Recalled to Life

Chapter XVII

The newspapers had a field day with Raymond’s unwilling revelation. Even the traditionally sedate Times devoted six of its eight columns to a banner headline about it, and a story which began:

In the other papers, it was even worse. The Star-Post, which had been growing more sympathetic each day, demanded atop its editorial column, WHY HAVE THEY BEEN HIDING THIS? The Hearst papers, which had never been sympathetic to the cause of reanimation, grew almost apoplectic now; their key slogan was the label, “The Zombie-Makers,” which they used in reference to the Beller researchers not only in the editorial (a vitriolic one) but even in several of the news columns.

At the Litchfield headquarters, the flood of abusive mail threatened to overpower the local postmaster. It was impossible to read it all, and after Harker picked up a scrawled letter that threatened assassination for him and his entire family unless reanimation experiments ceased, he decided to read none of it at all. They stored it in one of the supply-buildings in back, and Harker gave orders that any overflow was to be destroyed unread.

On the second day of hearings, a few new faces were in the auditorium. They were faces Harker did not enjoy seeing. They belonged to Cal Mitchison and David Klaus, and with them was their lawyer, Gerhardt.

With Senator Thurman still not found, Brewster presided over the second session—a heavy-set, slow-moving man with the ponderously tenacious mind that went with those physical characteristics. With the opening formalities out of the way, Brewster said, “We would like to hear from Dr. David Klaus, formerly of the Beller Research Laboratories.”

Harker was on his feet immediately. “Senator Brewster, I’d like to enter an objection. This man is the principal in a lawsuit pending against our laboratory. Anything he says in his favor this morning may be prejudicial to us in the lawsuit.”

Brewster shook his head slowly. “This is not a court of law, Mr. Harker. We are interested in hearing Dr. Klaus’ statements. You will have ample time to refute them later, if you wish.”

Harker subsided. Brewster looked at Klaus, who stood with his hands knotted nervously together, a thin, slab-jawed, scrawny bright-young-scientific-prodigy type. “Dr. Klaus, you were formerly employed by the Beller Laboratories, were you not? Would you mind telling us why your employment there was terminated?”

Stammering as usual, Klaus said, “I was discharged by order of James Harker shortly after he came to work there. It was a purely malicious act.”

Harker fumed, but Brewster waved imperiously at him to keep him quiet. The Senator said, “Please keep personal differences out of this, Dr. Klaus. How long were you employed at the laboratories? ”

“Three years. I was in charge of enzyme research.”

“I see. And you were aware that the reanimation experiments were occasionally producing—ah—idiots?”

“Yes, sir. We all were aware of that.”

“Were attempts being made to safeguard against this unfortunate result, Dr. Klaus?”

Klaus nodded. “My department was working on a chemical method of insuring full recovery of mental powers. I don’t know what’s been done since my dismissal.”

“He’s lying!” Raymond shouted. “His group never had anything to do with—”

“Please, Dr. Raymond,” Brewster said fiercely. “Your outburst is uncalled-for.”

To Klaus he said, “Do you feel that this hazard of the reanimation process can be overcome in the course of further research?”

“Definitely. But the present management of the laboratories is heading in the wrong direction. They’ve rejected my ideas—which were close to being perfected—and instead chose to suppress the whole affair.”

Harker felt his pulse mounting. Klaus seemed icily calm np there, speaking now with cold precision—most unusual for him. He sounded as if he had rehearsed this speech all morning.

Brewster said, “It would seem to me that the directors of die Beller Laboratories were guilty of an act of bad faith. Wouldn’t you agree, Dr. Klaus?”

“Definitely, sir.”

“Thank you. We would like to hear from Mr. James Harker, now.”

Moistening his lips, Harker rose and took his place in the spotlight. Brewster gave place to Dixon, for which Harker was thankful; the American-Conservative Senators had a way of conducting hearings as if they were representatives of the Spanish Inquisition.

Dixon said, “Would you tell us how you became affiliated with the Beller outfit, Mr. Harker?”

“I was approached by Dr. Lurie of Beller,” Harker said. “I had retired to private law practice after conclusion of my term as Governor of New York State. Dr. Lurie requested me to handle the legal aspects of reanimation.”

“Ah. How long have you been connected with Beller, then?”

“Dr. Lurie first approached me on May 8. Roughly three weeks ago, Senator Dixon.”

“And you have acted as spokesman for the laboratory since May 8?”

“No, sir. My first public statement for Seller appeared on May 20. It was occasioned by the premature and unauthorized release of information to the public by Dr. Klaus and our then public-relations agent, Mr. Mitchison. This was the act of insubordination for which they were dismissed from the laboratory.”

“You infer that the first public announcement of the Beller reanimation experiments was made without your consent or knowledge?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Why did you intend to maintain continued secrecy?”

“The process was not quite perfect, sir. A few more weeks of work and we could have eliminated the possibility of mental loss. It was my plan not to bring the matter to the public notice until then—but Dr. Klaus took it upon himself to inform the world without my knowledge.”

Harker glanced at Brewster and Vorys. They were frowning; perhaps he had gotten through to them. He wondered if his words would counteract the tide of unfavorable reactions already swelling.

Dixon said, “Could you tell us how close you are to actual elimination of the hazard of insanity?”

“Sorry, I can’t. That would be Dr. Raymond’s province. But I will say that research at our laboratory has virtually ceased during this period of uncertainty.”

There was a whispered conference at the dais, and abruptly Vorys replaced Dixon as interrogator.

“Mr. Harker, does the name Wayne Janson mean anything to you?”

Brewster and Vorys had evidently primed themselves well for the attack. Harker said, “Yes, Senator Vorys. Janson was an industrialist who committed suicide last week.”

“It means nothing else to you?”

“No.”

“No one of that name underwent reanimation at the Beller Laboratories? ”

“No, sir.”

Vorys paused momentarily. “The late Mr. Janson was supposed to have undergone reanimation several months before your employment at Beller. Is it possible that he did experience treatment there, and that you don’t know about it?”

“I’ve examined the list of patients at Beller since the beginning of experiments there. No one named Janson is on the list.”

“Perhaps he entered under another name.”

“We have photographs of all patients, Senator. None of them corresponded to the photo of Mr. Janson published in the newspapers.”

“In other words, you deny that he was ever a patient of the laboratories?”

“Exactly.”

“But a close friend of the late Mr. Janson claims that he did secretly enter the Beller laboratories of his own will shortly before his death of natural causes, was reanimated, and suffered such mental disturbance afterward that he took his own life.”

Harker said quietly, “It’s obvious that one party is lying, isn’t it? Our records indicate that no such person ever entered the labs for treatment. The burden of proof, I believe, rests with the other party.”

“We have only your word for this,” Vorys went on obstinately. “And you are not even under oath. Will you make these records of yours available for public inspection?”

“It would be against our policy.”

“We could subpoena the records,” Vorys warned.

Harker shrugged. “That’s within your rights, of course, I admit. But exposure of the names of our patients would probably have adverse effects on them, psychologically and otherwise.”

“That sounds very good, Mr. Harker. But it could also be an excuse for hiding something.”

Resisting the impulse to lose his temper—for Vorys was obviously deliberately baiting him—Harker said, “I believe it would be possible to grant you and your three colleagues access to our records, to prove the fraudulent nature of the Janson matter. But public exposure of the names would not be necessary, would it?”

“Quite possibly not. Thank you, Mr. Harker. We will recess for one hour now.”

As soon as Harker had left the stand, Mart Raymond approached him and said, “Things are getting rough, eh?”

Harker nodded. “Vorys and Brewster are out for our scalps. The American-Conservatives must be preparing to come down hard.”

“I’m sorry about letting that statistic slip yesterday, Jim—”

“Forget it. It had to come out sooner or later, and maybe if we had announced it at the start we wouldn’t be having so much trouble now. Well, it couldn’t be helped. Let’s go get some lunch.”

As they rode downward in the gravshaft toward the hotel dining room, Harker said, “Exactly how close are you to getting the bugs out of the process? ”

Raymond looked vague. “A week, a month, maybe a year. We know what causes the mental breakdown—most of the time. It’s a matter of hormone impurity, generally. Of course, in some cases the brain suffers severe damage in the process of dying, and we’ll never be able to lick that any more than we can revive a man who’s been blown apart by dynamite. But I’m pretty sure we can lick the defects in our own system soon.”

“And what probability of success would you predict after that?”

Raymond shrugged and said, “Who knows? Nine out of ten successes? Ninety out of a hundred? Until we have ten or twenty thousand case histories behind us, our statistics don’t mean anything.”

Harker nodded thoughtfully. The meal was a quiet one; neither man said much. Harker was going back over the morning’s session, trying to pick out the phrases the press would leap on.

He hoped he had discredited the Mitchison-Klaus combine and Bryant by his refutation. Surely the public would see that Mitchison and Klaus were vengeful power-seekers and nothing more, and that the whole Janson affair was nothing but a malicious hoax.

But he overestimated the public’s ability to distinguish truth from slung mud, it seemed. The early afternoon papers were already on sale by the time the hearing resumed for the afternoon.

The headline on the Star-Post was, KLAUS SAYS HARKER FIRED HIM; CHARGES BELLER ‘BAD FAITH’

The story, slanted heavily in Klaus’ direction, implied that the enzyme man had been on the verge of a brilliant discovery when Harker maliciously sacked him. As for the Janson case, it referred to Marker’s “uncomfortable evasions.”

The tide was turning. The public fancy had seized on the one fact, grotesque and horrifying enough, that in a few cases reanimation resulted in dreadful mindlessness. On that slim base, a massive movement aimed at the total suppression of reanimation was beginning to take form and grow in strength.

Harker had seen the phenomenon before, and had been helpless before it. The great insane raging tide of public opinion had sprung up from what had been a smoothly-flowing stream, and once its mighty power had been channelled toward a definite end, there was no standing against it.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that only a miracle could save things, now. And miracles were not easy to come by, in this secular age.