Day Dark, Night Bright by Fritz Leiber

Author:Fritz Leiber [Leiber, Fritz]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Fiction, Collections & Anthologies, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781617561146
Google: S1bJczKl44sC
Amazon: 1617561118
Goodreads: 10385654
Publisher: e-reads.com
Published: 2002-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THOUGHT

“So, you see, there is no thought I cannot catch.”

Harborford’s chin jutted arrogantly as he said it. He looked rather like a Napoleon of the mental realms, with gray thought-tracings instead of maps scattered across the desk in front of him and showing ghostlike and gigantic in the sunlit projection space behind. Yet mingled with the arrogance was a sincerity that made it difficult to take—or at least to show—offense.

Blacklaw was up against this difficulty.

“That’s a large statement,” he remarked. “I should think there would always be some cases—”

“No!” Harborford’s stumpy hand thumped the pile of tracings, then seized one and pointed at an oddly humped trace which stood out plainly from the shadowy pattern. “See, even when you were thinking that I could not catch your thought, I caught that thought!”

Blacklaw grinned woefully. “I’ll admit you plucked out some of my hiddenmost secrets,” he said. “An amazing performance, considering the brief time you had for orientation. Still, I have the feeling that you’d eventually run up against certain insurmountable difficulties. It’s an elusive point I’m trying to make. I don’t know quite how to express it, because—”

“Because it’s a false point,” Harborford interrupted conclusively. “If I had you back in the projectorium, that would become obvious at once. You could see the inconsistency indications, the breakage lines signifying illogic, for yourself. No, I’m afraid humanity must face the fact that, given time and the proper facilities for research, there is not one of its thoughts which I cannot ferret out.” He sat down.

Blacklaw followed his example. He felt a twinge of regret which did not show in his lean, mobile face. It was beginning to look as if he would have to use Harborford’s dogmatic challenge for the theme of his article, even though the resultant product would resemble primitive twentieth-century journalism. He had rather hoped to do something quieter for the Newsbeam.

He brushed aside these considerations. “Let me see if I have the general outlines straight. Don’t want to pull any boners, though of course I’ll send you a transcript for corrections before we beam it.” Harborford nodded gravely. “Well, as I understand it, thought involves changes of electrical potential throughout the brain. These changes interfere with the uniform sub-photonic beam passing through the subject’s brain and are eventually projected as a pattern of grays.”

“Making use of the technique of beam-amplification which has revolutionized astronomy,” Harborford reminded him.

“Yes. Well, then doesn’t a lot depend on the angle from which you take the projection? Wouldn’t an arbitrary change in the angle at which the beam passes through the subject’s brain make the resultant tracing almost unrecognizable?”

“Only in the case of two-dimensional tracings. Kesserik, would you—” Harborford motioned to the dark, wiry man at the far end of the room. He manipulated some controls. It became black. In the empty space beyond Harborford’s desk, a mistiness became apparent, took on thickness, manifested itself as a dome-shaped dancing of lights and shadows.

Harborford stood up. To Blacklaw he was a stubby, square shouldered silhouette, from which came a didactic voice.

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