Ghosts by Gaslight - Jack Dann [71]
“And as for the allegation of copulation, well—all the alchemists I’ve spoken of believed in the union of the sexes and the power it unleashes, so perhaps there is something to that too. Take Asclepius, or Kulacudamani Tantra and the Realized Ones of the tantric arts, or The Yellow Emperor’s Canon of the Nine-Vessel Spiritual Elixir—look them up yourself if you don’t believe me!”
Needless to say, Inspector Berkeley, I have not done so. I am no prude, but I have no use for the ravings of charlatans. I was, however, keenly aware of the word congress in the context of Doctor Gordon’s narration, and the close relation between its appearance and that of the mysterious other woman. His description of her spoke volumes, as did his confusion of intellect with passion, and his willingness to drug his wife in order to conduct an illicit nocturnal rendezvous in his laboratory. It seemed clear to me, then, what dark truth his own mind could not yet bear to look at directly.
I gave him a moment to compose himself, then asked that he tell me all that had transpired between him and the nocturnal, exotic Abiha.
AS BEST I can remember (he said) this is it.
“We all of us, Doctor Gordon, have places of significance,” she said. “Mine are the workshops of men like you, great thinkers who propel our species out of the darkness of ignorance and into the light of the intellect. I am drawn to such places and to the work performed there. That is why I have come to you. I felt the power of your experiments rippling out across the Helioverse, calling me to you.
“No, do not speak. Listen first. You have evidently mastered the art to some degree, or I would never have found you, congress or no congress, and I see by the books you have assembled that you are treading in the footsteps of great men—and great women, too. Sex is no impediment to inspiration, as your research will have revealed to you, I hope.
“Soon our worlds will diverge once more, and I have therefore only a brief opportunity to examine your progress. I desire to know how far along the path you have come. Will you tell me? Will you hold nothing back? Knowledge shared is knowledge doubled, as we say on my world. Together we will travel much farther than apart.”
Thus she set me off into the very same presentation I gave to the Royal Institution, three days earlier. I prefaced it by describing my nightmare of a polluted world and my dream of the perfect means of transportation, at which she nodded most vigorously, her eyes alight with interest. I thought I had found the perfect audience—from whom I expected to learn much more in turn—and I roamed about the laboratory, gesticulating, and demonstrating each piece of equipment as I came to it. She followed me closely and did not interrupt, not even to ask questions about the more esoteric details of my theory.
I mistook her attention for understanding, even approval.
I did not notice her furrowed brow until my demonstration of the prototype flux duplicator, the core component of my dream transport system, concluded.
“What is it?” I asked her. “Where have I erred? The theory is new, I know—I am, perhaps, the only person in this world who could understand it—but I am sure it is as familiar to you as a child’s multiplication tables.”
“Familiar?” she said. “Hardly, Doctor Gordon. Machines mean nothing to me. I came here to see you, to hear about your work, not theirs. What set you off along this path? What strange occurrence? There must have been some kind of spatial bilocation to prove to you the possibility of this method.”
“Bilocation?” I echoed her in turn, and it felt suddenly as though we were speaking different languages.
“Yes, a transference from locus to locus, possibly achieved by accident rather than design. You clearly know nothing of the Helioverse, but that doesn’t rule out travel in this world alone. What is your significant location?”
“I don’t understand,” I said, with utter frankness.
“You don’t? So