He forgot his resolution to play cautiously. Laughing silently to himself, he released an overpowering torrent of sound that set the men dancing and brought Denton to his feet. He froze them in ridiculous postures with an outburst of surging emotion. He made them stomp recklessly, he brought tears to their eyes, and he finished off with the pounding force that Lankey called, “Sex Music.”
Then he slumped over the keyboard, terrified at what he had done.
Denton stood behind his desk, face pale, hands clenching and unclenching. “Good God!” he muttered.
He snarled a word at his intercom. “Reaction?”
“Negative,” came the prompt answer.
“Let’s wind it up.”
Denton sat down, passed his hands across his face, and turned to Baque with a bland smile. “An impressive performance, Mr. Baque. We’ll know in a few minutes—ah, here they are.”
Those who had left earlier filed back into the room, and several men huddled together in a whispered conference. Denton left his desk and paced the floor meditatively. The other men in the room, including Hulsey, gravitated toward the bar.
Baque kept his place at the multichord and watched the conference uneasily. Once he accidentally touched a key, and the single tone shattered the poise of the conferees, halted Denton in midstride, and startled Hulsey into spilling his drink.
“Mr. Baque is getting impatient,” Denton called. “Can’t we finish this?”
“One moment, sir.”
Finally they filed toward Denton’s desk. The spokesman, a white-haired, scholarly-looking man with a delicate pink complexion, cleared his throat self-consciously and waited until Denton had returned to his chair.
“It is established,” he said, “that those in this room were powerfully affected by the music. Those listening on the intercom experienced no reaction except a mild boredom.”
“I didn’t call you in here to state the obvious,” Denton snapped. “How does he do it?”
“We can only offer a working hypothesis.”
“So you’re guessing. Let’s have it.”
“Erlin Baque has the ability to telepathically project his emotional experience. When the projection is subtly reinforced by his multichord playing, those in his immediate presence share that experience intensely. The projection has no effect upon those listening to his music at a distance.”
“And—visiscope?”
“He could not project his emotions by way of visiscope.”
“I see,” Denton said. A meditative scowl twisted his face. “What about his long-term effectiveness?”
“It’s difficult to predict—”
“Predict, damn it!”
“The novelty of his playing would attract attention, at first. While the novelty lasted he might become a kind of fad. By the time his public lost interest he would probably have a small group of followers who would use the emotional experience of his playing as a narcotic.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. That will be all.”
The room emptied quickly. Hulsey paused in the doorway, glared hatefully at Baque, and then walked out meekly.
“Obviously you’re no nonentity,” Denton said, “but whatever it is you have is of no use to me. Unfortunately. If you could project on visiscope, you’d be worth a billion an hour in advertising revenue. Fortunately for you, your nuisance rating is fairly low. I know what you and Lankey are up to. If I say the word, you’ll never in this lifetime find a place for your new restaurant. I could have the Lankey-Pank Out closed down within an hour, but it would hardly be worth the trouble. If you can develop a cult for yourself, why—perhaps it will keep the members out of worse mischief. I’m feeling so generous this morning that I won’t even insist on a visiscope screen in your new restaurant. Now you’d better leave, Baque, before I change my mind.”
Baque got to his feet. At that moment Marigold Manning swept into the room, radiantly lovely, exotically perfumed, her glistening blonde hair swept up into a new and tantalizing hair style.
“Jimmy, darling—oh!” She stared at Baque, stared at the multichord, and stammered, “Why, you’re—you’re—Erlin Baque! Jimmy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“Mr. Baque has been favoring me with a private performance,” Denton said brusquely. “I think we understand each other, Baque. Good morning.”
“You’re going to put him on visiscope!” Marigold exclaimed. “Jimmy, that’s wonderful. May I have him first? I can work him in this morning.”
Denton shook his head. “Sorry, darling. We’ve decided that Mr. Baque’s talent is not quite suitable for visiscope.”
“At least I can have him for a guest. You’ll be my guest, won’t you, Mr. Baque? There’s nothing wrong with giving him a guest spot, is there, Jimmy?”
Denton chuckled. “No. After all the fuss you stirred up, it might be a good idea for you to guest him. It’ll serve you right when he bombs.”
“He won’t bomb. He’ll be wonderful on visiscope. Will you come in this morning, Mr. Baque?”
“Well—” Baque began. Denton was nodding at him emphatically. “We’ll be opening a new restaurant soon. I wouldn’t mind being your guest on opening day.”
“A new restaurant? That’s wonderful. Does anyone know? I’ll give it out this morning as an exclusive!”
“It isn’t exactly settled, yet,” Baque said apologetically. “We haven’t found a place yet.”
“Lankey found a place yesterday,” Denton said. “He’s having a contractor check it over this morning, and if no snags develop he’ll sign a lease. Just let Miss Manning know your opening date, Baque, and she’ll arrange a spot for you. Now if you don’t mind—”
It took Baque half an hour to find his way out of the building, but he plodded aimlessly along the corridors and disdained asking directions. He hummed happily to himself, and now and then he broke into a laugh.
The overlords of business and industry—and their scientists—knew nothing about overtones.
“SO THAT’S THE way it is,” Lankey said. “You seem to have no notion of how lucky you were—how lucky we were. Denton should have made his move when he had a chance. Now we know what to expect, and when he finally wises up it’ll be too late.”
“What could we do if he decided to put us out of business?”
“I have a few connections myself, Baque. They don’t run in high society, like Denton, but they’re every bit as dishonest, and Denton has a lot of enemies who’ll be happy to back us. Said he could close me down in an hour, eh? Unfortunately there’s not much we could do that would hurt Denton, but there’s plenty we can do to keep him from hurting us.”
“I think we’re going to hurt Denton,” Baque said.
Lankey moved over to the bar and came back with a tall glass of pink, foaming liquid. “Drink it,” he said. “You’ve had a long day, and you’re getting delirious. How could we hurt Denton?”
“Visiscope depends on Coms. We’ll show the people they can have entertainment without Coms. We’ll make our motto NO COMS AT LANKEY’S!”
“Great,” Lankey drawled. “I invest a thousand in fancy new costumes for the girls—they can’t wear those plastic things in our new place, you know—and you decide not to let them sing.”
“Certainly they’re going to sing.”
Lankey leaned forward, caressing his nose. “And no Coms. Then what are they going to sing?”
“I took some lyrics out of an old school book my grandfather had. Back in those days they were called poems. I’m setting them to music. I was going to try them out here, but Denton might hear about it, and there’s no use starting trouble before it’s necessary.”