Part 2 (1/2)

It was the first sentence he had spoken in the past hour or so, and it was purely for the edification of the man who was standing on the other side of the air lock, although neither Griffin nor MacHeath had actually seen him as yet.

Griffin was not a telepath in the sense that the S.M.M.R. used the word, but to a non-psionicist, he would have appeared to be one.

Members.h.i.+p in the ”core” group of the _Society for Mystical and Metaphysical Research_ required, above all, _understanding_. And, with that understanding, a conversation between two members need consist only of an occasional gesture and a key word now and then.

The word ”understanding” needs emphasis. Without understanding of another human mind, no human mind can be completely effective. Without that understanding, no human being can be completely free.

And yet, the English word ”understanding” is only an approximation to the actual process that must take place. _Total_ understanding, in one sense, would require that a person actually _become_ another person--that he be able to feel, completely and absolutely, every emotion, every thought, every bodily sensation, every twinge of memory, every judgment, every decision, and every sense of personal ident.i.ty that is felt by the other person, no more and no less.

Such totality is, obviously, neither attainable nor desirable. The result would be a merger of ident.i.ties, a total unification. And, as a consequence, a complete loss of one of the human beings involved.

Optimum ”understanding” requires that a judgment be made, and that, in turn, requires _two_ minds--not a fusion of ident.i.ty. There must be one to judge and another to be judged, and each mind plays both roles.

_Love thy neighbor as thyself._ But the original Greek word would translate better as ”respect and understand” than as the modern English ”love.” The founders of our modern religions were not fools; they simply did not have the tools at hand to formulate their knowledge properly. As understanding increases, a critical point is reached, which causes a qualitative change in the human mind.

First, self-understanding must come. The human mind operates through similarities, and the thing most similar to any human mind is itself.

The next most similar thing is another human mind.

From that point on, all objects, processes, and patterns in the universe can be graded according to their similarity to each other, and, ultimately, to their similarity to the human mind.

Two given ent.i.ties may seem utterly dissimilar, but they can always be linked by a _tertium quid_--a ”third thing” which is similar to both.

This third thing, be it a material object or a product of the human imagination, is called a symbol. Symbols are the bridges by which the human mind can reach and manipulate the universe in which it exists.

With the proper symbols and the understanding to use them, the human mind is limited only by its own inherent structural restrictions.

One of the most active research projects of the S.M.M.R. was the construction of a more powerful symbology. Psionics had made tremendous strides in the previous four decades, but it was still in the alchemy stage. So far, symbols for various processes could only be worked out by cut-and-try, rule-of-thumb methods, using symbols already established, including languages and mathematics. None were completely satisfactory, but they worked fairly well within their narrow limits.

As far as communication was concerned, the hashed-together symbology used by the S.M.M.R. was better than any conceivable code. The understanding required to ”break” the ”code” was well beyond the critical point. Anyone who could break it was, _ipso facto_, a member of the S.M.M.R.

Most people didn't even realize that a conversation was taking place between two members, especially if a ”cover conversation” was used at the same time.

MacHeath's verbal discussion of the testing of the nuclei accelerator was just such a cover. Even before he had cracked the air lock, he had known that Dr. Theodore Nordred was standing on the other side of the thick wall.

MacHeath pushed the heavy door open on its smooth hinges. ”Oh, h.e.l.lo, Dr. Nordred. How's everything?”

The heavy-set mathematician smiled pleasantly as MacHeath and Griffin came into the gun chamber. ”I just thought I'd come down and see how you were getting along,” he said. His voice was a low tenor, with just a touch of Midwestern tw.a.n.g. ”Sometimes the creative mind gets bogged down in the nth-order abstractions that have no discernible connection with anything at all.” He chuckled. ”When that happens, I drop everything and go out to find something mundane to worry about.”

Nordred was only an inch shorter than the slim MacHeath, and he weighed in at close to two hundred pounds. At twenty-five, he had had the build of a lightweight wrestler; thirty more years had added poundage--a roll beneath his chin and a bulge at the belly--but he still looked capable of going a round or two without tiring. His shock of heavy hair was a mixture of mouse-brown and gray, and it seemed to have a tendency to stand up on end, which added another inch and a half to his height. His round face had a tendency to smile when he was talking or working with his hands; when he was deep in thought, his face usually relaxed into thoughtful blankness. He frowned rarely, and only for seconds at a time.

”It seems to me you have enough to worry about, doctor,” MacHeath said banteringly, ”without looking for it.” He put down his instrument case and took out a cigarette while Griffin closed the door to the acceleration tube.

”Oh I don't have to look far,” Nordred said. ”How long do you think it will be before we can resume our work with the Monster?”

”Ten days to two weeks,” MacHeath said promptly.

”I see.” One his rare frowns crossed his face. ”I wish I knew why the exciter arced across. It shouldn't have.”

”Don't you have any idea?” MacHeath asked innocently. At the same time, he opened his mind wide to net in every wisp and filament of Nordred's thoughts that he could reach.