by Harl Vincent
“You have seen the energy streams that carried the two bodies to their meeting. Since this tape was made, I have determined by spectroscopic and oscillographic as well as other means, that the blue beam propelling the dead world, carried superimposed upon it a most amazing energy, a throbbing pulse which comprised several healing properties as well as an anaesthetic one which provided a deep sleep for all humans of the east when the collision occurred. Its healing constituents were psychological, medical, even hypnotic in nature.
Many personalities of humans were completely altered, gloomy natures became joyful, slaves to a vice became free of it, some without love in their hearts acquired it “I have likewise determined that the dead world was dead only on its surface, two civilizations having lived underground and multiplied for many generations after the surface had been blasted by the foolish and futile nuclear warrings of their ancestors. What the healing properties of the superimposed energies have accomplished, I shall now demonstrate to you in the viewplate of the galactic scanner.”
Using powerful magnification, Shalag brought to the lighted viewplate first a portion of the blasted surface of Ormin, then moving along until the vast expanse of the new sea could be seen as far as the horizon. Following the seashore and increasing magnification, he stopped next at the spaceport where numbers of people could be seen moving back and forth between a large building and two space ships in their landing berths.
Further shifting of the view and increased magnification showed an extremely busy scene at the construction site of what was to be a large city at the water’s edge. The orderly movement of materials and of men who performed the various required labors, as well as the speed with which the work proceeded drew expressions of approval from Krylin.
“These people are descendants of once warring ancestors?” he asked wonderingly.
“They are.”
“One would not suspect it from the unity with which they labor side by side.”
“You are quite right, my son. Now observe and perhaps you will note some of the reasons.”
The scanner’s field of view shifted up the slope to a transparent dome, then with further increase of magnification went inside. Shalag manipulated a control lever as they focussed on a group of people, two men and two women, all of them handsome and bright of visage. The control Shalag was using brought in their speech, as well as its telepathic interpretation.
“Two of there are rulers of the now united people,” Shalag stated. “The beautiful blonde woman and the red-haired man. Each was leader of a faction of those whose ancestors were such rivals in science and such bitter enemies that they destroyed themselves and their outer world.”
“Who are the other two?” Krylin asked.
“These are from the next inner world of Vastar 181-x and have become lifemates here. What I mainly wanted you to note, however, is that two of these are quite versatile telepathists, more particularly the woman, the empress we might call her. Daila by name.”
Shalag lighted another screen and the mental processes of the one called Daila showed up in swirls of varying colors that meant much to these scientists of Vloreg. The extrasensory capabilities of the woman were clearly outlined in a manner understandable to them.
“She is quite amazingly endowed,” agreed Krylin. “It is apparent that she is able to project, to absorb and to pilfer thoughts of another from a distance. Show me the other.”
The view changed and the swirls shown were of different form and color. “This is the man from the other world who is called Jack Donley,” his tutor told Krylin.
After a moment, Krylin said in astonishment, “This one has most exceptional power of projecting, not only his own thoughts but facets of his own nature, and without the subject being able to resist or later remember. The other capabilities need further development.”
Shalag smiled approvingly. “You have insight, my son,” he said, “and I fear not for your future in my stead. No doubt you will watch the progress of these people on their rejuvenated world when I have gone.”
“Thank you, indeed,” his pupil replied humbly. “I shall watch them.”
“Now to the next inner world of Vastar 181-x,” said Shalag.
Daila was explaining the thought transference process which enabled her people to convey their meaning as they spoke to those who did not understand their language.
“The words are usually necessary,” she said, “since they are the carriers of the thoughts, not a telepathic projection from the speaker’s mind. Only a very few of my subjects beside myself have the ability to project at all, and these not over great distances. Apdar, forgive me for using the term ‘my subjects.’ It’s in the past tense, of course; they’re our subjects now.”
“I understand, my dear,” gravely from Apdar.
Donley and Mera were listening intently.
“Tell me, Daila,” Donley queried, “it’s a matter of training, isn’t it? I mean, it would be if I, for instance, wanted to increase my telepathic abilities, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, training will help.”
“But where to get it.”
“Right here. A man named Rojan, although not a marvelous telepathist himself, is an extremely good instructor. You know many of the best vocal teachers are not exceptional singers, and this seems to be a parallel. But it would take a period of several months, although you have a fine start already.”
Mera was looking sidewise at her man. What did he have in mind?
“I would like to try something,” Donley offered. “I want to talk to Randall about this and I’d like to try and bring him here—telepathically.”
“I’d love to see you do it,” Daila told him.
Mera held her breath as he concentrated consulted her wristwatch. One minute. Two minutes. Three. F— no, not quite four minutes. And Randall walked into this private gallery that looked out through the transparent wall of the dome top toward Dailapdar and the sea.
“I got the impression that you want to see me, Donley,” Randall said in a voice that was small for him. He was scratching his head perplexedly.
“Randall, I put the impression there,” Donley faltered, “and I’ve got to confess to something.”
“Confess?” Mera thought her ears deceived her.
“Yes, and to you all. But to Randall especially. Randall, have you found any explanation for the little epidemic we seemed to have a while back, like with Lantag and the steward—their condition then?”
“No, I haven’t. In fact, haven’t thought about it too much.”
“Glad you haven’t. Because I did that.” Donley caressed his chin.
“You did what?” They all turned to Donley, not quite understanding.
“I projected those replicas of the cosmic pulse into their think tanks and this is why I apologize. I didn’t mean to deceive you all, I just wanted to find out how far I could go with this—this—”
“As far as I’m concerned, you don’t need to apologize,” Daila said sweetly. “No harm was done. And you did succeed.”
“Yes, with several more. But those were the outstanding ones. It was a fluke, the fireworks I put in their thoughts almost coinciding with the meteor shower. I was thinking not of meteors but of star-burst rockets such as we use in celebrations. At any rate, I brought them all back to normal—but quick! And they don’t seem to remember.”
The appreciative laughter that followed relieved Donley’s mind greatly since it showed him there was no resentment.
“Honey,” Mera said softly, “please go on. Tell us why you want to improve your ESP.”
“Sorry dear—I had to plan it this way. And here’s why. Maybe I’m bats, maybe you’ll think I picture myself as a bigshot, which I’m sure as hell not. But what the captain of the WSA-18 has been telling me about conditions politically on Terra has fired me up. He says we’re on the brink again of nuclear war and I have a hunch I may be able to do something to help avert it. With projected thought in the right places. Think I’m dre
aming?”
“No!” came a chorus of approval, including Mera’s.
“Then, Daila,” he said, “I’m staying here for instruction.”
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