The Hades Connection

by Gabriel S. Timar

Chapter 8

part 2 of 2

“Well,” I explained, “if the opposition — whoever they may be — is counting on Miss Jackson to report back, they will realize that she has been in an accident and will not get alarmed. Especially since they will notice that I am also in intensive care.

“By the time they figure out that something is amiss, it will be too late. They will not be able to get her back, since she is on record objecting to the removal of her soul from her body.

“We lock Ivan in Esther’s body; consequently, he will not be able to report to his handlers. If the opposition is any good, they will eventually realize that we’ve pulled a fast one on them, but they won’t be alarmed immediately. This way I can count on a few days without interference from them.”

“It’s a good scheme,” Luce said. “It’s a shame we cannot implement it.”

“Why not?” I asked in an offended tone.

“George,” Luce explained, “for your plan to work we must blank out the navel microphone. As far as I know, this is impossible. We developed the navel microphone Heavens is using now. Actually, we let them steal our design in the conceptual stage, and we stole it back immediately after they finished development. It’s cheaper that way.

“The navel microphone has a built-in safety device: we tuned it to the operator’s heartbeat. As it’s always functioning, if you remove the mike, the heartbeat does not come through, and the monitoring agent knows that somebody is messing around with the equipment.”

I had no control over the next few sentences coming out of my mouth: “That’s no problem, Luce. All I have to do is record the heartbeat, feed the output into a Watkins-Suslov resonator, synchronize through an electronic stethoscope, loop it, and the heartbeat can be recreated.

“Just have the subject lie down, lower her heartbeat to about sixty before you recreate, and the monitoring agent will think that she is sleeping. Then tune the volume and the pitch, match the cycle through the stethoscope, clip the output onto the navel microphone, and extract it. Afterwards, shove it into a soundproof box. You should be okay as long as you keep the resonator going.”

“I withdraw the last statement, George,” Luce said. “If you can come up with a procedure to reinstall the navel microphone, your scheme may work.”

I smiled: “The reinstallation is much easier. Check the heartbeat of the subject, slowly adjust the output of the resonator feeding the heartbeat into the soundproof box, synchronize it, and shove the mike back into the lady’s navel.”

“Wow,” Luce said turning to Attila, “what kind of a program did you give this guy?”

“We had to give him an engineering degree as well,” Attila replied. “I picked electronics, since my hi-fi is on the blink. I want someone to fix it; I am sure George will do it free. You know how much technicians charge nowadays...”

I was offended. My training and education, not my brilliance, had saved the day.

“Never mind,” Luce smiled. “George, go down to basement nine. It’s four levels below us. Visit the chief of the laboratory, Mr. Popov; he’ll fix you up with all the equipment you need.”

“Just a minute, Luce,” Nick interrupted. “We may have another little problem.”

“What do you mean?” I challenged.

“Look at it this way,” Nick continued, “our driard, Gemma is new. She’s never carried two souls through the Second Dimension at the same time. To my knowledge, she’s never made a contested transfer. I’m sure Ivan will resist. He’s not going to stand by idly and let anyone yank him out of his body.”

“She must be able to do that,” Luce insisted. “At the qualifying exam that is one of the most important demonstrations a free agent driard must perform. If she couldn’t have done it, she’d be still driving the public transport.”

“Okay, okay,” Nick retreated. “Can she do it fast enough before Ivan alerts someone?”

“Her demo was timed as the fastest in the last few decades,” Attila got into the fray.

“The test lab is entirely different from an actual field operation,” Nick argued. “You ought to know that.”

“Okay guys,” Luce declared. “Why don’t we ask her? She has to guarantee her work anyway. If she doesn’t think she can do it, we can always call on Olu. I’m sure he could do it properly.”

“I’d sleep better if Olu were the carrier,” Nick asserted, “but you have a contract with Gemma.”

“We’ll see,” Luce said, turning to one of the security men. “Melchior, from now on you’ll be George’s shadow. At present he is as important to Hades, Inc. as I am. If there is the slightest chance that the competitors may take him, you must put him on the green line immediately. Do not take any chances. Do you understand me?”

“I do,” replied Melchior.

“Thanks for the good work, fellows,” Luce said. “Get on with it.” He stood up, turned, and walked out.

“I have to visit Mr. Popov,” I said.

“You do,” Nick replied. “He is a weirdo, drinks tepid tea from his samovar. Why he does that is a mystery to me. He is high enough on the organization chart to have a proper drink like a glass of light wine...”

“You have a hard time understanding people with different cultural backgrounds and tastes, Nick,” Attila remarked. “You don’t even trust our driard.”

“By the way, fellows,” I interrupted, “would you explain to me what the hell a driard is?”

“You are asking for a lot, George,” Attila replied. “Nobody really knows what they are. There are all kinds of myths and rumors circulating about them.”

“Can you give me an abbreviated explanation?” I insisted. “It doesn’t matter if it’s full of holes. I’m intelligent enough to fill in the gaps.”

“You’re asking for it, George,” Nick intervened. “Attila decided he wants to become a driard. He can talk about them for hours.”

“I don’t have hours,” I said. “All I have is a few minutes; Mr. Popov is waiting. As the driards are involved in my project, I want to know something about them.”

“Popov is not going anywhere,” Attila said. “He’ll wait for you. Anyway, you can find the simplest explanation of what driards are in a disputed essay by a philosopher-scientist — now an independent operator — Marandon of Avonia. Originally, he came from the First System. He has a few fragments of proof, but nobody accepts them as ironclad, conclusive evidence.”

“Circumstantial evidence is good enough for me,” I replied.

“Then, I may be able to convert you,” Attila smiled. “Anyway, Marandon claims that at one time there was no travel between the Dimensions. When somebody died in the First Dimension, the soul went into the Second and stayed there in a limbo.

“There was only limited interaction between a few, highly developed souls; not much else was happening. Over the years, a huge quantity of creative ability was concentrated in the Second dimension. Like a nuclear bomb, a number of highly rated souls fused. It was just like the Big Bang theory you terrestrials are flogging about the origin of the universe.”

“Do you have any proof?” I queried.

“There is evidence of a series of fusion-like psychic explosions in the Second Dimension a few eons ago,” Attila continued. “There is really no data, but certain changes occurred on certain planets in the Second Dimension. Marandon was examining them.

“As the driards had recently augmented the data, this created a foundation of doubt in some skeptics. You can read about the Big Bang in a number of literary works.

“Anyway, as a result of the fusion, some huge chunks of creative energy joined into blocks equivalent to four or five thousand Berton souls. They very quickly built themselves functional bodies capable of survival in the First, the Second, and the Third Dimensions. These composite souls called themselves driards.”

“Do you have any proof?” I demanded.

“You may ask our driard, Gemma to let you scan her.” Attila shrugged. “You will find she has a soul rated at over four thousand Bertons!”

“I will, as soon as I meet her,” I replied.

“In those days, the Third Dimension was a huge mess,” Attila continued. “There were no civilizations, no understanding, and the level of creativity was nearly zero. The driards introduced some of the souls floating in the Second Dimension into the Third. They almost immediately stabilized the Third Dimension.

“The ability to reason and create became the standard for everything. Civilizations formed and began pursuing all kinds of goals. The driards built bodies for the souls they brought into the Third Dimension, thinking they had solved all the problems. They kept bringing in souls from the Second Dimension and storing them. Later they discovered that the Third Dimension is expanding rapidly, and more creative ability was needed.”

“So far I understand,” I remarked.

“The only problem was,” Attila continued, “that in the Third Dimension people could not procreate.”

“And that’s why the driards keep bringing in souls from the Second Dimension.” I finished the sentence for him.

“That’s about all I can give you on such a short notice.” Attila sighed. “We’ll continue the discussion after you come back from your mission.”

“You bet,” I said, smiling. “I still don’t know what the driards are, but at least I know what they’re doing.”

“Just like most of us,” Nick said, closing the discussion.

* * *

We agreed that if my negotiations with Miss Jackson were successful, I would take her out to dinner; on our way back, Hades Security would arrange a car accident for us. We would hire the taxi at the restaurant, and the car would be prepared for our spectacular crash. The driver would be a professional stunt man in the pay of the Hades Security department. When I sent Melchior back to the office saying that the show was on, the taxi, the hospital, the transfer crew and the driard would be ready to move into action.

I said farewell to Attila and Nick; then, with Melchior in tow, I departed for the lower levels. We crossed five different security checkpoints on the way to the laboratory. Without Melchior, I think I would have spent a couple of hours covering the hundred-meter distance.

Popov was my kind of a guy. Although his face looked very familiar, I was not sure about his terrestrial past. When we entered, he stood up; we shook hands as if we were old friends.

I sat down; Popov immediately produced excellent Russian tea with lemon from the samovar standing on his laboratory counter, just as Nick suggested. It was very pleasant, since I’d always liked Russian tea.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pike,” he started. “I have most of your equipment already made.” He pointed at a little black box. “My assistant is assembling the clipping device and the automatic replacement mechanism.”

“Man, you work fast,” I remarked.

“No, not at all,” Popov smiled. “In the industrial espionage business, if you invent a great spying device like my navel microphone, you must immediately start the research to neutralize it. This way you will know how long you can count on your device. When you’ve found a way to fool your own equipment, it’s time to start taking with a pinch of salt the information coming in through the device.”

“Good policy,” I said. “You’re very logical; you should have became a lawyer.”

“Technology is easier,” he replied. “By the way, my informants in the competition’s laboratory say they haven’t yet been able to work out a method to fool the navel microphone. They should be confident about their equipment, thinking it’s one hundred percent reliable.”

“Comforting,” I replied.

“My assistant must be ready with the clip,” Popov said, and stood up.

He escorted me into the workshop area of the laboratory. When I looked around, I was impressed. Despite my recent technical training, I could not recall anything like this. Popov’s lab must have been state of the art.

Anyway, the assistant was ready with all the paraphernalia and wanted to explain how the stuff worked, but there was no need for that. I just looked it and knew it was okay.

We said farewell to Popov, and headed for Elizabeth Towers.

To be continued...

to Challenge 347...