It was all over. Though the ship had scarcely begun its Journey, there was nothing more that human eyes could see. But in Jan's mind the memory of that shining path still burned, a beacon that would never fade as long as he possessed ambition and desire.
The party was over. Almost all the guests had climbed back into the sky and were now scattering to the four corners of the globe. There were, however, a few exceptions.
One was Norman Dodsworth, the poet, who had got unpleasantly drunk but had been sensible enough to pass out before any violent action proved necessary. He had been deposited, not very gently, on the lawn, where it was hoped that a hyena would give him a rude awakening. For all practical purposes he could, therefore, be regarded as absent.
The other remaining guests were George and Jean. This was not George's idea at all; he wanted to go home. He disapproved of the friendship between Rupert and Jean, though not for the usual reason. George prided himself on being a practical, level-headed character, and regarded the interest which drew Jean and Rupert together as being not only childish in this age of science, but more than a little unhealthy. That anyone should still place the slightest credence in the supernormal seemed extraordinary to him, and finding Rashaverak here had shaken his faith in the Overlords.
It was now obvious that Rupert had been plotting some surprise, probably with Jean's connivance. George resigned himself gloomily to whatever nonsense was coming.
“I tried all sorts of things before I settled on this,” said Rupert proudly.
“The big problem is to reduce friction so that you get complete freedom of movement. The old-fashioned polished table and tumbler set-up isn't bad, but ft's been used for centuries now and I was sure that modern science could do better. And here's the result. Draw up your chairs—are you quite sure you don't want to join, Rashy?”
The Overlord seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second. Then he shook his head. (Had they learned that habit on Earth? George wondered.)
“No, thank you,” he replied. “I would prefer to observe. Some other time, perhaps.”
“Very well—there's plenty of time to change your mind later.”
Oh, Is there? thought George, looking gloomily at his watch.
Rupert had shepherded his friends round a small but massive table, perfectly circular in shape. It had a flat plastic top which he lifted off to reveal a glittering sea of closely packed ball-bearings. They were prevented from escaping by the table's slightly raised rim, and George found it quite impossible to imagine their purpose. The hundreds of reflected points of light formed a fascinating and hypnotic pattern, and he felt himself becoming slightly dizzy.
As they drew up their chairs, Rupert reached under the table and brought forth a disc some ten centimetres in diameter, which he placed on the surface of the ball-bearings.
“There you are,” he said. “You put your fingers on this, and it moves around with no resistance at all.” George eyed the device with profound distrust. He noted that the letters of the alphabet were placed at regular intervals—though in no particular order—round the circumference of the table. In addition there were the numbers one to nine, scattered at random among the letters, and two cards bearing the words “YES” and “NO”. These were on opposite sides of the table.
“It looks like a lot of mumbo-jumbo to me,” he muttered. “I'm surprised that anyone takes it seriously in this age.” He felt a little better after delivering this mild protest, which was aimed at Jean quite as much as Rupert. Rupert didn't pretend to have more than a detached scientific interest in these phenomena. He was open-minded, but not credulous. Jean, on the other hand—well, George was sometimes a little worried about her. She really seemed to think that there was something in this business of telepathy and second-sight. Not until he had made his remark did George realize that it also implied a criticism of Rashaverak. He glanced nervously round but the Overlord showed no reaction. Which, of course, proved absolutely nothing at all.
Everyone had now taken up their positions. Going in a clockwise direction round the table were Rupert, Maia, Jan, Jean, George, and Benny Shoenberger. Ruth Shoenberger was sitting outside the circle with a notebook. She apparently had some objection to taking part in the proceedings, which had caused Benny to snake obscurely sarcastic remarks about people who still took the Talmud seriously. However, she seemed perfectly willing to act as a recorder.
“Now listen,” began Rupert, “for the benefit of sceptics like George, let's get this straight. Whether or not there's anything supernormal about this, it works. Personally, I think there's a purely mechanical explanation. When we put our hands on the disc, even though we may try to avoid influencing its movements, our subconscious starts playing tricks. I've analyzed lots of these seances, and I've never got answers that someone in the group mightn't have known or guessed—though sometimes they weren't aware of the fact. However, I'd like to carry out the experiment in these rather—ah—peculiar circumstances.”
The Peculiar Circumstance sat watching them silently, but doubtless not with indifference. George wondered just what Rashaverak thought of these antics. Were his reactions those of an anthropologist watching some primitive religious rite? The whole set-up was really quite fantastic, and George felt as big a fool as he had ever done in his life.
If the others felt equally foolish, they concealed their emotions. Only Jean looked flushed and excited, though that might have been the drinks.
“All set?” asked Rupert. “Very well.” He paused impressively; then, addressing no one in particular, he called out, “Is there anybody there?” George could feel the plate beneath his fingers tremble slightly. That was not surprising, considering the pressure being exerted upon it by the six people in the circle. It slithered around in a small figure-eight, then came to rest back at the centre.
“Is there anybody there?” repeated Rupert. In a more conversational tone of voice he added, “It's often ten or fifteen minutes before we get started. But sometimes—”
“Hush!” breathed Jean.
The plate was moving. It began to swing in a wide arc between the cards labelled
“YES” and “NO”. With some difficulty, George suppressed a giggle. Just what would it prove, he wondered, if the answer was “NO'? He remembered the old joke: “There's nobody here but us chickens, Massa.. ”
But the answer was “YES”. The plate came swiftly back to the centre of the table. Somehow it now seemed alive, waiting fir the next question. Despite himself, George began to be impressed.
“Who are you?” asked Rupert.
There was no hesitation now as the letters were spelled out. The plate darted across the table like a sentient thing, moving so swiftly that George sometimes found it hard to keep his fingers in contact. He could swear that he was not contributing to its motion. Glancing quickly round the table, he could see nothing suspicious in the faces of his friends. They seemed as intent, and as expectant, as he himself.
“IAMALL” spelled the plate, and returned to its point of equilibrium.
“'I am all,” repeated Rupert. “That's a typical reply. Evasive, yet stimulating. It probably means that there's nothing here except our combined minds.” He paused for a moment, obviously deciding upon his next question. Then he addressed the air once more.
“Have you a message for anyone here?”
“No,” replied the plate promptly. Rupert looked around the table.
“It's up to us; sometimes it volunteers information, but this time we'll have to ask definite questions. Anyone like to start?”
“Will it rain tomorrow?” said George jestingly. At once the plate began to swing back and forth in the YES— NO line.
“That's a silly question,” reproved Rupert. “It's bound to be raining somewhere and to be dry somewhere else. Don't ask questions that have ambiguous answers.”
George felt appropriately squashed. He decided to let someone else have the next turn.
“What is my favourite colour?” asked Maia.
“BLUE,” came the prompt reply.
“That's quite correct.”
“But it doesn't prove anything. At least three people here knew that,” George pointed out.
“What's Ruth's favourite colour?” asked Benny.
“RED.”
