"I wonder."
"Besides, there are plenty of humans on our side, like Pomerance. We've got--" The thought paused.
For something was happening to Lucy's mind. It was like a wave, a flood of something as indefinable as abstract music rising in Lucy's thoughts as the nucleoproteins of her brain altered. She's becoming a telepath, one of us, Cody thought.
"Power off," Allenby said suddenly. He bent forward and removed the electrodes. "Wait a minute, now, Lucy." He stopped talking, but his mind spoke urgently in silence.
Move your right hand, Lucy. Move your right hand.
Not a Baldy looked at Lucy's hands. There must be no unconscious signals.
Lucy did not move. Her mind, opened to Cody, suddenly and appallingly reminded him of Jasper Home's walled mind. He did not know why, but a little thrill of fear touched him.
Move your right hand.
No response.
Try another command, someone suggested. Lucy-stand up. Stand up.
She did not move.
It may take time, a Baldy suggested desperately. She may need time to learn--
Maybe, Allenby thought. But we'd better try another subject.
"All right, Lucy," Cody said. "Come over here with me. We're going to try someone else."
"Didn't it work?" she asked. She went to him, staring into his eyes as though trying to force rapport between mind and mind.
"We can't tell yet," he said. "Watch June."
June Barton was in the chair now, flinching a little as the electrodes were attached.
In Cody's thoughts something moved uneasily--something he had not thought of since he woke. If the Inductor failed, then--it would be his problem again, the same old problem, which he had failed to solve. The dilemma which had sent him out to try to kill Jasper Home. The responsibility that was too great for any one man to carry after a while. Operation Apocalypse. The end of all flesh....
Very quickly he turned his mind from that thought. He reached out mentally with a sense of panic, while his arm tightened about Lucy. (Would he have to M-- her-her and their child? It may not come to that. Don't think about it!) He searched for a concept intricate enough to drive the obsessive terror from his mind. The Inductor, he asked at random. What's the theory? How does it work?
Another mind leaped gratefully toward the question. It was Kunashi, the physicist. From beneath Kunashi's Mute helmet came quick clear thoughts that could not quite conceal the anxiety in the man's mind. For Kunashi, too, was married to a non-teleparth.
"You remember when we asked the calculator for a solution to our problem?" (The electrodes were being undamped from June Barton's head now.) "We gathered all the data we could to feed into the calculator. We read the minds of human scientists everywhere, and coded all the data that could possibly be relevant. Well, some of that data came from Pomerance's mind, more than a year ago. He wasn't very far along with his theory then, but the key concepts had been formulated-the hypothesis involving mutation of nucleoproteins by resonance. The calculator integrated that with other data and came up with the simplest answer-the virus. It didn't have the necessary data to follow the theory along the lines of the Inductor, even though both concepts depend on the same basic-resonance."
(Someone else was sitting down in the chair. The electrodes were being attached. Cody felt the growing distress and anxiety in every mind.)
Kunashi went on doggedly, "Pomerance is a biochemist He was working on a virus-Japanese encephalitis type A-and trying to mutate it into a specialized bacteriophage." The thought faltered for an instant and picked up again. "The reproduction of a virus-or a gene-depends on high internal resonance; it's a nucleoprotein. Theoretically, anything can change into anything else, eventually. But the physical probability of such a change depends on the relative resonance measure of the two states-high for the aminoacid-protein chain, for example, and the two states of the benzene ring."
(Kunashi's wife was sitting down in the chair.)
"The change, the reproduction, also involves high specificity of the chemical substances involved. That's the reason telepaths would be immune to the Operation Apocalypse virus, whatever it is. Now... now specificity can vary not only from species to species, but within the species too. Our immunity is innate. The (will it work? will it work?) nucleoprotein of the Operation Apocalypse virus must have a high affinity for certain high-resonance particles in the central nervous system of nontelepaths. Such particles have a great capacity for storing information. So our virus would attack the information centers of the nontelepathic brain.
"That affinity depends on resonance differential--and Pomerance's experiments were aimed at finding a way to alter that differential. Such a method would make it possible to mutate virus-strains with great predictability and control. And it can also be used to induce telepathy. Telepathy depends on high resonance of nuceloproteins hi the brain's information centers, and by artificially increasing specificity, the telepathic function can be induced in-in-"
The thought stopped. Kunashi's wife was leaving the experimental chair, and the physicist's mind clouded with doubt, misery, and hopelessness. Cody's thoughts linked with Kunashi's, sending a strong message of wordless warm encouragement-not intellectual hope, he did not have much of that himself-but a deep emotional bridge of understanding and sympathy. It seemed to help a little. It helped Cody, too. He watched Kunashi's wife walk quickly to him, and they linked arms and stood together waiting.
Suddenly Lucy said, "I want to try again."
"Do you feel--" Cody began, but immediately knew that there had been no change. Her mind was still walled.
Yet Allenby, across the room, nodded.
"It's worth trying," he said. "Let's do it with the power on, this time. The resonance effect should last for several minutes after disconnecting the electrodes, but we won't take any chances." Cody had taken the baby again, and Lucy was settling herself in the chair. "Ideally, all these gadgets will be in a small power-pack that will be worn and operating continuously ... All right, Lucy? Power on."
Again mind after mind tried to touch Lucy's. Again Cody sensed, as he had sensed hi the minds of the other subjects too, that strange walled aspect that reminded him of Jasper Home. But Lucy wasn't paranoid!
Yet her mind did not open. So it was failure-not a mechanical failure, for Pomerance's hypothesis had been verified by everything except the ultimate verification of experimental proof. And yet, without that proof, the pogrom would rage on unchecked, spreading and destroying.
She's not paranoid! Cody thought. The baby stirred in his arms. He reached into that warm, shapeless mind and sensed nothing there that reminded him at all of Jasper Home.
The baby, Allenby thought suddenly. Try the baby.
Questions thrust toward the psychologist. But they were not answered. He did not know the answers. He had a hunch, that was all.
Try the baby.
Allenby turned off the power and removed the electrodes from Lucy's head. The baby was laid gently, in his blankets, on the seat Lucy vacated. The electrodes were attached carefully. The baby slept.
Power on, Allenby ordered.
His thoughts reached out toward the child.
The child slept on.
... Defeat, the last defeat of all, Cody knew. Telepaths and nontelepaths were ultimately different, after all. That wall could never go down. No armistice could ever be made, pogrom could not be stopped.
The paranoids had been right. Telepaths could not exist side by side with nontelepaths.
And suddenly hi Cody's mind blazed the flash and roar of the exploding bomb, the blinding thunderclap that was to engulf the whole world now—
On the chair, the baby squirmed, opened its eyes and mouth, and screamed.
In the soft, floating mistiness of its mind was the formless shape of fear-the sudden flash and roar and Cody's own memory of falling helplessly through space-the oldest fears of all, the only fears which are inborn.
For the first time in histor
y, telepathy had been induced.
Cody sat alone at the control panel of the electronic calculator. For there was no time at all now. In a moment the emergency telecast would begin, the last appeal to the group of nontelepaths. They would be offered the Inductor-conditionally. For they could not use it. Only their children could.
If they were willing to accept the Inductor and halt the pogrom, the Baldies would know very quickly. The most secret thoughts of men cannot be hidden from telepaths.
But if they would not accept--the Baldies would know that, too, and then Cody would touch a certain button on the panel before him. Then Operation Apocalypse would begin. In six hours the virus would be ready. In a week or two, ninety percent of the world's population would be dead or dying. The pogrom might go on until the last, but telepaths could hide efficiently, and they would not have to remain hidden long. The decision was man's.
Cody felt Allenby come in behind him.
"What's your guess?" he asked.
"I don't know. It depends on egotism-paranoia, in a way. Maybe man has learned to be a social animal; maybe he hasn't. We'll soon find out."
"Yes. Soon. It's the end now, the end of what started with the Blowup."
"No," Allenby said, "it started a long time before that. It started when men first began to live in groups and the groups kept expanding. But before there was any final unification, the Blowup came along. So we had decentralization, and that was the wrong answer. It was ultimate disunity and control by fear. It built up the walls between man and man higher than ever. Aggression is punished very severely now-and in a suspicious, worried, decentralized world there's a tremendous lot of aggression trying to explode. But the conscience represses it-the criminal conscience of a fear-ruled society, built up in every person from childhood. That's why no nontelepathic adult today can let himself receive thoughts--why Lucy and the others couldn't."
"She'll... never be able to?"
"Never," Allenby said quietly. "It's functional hysteric deafness-telepathic deafness. Nontelepaths don't know what other people are thinking--but they believe they know. And they're afraid of it. They project their own repressed aggressions on to others; unconsciously, they feel that every other being is a potential enemy-and so they don't dare become telepaths. They may want to consciously, but unconsciously there's too much fear."
"Yet the children--"
"If they're young enough, they can become telepaths, like your baby, Jeff. His superego hasn't formed yet. He can learn, and learn realistically, with all minds open to him, with no walls locking him in as he grows and learns."
Cody remembered something an old poet had written. Something there is that doesn't, love a wall. Too many walls had been built, for too long, walls that kept each man apart from his neighbor. In infancy, perhaps in early childhood, anyone was capable of receiving telepathic thoughts, given the Inductor. In infancy the mind of the child was whole and healthy and complete, able to learn telepathic as well as verbal communication. But soon, fatally soon, as the child grew and learned, the walls were built.
Then man climbed his wall and sat on it like Humpty Dumpty-and somehow, somewhere, the long process of maturing and learning, the mind was forever spoiled. It was the fall, not only of Humpty Dumpty, but the immemorial fall of man himself. And then--
All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again.
For Lucy, it was forever too late.
After a little while, Cody said, "What about the paranoids? They were telepathic as children. What happened to them?"
Allenby shook his head.
"I don't know the answer to that one, Jeff. It may be an hereditary malfunction. But they don't matter now; they're a minority among telepaths--a very small minority. They've been dangerous only because we were a minority among nontelepaths, and vulnerable to scapegoating. We won't be, if...."
"What about the secret wave-bands?"
"The Inductor can be built to adapt to any wavelength the human brain can transmit. There won't be any more walls at all."
"If our offer is accepted. If it isn't--if the pogrom goes on--then I still have the responsibility for Operation Apocalypse."
"Is it your responsibility?" Allenby asked. "Is it ours, even? The nontelepaths will be making their own choice."
"The telecast's starting," Cody said. "I wonder how many will listen to it."
The mob that swept through the town of Easterday, secretly led by a paranoid, swirled toward a big house with a wide verandah. The mob sent up a yell at sight of the row of men standing on the verandah waiting. But the paranoid hesitated.
The man beside him did not. He shouted and sprinted forward. There was a sharp crack and dust spurted at his feet.
"They've got guns!" somebody yelled.
"Get 'em!"
"Lynch 'em.'"
The mob surged forward. Again a rifle snapped.
The mob-leader--not the paranoid, but the apparent leader--swore and dropped to the ground, clutching at his leg.
On the verandah a man stepped forward.
"Get out of here," he said crisply. "Get going-fast."
The leader stared in amazement.
"Doc!" he said. "But you're not a Baldy. What the hell are you doing?"
The doctor swung his rifle slowly back and forth.
"A lot of us up here aren't Baldies," he said, glancing along the row of silent men. Several races were represented, but the mob was not concerned with race just now. The lynchers searched out the men on the porch whom they knew to be Baldies-and found each one flanked by coldly determined nontelepaths, armed and waiting.
There weren't many of them, though--the defenders.
That occurred to the leader. He stood up, testing the flesh wound in his calf. He glanced over his shoulder.
"We can take "em," he shouted. "It's ten to one. Let's go get all of 'em!"
He led the wave.
He died first. On the verandah a runty man with spectacles and a scrubby moustache shivered and lowered his gun for a moment. But he did not move from where he stood in the determined line.
The mob drew back.
There was a long pause.
"How long do you think you can hold us off, Doc?" someone called.
The dead man lay on the open ground between the two groups.
The air quivered with heat. The sun moved imperceptibly westward. The mob coalesced tighter, a compact, murderous mass waiting in the sunlight.
Then a telecast screen within the house lit up, and Allenby's voice began to speak to the world.
The telecast was over.
Baldy minds were busy searching, questioning, seeking their answer in minds that could not conceal their true desires. This was a poll that could not be inaccurate. And within minutes the poll would be finished. The answer would be given. On that answer would depend the lives of all who were not telepaths.
Jeff Cody sat alone before the electronic calculator, waiting for the answer.
There could be only one answer a, sane man, a sane people, could give. For the Inductor meant, for the first time in human history, a unity based on reality. It opened the gates to the true and greatest adventures, the odyssey into the mysteries of science and art and philosophy. It sounded the trumpet for the last and greatest war against the Ilium of nature itself-the vast, tremendous, unknown universe in which man has struggled and fought and, somehow, survived.
No adult living today could live to see more than the beginning of that vast adventure. But the children would see it.
There could be only one answer a sane people could give. A sane people.
Cody looked at the keyboard before him.
The earth is filled with violence through them.
Yes, there could be another answer. And if that answer were given-the end of all flesh is come before me.
I will destroy them with the earth!
Cody's mind leaped ahead. He saw his finger pressing the
button on the keyboar
d, saw Operation Apocalypse flooding like a new deluge across the planet, saw the race of man go down and die beneath that destroying tide, till only telepaths were left alive in all the world, perhaps in all the universe. He remembered the terrible, lonely pang Baldies feel when a Baldy dies.
And he knew that no telepath would be able to close his mind against that apocalyptic murder of all mankind.
There would be the wound which could not heal, which could never heal among a telepathic race whose memories would go on and on, unweakened by transmission down through the generations. A hundred million years might pass, and even then the ancient wound would burn as on the day it had been made.
Operation Apocalypse would destroy the Baldies too. For they would feel that enormous death, feel it with the fatal sensitivity of the telepath, and though physically they might live on, the pain and the guilt would be passed on from generation to crippled generation.
Suddenly Cody moved.
His finger pushed a button. Instantly the guarding monitor began to operate. There was a soft humming that lasted less than a second. Then a light burned bright on the control panel, and under it was a number.
Cody pressed another button. The unerring selectors searched the calculator for the bit of crystal that held the code of Operation Apocalypse. The crystal, with its cipher of frozen dots of energy, was ready.
A thousand minds, sensing Cody's thought, reached toward him, touched him, spoke to him.
He paused for an instant while he learned that man had not yet made his decision.
The voices in his mind became a tumultuous clamor. But the ultimate decision was neither man's nor theirs; the responsibility was his own, and he waited no longer.
He moved his hand quickly forward and felt the cool, smooth plastic of a lever sink with absolute finality beneath his fingers.
On the bit of ferroelectric crystal waiting in the calculator, the cipher-pattern of energy shivered, faded and vanished completely.
Operation Apocalypse was gone.
Still Cody's fingers moved. Memory after memory died within the great machine. Its vast pools of data drained their energy back into the boundless sea of the universe and were lost. Then at last the brain of the calculator was empty. There was no way to re-create the Apocalypse--no way and no time.
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