Prescription for Chaos (12 page)

Yours in
Gemutlichkeit
,

Banner read this letter over and over again, then called Hommel in to find out how work was coming on the antidote.

Hommel was cheerful.

"We've had some brilliant suggestions, and some really stimulating discussions on the subject, and that sort of beginning can lay the groundwork for some genuine high order achievement later on. I'm sure we'll have real progress to report before long, considering the caliber of the thought that's been shown recently."

Banner frowned.

"That's nice, Mort. But what's been
done
so far?"

"Well, as you realize, this is an extremely difficult problem to deal with. There are a great many ramifications, of really extraordinary subtlety. To put it in layman's language, it pays to clear away the undergrowth before plunging into the thicket."

Banner looked at Hommel attentively, then held out the letter.

"Take a look at this, Mort."

Hommel read the letter quickly, with a faint air of negligent disinterest.

"I'm sorry we didn't have this when I was going to school."

Banner said dryly, "Personally, I'm glad it waited until now." He studied Hommel's expression alertly. "You haven't tried this stuff yourself, Mort?"

"I've made rather extensive use of it. The results have been most gratifying. It's highly stimulating mentally."

"I see. But no actual
work
has been done on the antidote?"

Hommel frowned. "No, I admit, but—"

"Quite a few weeks have gone by."

"I realize that, and we've found some really interesting approaches, that I think should enable us to solve the problem much more rapidly than if we had simply gone at it blindly, more or less by trial and error."

"Maybe. Well, keep at it. And Mort—"

"Yes?"

"If I were you, I'd go a little easy on those pills."

"We've found no harmful side effects, other than those that are strictly temporary."

Banner nodded. "I could be wrong, Mort. But bear in mind that the dosage we suggest on the bottle is 'one to two capsules daily,' and here we have a letter that says, 'I ate up about half a bottle of your I.Q. pills.' We could get something unexpected out of this. If so, we want people here who aren't worried about getting a dose of the same thing themselves. How about your star chemist, Peabody? Is he using the stuff, too?"

"I'm sorry to say Peabody has acquired an irrational distrust of drugs."

"He won't use it himself?"

"No. And I have to admit, he shows up rather poorly by contrast with those who do."

"He does, eh? Well, Mort, do as you think best. But I'd advise you to think this over."

After Hommel had left, Banner called in Peabody.

"I'm told," said Banner, "that you don't think much of our new brain-booster pills."

Peabody looked harassed.

"It isn't that, sir, but I . . . ah . . . I think I'm probably allergic to them."

"Have you tried them?"

"No, sir."

"Don't you feel that, out of loyalty to the company, you ought to eat up at least a bottle a week?"

"I wouldn't want to eat even one capsule a week."

"Why not?"

Peabody shook his head.

"You never know what the side effects may be."

Banner leaned forward.

"What do you think of the work that's been done in finding an antidote?"

"What work? No work
has
been done."

"Even by you?"

"I've groped around some. I've gotten some ideas. But I can't say I've actually accomplished much yet."

"What do you think of the suggestions that have been made?"

"Oh, some of the
suggestions
have been brilliant. They might take a hundred years, all the laboratory facilities and chemists in the country, and a trillion dollars, but some of the suggestions have really sounded good."

"A little impractical, eh?"

Peabody nodded. "Brilliant, though."

"Just between the two of us, Peabody, how many pills do you think the average person who uses this stuff takes?"

"Two with every meal, and two when he goes to bed. That night, he dreams of waking up with an I.Q. of 1,500, and when he gets up he chews up two or three extra for good luck."

"
Does
it make him smarter?"

Peabody scratched his head, and looked exasperated.

"Yes, it does, but—I don't know."

"At least, the pill is useful for learning, isn't it?"

"I suppose so. Everyone says it is. It must be. But is learning supposed to be an end in itself? Once they get started on this stuff, they don't stop."

Banner nodded slowly. "We have to have an antidote."

"There may not
be
an antidote. The effect may be irreversible."

"But we have to look, because that's the only way to find out—and there's another thing that might help, if it's taken care of in time."

"What's that?"

"Where does Hommel keep his personal stock of brain pills?"

Peabody's eyes widened.

"In a drawer of his desk—You mean the Cerebrocreatine?"

"Yes. Now, of course, Peabody, I don't want to suggest that you—or anyone, for that matter—might make up a batch of these pills at considerably reduced strength, and put them in place of the pills Hommel has right now. Naturally, I wouldn't suggest such a thing. Nevertheless, if somebody
did
do that, it might just possibly do some good. Of course, if anyone did do it, he would want to think it over carefully first. Peabody, I admire people who get things
done
. By the way, it seems to me that it's about time you got an increase in salary, isn't it? Yes, I think so. Well, it's been nice weather lately, hasn't it? If we come up with one more drug like this, I think I may just go into the business of manufacturing fishing rods. Of course, there may be something wrong with that, too. If people would chew their food more before they swallow it, they wouldn't
need
so many pills in the first place. And a little exercise wouldn't hurt, either. What the devil are they doing with these things, anyway, Peabody? Are they trying to see who can get to be smartest by eating the most pills?"

Peabody, listening wide-eyed, swallowed hard, opened his mouth, shut it, recovered his breath, and said, "Yes, sir. They seem to use longer words every day."

Banner nodded. "I've always thought there must be a hole in this somewhere. Well, you think over what we've been talking about, and decide what you want to do. The more people we have actually
working
on this antidote, the better."

Peabody squinted in concentration, then nodded determinedly.

As time passed sales climbed to a stunning figure.

Hommel told Banner that he'd evidently reached "some kind of a saturation point" with the drug, which no longer seemed to have any effect on him.

Peabody received a raise.

Hommel reported that a number of his more outstanding men seemed to have "reached the saturation point."

Peabody received a bonus.

Hommel stated exasperatedly that there was "no word of anyone
else
having reached the saturation point"—only he and some of his best men. And wondered why should that be.

Banner wondered aloud if possibly there could be anything about working in a plant where the drug was manufactured that could have anything to do with it.

Hommel seized on the idea as a possible explanation, and determined to look into it once work on the antidote could be got moving. Save for Peabody, this was still on dead center, no one being able to figure out how to put his grandiose research plans into effect.

"The trouble," said Hommel, "is that there are so many very interesting and exciting alternative approaches to the problem—we scarcely know where to start."

"In that case," said Banner, "start anywhere. But for heaven's sake,
start
."

"Many of the more promising methods might prove prohibitively expensive."

"Then forget about them. That simplifies the problem."

Hommel looked puzzled. "True," he said, as if he could not quite grasp the concept, but recognized somehow that it was valid.

After Hommel had gone out, Banner stared at the closed door, then shook his head.

"Well, if that's brilliance, let's hope it wears off pretty soon."

More time went by.

Work on the antidote got sluggishly under way, by fits and starts, and with baffling setbacks, as if the work were dogged by gremlins.

Banner, meanwhile, tried to rouse, amongst those in high places, some awareness of possible future difficulties. Those in high places were not aroused, except by enthusiasm for Cerebrocreatine.

Meanwhile, in colleges and universities throughout the world, bell-shaped curves were being knocked into weird corrugated forms. Ranks of straight-A students moved triumphantly toward graduation. Newspaper and magazine articles predicting the arrival of the millennium multiplied like rabbits.

Banner, meanwhile, had trouble with his car. Having had it inexpertly repaired while he was away on a trip, now that he was back he called up to get it taken care of, and invited Hommel to come along with him.

"All that needs to be done," said Banner, as they walked onto the company parking lot, "is to adjust the carburetor. That shouldn't take too long. We can have lunch a little early, and if they don't have the work done, we'll come back in their courtesy car. I'd adjust it myself, except that they've made so many improvements in the thing that it scares me every time I look under the hood."

Banner got in, and reached over to open the door for Hommel, who by now was seeming more like his usual self. As Hommel slid in and slammed the door, Banner turned the key in the ignition. The engine choked and gagged into life, to run with a galloping rhythm as clouds of black smoke poured out the tail pipe. Like a malfunctioning oil burner on the move, they pulled out onto the highway.

The drive to town turned into a thrilling trip. The car lacked acceleration, and had a tendency to cough and quit. A police officer soon motioned them to the side, parked in front, red light blinking, walked back to their car.

"You're creating a serious hazard in the area of air pollution."

Banner adopted the humble attitude suitable to the occasion. "I'm very sorry, Officer. I made an appointment to get it fixed, and I'm on my way there right now."

"You realize that it's as essential to maintain a vehicle as to purchase it in the first place?"

"Yes, Officer," said Banner humbly.

Just then, a car streaked past at about seventy.

The officer straightened up, hesitated, then said, "As I look at all this traffic, it's impossible not to imagine what it would be like to strip away wheels, trim, and car bodies, leaving only the engines and tail pipes of all these vehicles, pouring out clouds of gaseous contamination. Such a situation would never be tolerated. Yet, the fact that the contamination is incidental, that one contaminating vehicle moves on, to be replaced by a new one, that the source of contamination is covered by trim, and incidental to the purpose of individualized transportation—all this caused the damage inflicted to be overlooked for decades. One wonders what other sources of trouble are similarly concealed by externals."

Banner opened his mouth, and shut it again.

The officer said, "Not long ago, it was necessary for us to learn some new police procedures, and to assist in acquiring the proper degree of mental readiness, I made considerable use of what are known as 'I.Q. capsules.' Quite a number of surprising thoughts occurred to me, based on things I'd heard or read, and hadn't connected together. Were you aware, for instance, that the civilization of ancient Rome may have collapsed because of contamination of the drinking water with lead, which was extensively used for water pipes? And have you considered that an ingredient used extensively to prevent 'knocking' in modern motor fuels contains lead? Could our air supply be contaminated as was the Romans' water supply?"

The officer shook his head and glanced around. "Rectify that condition as soon as possible. If I should see it again and it hasn't been alleviated, I'll be compelled to give you a summons."

"Yes, Officer," said Banner. "I'm going right down there."

The policeman nodded, got back in his car, and Banner waited for a break in the traffic.

"Those pills of ours, Mort, seem to get around."

"They certainly do. I wonder if there's anything to what he said?"

"I'll be frank to say,
I
don't know. But I did notice a speeder go past, and he missed it."

They drove into town, and found the car dealer's drive blocked with parked cars. Banner pulled off the road in an adjacent lot where the dealer sold his used cars. Frowning, they got out and walked back.

"It looks to me," said Banner, "as if he has enough work piled up to last for the next three months."

They were walking along a row of used cars, and passed one where a puzzled customer looked into a car's engine compartment, listening to the salesman:

". . . And another thing you might not know, and I wouldn't either, but I've been studying up on it lately, and that's this power brake. Now, you tend to think a power brake
applies power
to the brake, but that's not how it works. What happens here is that the power brakes create a vacuum on
one
side of the piston, while atmospheric pressure—"

The customer looked desperate.

"Look, all I
want
—"

Banner shoved open the door of the showroom, nodded to a group of salesmen leaning against the trunk of a new car, and walked past toward a short hall leading to the garage. From behind came the voices of the salesmen:

". . . And when he did that, she had him dead to rights."

"Sure. It was the same in Schlumberger vs. Mallroyd."

"Oh, I don't know. The decision there was adverse."

"
Was
it? What do you say, Phil?"

"Well, I'd hesitate to go into that. I'm not far enough in the course to say about that. I
thought
so. But I realize there's a lot involved in that. It depends on whether a higher court—"