First Lensman - E. E. Smith (nonfiction book recommendations .txt) 📗

the new headaches that interstellar commerce is bringing with it. New vices⁠—drugs⁠—thionite, for instance; we haven’t been able to get an inkling of an idea as to where that stuff is coming from. And I don’t have to tell you what piracy has done to insurance rates.”

“I’ll say not⁠—look at the price of Aldebaranian cigars, the only kind fit to smoke! You’ve given up, then, on the idea that Arisia is the pirates’ G.H.Q.?”

“Definitely. It isn’t. The pirates are even more afraid of it than tramp spacemen are. It’s out of bounds⁠—absolutely forbidden territory, apparently⁠—to everybody, my best operatives included. All we know about it is the name⁠—Arisia⁠—that our planetographers gave it. It is the first completely incomprehensible thing I have ever experienced. I am going out there myself as soon as I can take the time⁠—not that I expect to crack a thing that my best men couldn’t touch, but there have been so many different and conflicting reports⁠—no two stories agree on anything except in that no one could get anywhere near the planet⁠—that I feel the need of some firsthand information. Want to come along?”

“Try to keep me from it!”

“But at that, we shouldn’t be too surprised,” Samms went on, thoughtfully. “Just beginning to scratch the surface as we are, we should expect to encounter peculiar, baffling⁠—even completely inexplicable things. Facts, situations, events, and beings for which our one-system experience could not possibly have prepared us. In fact, we already have. If, ten years ago, anyone had told you that such a race as the Rigellians existed, what would you have thought? One ship went there, you know⁠—once. One hour in any Rigellian city⁠—one minute in a Rigellian automobile⁠—drives a Tellurian insane.”

“I see your point.” Kinnison nodded. “Probably I would have ordered a mental examination. And the Palainians are even worse. People⁠—if you can call them that⁠—who live on Pluto and like it! Entities so alien that nobody, as far as I know, understands them. But you don’t have to go even that far from home to locate a job of unscrewing the inscrutable. Who, what, and why⁠—and for how long⁠—was Gray Roger? And, not far behind him, is this young Bergenholm of yours. And by the way, you never did give me the lowdown on how come it was the ‘Bergenholm,’ and not the ‘Rodebush-Cleveland,’ that made trans-galactic commerce possible and caused nine-tenths of our headaches. As I get the story, Bergenholm wasn’t⁠—isn’t⁠—even an engineer.”

“Didn’t I? Thought I did. He wasn’t, and isn’t. Well, the original Rodebush-Cleveland free drive was a killer, you know.⁠ ⁠…”

“How I know!” Kinnison exclaimed, feelingly.

“They beat their brains out and ate their hearts out for months, without getting it any better. Then, one day, this kid Bergenholm ambles into their shop⁠—big, awkward, stumbling over his own feet. He gazes innocently at the thing for a couple of minutes, then says:

“ ‘Why don’t you use uranium instead of iron and rewind it so it will put out a waveform like this, with humps here, and here; instead of there, and there?’ and he draws a couple of freehand, but really beautiful curves.

“ ‘Why should we?’ they squawk at him.

“ ‘Because it will work that way,’ he says, and ambles out as unconcernedly as he came in. Can’t⁠—or won’t⁠—say another word.

“Well in sheer desperation, they tried it⁠—and it worked! And nobody has ever had a minute’s trouble with a Bergenholm since. That’s why Rodebush and Cleveland both insisted on the name.”

“I see; and it points up what I just said. But if he’s such a mental giant, why isn’t he getting results with his own problem, the meteor? Or is he?”

“No⁠ ⁠… or at least he wasn’t as of last night. But there’s a note on my pad that he wants to see me sometime today⁠—suppose we have him come in now?”

“Fine! I’d like to talk to him, if it’s OK with you and with him.”

The young scientist was called in, and was introduced to the Commissioner.

“Go ahead, Doctor Bergenholm,” Samms suggested then. “You may talk to both of us, just as freely as though you and I were alone.”

“I have, as you already know, been called psychic,” Bergenholm began, abruptly. “It is said that I dream dreams, see visions, hear voices, and so on. That I operate on hunches. That I am a genius. Now I very definitely am not a genius⁠—unless my understanding of the meaning of that word is different from that of the rest of mankind.”

Bergenholm paused. Samms and Kinnison looked at each other. The latter broke the short silence.

“The Councillor and I have just been discussing the fact that there are a great many things we do not know; that with the extension of our activities into new fields, the occurrence of the impossible has become almost a commonplace. We are able, I believe, to listen with open minds to anything you have to say.”

“Very well. But first, please know that I am a scientist. As such, I am trained to observe; to think calmly, clearly, and analytically; to test every hypothesis. I do not believe at all in the so-called supernatural. This universe did not come into being, it does not continue to be, except by the operation of natural and immutable laws. And I mean immutable, gentlemen. Everything that has ever happened, that is happening now, or that ever is to happen, was, is, and will be statistically connected with its predecessor event and with its successor event. If I did not believe that implicitly, I would lose all faith in the scientific method. For if one single ‘supernatural’ event or thing had ever occurred or existed it would have constituted an entirely unpredictable event and would have initiated a series⁠—a succession⁠—of such events; a state of things which no scientist will or can believe possible in an orderly universe.

“At the same time, I recognize the fact that I myself have done things⁠—caused events to occur, if you prefer⁠—that I cannot explain to you or to any other human being