'May I come again?'
'I wish you would,' Jane told him. 'Any time. You still think—'
He nodded. 'The children's minds are not reacting normally. They're not dull at all, but I've the most extraordinary impression that they arrive at conclusions in a way we don't understand. As though they used algebra while we used geometry. The same conclusion, but a different method of reaching it.'
'What about the toys?' Paradine asked suddenly.
'Keep them out of the way. I'd like to borrow them, if I may—'
That night Paradine slept badly. Holloway's parallel had been ill- chosen. It led to disturbing theories. The x factor—The children were using the equivalent of algebraic reasoning, while adults used geometry.
Fair enough. Only—
Algebra can give you answers that geometry cannot, since there are certain terms and symbols which cannot be expressed geometrically. Suppose x logic showed conclusions inconceivable to an adult mind?
'Damn!' Paradine whispered. Jane stirred beside him.
'Dear? Can't you sleep either?'
'No.' He got up and went into the next room. Emma slept peacefully as a cherub, her fat arm curled around Mr. Bear. Through the open doorway Paradine could see Scott's dark head motionless on the pillow.
Jane was beside him. He slipped his arm around her.
'Poor little people,' she murmured. 'And Holloway called them mad. I think we're the ones who are crazy, Dennis.'
'Uh-huh. We've got jitters.'
Scott stirred in his sleep. Without awakening, he called what was obviously a question, though it did not seem to be in any particular language. Emma gave a little mewling cry that changed pitch sharply.
She had not wakened. The children lay without stirring.
But Paradine thought, with a sudden sickness in his middle, it was exactly as though Scott had asked Emma something, and she had replied.
Had their minds changed so that even—sleep—was different to them?
He thrust the thought away. 'You'll catch cold. Let's get back to bed. Want a drink?'
'I think I do,' Jane said, watching Emma. Her hand reached out blindly toward the child; she drew it back. 'Come on. We'll wake the kids.'
They drank a little brandy together, but said nothing. Jane cried in her sleep, later.
Scott was not awake, but his mind worked in slow, careful building. Thus—
'They'll take the toys away. The fat man... listava dangerous maybe. But the Ghoric direction won't show ... evankrus dun-hasn't- them. Intransdection... bright and shiny. Emma. She's more khopranik-high now than... I still don't see how to...
thavarar lixery dist—'
A little of Scott's thoughts could still be understood. But Emma had become conditioned to x much faster.
She was thinking, too.
Not like an adult or a child. Not even like a human. Except, perhaps, a human of a type shockingly unfamiliar to genus homo.
Sometimes Scott himself had difficulty in following her thoughts.
If it had not been for Holloway, life might have settled back into an almost normal routine. The toys were no longer active reminders. Emma still enjoyed her dolls and sand pile, with a thoroughly explicable delight. Scott was satisfied with baseball and his chemical set. They did everything other children did, and evinced few, if any, flashes of abnormality. But Holloway seemed to be an alarmist.
He was having the toys tested, with rather idiotic results. He drew endless charts and diagrams, corresponded with mathematicians, engineers, and other psychologists, and went quietly crazy trying to find rhyme or reason in the construction of the gadgets. The box itself, with its cryptic machinery, told nothing. Fusing had melted too much of the stuff into slag. But the toys—
It was the random element that baffled investigation. Even that was a matter of semantics. For Holloway was convinced that it wasn't really random. There just weren't enough known factors. No adult could work the abacus, for example. And Holloway thoughtfully refrained from letting a child play with the thing.
The crystal cube was similarly cryptic. It showed a mad pattern of colors, which sometimes moved. In this it resembled a kaleidoscope. But the shifting of balance and gravity didn't affect it. Again the random factor.
Or, rather, the unknown. The x pattern. Eventually Paradine and Jane slipped back into something like complacence, with a feeling that the children had been cured of their mental quirk, now that the contributing cause had been removed. Certain of the actions of Emma and Scott gave them every reason to quit worrying.
For the kids enjoyed swimming, hiking, movies, games, the normal functional toys of this particular time- sector. It was true that they failed to master certain rather puzzling mechanical devices which involved some calculation. A three-dimensional jigsaw globe Paradine had picked up, for example. But he found that difficult himself.
Once in a while there were lapses. Scott was hiking with his father one Saturday afternoon, and the two had paused at the summit of a hill. Beneath them a rather lovely valley was spread.
'Pretty, isn't it?' Paradine remarked.
Scott examined the scene gravely. 'It's all wrong,' he said.
'Eh?'
'I dunno.'
'What's wrong about it?'
'Gee—' Scott lapsed into puzzled silence. 'I dunno.'
The children had missed their toys, but not for long. Emma recovered first, though Scott still moped. He held unintelligible conversations with his sister, and studied meaningless scrawls she drew on paper he supplied. It was almost as though he was consulting her, anent difficult problems beyond his grasp.
If Emma understood more, Scott had more real intelligence, and manipulatory skill as well. He built a gadget with his Meccano set, but was dissatisfied. The apparent cause of his dissatisfaction was exactly why Paradine was relieved when he viewed the structure. It was the sort of thing a normal boy would make, vaguely reminiscent of a cubistic ship.
It was a bit too normal to please Scott. He asked Emma more questions, though in private. She thought for a time, and then made more scrawls with an awkwardly clutched pencil.
'Can you read that stuff?' Jane asked her son one morning.
'Not read it, exactly. I can tell what she means. Not all the time, but mostly.'
'Is it writing?'
'N-no. It doesn't mean what it looks like.'
'Symbolism,' Paradine suggested over his coffee.
Jane looked at him, her eyes widening. 'Denny—'
He winked and shook his head. Later, when they were alone, he said, 'Don't let Holloway upset you. I'm not implying that the kids are corresponding in an unknown tongue. If Emma draws a squiggle and says it's a flower, that's an arbitrary rule—
Scott remembers that. Next time she draws the same sort of squiggle, or tries to—
well!'
'Sure,' Jane said doubtfully. 'Have you noticed Scott's been doing a lot of reading lately?''
'I noticed. Nothing unusual, though. No Kant or Spinoza.'
'He browses, that's all.'
'Well, so did I, at his age,' Paradine said, and went off to his morning classes. He lunched with Holloway, which was becoming a daily habit, and spoke of Emma's literary endeavors.
'Was I right about symbolism, Rex?'
The psychologist nodded. 'Quite right. Our own language is nothing but arbitrary symbolism now. At least in its application. Look here.' On his napkin he drew a very narrow ellipse. 'What's that?'
'You mean what does it represent?'
'Yes. What does it suggest to you? It could be a crude representation of—what?'
