The Science Fiction anthology. Andre Norton
him.
He got through the evening well enough, doused with martinis, and the night that followed was no worse than most.
At nine the next morning, the call he’d been expecting from Buffalo came through. “Hello, Stu,” he said to the president of the company.
“Hello, Amos. Still morning out there, eh? How’s the family? Good. Say, Amos; couple of things. This big factory charge. Production’s screaming.”
“It was definitely a bad batch, Stu.”
“Well, that’s it, then. Question is, how’d it happen?”
“Jim Glover says he needs another control chemist.”
“Hope you’re not practicing false economy out there.”
“We wanted to hire another man, Stu, but Buffalo turned it down.”
“You should have brought it to me personally if it was that important. It’s going to take a big bite out of your year’s profit. Been able to get your margin up any?”
Amos didn’t feel up to pointing out that Sales wanted lower prices and the union wanted higher wages, so that the margin would get even worse. He described a couple of minor economies he’d been able to find, then mentioned the contract with the Peach Association.
“Yes, I heard about that,” said the president of the company. “Nice piece of business. By the way, how you coming on that animal hormone?”
That was the main reason for the call, of course. Detrick had undoubtedly phoned east and intimated that Amos was dragging his feet on a potential bonanza. “I was going to call you on that, Stu. It’ll take a year to test and get registered and—”
“Amos, I hope you’re not turning conservative on us.”
The message was plain; Amos countered automatically. “You know me better than that, Stu. It’s the Legal Department I’m worried about. If they set up a lot of roadblocks, we may need you to run interference.”
“You know I’m always right behind you, Amos.”
That’s true, thought Amos as he hung up. Right behind me. A hell of a place to run interference.
He knew exactly what to expect. If he tried to cut corners, the Legal Department would scream about proper testing and registration, Production would say he was pushing Jim Glover unreasonably, and everyone who could would assume highly moral positions astraddle the fence. A ton of paperwork would go to Buffalo to be distributed among fifty desks and expertly stalled.
Not to mention that this was no ordinary product. He realized for the first time that the Government might not let him produce it, let alone sell it. Even as a minute percentage in feeds. If it was a narcotic, it could be misused.
His buzzer sounded, and he was surprised when Mrs. Grant announced Frank Barnes. It was out of character for Frank not to make a formal appointment first.
One look told Amos what was coming. He listened to Frank’s resignation with a fraction of his mind while the rest of it mused upon the purposeful way things were converging.
Barnes stopped talking and Amos said mechanically, “You’ve been part of the team for a long time, Frank. It’s especially awkward to lose you just now.” It was banal, but it didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to change the man’s mind anyway. He looked closer. The timidity was gone. So were the eyeglasses. A frightening thought struck him. “You’ve taken some of that drug.”
Barnes grinned and handed a small vial full of powder across the desk, along with a file folder. “Last night,” he said. “Between frustration with the job and curiosity about this stuff, I yielded to temptation.”
Amos took the vial and folder. “What are these for?”
“So you can destroy them if you want to. I’ve doctored up the lab records to make the whole thing look like a false alarm. You’re holding all that’s left of the whole program.”
Amos looked for signs of irrationality and saw none. “Do you feel all right?”
“Better than you can imagine. But let me tell you what you’re up against. I can at least do that for you, Mr. Parry.”
“Thanks. Don’t you suppose you could call me Amos now?”
“Sure, Amos. First of all, you were right about that pig trying to imitate the cat. He couldn’t do much because he only had a pig’s brain to work with.” He stopped and grinned, evidently at Amos’ expression. “I’ll try to explain. What is an animal? Physically, I mean?”
Amos shook his head. “You’ve got the floor.”
“All right. An animal is a colony of cells. Different kinds of cells form organs and do different things for the colony, but each cell has a life of its own, too. When it dies a new one of the same kind takes over. But what regulates the colony? What maintains the pattern?”
Amos waited.
“Part of it’s automatic replacement, cell for cell. But beyond that there’s a control; and it’s the unconscious mind.” He paused and studied Amos. “You think I’m theorizing. I’m not. That drug broke down some barriers, and I see all this as you see your own fingers moving.”
Amos remembered the mention of hallucinations.
Barnes grinned again. “Let’s say it’s only one per cent awake and walled off from the conscious mind. What would happen if something removed the wall and woke up the other ninety-nine per cent?”
Remembering the pig, it was impossible not to feel a cold seed of belief. Amos dreaded what was coming next; clearly, it would be a demonstration.
Barnes held out his hand, palm up. In a few seconds a pink spot appeared. It turned red, oozed dismayingly, and became a small pool of blood. Barnes let it stay for a moment, then wiped it off with a handkerchief. There was no more bleeding. “That’s something I can do fast,” he said. “I opened the pores, directed blood to them, then closed them again. Amos, do you believe in werewolves?”
Amos wanted to jump up and shout, “No! You’re insane!” but he could only sit staring.
“I could move that thumb around to the other side of my hand,” Barnes said thoughtfully. “I’m still exploring, but I don’t think even the bone would take too long. You’ll notice I don’t need glasses any more.”
The buzzer buzzed. Amos jumped, and from habit answered. “Bill Detrick and that customer are here, Mr. Parry,” came Alice Grant’s voice.
“I—ask them to wait,” he managed.
His mind was a muddle; he needed time. “You—Frank—will you stay for a few days?”
“Sure. I’m in no hurry now. And while you’re thinking, let me give you a few hints. No more cripples or disease. No ugly people, unless they choose to be. And no law.”
“No—law?”
“How would you police such a world? A man could change his face at will, or his fingerprints. Even his teeth. Probably he could do things I can’t imagine yet.”
The buzzer went again, with Mrs. Grant’s subtle urgency. Amos ignored it, yet he hardly knew when Frank left the room.
He realized the chemist had done him a favor. The selfish thing would have been to keep the secret and the boon all to himself; instead, he’d given Amos the choice.
But what was the choice? Suppressing the drug would cost him his job. There was no doubt about that.
He was standing with his back to the door when he heard it open. He turned and faced Detrick’s annoyed frown. “Amos, we can’t keep this man waiting. He’s—”
All of Amos’ frustration and the new burden coalesced into rage. He ran toward Detrick. “You baboon-faced