Page 83 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

Hitler’s Ghost

one was most attracted was a cousin of the opposite sex, just distant
enough to avoid the worst effects of inbreeding but preserving a
preponderance of common traits—including the recessive. Nature
had its own ad hoc system.
After that, Ludwig was persona non grata in the biological
sciences. His services remained in demand, however, and he was able
to scrape along with short-term contracts in the national security
industry. He chafed under the restrictions military work imposed on
his creativity, but he kept up his technical chops and contacts within
the world of elite mathematical modelers and programming
wunderkinder. Then another emerging cosmos of data presented itself
to him: the body of scanned books and articles available in databases
was increasing in size exponentially. Here was another opportunity
for Ludwig’s need to tear through mountains in search of hidden
veins of ore. And it wasn’t long before he let the public know about
his new plan to use computers to solve long-standing questions of
authorial identity. The best-known of these was the suspicion that
Shakespeare’s works were written by someone else. If the writings of
every contemporary of the Bard were subjected to the proper
analysis, then the mystery could be solved, one way or the other.
Human attempts were limited by the sheer quantity of literature to be
read, digested and compared—not to mention our restricted scope of
pattern recognition.
Again, his ideas met with scorn—less this time, of course, because
fewer people bothered to pay attention to them. Nevertheless, Al
Magnus had taken notice, and now I was looking for a tall, balding
man with a ruddy complexion and glasses with thick lenses, about
forty years of age. I knew him on sight, sitting on a bench earnestly
engaged with his laptop computer. The best approach, I had decided
after studying the man’s history and habits, was not to feign any
expertise in his abstruse areas of inquiry; I was simply the bagman for
others who knew enough to value Ludwig’s big ideas.
“Sir?” I stopped about six feet away from him. “I believe we have
an appointment. I’m Robert Schischke from Penultimate Press.”
He glanced up from the screen, startled. “Ah. Yes, what time is
it?” He looked back at the image, hit a few keys. “There you are, Mr.

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