Part 7 (1/2)
”Don't get so close!” a voice roars.
”Stop this right now!” she hollers back. ”I order you to stop this right now!”
”I can't stop it! We're almost done!”
”Stop it now!”
”It's running down now! See!”
The lightning is indeed dimming, the purple light sputtering. The high-pitched whine lessens, and then ceases as the corona of light flickers one last time and dies. For a moment the solarium is dim, foggy, and then it floods with a bright white light. Etreyo spots her pistol lying on the floor and grabs it before turning to face the figure closest to her. ”Califa Police Department. Put your hands where I can see them.”
”There's no need for this, really, Officer,” the woman says. She's tallish, with a narrow face and wide-set blue eyes. She is wearing one pair of spectacles; another pair perches on her head. A dirty white ap.r.o.n covers her clothes. But when Etreyo repeats the order, she follows it.
”You could have gotten us all killed!” The figure that Etreyo had seen on the other side of the room is now furiously advancing upon her. It takes Etreyo a minute to realize that she is seeing what she thinks she is seeing, but the light in the room is far too bright for her to be mistaken.
The chimpanzee shouts, ”Who the fike are you and how dare you break into private property!” It wears a white ap.r.o.n over a yellow embroidered vest and a high starched collar, its s.h.i.+rt sleeves rolled up to display muscular dark forearms. And it is walking upright.
”I am Constable Etreyo of the CPD. And I'd like to know who you are and what you are doing.”
”Show me your badge,” the chimp demands.
Keeping her pistol level, Etreyo fishes out her s.h.i.+eld and displays it. ”Please tell me what is going on here.”
”I am Dr. Theophrastus Ehle,” the chimp says, ”and this is my colleague, Dr. Adelaide Elsinore. We are in the middle of a very important experiment, which you and your blundering almost ruined.”
Constable Etreyo has never heard of a chimpanzee with a doctorate, or, for that matter, a chimpanzee who can speak or walk upright. However, just because she hasn't met one before obviously does not mean that they do not exist, for here one is, standing there glaring at her.
”What is that?” Etreyo asks, pointing in the direction of the column, which in brighter light is revealed to be topped with a donut-shaped ring.
”It's a galvanic coil transformer,” Dr. Elsinore says. ”It concentrates galvanic current and strengthens it.”
”And what exactly were you doing with it?”
”Renewing life!” Dr. Ehle says scornfully. ”Or we would have been if you had not interrupted us. Now I shall have to start all over again!”
”I cry your pardon,” Constable Etreyo says, ”but you have to admit that your experiment did appear quite alarming. What kind of doctor are you, anyway?”
”Dr. Elsinore is a surgeon. I am a doctor of galvanic physiology.”
”What does that mean?”
”Dr. Ehle studies the galvanic patterns of the body, Officer,” Dr. Elsinore answers.
”I study life itself,” Dr. Ehle interjects haughtily. ”And you haven't yet told me what you are doing sneaking around private property.”
”I knocked on the door and got no answer. And the house appeared to be abandoned,” Constable Etreyo said. She speaks her rehea.r.s.ed excuse, but Dr. Ehle does not look as though he believes her. ”Did either of you purchase a body from the Califa City Morgue?”
”I did,” Dr. Elsinore says. ”And what of it? The coroner a.s.sured me that the poor soul had no family, no friends. And it's perfectly legal to purchase bodies for scientific reasons.”
”And where is this body now?”
The two doctors exchange glances, and then their eyes s.h.i.+ft toward the figure lying on the stretcher. They don't answer, but they don't have to. The answer is obvious in their glances.
”Why do you ask?” Dr. Elsinore says.
Etreyo counters the question with one of her own: ”Are you familiar with the Califa Squeeze?”
Dr. Elsinore answers her. ”No, I fear not, Constable Etreyo. Dr. Ehle and I only arrived in the city two weeks ago. Is that a new kind of a dance? Or a drink? We have been deep in our work and have not had much time to read the newspapers.”
”Can this wait until later?” Dr. Ehle says impatiently. ”I must see what I can salvage of the experiment.”
”No, it cannot wait,” Etreyo says.
”Can we at least close the roof? It's very cold in here.” Dr. Elsinore is correct; the foggy air flowing in through the open roof is very chilly. Etreyo watches closely as the two doctors crank the roof shut. A small barrel camp stove sits near a table of jumbled scientific equipment: beakers, weights and scales, bottles of mysterious liquid. Dr. Elsinore turns a dial on the stove and heat begins to pour off of it.
”What kind of a stove is that?” Etreyo asks.
”It's an Ehle stove,” Dr. Elsinore explains. ”It runs on the galvanic current generated by the coil transformer. So do the lights.” She indicates the white glowing globes that hang from the gla.s.s-ceiling trusses.
”How does the current get to the stove?”
”It's conducted through the air.”
Etreyo has read, in one of her scientific journals, about a theory that galvanic energy could be transmitted through the air. But she had no idea such a feat has actually been achieved. In fact, as far as she knew, no one had successfully harnessed galvanic energy at all. And yet here is that giant coil. And she had seen with her own eyes the galvanic current it produced.
”Please finish with us and get out, Constable,” Ehle says. ”I want to get back to my work. What is this Califa Squash you were asking about?”
Constable Etreyo gives the two doctors a brief history of the Califa Squeeze. As she speaks, Dr. Elsinore grows more and more pale. Etreyo glances at Dr. Ehle, but his face remains inscrutable. Or maybe she just doesn't know how to read a chimpanzee's face. When she is done, Dr. Elsinore, now perched on the edge of a trunk, as though her knees will no longer support her, says, ”Theo, I think I need a drink.”
Constable Etreyo waits while Dr. Ehle brings Dr. Elsinore a beaker full of a clear liquid that she's willing to bet is gin. Dr. Elsinore drinks it down and then says, ”This is terrible news. I had no idea. This is awful, terrible, awful.”
”Don't be histrionic, Adelaide,” Dr. Ehle says. He takes back the beaker and shakes his head no to Dr. Elsinore's hopeful look. ”They can hardly blame us.”
”But who else is to blame? I knew I should have gone after it. I knew it! Oh, blasted h.e.l.l!”
”Perhaps you would like to share your regrets with me,” Constable Etreyo says. She has angled herself so that she is closest to the door, and both doctors are before her. Clearly they do know something about the Califa Squeeze, and in case they are in league with him, she doesn't want to give them the chance to get the jump on her.
”It's my fault. I take full responsibility,” Dr. Elsinore says.
”Are you saying you committed these murders?” Constable Etreyo says, her grip tightening on her truncheon.
”No, of course she didn't. Don't be an a.s.s, Adelaide,” Dr. Ehle says. ”If anyone is responsible, it is me.”
”Why don't you tell me what you are talking about,” Constable Etreyo says, ”and I can decide for myself.”
”We will do better. We will show you. Come!”
Constable Etreyo hesitates. Perhaps she ought to arrest them both, take them back to the station, where she can call on backup. But they are here, and the station house is full of eager ears, and she'd prefer to keep whatever the doctors tell her private, until she's had a chance to check out their claims. Dr. Ehle says, ”We are not murderers. The exact opposite, as you will see. You may release your death grip on your billy club, Constable. You are in no danger from us.”
Well, they may claim so, but many police officers have ended up dead because they believed they were in no danger, so Constable Etreyo prefers to remain on the skeptical side. ”You go and I shall follow.”