he was committed to no set path. Fresh decisions would be required at every turn.

A single shot of vaccine could not stem an epidemic. His immunity to the sickness of his culture could not immunize the entire populace. Yet, he felt there was something he could do. He was just not sure what it was.

What could a single man do? In other times, a lone man had been enough to overturn an age. But William Baker did not feel such heroic confidence in his own capacity.

He was not alone, however. There were the John Fenwicks and the Jim Ellerbees who were immune to the great Plague. It was just that William Baker was probably the only man in the world who had ever been infected so completely and then rendered immune. That gave him a look at both sides of the fence, which was an advantage no one else shared.

There was something that stuck in his mind, something that Sam Atkins had said that night when Baker had been reborn. He couldn't understand it. Sam Atkins had said of the molecular program tape that had been broken: When you cease to be fearful of Authority, you become Authority.

The last thing in the whole world William Baker wanted now was to be Authority. But the thought would not leave his mind. Sam Atkins did not say things that had no meaning.

* * * * *

Baker's return to the office of NBSD was an occasion for outpouring of the professional affection which his staff had always tendered him. He knew that there had been a time when this had given him a great deal of satisfaction. He remembered that fiftieth birthday party.

Looking back, it seemed as if all that must have happened to some other man. He felt like a double of himself, taking over positions and prerogatives in which he was a complete impostor.

This was going to be harder than he had anticipated, he thought.

Pehrson especially, it appeared, was going to be difficult. The administrative assistant came into the office almost as soon as Baker was seated at his desk. "It's very good to have you back," said Pehrson. "I think we've managed to keep things running while you've been gone, however. We have rejected approximately one hundred applications during the past week."

Baker grunted. "And how many have you approved?"

"Approval would have had to await your signature, of course."

"O.K., how many are awaiting my signature?"

"It has been impossible to find a single one which had a high enough Index to warrant your consideration."

"I see," said Baker. "So you've taken care of the usual routine without any help from me?"

"Yes," said Pehrson.

"There's one grant left over from before I was absent. We must get that out of the way as quickly as possible."

"I don't recall any that were pending—" said Pehrson in apology.

"Clearwater College. Get me the file, will you?"

Pehrson didn't know for sure whether the chief was joking or not. He looked completely serious. Pehrson felt sick at the sudden thought that the accident may have so injured the chief's mind that he was actually serious.

He sparred. "The Clearwater College file?"

"That's what I said. Bring a set of approval forms, too."

Pehrson managed to get out with a placid mask on his face, but it broke as soon as he reached the safety of his own office. It wasn't possible that Baker was serious! The check that went out that afternoon convinced him it was so.

When Pehrson left the office, Baker got up and sauntered to the window, looking out over the smoke-gray buildings of Washington. The Index, he smiled, remembering it. Five years he and Pehrson had worked on that. It had seemed like quite a monumental achievement when they considered it finished. It had never been really finished, of course. Continuous additions and modifications were being made. But they had been very proud of it.

Baker wondered now, however, if they had not been very shortsighted in their application of the Index. He sensed, stirring in the back of his mind, not fully defined, possibilities that had never appeared to him before.

His speculations were interrupted by Doris. She spoke on the interphone, still in the sweetly sympathetic tone she had adopted for her greetings that morning. Baker suspected this would last at least a full week.

* * * * *

"Dr. Wily is on the phone. He would like to know if you'd mind his coming in this afternoon. Shall I make an appointment or would you rather postpone these interviews for a few days? Dr. Wily would understand, of course."

"Tell him to come on up whenever he's ready," said Baker. "I'm not doing much today."

President George H. Wily, Ph. D., D.Sc., of Great Eastern University. Wily was one of his best customers.

Baker guessed that he had given Wily somewhere around twelve or thirteen million dollars over the past decade. He didn't know exactly what Wily had done with all of it, but one didn't question Great Eastern's use of its funds. Certainly only the most benevolent use would be made of the money.

Baker reflected on his associations with Wily. His satisfaction had been unmeasurable in those exquisite moments when he had had the pleasure of handing Wily a check for two or three million dollars at a time. In turn, Wily had invited him to the great, commemorative banquets of Great Eastern. He had presented Baker to the Alumni and extolled the magnificent work Baker was doing in the advancement of the cause of Science. It had been a very pleasant association for both of them.

The door opened and Doris ushered Wily into the room. He came forward with outstretched hands. "My dear Baker! Your secretary said you had no objection to my coming up immediately, so I took advantage of it. I didn't hear about your terrible accident until yesterday. It's so good to know that you were not more seriously hurt."

"Thanks," said Baker. "It wasn't very bad. Come and sit down."

Wily was a rather large, beetle-shaped man. He affected a small, graying beard that sometimes had tobacco ashes in it.

"Terrible loss to the cause of Science if your accident had been more serious," Wily was saying. "I don't know of anyone who occupies a more critical position in our nation's scientific advance than you do."

This was what had made him feel safe, secure, able to cope with the problems of the world, Baker reflected. Wily represented Authority, the highest possible Authority in the existing scientific culture.

But it had worked both ways, too. Baker had supplied a similar counterpart for Wily. His degrees matched Wily's own. He represented both Science and Government. The gift of a million dollars expressed confidence on the part of the Government that Wily was on the right track, that his activity was approved.

A sort of mutual admiration society, Baker thought.

"I suppose you are interested in the progress on your application for renewal of Great Eastern's grants," said Baker.

Wily waved the subject away with an emphatic gesture. "Not business today! I simply dropped in for a friendly chat after learning of your accident. Of course, if there is something to report, I wouldn't mind hearing it. I presume, however, the processing is following the usual routine."

"Not quite," said Baker slowly. "An increasing flood of applications is coming in, and I'm finding it necessary to adopt new processing methods to cope with the problem."

"I can understand that," said Wily. "And one of the things I have always admired most about your office is your ability to prevent wastage of funds by nonqualified people. Qualifications in the scientific world are becoming tighter every day. You have no idea how difficult it is to get people with adequate backgrounds today. Men of stature and authority seem to be getting rarer all the time. At any rate, I'm sure we are agreed that only the intellectual elite must be given access to these funds of your Bureau, which are limited at best."

Baker continued to regard Wily across the desk for a long moment. Wily was one of them, he thought. One of the most heavily infected of all. Surround yourself with Authority. Fold it about you like a shell. Never step beyond the boundaries set by Authority. This was George H. Wily, President of Great Eastern University. This was a man stricken by the Great Gray Plague.

"I need a report," said Baker. "For our new program of screening I need a report of past performance under our grants. The last two years would be sufficient, I think, from Great Eastern."

Wily was disturbed. He frowned and hesitated. "I'm sure we could supply such a report," he said finally. "There's never been any question—"

"No question at all," said Baker. "I just need to tally up the achievements made under recent grants. I shall also require some new information for the Index. I'll send forms as soon as they're ready."

"We'll be more than glad to co-operate," said Wily. "It's just that concrete achievement in a research program is sometimes hard to pin point, you know. So many intangibles."

"I know," said Baker.

When Wily was gone, Baker continued sitting at his desk for a long time. He wished fervently that he could talk with Sam Atkins for just five minutes now. And he hoped Sam hadn't gotten too blistered by his mentors when he returned home after fluffing the inquiry he was sent out on.

There was no chance, of course, that Baker would ever be able to talk with Sam again. That one fortuitous encounter would have to do for a lifetime. But Sam's great cryptic statement was slowly beginning to make sense: When you cease to be fearful of Authority, you become Authority.

Neither Baker or Wily, or any of the members of Wily's lock-step staff were Authority. Rather, they all gave obeisance to the intangible Authority of Science, and stood together as self-appointed vicars of that Authority, demanding penance for the slightest blasphemy against it. And each one stood in living terror of such censure.

The same ghost haunted the halls of Government. The smallest civil servant, in his meanest incivility, could invoke the same reverence for that unseen mantle of Authority that rested, however falsely, on his thin shoulders.

The ghost existed in but one place, the minds of the victims of the Plague. William Baker had ceased to recognize or give obeisance to it. He was beginning to understand the meaning of Sam Atkins' words.

He was quite sure the grants to Great Eastern were going to diminish severely.

* * * * *

Within six months, the output from Clearwater College was phenomenal. The only string that Baker had attached to his grants was the provision that the National Bureau of Scientific Development be granted the privilege of announcing all new inventions, discoveries, and significant reports. This worked to the advantage of both parties. It gave the college the prestige of association in the press with the powerful Government agency, and it gave Baker the association with a prominent scientific discovery.

During the first month of operation under the grant, Fenwick appointed a half dozen "uneducated" professors to his physical science staff. These were located with Baker's help because they had previously applied to NBSD for assistance.

The announcement of the developments of the projects of these men was a kind of unearned windfall for both Baker and Fenwick because most of the work had already been done in garages and basements. But no one objected that it gave both Clearwater and NBSD a substantial boost in the public consciousness.

During this period, Baker found three other small colleges of almost equal caliber with Clearwater. He made substantial grants to all of them and watched their staffs grow in number and quality of background that would have shocked George Wily into apoplexy. Baker's announcements of substantial scientific gains became the subject of weekly press conferences.

And also, during this time, he lowered the ax on Great Eastern and two other giants whose applications were pending. He cut them to twenty per cent of what they were asking. A dozen of the largest industrial firms were accorded similar treatment.

Through all this, Pehrson moved like a man in a nightmare. His first impulse had been to resign. His second was to report the gross mismanagement of NBSD to some appropriate congressman. Before he did either of these things the reports began to come in from Clearwater and other obscure points.

Pehrson was a man in whom allegiance was easily swayed. His loyalty was only for the top man of any hierarchy, and he suddenly began to regard Baker with an amazed incredulity. It seemed akin to witchcraft to be able to pull out works of near genius from the dross material Baker had been supporting with his grants. Pehrson wasn't quite sure how it had been done although he had been present throughout the whole process. He only knew that Baker had developed a kind of prescience that was nothing short of miraculous, and from now on he was strictly a Baker man.

Baker was happy with this outcome. The problem of Pehrson had been a bothersome one. Civil Service regulations forbade his displacement. Baker had been undecided how to deal with him. With Pehrson's acceptance of the new methods, the entire staff swung behind Baker, and the previous grumblings and complaints finally ceased. He stood on top in his own office, at least, Baker reflected.

George H. Wily was not happy, however. He waited two full days after receiving the announcement of NBSD's grant for the coming year. He consulted with his Board of Regents and then took a night plane down to Washington to see Baker.

He was coldly formal as he entered Baker's office. Baker shook his hand warmly and invited him to sit down.

"I was hoping you'd drop in again when you came to town," said Baker. "I was sorry we had to ask you for so much new information, but I appreciate your prompt response."

Wily's eyes were frosty. "Is that why you gave us only two hundred thousand?" he asked.

Baker spread his hands. "I explained when you were here last that we were getting a flood of applications. We have been forced to distribute the money much more broadly than in other years. There is only so much to go around, you know."

"There is just as much as you've ever had," snapped Wily. "I've checked on your overall appropriation. And there is no increase in qualified applicants. There is a decrease, if anything.

"I've done a little checking on the grants you've made, Baker. I'd like to see you defend your appropriation for that miserable little school called Clearwater College. I made a detailed study of their staff. They haven't a single qualified man. Not one with a background any better than that of your elevator operator!"

Baker looked up at the ceiling. "I remember an elevator man who became quite a first rate scientist."

Wily glared, waiting for explanation, then snorted. "Oh, him—"

"Yes, him," said Baker.

"That doesn't explain your wasting of Government funds on such an institution as Clearwater. It doesn't explain your grants to—"

"Let me show you what does explain my grants," said Baker. "I have what I call the Index—with a capital I, you know—"

"I don't care anything about your explanations or your Index!" Wily exclaimed. "I'm here to serve notice that I represent the nation's interest as well as that of Great Eastern. And I am not going to stand by silently while you mismanage these sacred funds the way you have chosen to do in recent months. I don't know what's happened to you, Baker. You were never guilty of such mistakes before. But unless you can assure me that the full normal grant can be restored to Great Eastern, I'm going to see that your office is turned inside out by the Senate Committee on Scientific Development, and that you, personally, are thrown out."

Wily glared and breathed heavily after his speech. He sat waiting for Baker's answer.

Baker gave it when Wily had stopped panting and turned to drumming his fingers on the desk. "Unless your record of achievement is better this year than it has been in recent years, Great Eastern may not get any allotment at all next year," he said quietly.

Wily shaded toward deep red, verging on purple, as he rose. "You'll regret this, Baker! This office belongs to American Science. I refuse to see it desecrated by your gross mismanagement! Good day!"



Baker smiled grimly as Wily stormed out. Then he picked up the phone and asked Doris to get Fenwick at Clearwater. When Fenwick finally came on, Baker said, "Wily was just here. I expected he would be the one. This is going to be it. Send me everything you've got for release. We're going to find out how right Sam Atkins was!"

He called the other maverick schools he'd given grants, and the penny ante commercial organizations he'd set on their feet. He gave them the same message.

It wasn't going to be easy or pleasant, he reflected. The biggest guns of Scientific Authority would be trained on him before this was over.

* * * * *

Drew Pearson had the word even before it reached Baker. Baker read it at breakfast a week after Wily's visit. The columnist said, "The next big spending agency to come under the fire of Congressional Investigation is none other than the high-echelon National Bureau of Scientific Development. Dr. William Baker, head of the Agency, has been accused of indiscriminate spending policies wholly unrelated to the national interest. The accusers are a group of elite universities and top manufacturing organizations that have benefited greatly from Baker's handouts in years past. This year, Baker is accused of giving upwards of five million dollars to crackpot groups and individuals who have no standing in the scientific community whatever.

"If these charges are true, it is difficult to see what Dr. Baker is up to. For many years he has had an enviable record as a tight-fisted, hard-headed administrator of these important funds. Congress intends to find out what's going on. The watchdog committee of Senator Landrus is expected to call an investigation early next week."

Baker was notified that same afternoon.

* * * * *

Senator Landrus was a big, florid man, who moved about a committee hearing chamber with the ponderous smoothness of a luxury liner. He was never visited by a single doubt about the rightness of his chosen course—no matter how erratic it might appear to an onlooker. His faith in his established legislative procedures and in the established tenets of Science was complete. Since he wore the shield of both camps, his confidence in the path of Senator Robert Landrus was also unmarred by questions.

Baker had faced him many times, but always as an ally. Now, recognizing him as the enemy, Baker felt some small qualms, not because he feared Landrus, but because so much was at stake in this hearing. So much depended on his ability to guide the whims and uncertainties of this mammoth vessel of Authority.

There was an unusual amount of press interest in what might have seemed a routine and unspectacular hearing. No one could recall a previous occasion when the recipients had challenged a Government handout agency regarding the size of the handouts. While Landrus made his opening statement several of the reporters fiddled with the idea of a headline that said something about biting the hand that feeds. It wouldn't quite come off.

Wily was invited to make his statement next, which he did with icy reserve, never once looking in Baker's direction. He was followed by two other university presidents and a string of laboratory directors. The essence of their remarks was that Russia was going to beat the pants off American researchers, and it was all Baker's fault.

This recital took up all of the morning and half the afternoon of the first day. A dozen or so corporation executives were next on the docket with complaints that their vast facilities were being hamstrung by Baker's sudden switch of R & D funds to less qualified agents. Baker observed that the ones complaining were some of those who had never spent a nickel on genuine research until the Government began buying it. He knew that Landrus had not observed this fact. It would have to be called to the senator's attention.

By the end of the day, Landrus looked grave. It was obvious that he could see nothing but villainy in Baker's recent performance. It had been explained to him in careful detail by some of the most powerful men in the nation. Baker was certainly guilty of criminal negligence, if not more, in derailing these funds which Congress had intended should go to the support of the nation's scientific leaders. Landrus felt a weary depression. He hadn't really believed it would turn out this bad for Baker, for whom he had had a considerable regard in times past.

"You have heard the testimony of these witnesses," Landrus said to Baker. "Do you wish to reply or make a statement of your own, Dr. Baker?"

"I most certainly do!" said Baker.

Landrus didn't see what was left for Baker to say. "Testimony will resume tomorrow at nine a.m.," he said. "Dr. Baker will present his statement at that time."

* * * * *

The press thought it looked bad for Baker, too. Some papers accused him openly of attempting to sabotage the nation's research program. Wily and his fellows, and Landrus, were commended for catching this defection before it progressed any further.

Baker was well aware he was in a tight spot, and one which he had deliberately created. But as far as he could see, it was the only chance of utilizing the gift that Sam Atkins had left him. He felt confident he had a fighting chance.

His battery of supporters had not even been noticed in the glare of Wily's brilliant assembly, but Fenwick was there, and Ellerbee. Fenwick's fair-haired boy, George, and a half dozen of his new recruits were there. Also present were the heads of the other maverick schools like Clearwater, and the presidents—some of whom doubled as janitors—of the minor corporations Baker had sponsored.

Baker took the stand the following morning, armed with his charts and displays. He looked completely confident as he addressed Landrus and the assembly.

"Gentlemen—and ladies—" he said. "The corner grocery store was one of America's most familiar and best loved institutions a generation or two ago. In spite of this, it went out of business because we refused to support it. May I ask why we refused to continue to support the corner grocery?

"The answer is obvious. We began to find better bargains elsewhere, in the supermarket. As much as we regret the passing of the oldtime grocer I'm sure that none of us would seriously suggest we bring him back.

"For the same reason I suggest that the time may have come to reconsider the bargains we have been getting in scientific developments and inventions. Americans have always taken pride in driving a good, hard, fair bargain. I see no reason why we should not do the same when we go into the open market to buy ideas.

"Some months ago I began giving fresh consideration to the product we were buying with the millions of dollars in grants made by NBSD. It was obvious that we were buying an impressive collection of shiny, glass and metal laboratories. We were buying giant pieces of laboratory equipment and monstrous machines of other kinds. We were getting endless quantities of fat reports—they fill thousands of miles of microfilm.

"Then I discovered an old picture of what I am sure all unbiased scientists will recognize as the world's greatest laboratory—greatest in terms of measurable output. I brought this picture with me."

Baker unrolled the first of his exhibits, a large photographic blowup. The single, whitehaired figure seated at a desk was instantly recognized. Wily and his group glanced at the picture and glared at Baker.

"You recognize Dr. Einstein, of course," said Baker. "This is a photograph of him at work in his laboratory at the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton."

"We are all familiar with the appearance of the great Dr. Einstein," said Landrus. "But you are not showing us anything of his laboratory, as you claimed."

"Ah, but I am!" said Baker. "This is all the laboratory Dr. Einstein ever had. A desk, a chair, some writing paper. You will note that even the bookshelves behind him are bare except for a can of tobacco. The greatest laboratory in the world, a place for a man's mind to work in peace. Nuclear science began here."

Wily jumped to his feet. "This is absurd! No one denies the greatness of Dr. Einstein's work, but where would he have been without billions of dollars spent at Oak Ridge, Hanford, Los Alamos, and other great laboratories. To say that Dr. Einstein did not use laboratory facilities does not imply that vast expenditures for laboratories are not necessary!"

"I should like to reverse your question, Dr. Wily, and then let it rest," said Baker. "What would Oak Ridge, Hanford, and Los Alamos have done without Dr. Einstein?"

* * * * *

Senator Landrus floated up from his chair and raised his hands. "Let us be orderly, gentlemen. Dr. Baker has the floor. I should not like to have him interrupted again, please."

Baker nodded his thanks to the senator. "It has been charged," Baker continued, "that the methods of NBSD in granting funds for research have changed in recent times. This is entirely correct, and I should first like to show the results of this change."

He unrolled a chart and pinned it to the board behind him. "This chart shows what we have been paying and what we have been getting. The black line on the upper half of the chart shows the number of millions of dollars spent during the past five years. Our budget has had a moderately steady rise. The green line shows the value of laboratories constructed and equipment purchased. The red line shows the measure of new concepts developed by the scientists in these laboratories, the improvement on old concepts, and the invention of devices that are fundamentally new in purpose or function."

The gallery leaned forward to stare at the chart. From press row came the popping of flash cameras. Then a surge of spontaneous comment rolled through the chamber as the audience observed the sharp rise of the red line during the last six months, and the dropping of the green line.

Wily was on his feet again. "An imbecile should be able to see that the trend of the red line is the direct result of the previous satisfactory expenditures for facilities. One follows the other!"

Landrus banged for order.

"That's a very interesting point," said Baker. "I have another chart here"—he unrolled and pinned it—"that shows the output in terms of concepts and inventions, plotted against the size of the grants given to the institution."

The curve went almost straight downhill.

Wily was screaming. "Such data are absolutely meaningless! Who can say what constitutes a new idea, a new invention? The months of groundwork—"

"It will be necessary to remove any further demonstrators from the hearing room," said Landrus. "This will be an orderly hearing if I have to evict everyone but Dr. Baker and myself. Please continue, doctor."

"I am quite willing for my figures and premises to be examined in all detail," said Baker. "I will be glad to supply the necessary information to anyone who desires it at the close of this session. In the meantime, I should like to present a picture of the means which we have devised to determine whether a grant should be made to any given applicant.

"I am sure you will agree, Senator Landrus and Committee members, that it would be criminal to make such choices on any but the most scientific basis. For this reason, we have chosen to eliminate all elements of bias, chance, or outright error. We have developed a highly advanced scientific tool which we know simply as The Index."

* * * * *

Baker posted another long chart on the wall, speaking as he went. "This chart represents the index of an institution which shall remain anonymous as Sample A. However, I would direct Dr. Wily's close attention to this exhibit. The black median line indicates the boundary of characteristics which have been determined as acceptable or nonacceptable for grants. The colored areas on either side of the median line show strength of the various factors represented in any one institution. The Index is very simple. All that is required is that fifty per cent of the area above the line be colored in order to be eligible for a grant. You will note that in the case of Sample A the requirement is not met."

Fenwick couldn't believe his eyes. The chart was almost like the first one he had ever seen, the one prepared for Clearwater College months ago. He hadn't even known that Baker was still using the idiotic Index. Something was wrong, he told himself—all wrong.

"The Index is a composite," Baker was saying; "the final resultant of many individual charts, and it is the individual charts that will show you the factors which are measured. These factors are determined by an analysis of information supplied directly by the institution.

"The first of these factors is admissions. For a college, it is admission as a student. For a corporation, it is admission as an employee. In each case we present the qualifications of the following at college age: Thomas Edison, Michael Faraday, Nicholai Tesla, James Watt, Heinrich Hertz, Kepler, Copernicus, Galileo, and Henry Ford. The admissibility of this group of the world's scientific and the inventive leaders is shown here." Baker pointed to a minute dab of red on the chart.

"Gentlemen of the Committee," he said, "would you advise me to support with a million-dollar grant an institution that would close its doors to minds like those of Edison and Faraday?"

The roar of surf seemed to fill the committee room as Landrus banged in vain on the table. Photographers' flashes lit the scene with spurts of lightning. Wily was on his feet screaming, and Baker thought he heard the word, "Fraud!" repeated numerous times. Landrus was finally heard, "The room will be cleared at the next outburst!"

Baker wondered if he ever did carry out such a threat.

But Wily prevailed. "No such question was ever asked," he cried. "My organization was never asked the ridiculous question of whether or not it would admit these men. Of course we would admit them if they were known to us!"

"I should like to answer the gentleman's objection," Baker said to Landrus.

The senator nodded reluctantly.

"We did not, of course, present these men by name. That would have been too obvious. We presented them in terms of their qualifications at the age of college entrance. You see how many would have been turned down. How many, therefore, who are the intellectual equals of these men are also being turned down? Dr. Wily says they would be admitted if they were known. But of course they could not be known at the start of their careers!"

* * * * *

Baker turned the chart and quickly substituted another. "The second standard is that of creativeness. We simply asked the applicants to describe ten or more new ideas of speculations entertained by each member of the staff during the past year. When we received this information, we did not even read the descriptions; we merely plotted the degree of response. As you see, the institution represented by Sample A does not consider itself long on speculative ideas."

A titter rippled through the audience. Baker saw Wily poised, beet-red, to spring up once more; then apparently he thought better of it and slumped in his seat.

"Is this a fair test?" Baker asked rhetorically. "I submit that it is. An institution that is in the business of fostering creativeness ought to be guilty of a few new ideas once in a while!"

He changed charts once more and faced the listeners. "We have more than twenty such factors that go into the composition of the Index. I will not weary you with a recital of all of them, but I will present just one more. We call this the area of communication, and it is plotted here for Sample institution A."

Again, a dismal red smudge showed up at the bottom of the sheet. Fenwick could hardly keep from chuckling aloud as he recalled the first time he had seen such a chart. He hoped Baker was putting it over. If the reaction of the gallery were any indication, he was doing so.

"A major activity of scientists in all ages has been writing reports of their activities. If a man creates something new and talks only to himself about it, the value of the man and his discovery to the world is a big round zero. If a man creates something new and tells the whole world about it, the value is at a maximum. Somewhere in between these extremes lies the communicative activity of the modern scientist.

"There was a time when the scientist was the most literate of men, and the writing of a scientific report was a work of literary art. The lectures of Michael Faraday, Darwin's account of his great research—these are literate reading still.

"There are few such men among us today. The modern scientists seldom speak to you and me, but only to each other. To the extent their circle of communication is limited, so is their value. Shall we support the man who speaks to the world, or the man who speaks only in order to hear his own echo?"

He had them now, Fenwick was convinced. He could quit any time and be ahead. The gallery was smiling approval. The press was nodding and whispering to each other. The senators wouldn't be human if they weren't moved.

Baker swept aside all these charts now and placed another series before the audience. "This is the Index on an institution to whom we have given a sizable grant," he said. "Is there anyone here who would question our decision?

"This institution would have accepted every one of the list of scientists I gave you a moment ago. They would have had their chance here. This institution has men in whom new ideas pop up like cherry blossoms in the spring. I don't know how many of them are good ideas. No one can tell at this stage, but, at least, these men are thinking—which is a basic requirement for producing scientific discovery.

"Finally, this institution is staffed by men who can't be shut up. They don't communicate merely with each other. They talk about their ideas to anyone who comes along. They write articles for little publications and for big ones. They are in the home mechanics' journals and on publishers' book lists.

"Most important of all, these are some of the men responsible for the red line on the first curve I showed you. These are the men who have produced the most new developments and inventions with the least amount of money.

"I leave it to you, gentlemen. Has the National Bureau of Scientific Development chosen correctly, or should we return to our former course?"

There were cheers and applause as Baker sat down. Landrus closed the hearing with the announcement that the evidence would be examined at length and a report issued. Wily hurried forward to buttonhole him as the crowd filed out.

* * * * *

"It was a good show," Fenwick said, "but I'm still puzzled by what you've done. This new Index is really just about as phony as your old one."

They were seated in Baker's office once more. Baker smiled and glanced through the window beyond Fenwick. "I suppose so," Baker admitted finally, "but do you think Wily will be able to convince Landrus and his committee of that no matter how big a dinner he buys him tonight?"

"No—I don't think he will."

"Then we've accomplished our purpose. Besides, there's a good deal of truth buried in the Index. It's no lie that we can give them scientific research at a cheaper price than ever before."

"But what was the purpose you were trying to accomplish?"

Baker hesitated. "To establish myself as an Authority," he said, finally. "After today, I will be the recognized Authority on how to manage the nation's greatest research and development program."

Fenwick stared, then gasped. "Authority—you? This is the thing you were trying to fight. This is the great Plague Sam Atkins taught you—"

Baker was shaking his head and laughing. "No. Sam Atkins didn't tell me that one man could become immune and fight the Plague head on all by himself. He taught me something else that I didn't understand for a long time. He told me that he who ceases to fear Authority becomes Authority.

"To become Authority was the last thing in the world I wanted. But finally I recognized what Sam meant; it was the only way I could ever accomplish anything in the face of this Plague. You can't tell men of this culture that it is wrong to put themselves in total agreement with Authority. If that's the program on which they've chosen to function, the destruction of the program would destroy them, just as it did me. There had to be another way.

"If men are afraid of lions, you don't teach them it's wrong for men to be afraid of beasts; you teach them how to trap lions.

"If men are afraid of new knowledge-experiences, you don't teach them that new knowledge is not to be feared. There was a time when men got burned at the stake for such efforts. The response today is not entirely different. No—when men are afraid of knowledge you teach them to trap knowledge, just as you might teach them to trap lions.

"I can do this now because I have shown them that I am an Authority. I can lead them and it will not fracture their basic program tapes, which instruct them to be in accord with Authority. I can stop their battle against those who are not possessed of the Plague. It may even be that I can change the course of the Plague. Who knows?"

Fenwick was silent for a long time. Then he spoke again. "I read somewhere about a caterpillar that's called the Processionary Caterpillar. Several of them hook up, nose to fanny, and travel through a forest wherever the whims of the front caterpillar take them.

"A naturalist once took a train of Processionary Caterpillars and placed them on the rim of a flower pot in a continuous chain. They marched for days around the flower pot, each one supposing the caterpillar in front of him knew where he was going. Each was the Authority to the one behind. Food and water were placed nearby, but the caterpillars continued marching until they dropped off from exhaustion."

Baker frowned. "And what's that got to do with—?"

"You," said Fenwick. "You just led the way down off the flower pot. You just got promoted to head caterpillar."

THE END