The Technologists (46 page)

Document: From Phonographic Minutes of Police Interview Between Sergeant Lemuel Carlton and Assistant Fire Engineer Salisbury

C
ARLTON:
You were present at the fire alarm this morning in South Boston, in the chemical laboratory building located at ———?

S
ALISBURY:
That is correct, sir. We received notice of the alarm through our telegraph system. I joined my company riding with our engine to the scene. Our station house was the closest in proximity to that fire, and our engine arrived before any other company.

C
ARLTON:
Do you believe the collapse of the building was the result of scientific activity inside?

S
ALISBURY:
Sir, I would not be able to say. It was in ruins at the time.

C
ARLTON:
Please describe what you saw.

S
ALISBURY:
That a rather ancient brick building had collapsed at that location, sir. It was in ruins, as I say.

C
ARLTON:
Were any persons inside the building at the time?

S
ALISBURY:
We did not believe so, sir, although the rubble will have to be cleared to know for certain. As it was a Sunday morning, and a commercial building, we knew it would be unlikely. If there had been anyone inside, there would be no survivors. That I know.

C
ARLTON:
Were there any witnesses present to view the incident?

S
ALISBURY:
There were several persons who had heard the boom, and rushed toward the sound, some of whom proceeded to spread the alarm.

C
ARLTON:
Anyone else?

S
ALISBURY:
Along the way, directly across the street from the building, I noticed what appeared to be a man running strong toward the building.

C
ARLTON:
A man running
toward
the collapsed building, you said?

S
ALISBURY:
That is correct.

C
ARLTON:
Please.

S
ALISBURY:
Yes, he was running toward the building, and two other young men tackled him to the ground, as though to subdue or capture him.

C
ARLTON:
Could you describe the appearances of any of these persons?

S
ALISBURY:
The air was thick with smoke. I could not see the individuals very clearly.

C
ARLTON:
But you could determine they were young?

S
ALISBURY:
I know not why. I suppose by the way they ran. Yes, it seemed so.

C
ARLTON:
What did the two young men do, having tackled the first one?

S
ALISBURY:
I cannot say. By that time we had situated our engine nearest to a fireplug, and the smoke had mostly moved in another direction with the wind. I did not see them again.

C
ARLTON:
They were gone?

S
ALISBURY:
Yes.

C
ARLTON:
The three of them?

S
ALISBURY:
That is correct.

Document: From W. Edwin Hoyt’s Holy Bible

God speed our journey, eternal book! Hours ago it seemed that my journey on the rough path of life would be brought to a singular and violent end. Inside the building housing the laboratory of Boston’s unknown Experimenter, M. and B. were shut up like chickens in a coop, trapped behind a door of iron that had been bolted shut by some contraption unseen by us. Miss S. and myself futilely endeavored in every possible fashion to dislodge it from the other side. Good-hearted B. urged us repeatedly to flee from the other side of the barrier, but Miss S. boldly refused and I could not give the idea a second thought. However cautious nature made me, I could never abandon a friend. I told him this in no uncertain terms.

A second later M.’s voice clearly called out from the other side of the door: “Above!”

We looked, and I saw what he must have seen: The ceiling above was bowing and, in doing so, began to dislodge the door from its locked position. Oh, my dear Bible! We had only a few seconds to act.

“Ready?” M. asked from the other side.

“Ready!” Miss S. and myself answered in one voice.

“Now!” rejoined M.

The ceiling began buckling, M. and B. pushed from their side, we pulled from ours, and though I could see nothing I felt with a fluttering heart a thrill as the door gave way with a shudder.

A blur of dust and smoke came after that. We could only touch and guess our way out from the vestibule—a combination of memory, instinct, and luck. I felt myself hurried out the door by one of my companions and I ran across the street as fast as I could manage, even as bricks and other projectiles landed around me. Even now as I write this surrounded by the sweet tranquillity of plants and flowers, I can hardly say in detail how it all happened, or how long it lasted, or how it ended the way it did. The upper floors of the building pancaked into the lower ones, with a crash so complete it turned the world around us utterly quiet. In the distance, some seconds (minutes?) later I could hear shouts from strangers calling for help, and then the tolling of church bells with the same objective.

I could not see inches in front of me, but could hear every crumbling brick and rock fall and could hear my friends rustling nearby. B.’s groan emerged first, calling out for each of us to ask whether we were there and safe.

Then M. said, “We must leave before we are seen.”

I know not what came over me amid such chaos, but something moved me almost to tears. “A building,” said I, “a building perhaps a hundred years old collapsed, nearly crushing us underneath! We are likely the only witnesses. We cannot just go off and hide, M.!”

M. must have known immediately how perturbed I became over his idea. “Listen,” he said, grabbing me by both shoulders, which he had never done before in three years of friendship. “If the police learn that students from the Institute were inside that laboratory building—and no one else in sight—they will conclude that we caused this through some kind of misuse of science, accidental or otherwise. If we’re put in a prison cell over this, we can scream and shout all we wish, but how will we stop what is about to come next, E.? Make no mistake,” he said, addressing himself to the whole group now, “the evidence that B. discovered inside that laboratory was intentionally destroyed. Now we still are left in a position unable to prove a thing.”

B. was seething, distraught. I could hear it in his breathing and his trembling limbs next to me. “That was
all
intentional—it was a trap and I pulled us into it. We heard his voice inside there!”

“The speaking tube could have been connected to anywhere,” I insisted. “Speaking tubes can work from hundreds of feet distance.”

“No, I think he was watching us,” Miss S. said. “He could be watching us still.…”

In the swirling dust, I could see M. suddenly latch his fingers on his own forehead. Mortality creeps onto us at such different times, and I can only imagine for M. how this time it differed from times past. But he now had B. by the shoulders in the same brotherly fashion he had taken me, and said, “You saved me. Another moment and—”

“What?” B. interrupted.

“I fell,” M. said. “Before I could reach the door to the street, I fell and you pulled me up and out.”

B. said he had done no such thing, that he could hardly see what was happening.

“But I made certain you all got out, then I fell. After that, I was pulled to my feet,” insisted M., with an air of confusion, “but I couldn’t see. E.? Miss S.? One of you pulled me to safety.”

There was silence as we each waited for another to accept the credit; then more silence, as realization dawned on us.

B. suddenly wheeled around 180 degrees, then back again. “Him! Where are you, you lunatic?”

“B., no!” I cried.

“You think science is the art of destruction—is that what you are about?” he went on, picking up a brick from the ground and swinging wildly at the dust. “Come out and I’ll show you destruction courtesy of Bob Richards!”

He ran back toward the building and hurled the brick. Thank heavens that foolish act did not harm any innocent, but sent the projectile into the vacuum of the just-created rubble!

We implored him to be calm and M. and myself fell on top of him and dragged him out of sight as he continued to scream in the same hysterical fashion. Luckily, over the din of the bells and the clattering of approaching fire engines, B.’s revealing words were almost entirely drowned out. A dozen or so onlookers had come running after the collapse to help … and to gape.

(Here B. approaches the table to stay my hand, but I
must
write, or I shall not know how to go on.)

Yes, we did run from the scene of this disaster before we could speak to the authorities. I know that to flee was wrong, but at the very same time I knew M.
was
right. We may yet be Boston’s last hope, and had we reported the events to the police just now our endeavors to help would be made impossible.

I was frightened outside the ruins of that building, but I was not afraid. I have learned through this enterprise that science makes no place for cowardice. As long as I can protect my friends, and my city, I know I, too, shall be protected from harm. This, I know now, must be my purpose: I must keep the Technologists together, for if we are split
apart the city will follow. Yet I cannot escape the feeling, dear Bible, that the deeper we become engulfed by these atrocities, the harder it is to know what actions are right. The scientific arts represent the mind of God better than any other human endeavor. Yet, we are chasing one who is vicious and without conscience, and as we stay at his heels, I live in a tremble that we will all be darkened by the shadow of the devil.

T
HE GATEHOUSE
opposite the dam had been called a model of security by a national magazine, fireproof and exceptionally well protected. With its hammered granite exterior and floors, and metal roof, and granite floors, the building was designed to preclude interference with the gates and conduit below. But the lake itself was three and a half miles long. It could not
all
be protected.

Around dusk that Sunday, the intruder entered the water from a secluded area toward the northern portion of the glittering lake. A beast, a creature, a waterlogged Frankenstein’s monster: That’s how the figure would have appeared to a watcher along the shore of the Cochituate, encased in a suit from which tubes sprouted like tentacles, its face concealed within a bulbous, windowed helmet. But there were no watchers as the thing lumbered into the shallows, moved deeper and deeper, and then submerged itself.

Down, down, down, through the pure, untouched waters channeled for all the needs of the city of Boston. Since its last use, the suit had been modified with a self-sustaining air supply, and now featured a specially designed air reservoir with a regulator valve at the shoulder. The suit’s initial engineering had been skillful, clever. Its modifications reflected superior skills—genius, in fact. Now it could go deeper, for a longer period of time, independent of assistance from above. That proved an important point to the wearer. If all had to be done alone, without the help once promised and afforded him, so be it.

Soon enough beneath the gatehouse, the aquatic Frankenstein barely paused before fastening a mine to the cast-iron gates that allowed water to flow freely through the conduit, into the aqueduct, in order to fill the
main that traveled into Boston. He turned the crank four times to charge the device.

Retreating to a safe distance to wait for the muted, glorious explosion, the saboteur patted with a gloved hand the vials protected inside the pocket of the suit. Boston would be reeling again soon enough. Almost as satisfying as thinking about this was to imagine how the destruction would all look through the astonished eyes of Marcus Mansfield.