The Hood Maker
"A hood!"
"Somebody with a hood!"
Workers and shoppers hurried down the sidewalk, joining the forming crowd. A sallow-faced youth dropped his bike and raced over. The crowd grew, businessmen in gray coats, tired-faced secretaries, clerks and workmen.
"Get him!" the crowd swarmed forward. "The old man!"
The sallow-faced youth scooped up a rock from the gutter and hurled it. The rock missed the old man, crashing against a store front.
"He's got a hood, all right!"
"Take it away!"
More rocks fell. The old man gasped in fear, trying to push past two soldiers blocking his way. A rock struck him on the back.
"What you got to hide?" The sallow-faced youth ran up in front of him. "Why you afraid of a probe?"
"He's got something to hide!" A worker grabbed the old man's hat. Eager hands groped for the thin metal band around his head.
"Nobody's got a right to hide!"
The old man fell, sprawling to his hands and knees, umbrella rolling. A clerk caught hold of the hood and tugged. The crowd surged, struggling to get to the metal band. Suddenly the youth gave a cry. He backed off, the hood held up. "I got it! I got it!" He ran to his bike and pedaled off rapidly, gripping the bent hood.
A robot police car pulled up to the curb, siren screaming. Robot cops leaped out, clearing the mob away.
"You hurt?" They helped the old man up.
The old man shook his head, dazed. His glasses hung from one ear. Blood and saliva streaked his face.
"All right." The cop's metal fingers released. "Better get off the street. Inside someplace. For your own good."
Clearance Director Ross pushed the memo plate away. "Another one. I'll be glad when the Anti-Immunity Bill is passed."
Clearance Director Ross pushed the memo plate away. "Another one. I'll be glad when the Anti-Immunity Bill is passed."
"Another person wearing a hood -- a probe shield. That makes ten in the last forty-eight hours. They're mailing more out all the time."
"Mailed, slipped under doors, in pockets, left at desks -- countless ways of distribution."
"If more of them notified us --"
Peters grinned crookedly. "It's a wonder any of them do. There's a reason why hoods are sent to these people. They're not picked out at random."
"Why are they picked?"
"They have something to hide. Why else would hoods be sent to them?"
"What about those who do notify us?"
"They're afraid to wear them. They pass the hoods on to us -- to avoid suspicion."
Ross reflected moodily. "I suppose so."
"An innocent man has no reason to conceal his thoughts. Ninety-nine per cent of the population is glad to have its mind scanned. Most people want to prove their loyalty. But this one per cent is guilty of something."
Ross opened a manila folder and took out a bent metal band. He studied it intently. "Look at it. Just a strip of some alloy. But it effectively cuts off all probes. The teeps go crazy. It buzzes them when they try to get past. Like a shock."
"You've sent samples to the lab, of course."
"No. I don't want any of the lab workers turning out their own hoods. We have trouble enough!"
"Who was this taken from?"
Ross stabbed a button on his desk. "We'll find out. I'll have the teep make a report."
The door melted and a lank sallow-faced youth came into the room. He saw the metal band in Ross's hand and smiled, a thin, alert smile. "You wanted me?"
Ross studied the youth. Blond hair, blue eyes. An ordinary-looking kid, maybe a college sophomore. But Ross knew better. Ernest Abbud was a telepathic mutant -- a teep. One of several hundred employed by Clearance for its loyalty probes.
Before the teeps, loyalty probes had been haphazard. Oaths, examinations, wire-tappings, were not enough. The theory that each person had to prove his loyalty was fine -- as a theory. In practice few people could do it. It looked as if the concept of guilty until proved innocent might have to be abandoned and the Roman law restored.
The problem, apparently insoluble, had found its answer in the Madagascar Blast of 2004. Waves of hard radiation had lapped over several thousand troops stationed in the area. Of those who lived, few produced subsequent progeny. But of the several hundred children born to the survivors of the blast, many showed neural characteristics of a radically new kind. A human mutant had come into being -- for the first time in thousands of years.
The teeps appeared by accident. But they solved the most pressing problem the Free Union faced: the detection and punishment of disloyalty. The teeps were invaluable to the Government of the Free Union -- and the teeps knew it.
"You got this?" Ross asked, tapping the hood.
Abbud nodded. "Yes."
The youth was following his thoughts, not his spoken words. Ross flushed angrily. "What was the man like?" he demanded harshly. "The memo plate gives no details."
"Doctor Franklin is his name. Director of the Federal Resources Commission. Sixty-seven years of age. Here on a visit to a relative."
"Walter Franklin! I've heard of him." Ross stared up at Abbud. "Then you already --"
"As soon as I removed the hood I was able to scan him."
"Where did Franklin go after the assault?"
"Indoors. Instructed by the police."
"Indoors. Instructed by the police."
"After the hood had been taken, of course. It went perfectly. Franklin was spotted by another telepath, not myself. I was informed Franklin was coming my way. When he reached me I shouted that he was wearing a hood. A crowd collected and others took up the shout. The other telepath arrived and we manipulated the crowd until we were near him. I took the hood myself -- and you know the rest."
Ross was silent for a moment. "Do you know how he got the hood? Did you scan that?"
"He received it by mail."
"Does he --"
"He has no idea who sent it or where it came from."
Ross frowned. "Then he can't give us any information about them. The senders."
"The Hood Makers," Abbud said icily.
Ross glanced quickly up. "What?"
"The Hood Makers. Somebody makes them." Abbud's face was hard. "Somebody is making probe screens to keep us out."
"And you're sure --"
"Franklin knows nothing! He arrived in the city last night. This morning his mail machine brought the hood. For a time he deliberated. Then he purchased a hat and put it on over the hood. He set out on foot toward his niece's house. We spotted him several minutes later, when he entered range."
"There seem to be more of them, these days. More hoods being sent out. But you know that." Ross set his jaw. "We've got to locate the senders."
"It'll take time. They apparently wear hoods constantly." Abbud's face twisted. "We have to get so damn close! Our scanning range is extremely limited. But sooner or later we'll locate one of them. Sooner or later we'll tear a hood off somebody -- and find him..."
"In the last year five thousand hood-wearers have been detected," Ross stated. "Five thousand -and not one of them knows anything. Where the hoods come from or who makes them."
"When there are more of us, we'll have a better chance," Abbud said grimly. "Right now there are too few of us. But eventually --"
"You're going to have Franklin probed, aren't you?" Peters said to Ross. "As a matter of course."
"I suppose so." Ross nodded to Abbud. "You might as well go ahead on him. Have one of your group run the regular total probe and see if there's anything of interest buried down in his non-conscious neural area. Report the results to me in the usual way."