by Unknown
She stepped off the belt and crossed a plaza, entering the cool lobby through the ornate Francon IV entrance. Inside, she paused to decide which
treasure trove to visit first. Perhaps she should finish The Life and Death of Lampert I, the benevolent tyrant who had founded the Second Terran Empire.
Suddenly she stiffened, a quick, tense look flooding her face. “Tommy One” — the name had popped into her mind, then “Danny June.” She automatically threw up a mental barrier to block any penetration of her own mind, then glanced nervously around, attempting to discern if anyone had witnessed her fright. Everything appeared normal.
Danny June had been calling Tommy One — that much she had gotten; and the call had been loud and clear. She considered it. Because of public fear and scorn, most of the registered telepaths on Makal had chosen to dwell apart in a colony across the Wasach Sea. There were few such in Gylan. But there were others — a larger number, she guessed — who had chosen to break the law rather than submit to the indignity of registration. Hidden in the larger cities, they seldom communicated telepathically for fear of disclosure. She was one such.
Had the call been put out by a registered telepath? She thought not, if only for the reason that few such sensitives resided in the city.
More to the point, had the call been put out by a telepathic police agent hoping to trap an unregistered sensitive into answering or revealing himself by his reaction when receiving the call? She had heard of such tactics. It was that possibility that instantly had caused her to close her mind. She debated it, then cautiously lifted the barrier.
“I hear you, Tommy One” — the words crackled with such clarity in her consciousness that she immediately threw up her shield, trembling as she gazed furtively around. No one seemed in the least concerned.
Feeling her fright pass, she considered the situation more calmly. The call could have been put out by an agent, yet she sensed that Danny was young or at least too young to be an agent. It had something to do with the so-called mental fingerprint, by which many telepaths could sense both age and sex.
The names probably were code covers, she reflected. Unregistered telepaths occasionally did communicate that way. The name Tommy One, in particular, held an unnatural ring.
Moving between the stacks where she would be unobserved, she cautiously opened her mind. “Third Rigel Dynasty”…“Kalkal of Brotok”…“the music of Troon” — the thoughts of those around her swirled through her consciousness. Then, “I want to know about the big starships.”
She caught her breath. That had been Danny June’s voice; she knew it. Glancing nervously around, she listened intently.
“Starships…”
“You will have to go to the library.”
“Go to the library.”
“Do it now.”
She listened a moment longer, then erected the barrier again, isolating her mind from intrusion while she probed her own perturbation. There was something unreal about the conversation, something puzzling. Both voices had seemed to originate from the same source; that was it. And both held an odd, mechanical quality.
But it was more than that. Despite the oddity of the voices — the sameness! — she sensed again that Danny was young, probably around her own age; but the voice of Tommy One revealed nothing. Nothing at all. It was lifeless; that was the only way she could think of it. And his words were little more than echoes.
The library! Tommy One was coming to the library! The impact suddenly struck her. That information, picked up by the telepathic police, could spell disaster for Tommy One. Didn’t he know that? Didn’t Danny June know it? Someone had to warn them. Or was this a trap? The possibility chilled her.
She edged out from the stacks and glanced around the lobby. The few people wandering here and there or browsing through the catalogues appeared intent in their own pursuits; she saw no one who fitted her mental picture of an agent. But there could be an agent, and he could have heard. She had to take the chance, intercept Tommy One — prevent him from entering the library.
She returned outside and found a bench near the entrance. Sitting in the warm sun, she felt tense and edgy — not the tenseness of danger but the tenseness of anticipation.
Waiting, she wondered at the risk she might be taking. Yet she really hadn’t sensed danger, not to herself. But to Tommy One, certainly. He couldn’t be very smart to run that kind of risk, she reflected. Neither could Danny June. Yet Danny had been so positive in his directions.
Why had the two voices seemed to emanate from the same source? Why their identical mechanical quality? How could one such voice suggest life, the other lifelessness? The questions nagged her. Of the two, Tommy One was the strangest, she thought, if only because of his stilted, echolike speech. Could she hear his vocal cadence, she knew it would be exactly the same, for the telepathic and vocal qualities were analogous in the mind of the sensitive. The telepathic communication was speech.
As the sun climbed higher, she grew impatient, yet suppressed the urge to open her mind for fear of a trap. Clearly none of the people passing could be Tommy One. Most were middle-aged or elderly, and the few children were accompanied by adults.
She was looking across the plaza when she saw a tall, slender youth step from the moving belt. Gazing toward the library, he started toward it.
Tommy One! — she knew it! Fascinated, she watched him come closer. He had tousled yellow hair and was huskier than she had first supposed. Approaching the stairs leading to the lobby, he looked neither to the right nor left. He walked, she thought, like he talked — mechanically.
As he passed her, she opened her mind. “Tommy One?” Projecting the name telepathically, she kept her gaze fastened on him. He halted, staring ahead, then turned slowly in her direction. Again she had the impression of a stiff, unliving thing. And the space suit! Younger boys dressed like that at times, but this one must be close to her own age — fourteen or fifteen. Seeing his blank stare, she suppressed the urge to close her mind and withdraw. Instead, she forced herself to repeat the call.
“Tommy One…” The acknowledgment came in a stiff, formal manner.
“Don’t go into the library,” she warned.
“Don’t go in…”
“Go back, go back where you came from.” She stifled her exasperation. “Go back, go back.”
“Go back…”
“Now,” she exclaimed peremptorily. Didn’t he have a mind of his own? She saw him turn haltingly toward the moving belt.
“Tommy One?” Danny’s voice crackled in her mind. “Are you talking with someone?”
“Tommy One,” the yellow-haired figure echoed. Her throat constricted as she saw him halt.
“Danny!” She hurled the name with all the telepathic force she could muster before rushing on. “Don’t let Tommy One go into the library. It might be dangerous.”
“Who are you?” The question held a start of surprise.
“My name is Arla…” She halted, conscious of the risk she was taking.
“Arla?”
“Please don’t use my name,” she instructed. “It’s dangerous.”
“To you?”
“Yes,” she acknowledged hurriedly, “and to you and Tommy One if you’re
not registered.”
“Registered?”
“You don’t know?” she exclaimed disbelievingly. A telepath who didn’t know about registration was beyond her comprehension. “Where are you?”
“I’m on Wenda.”
“Wenda?” She repeated the name, trying to place it. “Second of the sun Aura Rawn,” he explained. “Another planet?” She contemplated the answer incredulously. No, he was too close! He could be no farther away than Tommy One! He was trying to fool her.
“It’s across the gulf you call the Ebon Deeps,” he explained.
“Across the Ebon Deeps?” She caught her breath bewilderedly. A telepath who didn’t know about registration, who lived across the Ebon Deeps…It was fantastic, impossible
! His voice pattern had originated from somewhere nearby. Yet she felt no sense of presence! But neither did she from Tommy One, and she could see him.
She asked firmly, “Who is Tommy One?”
“He’s…he’s just Tommy One.” As if sensing her disbelief, he added, “There are six Tommies.”
“How can that be?” She thought again that he was fooling her.
“I don’t know,” he confessed, “but there are.”
“If you don’t know, how do you know there are six?” she demanded.
“Zandro told me.”
She sensed the hesitancy behind the admission and prompted, “Who is he?”
“I don’t know.” The words held a note of perplexity. “I’ve never seen him.”
“You’re fooling me,” she cried.
“No, honestly,” he protested.
She started to repeat the accusation when she became aware that Tommy One had started up the stairs leading to the lobby. “Tell Tommy One not to go into the library,” she exclaimed urgently.
“Why not?”
“If telepathic agents are listening…”
“Telepathic agents?” he cut in.
“The police,” she warned. “I’ve got to close now.”
“Don’t go,” he pleaded.
“I have to.”
“When can I talk to you?”
“Later, later.” She closed her mind resolutely, her eyes riveted apprehensively on Tommy One. He halted, staring stiffly toward the ornate Francon IV doors. To her relief, he slowly turned and started back toward the moving belt. Watching his slow, mechanical steps, she wondered again who he was. And why didn’t she feel a sense of presence? That, she realized, bothered her as much as anything. Even when he had faced her, answered her, she had felt nothing. Nothing at all.
He had scarcely seemed human.
6
DANNY TREMBLED with excitement.
There was a girl named Arla; he had just talked with her for the second time! His heart pounded at the wonder of it. But their conversation, like the first, had been brief and disconnected, for she had been fearful. And so was he, for he instinctively knew that Zandro would be extremely angry at the contact. He might even cut him off from the Tommies! He grew frightened; he couldn’t reach her except through them. He’d just learned that.
Following their initial contact, he had tried to call her back. His
telepathic cry had brought only the deep, utter stillness that comes with vast emptiness — a stillness that seemed almost more than he could bear. “Arla?” Her name echoed futilely in his mind. Despairingly, he wondered if he hadn’t conjured the whole thing. Perhaps there was no Arla; that thought was worst of all.
Then, surprisingly, she had entered his mind when he was calling Tommy Three.
He remembered how it had been.
“Danny June calling Tommy Three” — he had sent the call into the void.
“Tommy Three…” The answer came almost immediately; and then, “Danny?” The last, anxious and whispery in his mind, came so suddenly that he believed it a trick of the imagination. But it came again, stronger.
“Arla!” He shouted the name in his mind. “I hear you! I hear you!”
“I’ve been calling…”
“I’ve been trying to get you,” he interrupted hurriedly. “I’ve tried and tried. I’ve been trying since last night.”
“I’ve been listening. Your voice just came.”
“When I called Tommy Three?”
“Yes, just now. It’s strange.”
“Strange?”
“That I didn’t hear you before.”
“But I was calling…”
“Did you try to call Tommy One…any of the Tommies earlier?” she cut in.
“No, just you. I was trying to call you.”
“But I heard you when you called him,” she exclaimed wonderingly.
“Clearly?”
“Not as clearly as when Tommy Three answered.”
“That’s strange.” He paused, an idea nibbling at the periphery of his mind as he recalled his contact with the Ikus. In some strange way they formed transmission relays — would have put him through to someone called Subcommander Gobit had not Zandro intervened. Could the Tommies be serving the same function? But how had Arla heard him the first time? Of course, she hadn’t heard him! The explanation burst starkly clear in his consciousness. She had heard the echo of his call in Tommy One’s mind! That’s what she was hearing now — the echo of his thoughts! She was reading them from Tommy Three’s mind! The Tommy was a relay! He explained the idea.
“That could be,” she answered tentatively.
“It must be it,” he declared. “I’m going to break the contact…”
“Now?”
“Listen, don’t go away.”
“Is Zandro…”
“No, just listen.” Abruptly he closed his mind, feeling again the absolute silence. He let a moment pass, then called, “Danny June calling Tommy Three do you hear me, Tommy Three?”
“Tommy Three…” The answer came as quickly as before.
“Danny June calling Arla,” he said.
“Tommy Three…” The voice echoed dully in his mind. “Danny June to Arla.”
“Tommy Three, I hear you.” This time Arla’s voice was loud and clear.
“We did it,” Danny cut in gleefully.
“But…”
“Can’t you see?” he interrupted. “The Tommies act as relay stations. As soon as we were connected, Tommy Three stopped talking. Now we’re talking to each other through his mind.”
“How does that differ from before?”
“Then you were reading Tommy’s thoughts as he listened to me — sort of
a mental echo. But when I direct my message to you, he retransmits my words. That’s what we’re hearing, his retransmissions.”
“Of course,” she exclaimed, “that’s why both voices seemed to come from the same place — why they sounded alike.”
He felt jubilant; it was like with the Ikus. He told her about them — how he had learned of the existence of Subcommander Gobit, how Iku 214J and Iku 998W had been preparing to put through his call to the subcommander when Zandro had destroyed the contact. “The Tommies must be like the Ikus, operate in the same way,” he explained.
“Who are the Ikus?” she asked wonderingly.
“They are” — he groped for an explanation — “just minds,” he ended lamely.
“Like Zandro?”
“Yes.” The admission made him suddenly uncomfortable. “But you’ve seen the Tommies,” he rushed on.
“Only Tommy One,” she corrected.
“Show me what he looks like.”
“Show you? You mean transmit a mental picture?”
“Yes, of Tommy One. You can, can’t you?”
“No.” Her hushed answer was filled with awe. “I never knew it could be done.”
“Zandro does.” He felt her silence. “He uses images to reinforce his words.”
“Can you transmit images?”
“I do with Zandro.”
“Can you with me?”
“I don’t know. I’ll try.” He stared at the meadow — the stunted trees, the tall grasses, the light of the emerald sun reflected off the blue-green stream. Concentrating, he tried to project the scene telepathically, as he would words. “Did you get anything?”
“I’m not certain.” The answer was awed. “I had the impression of a large open space with dark blobs on it.”
“That was trees on a meadow,” he answered excitedly. “Why don’t you try? Concentrate on Tommy One.”
“Tommy One,” she echoed. “I’ll try.”
“Send it exactly as you do with words.” He held his mind open during the long moment that followed, hoping to catch her answer.
“Did you get anything?” she asked finally.
“Nothing, it was just blank.” He felt a keen disappointment.
“I didn’t think I co
uld,” she said practically. “I’ve never before heard of a telepath who could do it. That must take a special talent.”
“Perhaps,” he answered dubiously.
“Maybe I could learn to receive. Do you think I could?”
“We could try.” He pushed the speculation to the back of his mind and asked, “What does Tommy One look like?”
“He’s about my age, fourteen or fifteen, tall and slender. I think his eyes are blue. I didn’t see him that closely, but I’m sure they would be. His hair was long and yellow, all tangled.”
“He looks like me,” he exclaimed. His reflection in the stream was just like that: blue eyes, tall, yellow hair, and the age would be about right, at least on Wenda. The similarity perturbed him.
“He’s dressed in a space suit,” she offered.
“A space suit?”
“Well, it looks like one. I’ve seen them on the three-view.”
“What’s that?”
“A three-view? It’s a screen that shows pictures of what’s happening at a distance.”
“I’d like to see one,” he exclaimed.
“He moves strangely.”
“Tommy One?”
“He walks like he talks — mechanically.”
“In what way?”
“I’m not sure. There’s just something about him.” She hesitated. “I have the feeling he isn’t human. What is he, Danny? Do you know?”
“Not human? But you said…”
“I know,” she cut in, “he looks human. But he acts…automatic. Kind of dumb,” she added.
“If you could see Tommy Three…”
“To see if he looks like Tommy One? I’m certain he does. All six probably look exactly the same.”
“He’s at the space terminal,” he suggested.
“How do you know?”
“I sent him there.”
“Sent him?”
“He goes wherever I tell him,” he explained.
A long silence swept in before she asked, “If you’ve never been off Wenda, how do you know where to send him?”
“Zandro tells me.” The admission brought a quick discomfort.
