Engineman - Eric Brown [211]
Someone asked, "You said, 'totally original in form'?" in a tone of incredulity which prompted a sharp response.
"Of course!" Bartholomew stared at the woman. "I am aware that this is a bold claim to make, but it is nevertheless true, as you will learn when I exhibit the piece. I have utilised a prototype continuum-frame to harness an electro-analogue of my psyche."
There was an instant babble of comment. A critic said, "Can we have that again?" and scribbled it down when Bartholomew patiently repeated himself.
"But what exactly is it?" someone asked.
Bartholomew held up both hands. "You will find out tomorrow. I assure you that its originality of form will be more than matched by its content."
Roberts, from where he was leaning against the balustrade, asked, "I take it that this is an example of a work of art which you would contend is worth a human life?" He smiled to himself with the knowledge of what he was doing.
Bartholomew calculated his response. He was aware that all eyes were on him, aware that his reply would re-open the old argument between him and Ralph Standish - which was exactly what the onlookers were anticipating.
Bartholomew gave the slightest of nods. "Yes, Doctor. In my opinion my latest piece is of sufficient merit to be worth the sacrifice."
Ralph Standish frowned into his whisky, his lips pursed grimly. Bartholomew had made a similar declaration in the pages of a respected arts journal a couple of years ago, and Ralph had responded with a series of angry letters.
I willed him not to reply now, convinced that he would only be playing Bartholomew's childish game if he did so. But all eyes were on him, and he could not let the comment pass.
"Your views sicken me, Perry - but you know that. We've had this out many times before. I see no need to cover old ground."
"But why ever not, my friend? Surely you are able to defend your corner, or perhaps you fear losing the argument?"
Ralph made a sound that was part laugh, part grunt of indignation. "Losing it? I thought I'd won it years ago!"
Bartholomew smiled. "You merely stated your case with precision and eloquence, if I may say so. But you signally failed to convince me. Therefore you cannot claim victory."
Ralph was shaking his head. "What will it take to convince you that your philosophy is morally objectionable?"
"My dear Ralph, I might ask you the very same question." Perry Bartholomew smiled. He was enjoying himself. "So far as I am concerned, I occupy the moral high ground-"
"I cannot accept that art is more important that humanity," Ralph began.
"You," Bartholomew cut in, "are a traitor to your art."
"And you, a traitor to humanity."
"Ralph, Ralph," Bartholomew laughed, condescending. "I consider my view the height of humanity. I merely contend that a supreme work of art, which will bring insight and enlightenment to generations, is worth the life of some peasant in Asia or wherever. What was that old moral dilemma? 'Would you wish dead one Chinaman if by doing so you would gain unlimited wealth?' Well, in this case the unlimited wealth is in the form of a work of art for all humanity to appreciate in perpetuity."
Ralph was shaking his head. "I disagree," he said. "But why don't we throw the question open? What do you think? Anyone? Richard?"
I cleared my throat, nervous. I looked across at Bartholomew. "I side with Ralph," I said. "I also think your example of 'one Asian peasant' is spurious and misleading."
Bartholomew threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, you do, do you? But what should I expect from one of Ralph's disciples?"
"That's unfair, Perry," Ralph cut in. "Richard has a valid point."
"Perhaps," I said, "you might be less willing to expend a human life if that life was one closer to home. Your own, for instance?"
Bartholomew regarded me with startlingly blue eyes, unflinching. "I state categorically that my life is worth nothing beside the existence of a truly fine work of art."
"That," Ralph said, taking over the argument, "is letting Perry off the