Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (72 page)

Noticing the approaching pair, the dog turned to face them, pawed at the bars, wagged its tail vigorously and emitted a pleading whine. A perfect picture of canine friendliness, it concentrated its attention particularly upon Harper, subjecting him to all the appeal of a pet-shop pup begging to be bought.

“Any comments?” inquired Leeming.

“If appearance is anything to go by, you injected it with nothing more dangerous than dill-water.”

“Within the limits of that condition, I agree. But can we place faith in appearances? You’ve said that you can recognize an actuality. Well, this dog is actual enough. So what is your diagnosis?”

“I can’t give one,” said Harper. “It’s no use me trying to smell out witches among the canine species. My power functions only with respect to a two-legged creature very much like myself but less hairy.”

“H’m!” Leeming eyed the Labrador which now was standing on its hind legs, forepaws against bars, and openly inviting Harper to take it out for a walk. He frowned deeply, said, “Notice how all its attention is on you and how it is ignoring me?”

“That’s natural. I’d prefer me to you if I were a dog.”

“I’m not joking,” Leeming assured. “I’m deadly serious.”

“Why?”

“We shot a dose of virus into that animal at noon yesterday. We did it in that cage, got out fast and watched results from this side of the bars.”

“And what happened?”

“It behaved normally at first, licked the spot where we’d inserted the needle, wandered aimlessly around and threw us those looks of bewildered reproof which some dogs give when they think they’ve been kicked for nothing. After four minutes it collapsed, had a violent fit during which its body jerked spasmodically, it foamed at the mouth and gave muffled yelps.”

“After that?”

“It recovered with surprising swiftness,” Leeming detailed. “It went ten times around the cage, examining every part of it, and obviously seeking a means of escape. Finding none, it snarled at Balir, who happened to be standing nearest. It gave a display of ferocious hatred that had to be seen to be believed. Dill-water or not, it certainly wasn’t the same dog as before.”

“It seems mild enough now,” Harper pointed out.

“I know. And that is highly significant, I believe. It raged against Balir. Then it turned its fury upon me. For a couple of hours it gave a display of maniac enmity toward anyone and everyone who came in sight. The emotional reaction to entrapment, see?”

“Could be.”

“But after those couple of hours it changed character with the swift dexterity of an actor changing costumes between acts. The hatred vanished. The dog did its darnedest to ingratiate itself with Balir and put on so good a performance that he began to pity it. Knowing or sensing the effect, it redoubled its efforts to gain his friendship. However, Balir is a scientist. He refused to let himself be influenced by irrational sentiment. Therefore he did not respond.”

“What did it do next?”

“It transferred its cajolings to me. I’ll admit without shame that I had moments of feeling sorry for it—until I remembered that my sympathy could be expressed in only two ways, namely, to get within reach and fondle it, which might be most dangerous, or to release it, which could well be downright disastrous. So I remained hard.”

“Is that all?”

“No. Early this morning it tried all its best tricks on Jim Calthorpe, who tends to its feeding. Calthorpe had been warned to use the slide-gate and keep out of the dog’s reach no matter what. He refused to respond to its overtures. Now it is picking on you in your turn.” Leeming glanced at the other and asked, “What do you deduce from such behavior?”

“Constructive thought,” Harper replied. “It has satisfied itself that escape is impossible without help. Its only chance is to find a weakling who’ll cooperate. So it is testing the various candidates in order of arrival.”

“That’s what I suspect. But if we are correct, if it is being purposefully selective in its appeals, isn’t that just a bit too clever for the average dog?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t know. As I told you before, I am no expert on canines. All I do know is that some dogs are alleged to be mighty smart and quite capable of coping with moderately complicated problems. Almost human is the conventional description for them.”

“Yes, but the exceptionally intelligent dog has developed its mental status almost from birth. It hasn’t acquired it all of a sudden, like being fitted with a new collar.”

“Well?”

“This particular animal was as average a specimen as you could find in a long day’s march. Now it’s better than average. It has jumped from Dog I.Q. 70 to Dog I.Q. 100 or more. That is somewhat alarming in view of the circumstances. It points to a conclusion we hoped you could confirm. We are going to have a difficult time proving it without your help.”

“There’s a satisfactory way out,” Harper suggested, “if anyone has the guts to take it.”

“And what may that be?”

“Knock off that hound, recover the hell-juice from it, resquirt it into a human being. Or if you can spare the stuff you showed me in the lab, use that and save yourself time and trouble.”

“Impossible!” declared Leeming.

“Show me an injected human being and I can tell you positively whether or not you have tracked down and isolated the real cause of all the trouble.”

“Unthinkable!” Leeming said.

“Don’t talk silly,” Harper reproved. “How can it be unthinkable, seeing that I’ve thought of it?”

“You know what I mean. We cannot subject a fellow being to such a drastic test.

“It’s a bit late for science to start taking count of moral considerations. The time for that was fifty years ago. Today, one more dirty trick will pass unnoticed. The public has got used to the idea that we’ve all degenerated to a bunch of guinea-pigs.”

Leeming let that pass with no more than a disapproving frown, then said, “It might be all right if we could get a volunteer. Where are we going to find one? Would
you
offer your body for this?”

“I would not. And even if I were daft enough to submit, I would not be permitted to do so. Uncle Sam thinks me too precious to lose.” He tapped Leeming’s chest with a heavy forefinger. “And that fact alone suggests where you may get your experimental carcass, namely, from among those who aren’t precious, those whose loss won’t matter a hoot to anyone, even to themselves.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are thugs in the death-house waiting to be hung, electrocuted or gassed. Offer any of them the one-in-a-thousand chance to gain release and watch him jump at it. Tell him that you want him to take a squirt. If he goes under, well, he’s facing that as it is. But if you can cure him he’ll be given a pardon and freed. Maybe Old Whiskers will find him a government job as a reward for public service.”

“I have no authority to make such an extra-judicial bargain.”

“Somebody has. Find him and keep kicking his pants until he wakes up.”

“I doubt whether anyone less than the President could do it and even he’d have to stretch his powers to the limit.”

“All right. Then chivvy the President. If you don’t go after him somebody else will—and for a more formidable purpose.”

“Look, Wade, talk comes cheap. Performance is a different matter altogether. Have you ever tried moving the top brass?”

“Yes.”

“How far did you get?” Leeming asked with interest.

“I reached General Conway and got him on the hop good and proper. Come to think of it, he’s the boy to ask for a hunk of forked meat. Tell him exactly what’s happened here, what I’ve said to you, what you want to do about it. Tell him your test-subject has got to be a man and nothing less than a man. Dump the problem right in his lap and tell him that so far as you’re concerned he’s stuck with it. He won’t nurse it any longer than he can help, you can bet on that!”

Harper studied the dog again while letting Leeming think it over. The Labrador whined, made pawing motions between the bars. It looked every inch a dog and nothing else save a dog. But that was no proof for or against. Elsewhere slunk creatures who bore equally close resemblance to people but were not people. The number one question: was this animal still a mere dog or had it become in effect a weredog?

He tried to listen to its mind as it begged his attention, and he heard precisely nothing. A blank, a complete blank. His natural range of reception just wasn’t wide enough to pick up emanations from other than his own species. He switched from listening and probed at it sharply, fiercely, in manner that had brought immediate reaction from hiders in human shape. It had no effect upon the dog, which continued its fawning with obvious unconsciousness of his mental stabbing.

The silent experiment served only to confirm what he had already known: that the canine brain functions solely with respect to its own kind and that the so-called ability of dogs to read thoughts is no more than an expert appraisal of gestures, expressions, mannerisms and vocal tones. Because of that the Labrador represented a sterile line of research upon which Leeming had entered in good faith but little chance of satisfactory conclusion. Having got this far, it could be taken no farther. Another and more progressive line must involve a higher form of life.

Leeming broke into his meditation by saying, “I don’t like it and I don’t think I’ll get away with it. Nevertheless I am willing to bait Conway providing you’re standing by to back me up. He might listen to you when he won’t to me.”

“You don’t know until you’ve tried.”

“I do know that I am a scientist while he is a military figurehead. We don’t talk the same language. The academic voice reasons while the voice of authority barks. If he can’t or won’t understand what I’m trying to explain and needs some cussing to make head or tail of it, you take the phone and use the necessary swear-words.”

“Conway isn’t that dopey,” Harper answered. “High rank doesn’t create a hollow head despite certain exceptions that prove the rule.”

“Let’s go to my office,” suggested Leeming. “You get hold of him then I’ll see what can be done.”

Harper called Jameson first, said, “I’m at the Biological Research Laboratories as probably you are aware, you having had something to do with bringing me here. I’m going to put through a call to General Conway. Doctor Leeming wants a brief talk with him.”

“Then why get on to me? Jameson asked.

“Because I’ve tried to reach Conway before, remember? It’s like seeking to hold the hand of God. And neither Leeming nor I have the time or patience to be messed around by every underling in Washington. It’s up to you to tell them to shove my call straight through.”

“See here, Harper—”

“Shut up!” Harper ordered. “You’ve used me plenty. Now I’m using you. Get busy and do as you’re told.”

He slammed the instrument on to its rack, sat in a handy chair, scowled at the phone and snorted.

Leeming said apprehensively, “Who is this Jameson?”

“A big cheese in the F.B.I.”

“And
you
tell
him
where
he
gets off?”

“It’s the first time,” said Harper. “And from what I know of him it’ll also be the last.” He brooded a bit, darkened in color and snapped, “Anyway, why should one bunch of guys do all the order-giving and another all the order-taking? Time we reversed roles once in a while, isn’t it? Is this a democracy or am I deluded?”

“Now, now,” protested Leeming. “Don’t pick on me. I just accept things as they are.”

“Like hell you do. If some of you scientists had been more content to leave well alone we’d all— He let rest go unsaid, chewed his bottom lip a piece, finished, “Take no notice. Once a month I have to give forth or go bang. Jameson’s had long enough to ensure some action. If he hasn’t taken steps by now he doesn’t intend to.”

“My bet is that he’s done nothing.”

“The odds are greatly in your favor, much as I hate to admit it.” Harper regained the phone. “Anyway, we’ll see.”

His call went through, a youthful face appeared in his instrument’s visiscreen.

“My name is Wade Harper,” he told the face. “I want to speak to General Conway and it’s urgent.”

“Just a moment, please.” The face went away, was replaced by another, older, more officious.

“About what do you wish to talk to the General?” inquired the newcomer.

“What’s it to do with you?” demanded Harper toughly. “Go straight to Connie and find out once and for all whether or not he will condescend to have a word with me.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that unless I can first brief him on the subject matter of your—” The face ceased talking, glanced sidewise, said hurriedly, “Pardon me a moment,” and disappeared. A few seconds later it returned wearing a startled expression. “Hold on, Mr. Harper. We’re switching you through as speedily as possible.”

Harper grinned at the now empty screen and said to Leeming, “Looks like you’ve lost your bet. Jameson got into motion although a bit slow at it.”

“That surprises me.”

“It surprises me, too. And it goes to show something or other if I had time to think it out.”

The visiscreen registered eccentric patterns as the line was switched through intercom-boards, then cleared and held General Conway’s austere features.

“What is it, Mr. Harper?”

Giving a short, succinct explanation, Harper handed the phone to Leeming who detailed the current state of affairs, ended by expressing his need for a human subject and the hope that Conway could do something about it.

“I disapprove such a tactic,” declared Conway flatly.

Leeming reddened and said, “In that case, General, we can make no more progress. We are balked.”

“Nonsense, man! I appreciate your desire and the ingenuity of what you suggest. But I cannot spend valuable hours seeking some legal means of making use of a condemned felon when such a move is superfluous and unnecessary.”

“I make the request only because I deem it necessary,” Leeming pointed out.

“You are wrong. You have been sent four bodies of known victims. Two more have become available today and you will receive them shortly. With the spread of this peril and the increase in number of people affected it becomes inevitable that before long we shall succeed in capturing one alive. What more could you want than that?”