The Forever Machine by Mark Clifton & Frank Riley

Author:Mark Clifton & Frank Riley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9781534717374
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2016-06-15T11:36:31+00:00

Chapter X

Dr. Eustace Fairfax, Consulting Psychiatrist to the San Francisco Police Department, gazed down his thin nose and transfixed the lieutenant with a glare, heightened by polished glasses, in which anger and incredulity were fiercely blended.

“Do you mean to say,” he demanded, “that I have been called at this fantastic hour of the night to examine a … a … a routine case for the psycho ward?”

“But this isn’t a routine case,” the harried lieutenant insisted. His own disbelief made him weak in his protestations.

“Bah!” Dr. Fairfax tossed the police blotter across the desk. “I have never seen a more routine report: ‘… Nude young woman arrested, corner of Howard and New Montgomery—’ And you wake me up at three o’clock in the morning! The commissioner will hear of this!”

“Wait, sir,” pleaded the lieutenant. “You don’t understand—” It was an unfortunate choice of words, for one does not tell a consulting psychiatrist that he does not understand.

Dr. Fairfax, who had turned away and was starting out the door, whirled around.

“And what is it I am incapable of understanding?” he asked, his words as brittle as flake ice.

“This young woman isn’t really young,” the lieutenant began hesitantly. Then, overcoming his own doubts, he rushed on. “You see, according to the fingerprint records, this woman, Mabel Monohan, is actually sixty-eight years old!”

“Then why in heaven’s name do you book her as a young woman?” the psychiatrist asked in extreme exasperation.

“Well, the fact is … the Booking Officer thought … we all swear she wasn’t a day over twenty-one!”

“Then you’ve made a mistake, that’s all.”

“No sir, we didn’t make a mistake. The fingerprints checked in every particular, not just one print but all of them. We wired the prints to the FBI in Washington. They check there, too.”

“Then the mistake was made when the prints were taken before.”

The lieutenant began to get a little heated now. The efficiency of his department was being questioned.

“Mabel Monohan,” he said firmly, “has been in and out of this jail for the last fifty years. She has been printed countless times. We called in some of the old-timers. They swear this girl looks like the Mabel they knew forty years ago, ah … from seeing her in jail, of course.”

“That does it! I’ll call the commissioner the first thing in the morning. You may need the professional services of a psychiatrist around here, but not to examine the prisoners!”

Dr. Fairfax’s ordinarily nasal voice had risen to a high whine under the stress of extreme anger. He was often angry at people because they contrarily refused to fit in nicely with his theories. And, of course, it was the people who were wrong. The theories had been advanced by the most Eminent Authorities, and proved by carefully selected case histories. His one satisfaction in life was that so many of the laws he had advocated to make people conform to these theories had been passed—despite strong opposition.

Apparently more laws were needed. He jammed his hat on his head and stalked toward the door.

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