The Frank Belknap Long Science Fiction Novel

by Frank Belknap Long

  “There must have been some slipup—a land of blind spot in his thinking—or he would have made me get the more powerful weapon,” Tyson said. “So what I said about forgetting still goes. He’ll certainly need that weapon out there.”

  “I know,” Blakemore conceded. “And that’s our best hope. Don’t you see? Let him stay out there. He’ll be a twenty-second century man in an age as unknown to him as it is to us. Just as hazardous an age, with just as many unexplored pitfalls—”

  “No,” Tyson said, shaking his head. “I can’t see myself doing that. We don’t know what he may be up to. Extrasensory hypnosis is something special. It can apparently operate from a distance. He didn’t have to look at me or talk to me. He just sat quietly inside the compartment and forced me to do his bidding. The first time, I mean. And even the second time to start with.

  “All hypnosis is supposed to be self-hypnosis,” he went on after a pause. “You look into the hypnotist’s eyes or a bright light and what you actually do is send yourself into a trance. A kind of hysteria sweeps over you. Then, of course, you start obeying the hypnotist’s spoken commands. You either do what he commands immediately or carry out, on awakening, the post-hypnotic suggestion which he has implanted in your mind. But when you can’t see or hear the hypnotist at all—” Tyson began to tremble a little under Blakemore’s still firm grip on his shoulders. “You’ve got to let go of me. He’s got to be brought back. I don’t care how great the risk may be.”

  “There’s something you forgot,” Blakemore said. “If what you say is true—it does violence to everything that has always been known about hypnosis. You’re not supposed to be able to make a hypnotized man do anything that outrages his moral sense—or goes against the grain in some other way. A very slight resistance can be overcome by persuasion sometimes, but it takes great skill. That’s what makes me doubt that Malador could have made you—”

  “Are you suggesting that I wanted to make the machine go out of control? Or make sure that snake would bite you—or even to let Malador out of the compartment, so that he could risk his life, as you’ve said, in an unknown world? Because if you are—”

  “You might have unconsciously wanted to do the last,” Blakemore said. “But let’s put it this way. You may have had an unconscious fear, a constant dread, that the machine might go out of control in just this way—on Philip’s next journey. And Malador may have exercised just enough extrasensory influence over you to make you act out what you feared in a trance-like state. You would not want it to happen but your fear that it might happen would cause you to make it happen. It’s like—well, you’re standing on a high cliff in a dream and have an uncontrollable impulse to hurl yourself to the rocks far below. And not always in a dream.”

  “And would that explain how Malador made you step on the snake. Did I dread that, too?”

  “I’m not sure,” Blakemore said. “You may have actually dreaded something of the sort, when you saw me descend into that boggy flower garden, amidst all those gigantic fronds.”

  “But that would have to mean that I, and not Malador, was in extrasensory contact with your mind,” Tyson said. “It makes no sense at all.”

  “It could have been a three-way communication,” Blakemore said. “But you’re right. It strains credulity. I’m just trying to make you see that Malador may not be quite as dangerous to us out there as you seem to feel. There may be other ways of explaining what happened.

  “He may be—he probably is—clairvoyant. And he can send you into a kind of trance—an extrasensory trance. But that may be the whole of it.”

  “For the last time,” Tyson said, warningly. “Will you let go of me. I’m going after him.”

  Blakemore looked at him steadily for a moment. “Just before you crashed into me I got a good look at your face,” he said. “You seemed less to be going in pursuit of Malador than fleeing from something behind you. It was as if you were being pursued yourself, by the Furies. We might as well keep it Aeschylean, since that trident made you wonder how Poseidon would have looked walking back and forth on a Connecticut beach. Could it have been a feeling of guilt you were fleeing from, Roger? Is that why you’re so set on risking your life out there? As a way of redeeming what you could not forgive yourself for having done? If so—I urge you to forget it. You have no guilt to live down. It could have happened to me, to Philip—to anyone.”

  “Damn you!” Tyson flared. “When you feel there’s no time to be lost you can seem to be running from something when everything that matters is straight ahead of you. Quit trying to head-shrink me—”

  Suddenly he stopped being angry. Blakemore could see what an effort it cost him and the way he’d always felt about Tyson—it had been shaken for a moment—came back.

  “I’m sorry,” Tyson said. “I know you were just trying to make me feel better about what happened. Of course I feel guilty. I should. You don’t know—”

  “I think I do,” Blakemore said. “And I still say—forget it.”

  “I can’t. But there’s more to it than just my being unable to forgive myself. Malador should be back here with us, with all of us guarding him. If he’s where he was again, without that trident and— Oh, hell, don’t you see? He’d have a hard time making all of us go into a trance.

  You could keep me bound hand and foot, if necessary.”

  “What you mean is—there are some people who can’t be hypnotized, even when it isn’t extrasensory. That’s true, of course. It has failed with me every time it’s been tried. I’m not boasting, mind you—I was just built that way.”

  “All right, I deserved that.”

  “I can’t quite believe that he has the power to put you into a trance-like state at any time, in any place,” Blakemore went on quickly. “Or that it actually was extrasensory hypnosis, despite the fact that you let him out. As for the snake, I could have stepped on it without outside help. But let’s say you’re right—and you may well be. If he has that power over you—or even a lesser power—how can you hope to bring him back, no matter how formidably armed you may be?”

  “I can try,” Tyson said.

  “No, you’re not going to even try,” Blakemore said. “I won’t let you.”

  “You won’t let—”

  “If anyone goes outside with that weapon it will be me,” Blakemore said. “And I’ll have to think about it, because I’m not at all sure we’re not better off with Malador stepping on poisonous snakes or running a constant risk of getting himself killed in some other way. It’s a harsh thing to have to say, but we might be better off if we never set eyes on him again.”

  All of Tyson’s anger came back.

  “That’s beautiful, Dan. You’re going to stop me. I’ve got fifty pounds advantage on you in weight alone. I’m close to a foot taller and I’ve got a much longer reach. Let go of me, Dan. I wasn’t joking before, but now I’m twice as serious.”

  “Thanks for not mentioning the edge you have on me in years,” Blakemore said. “Some men start falling apart when they pass the thirty mark.”

  “Don’t make me do that. I could, you know, because if you were Philip’s age I’d still have to flatten you out if you gave me no choice. That’s how set I am on going after him.”

  “All right,” Blakemore said. “Try to break loose.”

  Tyson took a quick step backwards, almost wrenching his shoulders free and carrying Blakemore with him.

  Blakemore made just three movements in all. The first was an upward chopping one, the second a downward chopping one and the third a kind of twisting that ended in a somersaulting toss. They were executed as swiftly as a magician’s pass.

  Tyson looked up at him from the floor, his sprawled out body mirrored by its gleaming metal surface with only a few slight distortions here and there. The actual physical distortion which the first movement had brought about—a slight, reddish swelling in the region of h
is jaw—did not show in the mirrored image.

  For a moment Tyson said nothing at all—just lay where he had fallen with a look of stark incredulity in his eyes. Then, abruptly, he began to laugh.

  Blakemore found himself laughing as well.

  Quickly Tyson got to his feet, still laughing and brushing invisible dust particles from his clothes, as if he’d forgotten that a dustless metal floor was quite different from a Connecticut beach with its above-tide surface of blowing sand.

  “I’ve always felt that a man who can’t admit defeat and take it in stride isn’t worth a damn,” he said. “I’m not sure I’d say that, though, if I could duplicate what you just did.”

  “I’d be glad to show you exactly how it was done,” Blakemore said. “I’m sure you could master it in two easy lessons. It took me much longer.”

  “No thank you,” Tyson said. “If there was someone else here you could demonstrate it on I might take you up on it. But since it would have to be me—”

  “Some other time then.”

  “Yes, that suits me fine. You must think I’m crazy, but I swear to you it wasn’t being floored like that that made me change my mind. Oh, I suppose it did, in a way, because it jolted me up enough to make what you last said really register. You said you couldn’t be hypnotized. I heard it all right, when you said it, but the implications didn’t really sink in until I hit the floor. You’re naturally the man to go, and of course I’ll go with you, if you’ll let me. And thinking it over before you decide is all right with me too. You could be right, we may be safer with Malador outside. It might be wise for both of us to do a little more thinking all along the line.”

  “I should have done more right after I grabbed hold of you,” Blakemore said. “I had to know why you’d slammed into me and when you told me you’d let Malador out in a trance and were going after him, I felt I had to drum some sense into you at any cost. But if I’d known it would take so long I’d have let you go, and gotten to Philip. Just the fact that Helen and Gilda are with him doesn’t mean the paralysis will wear off.”

  “I’m sure it will. It probably has by now.”

  “Just what makes you so sure?”

  “I told you. I know I can trust the way I feel about Malador not wanting to harm Philip or Gilda in a serious way. I should have stayed with him. But I lost my head. All I could think of was getting the weapon and overtaking Malador before he could thrash his way out of the vegetation it took you more than five minutes to cross. He’s probably just about reaching the end of it—”

  “Let’s hope that Philip isn’t thrashing about in a darkness that’s not going to lift,” Blakemore said. “Come on, we’ve got to find out.”

  They were at the end of the passageway and turning into a wider one when Tyson said, “By taking as long as you did to drum some sense into me you probably saved my life. Just thought I’d mention it, for whatever it may be worth.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Faran was sitting on the floor a few feet to the right of the viewing window, with his legs drawn up and his shoulders slightly slumped. He was leaning back against the wall and made no attempt to rise when Blakemore and Tyson entered the compartment. Neither did Gilda, who was kneeling at his side and pressing a wet cloth to his brow.

  Helen Blakemore had been kneeling also, but she got up quickly and darted to her husband’s side.

  “He’s all right now,” she said. “But we were terribly frightened at first. Did Roger tell you what happened? He must have or you wouldn’t be together.”

  “He told me,” Blakemore said, nodding. “When you didn’t come back I was afraid—well, I didn’t think you’d been detained by anything as serious as this. But I had the feeling something unusual had happened.”

  “It was unusual, all right,” Faran said. His voice was surprisingly firm and his eyes were not those of a man who has any doubt as to his ability to think clearly and forcefully.

  Suddenly he was looking at Tyson, almost accusingly.

  “I caught only a brief glimpse of you when I was struggling with him,” he said. “You seemed to be just standing back against the wall, doing nothing to help me. You could have tried to knock him down while his back was turned to you and just before he trained that weapon on me. But I’m not reproaching you, Roger. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m just puzzled. You could have been too startled to think clearly. How do you suppose he got out? Have you any idea?”

  “I have a very good idea, unfortunately,” Tyson said. “I let him out.”

  “You did what?”

  Blakemore laid a firm hand on Tyson’s arm. “You’d better let me tell him, Roger.”

  “Tell me what?” Faran demanded. “After what he just said—if there is any talking to be done—”

  Blakemore crossed to where Faran was sitting and knelt with his left leg bent and his right knee resting on the floor. He had to lower his head a little more to bring it on a level with Faran’s ear. Faran removed the damp cloth from his forehead and returned it to his daughter, who was still on her knees directly across from Blakemore and seemed reluctant to rise.

  “I don’t need this now,” he said. “Get up, Gilda. Dan has something to tell me you may not want to hear.”

  “If Roger let Malador out,” Gilda said, “I’m sure it’s not anything I’d prefer not to know about. Something must have happened that gave him no choice.”

  “I did have no choice, darling,” Tyson said. “But somehow it doesn’t quite seem to excuse what I was forced to do. Dan thinks I must be off my rocker to feel that way. I realize that it makes no sense, but I’ve got to be honest about it. Perhaps if I’d put up more of an inner struggle—”

  “This is getting us nowhere,” Faran said. “All right, Dan. Roger opened the panel and let Malador out. He’s confessed to that. And what he just said makes it sound like something you’re going to have a great deal of difficulty explaining away. But I want to hear all of it. Then I’ll decide for myself.”

  Blakemore told him, leaving nothing out.

  For a moment Faran remained silent, his lips set in tight lines. Then he said: “What I’m going to say may surprise you. I don’t share a single one of your doubts, Dan. You’ve tried to rationalize a part of it, have put a remarkably ingenious, psychologically adroit interpretation on what you think may have happened. No doubt you’ve succeeded—or almost succeeded—in convincing Roger that, while Malador may be clairvoyant and possess ESP gifts that are unusual in other respects he couldn’t possibly hypnotize anyone, sight unseen, and enforce absolute, unquestioning obedience to his every command. Or compel you to step on a poisonous reptile and perhaps even draw that reptile toward you with a deliberate effort of will, extra-sensorily enforced.

  Faran’s expression became grave. “I think he may be able to do more than that. I think he may possess the power to move and shake.”

  “The power to—move and shake?”

  Faran nodded. “Yes, to move objects at a distance, to lift them into the air and send them whirling about. Perhaps even to teleport a huge block of stone over a considerable distance. Many such occurrences have been recorded. It’s called psychokinesis.”

  “No, Philip!” Helen Blakemore heard herself protesting. “You can’t really believe that.”

  “I think it’s distinctly possible,” Faran said. “I don’t think it’s too likely. I’m more inclined to believe that what Roger told Dan he was almost sure of comes closer to the truth—that Malador had to work up to actually getting Roger to set him free—that about all he could do at first was hypnotize Roger in a superficial way and compel him to make those changes in the dials. Otherwise he would have escaped before this.”

  “But what makes you so—” It was seldom that Blakemore was at a loss for words, but for an instant he felt as if a clamp had tightened around his tongue.

  Faran seemed to guess what he’d start
ed to ask, for there was a look of complete understanding in his eyes. “You’re naturally wondering why I seem so sure that Malador is more than just clairvoyant. I’m basing it on what happened to Roger, and something else of greater importance.

  “I wouldn’t go so far to say that I’m a hundred percent sure. There is the barest possibility that you may be right, Dan—that he didn’t actually hypnotize Roger but simply made him more responsive to unconscious impulses already present in his mind. Guided and directed Roger’s thoughts, in other words, so that the acts he performed were brought about by his own unconscious fears.

  “But what makes me feel that he compelled Roger to obey him in a more direct and forceful way is—well, everything that we know about the hidden powers of the mind. It is only in the East that those powers have been developed to their full potential across the centuries. The evidence of that is overwhelming. You’d have to have a gigantic blind spot to deny it.

  “The Hindu rope trick. Can anyone in his right mind believe that it starts and ends with that—that for centuries Eastern seers and so-called ‘holy men’ have not been performing miracles of teleportation, blind sight, suspended animation, clairvoyance that doesn’t just come in brief flashes but illuminates vast areas of experience that the occidental world knows very little about.”

  “But Malador did not come from the East,” Blakemore heard himself protesting.

  “How do you know? Actually he never set foot in the Orient. He comes from Western Europe, from a region bordering on the Mediterranean which, in the twenty-second century, is no longer a part of France. But just the fact that you didn’t even ask me whether he came from the East or West should help you to understand why I feel as I do about him.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand—”