The Doomfarers of Coramonde by Brian Daley Page A

your surroundings; that should make you
receptive.”
    Gil nodded.
“You three stay at the guns,” he told Woods, Handelman and Olivier, “and let us
know if you can’t hear what’s being said. Mr. Van Duyn, the floor is yours.”
     
     

Chapter Nine
     
    What is
now proved was once only imagin’d.
    WILLIAM BLAKE
     
    DESPITE his request, his story
was subject to frequent interruptions for questions and comments. But as his
quiet, composed voice continued, the Nine-Mob listened with grudging, growing
credulity:
     
    My name is
Edward Van Duyn. I hold degrees in a number of fields, some earned and some
honorary, but they are of little importance to me now, here, as they are part
of a life I no longer wish to live. They are of no further use or interest to
me.
    You see, I come
from the same Reality as you gentlemen do. But I had long since grown bored and
frustrated with my existence before leaving there. I had fallen prey to ennui;
never saw it coming or felt it arrive, but one day there it was.
    I had essayed
to do some teaching, but one must sort through so much gravel for the gems. And
then what is their attitude? “Teach me; it’s my right.” I tell you, there is a
surfeit of left-handed monkey wrenches in the world compared to the supply of
worthwhile students.
    So, I
restricted my activities to pure research. It was for this reason that I
accepted a position with the think-tank center called the Grossen Institute. I
don’t suppose you’ve heard of it? A foundation supported by sizable
governmental and industrial endowments for abstract projects of scientific
inquiry. I was not specializing in any one field. I was responsible, like
several others, for “synthesizing,” exploring correlations and interfaces
between various areas of research.
    About two years
ago, I became interested in three studies being done at the Grossen. One was a
rigorous mathematical investigation of the theories of a plurality of
universes, another a new attack on the problem of the relationship between
perception, reality and the effect of altered expectations on perceptual
reality. The third was an attempt to establish new data on the basic nature of
matter-energy systems. I began to acquaint myself with each of these endeavors
and even began to do a little independent study on my own. I began to see
parallels and correspondences in the three projects. I conferred in detail with
each team but didn’t reveal the dovetails I’d spotted, for as time went on I
became more and more certain that I’d come upon a major breakthrough, perhaps
unequaled in history.
    Because of the
rather relaxed administrative regime at the Grossen, I wasn’t interrupted. It’s
not unheard of for Senior Consulting Fellows of the Institute to work for years
before presenting their findings with only sketchy progress reports in the
interim. In fact, that’s the only situation some of the better researchers will
stand for. Too, as a synthesist and a Senior Consultant, I had unrestricted
access to computer time and privacy. I was even permitted to recruit a former
student of mine, no questions asked, to assist me. Actually the boy was the
only one I thought I could trust.
    Things became
unbelievably complex, forever evading us with one more unexpected factor. How
many times we hit dead ends I do not even remember, but it never seemed to
matter. We always knew that somehow we would find an answer. And a disturbing
thing happened in those days; I felt myself coming alive again for the first
time in years. It can be a bit traumatic, I assure you, to feel your vallum of tædium vitæ slipping.
    I am the
scarred veteran of two divorces. I had become bored with the company of my
colleagues and intolerant of everyone else’s. I found most of life’s pleasures
either empty or juvenile. Yet now there was this desire awakening in me to make
this project work, a desire in no way connected with scientific kudos.
    Making
practical application of the findings I had