Prescription for Chaos (38 page)

"But it does work. And it's useful. Yet Mr. Kenzie and Dr. Allen seem embarrassed by its existence."

"A genuine touchstone is something some people—I'm not thinking of Mr. Kenzie or Dr. Allen—might not want around."

"Does that matter?"

"Say we have a text written by Bungle, Murk, and Damnation, and published by Confusion Booksmiths. The school board runs a touchstone over this text, and never wants to see the book again. Confusion Booksmiths rises up a hundred feet tall in the law courts to demand proof from whoever made the touchstone that it is scientifically valid. We then have the problem of proving the scientific validity of something that does not conform to present-day scientific theories."

"To sell it would bring about situations in which an explanation will be demanded?"

"It seems so to me. And then what?"

"What
is
the explanation?"

"That's a question I've been trying to answer." Muir turned the device over in his hands. "Is it all right to open this?"

"As far as I know."

He got out an all-purpose Swiss pocket knife, and carefully undid four screws. Very cautiously, he lifted off the back of the case. After a lengthy silence, he looked up.

"However this device may judge quality, it doesn't use any method humans would use. I have the impression I'm looking at some variation on the Geiger counter."

"How—"

"Conceivably it counts something emitted from the object the coil is aimed at."

"Is that bad?"

"For whoever has to explain it. What does it count?"

She nodded. "I see."

"What is it again that this works on?"

"Anything man-made."

"But not on anything that's not man-made?"

"I don't think so. Marius would know better than I. But that's my—"

The door opened, and Marius looked in. "The touchstone only works on man-made objects. Dad showed me. Mom, I wanted to tell you Sally wants to get up. But I didn't want to interrupt when I heard you and Felix talking."

Muir listened with conflicting emotions as Marius went on: "I can show Felix more about how the touchstone works. But it's getting late, so maybe you could make supper. And we've got the extra room, so if Felix wants to stay overnight—"

Muir glanced at Gloria Griswell, who stared for an instant at her son, then turned to Muir, who said, "I appreciate the suggestion, but I think I should get back."

Marius said, still speaking to his mother, "You remember what happened the night before last, Mom? It wouldn't hurt to have a man around the house."

Muir started to speak, paused, then said, "What happened the night before last?"

Marius said, "Someone broke in."

"Marius," said Gloria, "we aren't sure—"

"You heard it, Mom. And the window was unlocked the next morning. And someone had gone through the desk. Sally was scared to death, and so was I."

Muir said sharply, "What desk?"

Marius pointed silently to the rolltop desk.

Muir said, "Was anything taken?"

"We don't think so," said Gloria.

Marius said, "Whoever did it might be back."

Muir said, "In that case . . ."

The sun was low in the sky next morning as Muir pulled into the company lot, parked, and went inside. He had just locked his attaché case in the old-fashioned safe when there was a knock, and Dr. Allen looked in.

"Muir, Mr. Kenzie and I would like to talk to you."

Muir followed Allen down the hallway, through an unmarked door, and up in a small elevator. They crossed a short hall, to an office where Kenzie, his suitcoat over the back of a chair, tie half-undone, prowled like a caged panther. Kenzie paused at the window to glance out, then turned to Muir.

"What do you make of the touchstone?"

"A useful device."

"Which does what?"

"Measure the quality of human workmanship."

Kenzie glanced at Allen.

"That's where we got stuck."

Allen nodded soberly.

Kenzie looked back at Muir. "We have got to get moving on this. You've had little enough time, but let's hear your impressions."

"At first, I thought the touchstone might be a joke, detecting something Dr. Griswell had already put in the objects it judges. But Gloria said it works on things made recently, and it does."

Kenzie looked at him sharply.

"Mrs. Griswell helped show you how it works."

"Yes."

"She has a fiancé. Did you meet the—"

"He was there when I got there."

"You met her family? A son and daughter?"

Dr. Allen said dryly, "Both delightful."

Muir smiled, and nodded. "Nice kids."

Allen stared. Kenzie looked momentarily blank, then said, "Do you see any way yet to market or even explain the touchstone?"

"To explain it, yes. But I'm not sure . . ."

Allen said, "Namely?"

"Well . . . People judge workmanship by appearance, performance, and comparison with some standard. This device does it some other way; the works suggest a radiation counter. But what's counted? Could there be a form of radiation that gives a measure of quality of workmanship?"

Allen said, "If so, where would you go from there?"

"Then the operation of the device would be possible to work out. But first there are some trifling little problems in identifying this radiation."

Allen nodded. "Not least of which is that 'quality' and 'workmanship' relate to subjective human judgments, and they are being measured objectively by an instrument. The explanation will blow up in your face."

"Unfortunately, there so far seems to be no alternative. For the sake of argument, why should that create an explosion?"

"Science," said Allen, "is based on objective repeatable experiments. The judgment of quality rests on what is essentially a subjective sense of esthetics, combined with various aspects of experience. There's no connection."

"The touchstone works. Therefore there must be a connection."

"There can't be."

Kenzie straightened his tie. "There's no connection between 'objective experiments' and 'various aspects of experience'?"

"No relevant connection. Quality of workmanship involves human esthetics; human esthetics is not an objectively measurable quality."

Muir nodded. "Obviously, that's true. But we're up against something still more basic than that, and that has been shown over and over again. It's why there's a bloodbath every now and then between science and philosophy."

Allen looked at Muir in foreboding. "What?"

"Argument doesn't refute facts. Facts dominate. An argument only interprets facts."

"But what—"

"The touchstone exists. It is a device based on science. It accurately judges the quality of workmanship. Therefore workmanship must be objectively measurable."

Kenzie glanced at Allen.

Allen exhaled slowly, and nodded. "It's arguable in the case of a structure or a machine. There esthetics may depend on function. But what about modern art?"

Kenzie nodded. "Doc had two touchstones, Muir. One he kept at home, one in a safe in his office. We tried out the one he kept in his office. Among other things, we took it to a museum, to see if it would judge art."

Muir remembered the green plastic hand and pot-metal ashtray. "And it did?"

Kenzie nodded. "And it actively disliked most modern art."

"What did it—"

Allen shook his head. "You can't imagine. The noises it made brought a guard on the run. He thought we were sick."

Kenzie said, "The only way we see to market this thing is as what it seems to be . . . a detector of quality workmanship. But how do we prove it? And what happens when the museum, for instance, discovers that most of the exhibits in that priceless collection have been 'scientifically' graded as junk?"

Muir thought it over. "The touchstone could be right."

Kenzie nodded. "Ninety percent of those expensive exhibits could be the worst kind of artistic trash. But how does that help us? Whoever the touchstone damages financially may try to recover. He may very naturally try to recover by means of a lawsuit. If we claim that the touchstone is what it seems to be, we have to be able to prove it."

"Where it judges technology," said Allen, "at least we can argue the case; but it will judge any kind of workmanship. Outside the museum, there's a pedestal that holds up a thing like a—ah—like a—"

Kenzie said, "Like an oversize bronze pretzel with its hands in its pockets."

Allen nodded. "Exactly. You don't dare get anywhere near that piece of statuary till you've shut off the touchstone."

Muir laughed. "That's a reason to question its judgment?"

"Legally," said Kenzie, "yes, it is. That bronze pretzel cost the museum sixty thousand dollars. Just suppose our device should knock the market price down to the scrap value of the bronze? The museum will naturally think they've been damaged by false claims. How do you defend a thing like this in court?"

"I don't know."

"Doc was a genius. My impression is that the touchstone sees through slipshod work and confidence stunts, artistic or otherwise, as an x-ray sees through tissue paper. But we may have to prove it. How?"

Muir said, "Gloria would like to see the touchstone produced and sold. She thinks it could do a lot of good."

Kenzie nodded. "We all have to rely on specialists; and it's all but impossible to judge their work except by results, and then it's too late. The touchstone could help. Suppose you need a car. You aim the touchstone, push the button, and if there's a groaning noise, you walk off the lot. That's better than buying a lemon. But again, if this happens often enough, what's the manufacturer likely to do? Attack the touchstone. How do we defend it?"

"Maybe we're approaching this from the wrong direction."

"It could be," said Kenzie exasperatedly. "The whole thing is skewed, off-center, and hard to grasp. What's your thought?"

"The better we prove the touchstone is right, the worse it makes the problem. We've vouching for the truth of what the victim sees as slander."

"The touchstone unmistakably detects quality workmanship. That's a slap in the face to the sellers of all the inferior goods on the market, but it's true. To compound the problem, the touchstone is scientific, but sounds like a joke. If Doc hadn't invented it, I wouldn't touch it."

Muir said, "But that may be the answer!"

"What?"

"That Doc Griswell invented it!"

Kenzie shook his head. "The whole problem is that Doc isn't here and can't explain it. Believe me, when Doc got on the witness stand, the opposition had troubles. But he's not here. How do we explain what only he, if anyone, understood?"

"But since he isn't here, how does it help to argue that the touchstone's judgment is scientifically accurate? It's better the other way around."

"How . . ."

"Why not call this 'Doc's Legacy,' say that Doc left this behind, you don't want to withhold it, because it seems useful; but you don't know for sure just what it does. You think Doc used it as a touchstone for good workmanship; but does it give exact truth, or a curmudgeon's viewpoint, or the facts as Doc saw them, or what? Anyone can try it, and see for himself. It would still be just as useful. But you would have sold it as an intriguing puzzle, not as an infallible electronic judge."

Kenzie looked thoughtful, and glanced at Allen.

Allen rubbed his chin. "It might work. Would Gloria be agreeable to this?"

Muir said, "I expect to see her tonight. I can ask."

Kenzie nodded absently, then joined Allen in a close look at Muir, who missed the look, as he said, "Incidentally, what you would be saying would be the strict truth. Who can say what Doc Griswell was trying for, or for sure that he got it?"

Another look passed between Kenzie and Allen. Muir, who saw this one, was reminded of parents debating whether to reveal some jarring fact of life to their offspring.

Allen gave an embarrassed cough. "Well, Muir, that question involves something I—ah—hadn't mentioned to you as yet. There was a discarded first draft of a patent application in Doc's desk. It includes a theory to the effect that the human mind, in a particular creative state, produces 'alpha-psychons,' which, impinging upon matter, in turn cause certain changes, such as the radiation of what are tentatively called 'qualitons.' There is a large faint X penciled across the cover page of this mind-boggling document, along with a big question mark. What the theory hypothesizes is nothing less than interaction between mind and matter, with the touchstone detecting 'qualitons,' to prove the theory. Of course, it is in this creative state that high-quality workmanship is achieved, and the touchstone judges it by the qualitons emitted."

Muir tried to speak, but words wouldn't come.

Kenzie said dryly, "Doc had these inspirations from time to time."

Allen said, "But usually he took care of them himself. This is the first one we've had to contend with on our own."

Muir exhaled carefully. "Is the theory comprehensible?"

Allen thought the question over. "Well—"

Kenzie said, "Not to ordinary human beings."

"Doc," said Allen judiciously, "usually made considerable use of mathematics. The problem is that there were times when no one else could follow his math. That's not to say that the math isn't valid. But there is that problem of following it in this case. Much worse is that there are parts that are not mathematical and that will be automatically rejected."

Kenzie sighed. "In addition to which, he uses a theory of atomic structure—"

"Subatomic structure," said Allen.

"Atomic substructure," said Kenzie. "If an atom were a house, Doc would be talking about the composition of the bricks the house is built of. You not only have the complications of Doc's math, but also the complications of this theory to which Doc was applying his math. Plus the alpha-psychons. Taken all together . . ."

Muir kept a firm grip on his choice of words. "Does the part of this theory that is comprehensible seem self-consistent, assuming you don't automatically reject it?"

Kenzie glanced at Allen. Allen looked thoughtful, hesitated, then finally nodded. "I suppose in that respect it's a little like the quantum theory, when it was first proposed. You have to accept certain assumptions you don't want to accept; but if you do that, the rest becomes reasonably clear—except that in this case we have the theory without the theorist, so it is not easy to follow the details."