Okay. We'll stay.
("No argument?")
None. I want to get to know El a little—a lot!— better.
("Glad to hear it.")
And the funny thing is: the more time I spend with her, the less she reminds me of Jean.
("That's because she's really nothing at all like Jean; she's far more mature, far more intelligent. As a matter of fact, Ellen Lettre is one of the more fascinating things on this fascinating planet.")
Dalt's lack of response as he cleared his plate was tacit agreement. On the way out, his eye was caught by a golden seal on the door. It read: "Premises, kitchen, and food quality graded Class I by Nauch & Co., Inc." The date of the most recent inspection was posted below.
("I guess that's the Tolivian equivalent of a department of public health,") Pard said. ("Only this Nauch is probably a private company that works on a subscription basis. When you think about—")
Pard paused as a ground car whined to a halt before the restaurant and Dr. Webst leaped out. He looked relieved at the sight of Dalt.
"Glad I found you," he said as he approached. "I met Dr. Lettre back at the complex and asked her when you were coming back; she said she wasn't sure if you were coming back at all."
"That was a possibility."
"Well, look, I don't know what this is all about, but you must come back to the complex with me immediately."
Dalt stiffened. "You're not trying to make an order out of that, I hope."
"No, of course not. It's just that I've made some startling discoveries about you that may have great medical significance. I've doubled-checked everything."
"What are you talking about?" Dalt had a sudden uneasy feeling.
Webst grabbed Dalt's arm and guided him toward the car. "I'm babbling, I know, but I'll explain everything on the way over to the complex." He paused in mid-stride. "Then again, maybe it's you who should do the explaining."
"Me?" Dalt was genuinely puzzled.
"Yes. Just who or what are you, Mr. Dalt?"
VIII
"This is my psi pattern," Webst said, pointing to an irregular red line undulating across the viewscreen in his office. "It shows the low level of activity found in the average human—nothing special about my psi abilities. Now, when we focus the detector on you, look what happens." He touched a panel and two green lines appeared on the screen. The one at the lower end was very similar to Webst's and occasionally superimposed itself on it at certain points.
"That's what I expected from you: another normal pattern. And I got it... but what the hell is that?" He was pointing to the large, smoothly flowing sine-wave configuration in the upper part of the screen. "We have tried this out on thousands of individuals and I have never once seen a pattern that even vaguely approximates that, neither in configuration nor in amplitude.
"Whatever it is," Webst continued as he blanked the screen, "it seems to like you, 'cause it goes where you go. At first I thought it was a malfunction, that's why I brought you over to Big Blue, where we have another model. But the same pattern appeared as soon as you walked into the building—and disappeared as soon as you left. So, what have you got to say for yourself, Mr. Dalt?"
Dalt shrugged with convincing bafflement. "I really don't know what to say." Which was true. His mind raced in an attempt to give Webst, obviously an expert in psionics, a plausible but fictitious explanation. The machine in question was a fairly recent development of IMC research—it detected levels of psionic capacity, even in the nascent stage, and was planned for interplanetary marketing to the psi schools which were springing up on every planet. The current thrust of Webst's research was in the field of psionics and psychotherapy, so he took the liberty of screening for psi ability everyone who entered his office. He felt he had hit pay dirt with Dalt.
"You mean to say that you've never had any inkling of psi ability?" Webst asked. Dalt shook his head. "Well then, are there any blank spots in your memory ... do you ever find yourself somewhere and can't recall how you got there?"
"What are you driving at?"
"I'm looking for a dissociative reaction or a second personality—something, anything, to explain that second level of activity. I don't want to alarm you," he said gently, "but you're only allowed one: one mind, one psi level. The only conclusion I can draw is that you either have two minds or the most unusual single mind in the galaxy."
("He was right the first time.")
I know, but what do we do?
("Play dumb, of course. We wanted to get out of microbiology and into psych—this may be our chance.")
Dalt mulled this over. Finally, "This is all very interesting, Dr. Webst, but quite meaningless as far as my professional life is concerned." That should put the conversation on the track we want.
"That's what I'd like to discuss with you," Webst replied. "If I can get a release from Dr. Hyne, would you be interested in spending some time with my department assisting us with some experiments?"
"Just what kind of experiments?"
Webst came around his desk to stand before Dalt. "I've been trying to find a use for psionics in psychotherapy. We are daily trying to probe the minds of these so-called horrors cases in an effort to find out why they don't respond to conventional therapy. I have no doubt that it's the path of the future—all we need is the right technology and the right psi talents.
"Remember Sally Ragna? The girl who hides in the corner and no known psychotherapy can reach? That's the kind of patient I'm after. We've developed an instrument to magnify psi powers, and right now a man with one per cent of your aptitude is trying to get a look inside her mind." Webst suddenly stiffened and his eyes burned into Dalt. "Right now! Would you come over to Big Blue right now and give it a try? All I want you to do is take a quick look—just go in and out, no more!"
("This is our chance,") Pard urged. ("Take it!") He was obviously anxious to give it a try.
"All right," said Dalt, who had a few reservations lurking in the back of his mind. "Might as well give it a try and see if anything at all can be done."
In Big Blue they seated him before Sally Ragna, who wasn't cringing now, due to heavy sedation. The psi booster Webst had mentioned, a gleaming silver disk, was slung above them.
This is a waste of time, Dalt told Pard.
("I don't think so. I've learned one thing, anyway: That machine of Webst's isn't worth a damn—I'm not getting a bit of boost from it: But I don't think I'll need it. I've made a few probes using the same technique I played with on the liner and I'm meeting with very little resistance. I'm sure I can get in. One thing, though ... I'm going to have to take you with me.") I don't know if I like that.
("It's necessary, I'm afraid. I'll need every ounce of reserve function to stay oriented once I get in there, and I may even have to draw on your meager psi power.")
Dalt hesitated. The thought of confronting madness on its own ground was deeply frightening. His stomach lurched as he replied, Okay, let's do it. But be careful!
("I'm frightened too, friend.")
The thought flashed across Dalt's mind that he had never before considered the possibility of Pard being frightened of anything. Concerned, yes ... but frightened—
The thought disappeared as his view of Sally Ragna and the room around them swirled away and he entered the place where Sally was spending her life:
/countless scintillating pinpoints of light that somehow gave off no illumination poured into treelike shapes/ a sky of violet shot through with crimson flashes that throw shadows in paradoxical directions/an overall dimness that half obscures living fungus forms that crawl and leap and hang from the pointillistic trees/ /moving forward now/