Psi-High and Others (Ace G-730)

by Alan E Nourse

  “Rubbish,” said Dan Fowler succinctly.

  “No, Dan. Not rubbish. Unfortunately, sometimes we have to quit dreaming and look facts in the face. Starship Project is dying. Our whole society is dying. Nimrock drove the first hail into the coffin a hundred and thirty years ago. Oh, if they’d only hanged him when his first rejuvenation attempt failed I But that would only have delayed it. We’re dying slowly right now, but soon it will be fast, very fast. And do you know the man who is getting ready to deal us our death blow?” He smiled sadly across at his brother. “You are, Dan.”

  Dan Fowler sprang from his chair with a roar. “Paul, you’re sick! Of all the idiotic remarks I ever heard, I—I— oh, Paul.” He stood shaking, groping for words, staring at his brother.

  “You said you wanted me to tell you."

  “Tell me what?" Dan took a trembling breath, and sat down, visibly fighting for control. “All right, all right, I heard what you said. You, must mean something, but I don’t know what. Let’s be reasonable. Let’s forget philosophy and semantics and concepts and all the frills for just a minute and talk about facts, huh? Just facts.”

  “All right, facts,” said Paul. “Kenneth Armstrong wrote Man on Mars in 2028. He was fifty-seven years old then, and he hadn’t been rejuvenated yet. Fundamentally a good book, analyzing his first Mars colony, taking it apart right down to the ground, studies to show why it had failed so miserably, and why the next one could succeed if he could ever get up there again. He had foresight; with rejuvenation just getting started, he had a whole flock of ideas about overpopulation and the need for a Mars colony. He was all wet on the population angle of course, but nobody knew that then. He got Keller and Lijinsky all excited with the Starship idea. They admit it—it was Man on Mars that first started them thinking. They were both young then, with lots of fight in them—”

  “Just stick to facts,” said Dan coldly.

  “Okay. Starship Project got started, and blossomed into the people’s baby. They started work on the basic blueprints about sixty years ago. Everybody knew it would be a long job, costly, very costly, with so much to do before the building even began, but that was all right. The planning took over forty years and that was where I came in fifteen years ago. Building the ship. They were looking for engineers who weren’t eager to get rich. It went fine. We started to build. Then Keller and Stark came back from rejuvenation. Lijinsky had been rejuvenated five years before."

  “Look, I don’t need a course in history,” Dan exploded.

  “Yes, you do,” Paul snapped. "You need to sit down and listen for once, instead of just shooting off your big mouth.” Paul Fowler rubbed his chin. “Okay, there were some changes made. I didn’t like the engine housing, I never had, so I went along with them a hundred percent on that. I was the one who had designed it, but even I had learned a few things since. And there were bugs. It made good sense, when you talked to Lijinsky. Starship Project was pretty important to all of us. Dangerous to risk a fumble on the first play, even a tiny risk. We might never get another chance. Lijinsky knew we ypungsters were driving along on adrenalin and nerves, and couldn’t wait to get out there, but when you thought about it, what was the rush? Why risk a failure just to get out there this year instead of nextP Couldn’t we take time to find a valid test for that engine at ultra-high acceleration before we put it back in? After all, we had time now— Keller and Stark just back with sixty more years to live— why the rush?

  “Okay, I bought it. We worked out a valid test chamber on paper. Took four years to find out we couldn’t build such a device on Earth, but never mind that. Other things were getting stalled in the meantime. The colony plan for the ship—was it the best possible? Choosing the crew—what criteria, what qualifications? There was plenty of time—why not make sure it’s right? Don’t leave anything crude, if we can refine it a little first.”

  Paul sighed wearily. “It snowballed. Keller and Stark backed Lijinsky to the hilt. There was trouble about money—I think you had your thumb in the pie there, getting it fixed for us, didn’t you? More refinement. Work it out. Details. Get sidetracked on some aspect for a few years, so what? Lots of time. Rejuvenation, and all that, talk about the Universalists beating Rinehart out and throwing the center open to everybody. And so on, and so on. And somewhere along the line I began to see that it just wasn’t true. The holdups, the changes, the digressions and snags and refinements were all excuses, all part of a big, beautiful, exquisitely reasonable facade that was completely obscuring the real truth. Lijinsky and Keller and Stark had changed.’’

  Dan Fowler snorted. “I know a very smart young doctor who told me that there aren’t any changes with rejuvenation.”

  “Nodiing physical, their bodies were fine. Nothing mental, either, they had the same sharp minds they always had. Just a subtle change in values. They’d lost something they’d had before. The drive that made them start Starship Project, the urgency, the vital importance of the thing—all gone. They didn’t have the push they once had. They began looking for the slow, easy way, and it was far easier to build and rebuild, and refine, and improve the Starship here on the ground than to throw that Starship out into space."

  There was a long, long silence. Dan Fowler sat gray-faced, staring at Paul, just shaking his head and staring. “I don’t believe it,” he said finally. “I’ve seen Lijinsky’s reports. There’s been progress, regular progress, month by month. You’ve been too close to it, maybe. Of course there have been delays, but only when they were necessary. The progress has gone on—”

  “No, not so,” Paul said. He stood up, pulled out drawers, dragged out rolls of blueprints. “These are my own. They’re based on the working prints from Starship that we drew up ten years ago, scaled down to model size. I’ve tested them,

  I've run tolerances, I've checked the math five ways and back again. I’ve tested the parts, the engine—model size. There is no flaw in these blueprints. They’re as perfect as they’ll ever get."

  Anger was blazing in Paul’s voice now, bitterness and frustration. “I could build this model and send it out to Alpha Centauri next week, and it would get there. The Starship Project is completed, it’s been completed for ten years now, but do you know what happened to these blueprints, the originals? They were studied, and thrown out in favor of refinements and modifications—"

  “But Tve read the reports,” Dan cried.

  “Have you seen the StarshipP”

  "Well—no.”

  “I didn’t think you had. You haven’t actually talked with Lijinsky and the other Retreads heading up the project, either. Well, it isn’t just here, Dan. It’s everywhere. There are only about 70,000 rejuvenated men alive in this hemisphere so far, but already the change is beginning to show. Go talk to the advertising people; there’s a delicate indicator of social change if there ever was one. See what they say. Whose policy on rejuvenation are they backing up in the government? Yours? Don’t kid yourself. They aren’t even backing Walter Rinehart. They’re backing ‘Moses’ Tyndall and his Abolitionist goon-squad, the crowd who go around preaching that rejuvenation is die work of the Devil. And they’ve given Tyndall enough of a push that he’s even getting you worried now. Then how about Roderigo Aviado and his Solar Energy Project down in Antarctica? Do you know what he’s been doing lately? You ought to find out, Dan. What’s going on in the Mars colony? You ought to find out. Have you gone to talk to any of the Noble Ten who are still rattling around? You ought to, you might get quite a jolt. And how about all the suicides in the last ten years? What do the insurance people say about that?”

  Paul stopped, from lack of breath. Dan just stared at him. "Find out what you’re doing, Dan, before you push this universal rejuvenation idea of yours through. We’ve had a monster on our hands for years now without even knowing it. And now Big Dan Fowler has to play God and turn the thing loose on the world. Well, look before you plunge in.

  It’s all here, if you’d just open your eyes to see it, but you’re so dead
certain that you want life everlasting that you’ve never even bothered to look. Nobody’s bothered to look. And now it’s such a grand political bludgeon that nobody dares to look.”

  Dan Fowler rose, walked over to the blueprints, ran his finger over the dusty paper. His face was old when he turned back to Paul. “You’ve believed all this for a long time, haven’t you?” he said.

  “A long time,” said Paul.

  “All the time I’ve been working like a dog to build up support for my universal rejuvenation program.”

  Paul’s eyes flickered. “That’s right.”

  “And you never said one word to me." Dan shook his head slowly. “I didn’t know you hated me so much, but I’m not going to let you win this one, either, Paul. You’re wrong. And I’m going to prove that you’re wrong if it kills me.”

  VII

  “Then try his home number," Dan Fowler snarled into the booth telephone. He gnawed his cigar and fumed as long seconds spun by on the wall clock, then minutes. His fingers drummed the wall. “How’s that? Confound it, I want to speak to Dwight MacKenzie himself, not some flunky. What do you mean, he’s not in town? I saw him with my own eyes yesterday.”

  Another wait, five minutes this time, then another voice, with profuse apologies but no Dwight MacKenzie. “All right, then track him down for me and have him call me back.” He reeled off the number of his private booth.

  Carl Golden looked up as Dan came back to the cafeteria table and stirred up his half-cold coffee. “No luck?”

  “Seems that MacKenzie has vanished. Convenient, eh?” Dan leaned back against the wall, glowering at Carl and Jean. Through the transparent walls of the glassed-in-booth, they could see the morning breakfast-seekers drifting into the place. “Well, you were surely right, lad. I should never have tampered with those Hearing dates in the first place. But Dwight will switch them back again to give us the time we need. MacKenzie is no ball of fire, but he’s always backed me up. We should hear from him pretty soon.” He bit off the end of a fresh cigar, assaulted it with a match.

  “Dad, you know what Dr. Moss said—”

  “Look, little girl, you'd better lay off,” Dan snapped. “I've got enough worries without having Dr. Moss on my back as well.” He sipped his coffee while both the young people picked at their breakfast with bleary early-morning resignation. Carl Golden needed a shave badly.

  “Did you get any sleep on the way back?” he asked Dan. Dan snorted. "What do you think?”

  “I think Paul might be lying to you.”

  Dan shot him a sharp glance. “Maybe, but I doubt it. Paul has always been fussy about the truth. He’s all wrong, of course—” (fresh coffee, not much hotter than the last)— '‘but I think he believes his tale.”

  “Well, if he really believes it, I don’t like it. There’s too much of what he said that rings a bell somewhere.”

  Dan clanked the cup down and swore. “He's demented, that’s what he is! He’s waited too long for his Retread, and his brain’s starting to go. If his idea were true, why did he wait so long to tell somebody about it?”

  “Maybe he wanted to see you hang yourself.”

  “But I can only hang myself on facts, not on the paranoid delusions of a sick old man. No, Paul is wrong—he’s got to be wrong.” Dan broke off, staring across at Carl. “Look, boy, if he isn’t wrong, then we’re whipped, that’s all. And I’ve spent thirty years of my life perpetrating some kind of hideous fraud on the people of this counry.”

  “But you can’t blame yourself if you didn’t know,” Jean Fowler protested.

  “That’s what you think, laddie. I’m not a meek, harmless little mouse like Dwight MacKenzie. I’ve got the loudest mouth in the Senate. I scream and shout and knock heads together and get things done, and when a man does it that way it’s his job to know what he’s doing. Well, now I don’t know. I think Paul’s wrong, but do you think I’d care to walk into the Hoffman Center for a Retread right now without being sure? Not on your life. Any more than I could walk into those Hearings next week. We’ve got to stop everything and find out right now and for certain, whether Paul’s wrong or not.”

  He dragged a sheaf of yellow paper out of his pocket and spread it on the table. “I worked out a plan on the way back. We’ve got a tough job on our hands, more than we can possibly handle before next week. So number one job is to shift the Hearings back again. I’ll take care of that as soon as I can get MacKenzie on the wire.”

  “What are you giving him for a reason?” Jean wanted to know.

  “Anything but the truth. Doesn’t matter. MacKenzie is convinced I’m going to win at the Hearings, and he wants to be on the right side of the toast when it’s buttered. He’ll shove the date back to February 15. Okay, next we need a crew—a crowd of people who can do fast, accurate, hard work and not squeal if they don’t sleep for a month or so. Bob Sandbom is in Washington, he can handle statistics for us. Jack Torrelli has good contacts with the insurance people. In addition, we need a couple of good sharp detectives. Any ideas, Jean?”

  “A couple. I’ll need time to reach them, though.”

  “How much time?"

  “A day or two.”

  “Then get on it. We’ll have lots for them to do by tomorrow.” The Senator turned back to Carl. “I want you to hit Starship Project first.”

  Carl shook his head. “Not me, there's a better man for the job. Saw him last night, and he’s dying for something to do. Terry Fisher. He’ll know how to dig out what we want. He was doing it on Mars for five years.”

  Dan frowned. “He was also on the bottle, Carl. We can’t take a risk like that.”

  “There won’t be any risk. Terry drank to get away from what he found on Mars, that’s all. He’s not drinking now."

  “Well, if you say so. I’ll want to see the Starship setup, too, but I want it ready for a quick scan. Get hold of Fisher this morning and get him clearance papers for Nevada. You’d better tackle the ad men yourself then, while Torrelli hits Metro Insurance. Don’t waste time with underlings, go to the top and wave my name around like a flag. They won’t like it a bit, but they know I’ve got a string on Kornwall in Communications. We’ll have his scalp if they don’t play ball with us. AH you have to do is make sure that they believe it.” “What’s on Komwall?”

  “Komwall has been fronting for ‘Moses’ Tyndall for years. That’s why Tyndall never bothered me too much, because I could have gotten him through Komwall any time I wanted to. And the ad-men and Metro have everything they own sunk into Tyndall’s political plans.”

  “I see,” Carl said, but his frown lingered. “If you’re sure.” “Of course I’m sure. Don’t worry about it, lad. It’s okay.” “I just hope you’re not underestimating John Tyndall.” “Why?”

  “I used to work for him, remember? And he doesn’t like you. He knows in the long run it’s going to be you or he, one or the other, who ride this rejuvenation issue right into the White House. Well, what happens if ‘Moses’ gets wind of this mess? Say that he finds out what your brother told you, or even finds out that you’re worried about something?” Dan chewed his lip. "He could be a pain, all right.” “He sure could. More than just a pain, and Komwall wouldn’t be much help, either, if the news got out.”

  “Well, it’s a risk we have to take, that’s all. We’ll have to be fast and quiet.” Dan Fowler pushed his coffee cup aside and jumped for the phone booth when the blinker began flashing. “This will get us started, at least. Jean, you keep somebody on the switchboard, and keep track of us all. When I get through with MacKenzie, I may be out of touch for a day or so. You’ll have to be my ears, and cover for me.” And to the phone: “Yes, yes. I was calling Dwight MacKenzie—” Pause. “Hello, Dwight?—What? Well, balls of fire! Where is he? Timagami—Ontario? An island!” He covered the speaker and looked at Carl. “He’s gone moosehunting.” Then: “Okay, so there isn’t any phone. Get me Eastern Sea-Jet Charter Service instead.”

  Twenty minutes later Dan Fowler wa
s in the air again, flying north into an evil-looking winter sky.

  VIII

  A long series of gray, flickering pictures, then, for Dan Fowler. A fast sandwich eaten on the plane as the Capitols pale sun was swallowed up. A gray sky, then almost black, temperature dropping, a gray drizzling rain. Cold. Wind bouncing the gray shape of the little ski-plane around like a stick in a stream. Gray news from the pilot: “Eight feet of snow up there, according to reports. Lake’s frozen three feet thick. Going to a rough ride, Senator.” A gray memory of Jean’s quick kiss before he climbed aboard, the sharp worry in her eyes—“Got your pills, Dad? Try to sleep. Take it easy. Give me a call about anything—” (Tough thing to do without any phones, but why tell her that? She’s already scared enough. Confounded heart, anyway.) A wobbly takeoff that almost dumped his stomach into his lap and sent the briefcase flying across the cabin. Then rain, and gray-black nothing out there as they headed north. Faster, man, can’t you get this crate to move a little? Sorry, Senator, nasty currents up here. Maybe if we go higher—

  Timel Paul had said it was more precious than life, and now time ran screaming by in great deadly seeps, like a black-winged buzzard. And through it all, weariness, tired* ness that Dan had never felt before. Not the weariness of years, nor of hard work, just a gray, heartsick, sense that time at last was running out on him. He should have rejuvenated months ago, then at least he’d have time. But bow—what if Paul were right?

  No rejuvenation for Dan Fowler now, of course. Not until Paul is proven wrong, a thousand times wrong. That was it, that was the real weariness that wasn’t time-weariness or body-weariness. Just mind-weariness. Weariness at the thought of wasted work, the wasted years—a wasted life. Unless Paul were proven wrong.

  Angry at his grayness, Dan snapped on the little TV, searched for diversion. Wonderful pickup these days. News of the world brought to you by Atomics International, the fuel that will power the Starship . . . the President returned to Washington today after three-week vacation conference in Calcutta with Chinese and Indian dignitaries . . . full accord and a cordial ending to the meeting . . . American medical supplies to be made available . . . and on the home front, appropriations renewed for Antarctica Project . . . solar energy in every home within a decade, according to Project Director Roderigo Aviado . . . Special bulletin: huge Abolitionist rally last night in New Chicago as John “Moses” Tyndall returned to that city for the fifteenth anniversary of the movement he started there back in 2119 . . . cut to scene of wild, placard-waving crowd and a huge banner proclaiming DOWN WITH REJUVENATION THE DEVILS WORK... then back to Tyndall’s hawk face and strident voice lashing out at Senator Daniel Fowler’s universal rejuvenation program . . . twenty-five hour work week hailed by Senator Rinehart of Alaska as a great progressive step for the American people . . . Senator Rinehart, chairman of the all-powerful Criterion Committee, holding forth hope last night that improved rejuvenation techniques may enable the Hoffman Center to handle up to six hundred candidates a year within five years. . . . Dan snarled in disgust, cut Rinehart’s comforting, confidence-inspiring face off in mid-smile.