Golden Age of Science Fiction Vol XII

by Various

  He knew what to do. He had been probed before. Probing was part of the training at psi school but he had never revealed--and his tutors had never guessed--that he could create a block that could not be sensed by the prober. A block which could close off whatever thoughts he wished to conceal.

  He blocked his thoughts of Lawrence and the deal now, and opened freely that part of his mind which held the routine thoughts of the law offices. He felt that feather of thought brushing lightly through his brain, then it was gone as quickly as it had come.

  There was a cold sweat over him but he knew that he had passed the test. Why the probe? Perhaps a BEB psi had wind of Lawrence's deal and by probing Lawrence's mind--or the mind of someone in the West Coast realty outfit--had somehow learned of Black's association with the industrialist. If that were the case there would be more probes. One time or another a probe might come at a moment of nervous tension or stress and the information would be gleaned from his mind before he could block!

  He must work fast.

  He arose and went to the visiphone, placed a person-to-person call to Los Angeles.

  "Dick Joyce?" he asked before the visual contact was complete, and only his voice went out.

  The face that came in sync on the screen was round, jovial. "Well, hello, Marty!"

  Lawrence must have called him, or else he plucked the name from my mind. But he didn't probe--or did he?

  "Dick, do you register?" With the mind now--cautiously!

  "Yes, Marty."

  Pretend you're my personal friend, Dick. There's no psi on us but we may be wiretapped by BEB--lots of law offices are and trainees connected with them. Can a definite date be set for the picking-up of the options?

  "It's good to see you again, Marty! When will you be coming out for another visit?" Yes, the options are in the bag. My agents have them all lined up. Confidentially, they couldn't miss. The only trouble they ran into was that some of the landowners thought they were insane to be interested in the property and one of them actually suffered a sprained wrist from the hand-shaking of an overly thankful owner.

  "Soon. That's why I called you. Thought we should get together after all these years." What's the latest date for signing?

  Tomorrow night.

  Tomorrow night! That doesn't give much time! Since I'm acting for Lawrence I have to see what we're getting.

  Well, Lawrence told us to work fast. But I agree that it's a good idea that you see the properties. "How about this weekend?" His voice was casual.

  Tomorrow evening local time it is then. But where will we make psi-contact?

  A mental picture of a map. Desolation.... Oklahoma....

  "Okay, Dick. See you then. Regards to the family!"

  "Goodbye, Marty."

  He rang off.

  He was tired. He went to bed and sought sleep, praying that the block his fatigued mind had set would remain firm.

  IV

  Martin Black passed a very bad night. Maintaining a mental block when asleep is a major feat, especially when one has semantic instability and a dream can so often be so realistic as to bring one's consciousness awake and mentally screaming miles from the physical being it has involuntarily left.

  He dreamed with incredible regularity, waking five times out of nightmares, five times strangely on the hour as though he had tied some part of his mental being to the irresistibly moving, luminescent minute hand of his electric clock. Time is of the essence, he had told himself during the psi-visiphone contact with Joyce. Association!

  Two A.M. He had dreamt of Joyce, dreamt that Joyce had somehow revealed the proposed transaction to BEB, putting Dodson on his trail. Wide awake now, he forced himself to think of the options which must be picked up the following night, options drawn so that not only the landowners must sign them but both the realty outfit and he, as Lawrence's attorney-in-fact, as well. Could he sign for Lawrence if Joyce had spilled?... No, it was only a dream. Joyce was so very stable!

  Three A.M. He had dreamt of Standskill, tall, lean Standskill striding through the lovely early morning along the Champs Élysées, moving purposefully. He had even dreamt he had for a moment invaded Standskill's mind and caught the lawyer's pounding thought, "Lawrence! Buy, Lawrence!" Oh, but that would never do. The service psis would catch Standskill, would test the ethics of it now that Joyce had spilled, would cause Standskill to be disbarred. But Standskill didn't know! A dream. A lunatic dream.

  Four A.M. The coincidence of the timing of his wakings struck him then. For a moment the latest dream eluded him and then the sense of airless cold, a bleak, cratered landscape, stark stars staring in a lunar night swept coldly across his mind. He shivered, drew the blanket over him, thought: How many shares? Six thousand? I can do it. I'll contact the broker in the morning. Six thousand at two hundred per. One million two hundred thousand dollars.

  But that would raise the price, the attempt to buy so many shares. You can't buy a million plus in one stock without driving the price up--unless you manage to buy all the shares at once! If only he could persuade--psionically persuade--but he couldn't! It wasn't ethical.

  His mind drifted.... I'll call the broker in the morning. Perhaps he can start picking up some of the independent shares when the market opens. If only he could snag the four thousand that--what was that name in Lawrence's mind?--yes, Redgrave! The four thousand that Redgrave has! That would be a start!

  Redgrave had always fought Lawrence tooth and nail. Lawrence would derive vast personal satisfaction from seeing Redgrave an ex-stockholder. Thankless cad! Investment in the corporation had helped make Redgrave a very wealthy man. Lawrence stock was only part of his vast holdings. Redgrave was definitely out of the red!

  Black chuckled, then told himself that this was a grave and not a laughing matter. Sleep was coming again.... Out of the red. Grave. Redgrave!

  Five A.M. He awoke in a cold sweat.... This time the dream came back slowly, drenching him with fear as it came. It was sheer madness, this dream! To have even considered investing in Lawrence Applied Atomics! The Government would never condone the deal Lawrence was contemplating--the Applied Atomics Corporation was nearly insolvent, the BEB psis were investigating it....

  Black tossed fitfully on the bed, seeking sleep desperately, seeking to escape the black night pressing in, to evade the imagined--or was it real?--probing minds of service psis.

  Six A.M. He almost forgot the fears that had assailed him an hour before. He realized then that in the last few minutes or seconds or however long the latest transient phantasm had been in his mind he had dreamt of his broker pacing a dimly-lighted chamber, muttering, "The man's out of his mind. Economic instability, that's certain. Thinking of selling good stock to invest in Lawrence Applied Atomics! Not that Lawrence stock isn't fairly good, but he'll never make enough out of the corporation's piles; the returns are not that great!"

  8 A.M. Black stretched, felt strangely relaxed. He realized then that as he had slept and, despite the fitfulness of his sleeping, his mind had apparently gone on analyzing the possible reactions to the big deal.

  He arose, took a shower, shaved, ate breakfast. Then he went to the visiphone and buttoned Charles Wythe, his broker, at his office.

  "Charlie," Black said to the cadaverous looking man who answered. "Where's the boss?"

  "Went to see a psychiatrist."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. What's on your mind?"

  "I want you to do some selling and buying for me. Sell whatever you like, but buy Lawrence Applied Atomics."

  "Look, Marty, let's not go off half-cocked. Last year you had a sudden brainstorm and remember what happened. Lawrence may be a good stock, but it won't help you to build up to that thirty percent you need. Not in the time you have to do it in. It's bad enough for you to take a big licking once. Let's not be stupid again."

  "Now, Charlie, don't be nasty. I want you to buy Lawrence as quietly as you can. I want six thousand shares at the current price. Get them for me."

&nbs
p; "Are you shaken loose from your psyche or id or whatever?" Wythe cried. "Do it quietly, the man says, do it quietly! You can do it about as quietly as they launched the space station. Where do you think I can get six thousand shares of Lawrence?"

  "Why, you buy them!" Black answered innocently. "Isn't that what you do down at the Stock Exchange?"

  The broker groaned. "Sure, that's all I do. Buy, that is. But not Lawrence. Look, Marty, see this chart? Yesterday was a big day for Lawrence Applied Atomics. It was unusually active. Three hundred shares changed hands. The day before it was one hundred. Once in my memory Lawrence had a four thousand share day. That must have been when Redgrave bought in. Now you tell me how I'm going to get you six thousand shares, get them quietly, and get them at the current price!"

  "Start buying," Black said, "because I've got a hunch you'll find them. My mother had hunches, didn't she? Did she ever tell you or the boss to buy the wrong stocks? Did she--"

  "That was your mother, Marty. What about that hunch you had last year, the one that cost you a couple of hundred thou--"

  "That was last year!"

  "So, what's changed?" asked Wythe.

  "Maybe I've changed, Charlie. Do it; that's all I ask."

  "Okay, Marty. But I think you're out of your mind, especially with what was on the morning news."

  "And what was that?"

  "Lawrence is in bad shape. He's not likely to pull through. They operated last night, in case you didn't know."

  "But that should drive the stock down!"

  "Why? It won't affect the profits from the corporation's piles."

  "No. I agree. But that's not the only thing that keeps the price up. What about Lawrence's reputation?"

  "Well, there's also a rumor about a government investigation of the corporation," Wythe admitted. "That might have some downward effect."

  "Buy, Charlie, buy! I'll ring you later."

  Black rang off. He felt an overwhelming confidence. He had only one small doubt in his mind--during or following one of those disturbing dreams had he been sufficiently overwrought to have relaxed his mental block, thereby letting in a fleeting probe from a service psi who would then have gleaned, in a moment, knowledge of the proposed transaction?

  The unease waned. The exuberant confidence was in him again. The prescience of Martha Black?

  He went out and caught a heli-cab to the law offices. He'd be a good trainee to the eyes and minds of anyone who might check. If the service psis were on his trail, he'd show them how good a trainee he was. He could check with Charlie Wythe later.

  V

  At ten A.M., Standskill's partner, G. D. Rich left the office to attend court.

  At ten-thirty A.M., a contact call came whispering to Black's mind. He thought it at first a probe and blocked part of his mind; then relaxed as it realized it was a psi asking with overbearing politeness for him to connect the visiphone circuit. The mental touch seemed somehow familiar, but it wasn't Joyce. He knew it wasn't Joyce; there was something unsure and tentative about the whisper of thought.

  Black psionically cut in the outer office visiphone connection. The bell rang almost immediately. He switched on the inner office instrument and a familiar face came in sync on the screen--that of Peter Dodson, the principal administrative officer of the BEB psis.

  Dodson's blondly handsome face showed concern. He said, "I wanted visiphone contact, Black, because of an unfavorable report I've received on you. I'll get to that in a minute. First, I'd like to explain the background. As you may have learned from the news this morning, we're investigating Lawrence Applied Atomics because of a tip we'd received from Los Angeles that Lawrence is engaged in a venture which will eventually affect corporation funds without proper advance authorization.

  "Finding that Lawrence had some dealings with Standskill in the past, we thought that Standskill might be able to shed some light on the new venture. When we were unable to contact Standskill, we sought to contact you psionically last night, but found that your mind was a completely unreadable jumble of nightmares, filled with phobias and instabilities. We stopped probing then, realizing that you might be seriously ill."

  Apparently visual examination had convinced Dodson that Black wasn't as ill as had been thought. Black felt the feather touch of a probe coming now and he blocked, his thin face expressionless.

  "I did have a rather bad night," Black said. "Association. Semantic instability." He felt the tentacle of thought that was sweeping across his mind.

  "Well," Dodson said, his eyes probing from the screen, "it's obvious you know nothing of the Lawrence deal. Strange, though, since there's a record of a call placed to that office by Lawrence yesterday, and as far as we have been able to determine only you were there and only you could have answered. How do you explain that?"

  Easy now! The block is most difficult to maintain when you're lying. Easy....

  "There was a call," Black admitted, "from someone I don't know, a fellow who wanted Standskill. Wouldn't say why or give his name. The moment I told him Standskill was in Paris he said with some reluctance that he would have to contact another law firm. The caller was probably Lawrence. If you could describe him--"

  "So Standskill's in Paris! The answering service didn't know that. Well, that rules him out. Thank you, Black. Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Rather tired," Black said. "Overwork, I expect. The training is rather strenuous, and I do wish you wouldn't probe. As you found in psi school, my powers have a very delicate balance."

  The probe withdrew hastily.

  "Sorry, Black. Very sorry. Perhaps you need a rest. I'll be only too glad to send through an order--"

  "Oh, thank you, sir," Black said, trying to make it sound fervent and properly subservient. He sent a thought of thankfulness after his words, a weak one. He must not appear too strong.

  Dodson rang off.

  The coast was clear! They would not probe again soon!

  Black immediately called Charles Wythe, found his broker's cadaverous face puzzled.

  "Marty, the market's crazy! I managed to pick up four thousand shares within ten minutes after the market opened. One purchase. The broker from whom I obtained them represented Dan Redgrave--"

  "Redgrave!" Black almost shouted.

  "Yes, Redgrave. He said Redgrave is plain cuckoo. Ordered him to sell at one hundred fifty. Said he'd bought them at that and would sell them at that. No profit wanted. Glad to get out in time to recoup his original investment. What's cuckoo about it is that, except for the momentary flurry when we picked up the Redgrave shares, the stock has been rising all morning. It's up to two twenty-five as of this moment.

  "Lawrence must have someone else buying regardless of the price. Three concerns are still trying to buy at the present price. Ethics forbids me to ask who their clients are. Not that they'd tell me anyway! Now, look, Marty, do you want me to buy at that price, if I can, that is?"

  "Well, I must have six thousand, unless Lawrence is buying and I'm quite sure he isn't. See if you can find out who the buyer is, won't you?"

  "Everybody's crazy today," the broker said. "I'll call you back."

  Wythe did, a few minutes later.

  "I'm afraid it's no use, Marty. There's not another share to be had. There's been news from the hospital. Lawrence has rallied. Although he's still in a coma, his chances are good for recovery. Not only that, but the Business Ethics Bureau has issued a statement to the effect that the tip they'd received about Lawrence and a deal has not been proved to have a foundation in fact. Those things have put the stock way up. Everybody wants to buy Lawrence but nobody wants to sell--except me! Let's sell, Marty!"

  "Not on your life," Black said decisively. "And, look, we must get two thousand more shares! Get them, Charlie!"

  He clicked off again.

  So Dan Redgrave had sold at a ridiculously low price! Had his consciousness wandered in those dreams? Had he psionically persuaded Redgrave to sell? That wouldn't be ethical. But do ethics apply to i
nvoluntary acts?

  His mind was in turmoil. He dared not exercise his psi powers again just now. He feared above all the wrath of Dodson and the other service psis. If they came to suspect that he had persuaded Redgrave--that he had, according to Ethics, misused his powers ... he knew only too well that there are ways of banishing psi powers, insulin shock and other treatments.

  And for all his present aloneness he was beginning to realize his latent powers--powers which, when fully developed, would doubtlessly bring him into contact with others like himself, with someone who could share the fierce ecstasy of probing with the consciousness to the moon, or even farther, at the speed of light at which thought moved. No, perhaps he need not always be alone....

  He went out to lunch, returned, called his broker. Wythe told him there was no activity in Lawrence. The afternoon wore. A few minutes before the exchange closed the broker called.

  "It's hopeless, Marty," said Wythe. "Let's sell. The price is still two twenty-five and nothing for sale. How about it? Three hundred thousand profit in one day."

  It sounded attractive. Black hesitated, then thought of Lawrence, good, old would-be humanitarian and philanthropist D. V. Lawrence lying in coma. Lawrence, whose dreams were in his hands now. He had come to like Lawrence, the trail-blazer where there were so few trails to be blazed. He had to help him. If worse came to worse he would cast Ethics to the winds. He'd have to! His conscience couldn't permit him to do anything else. He would psionically persuade at least one of the other stockholders to vote Lawrence's way.

  Well, at least his mind was made up. Lawrence would have his options. And with forty-nine percent of the stock between them they could gamble on getting a favorable vote.

  "What about it, Marty?" the broker asked impatiently.

  "Sorry," Black said. "The answer is no, Charlie! I want that stock."

  He rang off.

  Moments later his consciousness was on its way to keep the rendezvous with Joyce high in the evening sky over Oklahoma, up where the blue of the atmosphere turned to the black of infinity.

  And moments later lights blazed over a table in a realty office in Los Angeles where no one sat. But pens lifted and wrote....