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diff --git a/24723.txt b/24723.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..955179c --- /dev/null +++ b/24723.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3019 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Final Weapon, by Everett B. Cole + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Final Weapon + +Author: Everett B. Cole + +Illustrator: Alexander Leydenfrost + +Release Date: March 1, 2008 [EBook #24723] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FINAL WEAPON *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + + + FINAL + WEAPON + + BY EVERETT B. COLE + + _Man has developed many a deadly + weapon. Today, the weapon most + effective in destroying a man's + hopes and security is the file + folder ... and that was the weapon + Morely knew and loved. But there + was something more potent to come._ + + Illustrated by Leydenfrost + + +District Leader Howard Morely leaned back in his seat, to glance down at +the bay. Idly, he allowed his gaze to wander over the expanse of water +between the two blunt points of land, then he looked back at the +skeletonlike spire which jutted upward from the green hills he had just +passed over. He could remember when that ruin had been a support for one +of the world's great bridges. + +Now, a crumbling symbol of the past, it stubbornly resisted the attacks +of the weather, as it had once resisted the far more powerful blasts of +explosives. Obstinately, it pointed its rusty length skyward, to remind +the observer of bygone conflict--and more. + +Together with the tangled cables, dimly seen in the shoal water, the +line of wreckage in the channel, and the weed-covered strip of torn +concrete which led through the hills, it testified to the arrival of the +air age. Bridges, highways, and harbors alike had passed their day of +usefulness. + +Not far from the ruined bridge support, Morely could see the huge, well +maintained intake of one of the chemical extraction plants. He shook his +head at the contrast. + +"That eyesore should be pulled down," he muttered. "Should have been +pulled down long ago. Suggested it in a report, but I suppose it never +got to the Old Man. He depends on his staff too much. If I had the +region, I'd--" + +He shook his head. He was not the regional director--yet. Some day, the +old director would retire. Then, Central Coordination would be examining +the records of various district leaders, looking for a successor. Then-- + +He shrugged and turned his attention to his piloting of the borrowed +helicopter. It was a clumsy machine, and he had to get in to Regional +Headquarters in time for the morning conference. There would be no sense +it getting involved in employee traffic--not if he could avoid it. + +The conference, his informant had told him, would be a little out of the +ordinary. It seemed that the Old Man had become somewhat irritated by +the excess privileges allowed in a few of the eastern districts. And he +was going to jack everyone up about it. After that would come the usual +period of reports, and possibly a few special instructions. Some of the +leaders would have pet projects to put forward, he knew. They always +did. Morely smiled to himself. He'd have something to come up with, too. + +And this conference might put a crimp in Harwood's style. Morely had +carefully worded his progress report to make contrast with the type of +report that he knew would come from District One. George Harwood had +been allowing quite a few extra privileges to his people, stating that +it was good for morale. And, during the past couple of months, he'd +seemed to be proving his point. Certainly, the production of the +employees from the peninsula had been climbing. Harwood, Morely decided +would be the most logical person--after himself--for the region when the +Old Man retired. In fact, for a time, it had looked as though the +director of District One was going to be a dangerous rival. + +But this conference would change things. Morely smiled slowly as he +thought of possible ways of shading the odds. + +He looked ahead. Commuters were streaming in from the peninsula now, to +make for the factory parking lots. His face tightened a little. Why, he +wondered, had the Old Man decided to call the conference at this hour? +He could have delayed a little, until commuter traffic was less heavy. +He'd been a district leader once. And before that, under the old +government, a field leader. He should know how annoying the employee +classes could be. And to force his leaders to mingle with commuting +employees in heavy traffic! + + * * * * * + +For that matter, everyone seemed to be conspiring to make things +uncomfortable today. Those heavy-handed mechanics in the district motor +pool, for example. They'd failed him today. His own sleek machine, with +its distinctive markings was still being repaired. And he'd been forced +to use this unmarked security patrol heli. The machine wasn't really too +bad, of course. It had a superb motor, and it carried identification +lights and siren, which could be used if necessary. But it resembled +some lower-class citizen's family carryall. And, despite its +modifications, it still handled like one. Morely grimaced and eased the +wheel left a little. The helicopter swung in a slow arc. + +Helis were rising from the factory lots, to interlace with incoming +ships before joining with the great stream headed south. The night +workers were heading for home. Morely hovered his machine for a moment, +to watch the ships jockey for position, sometimes barely avoiding +collisions in the stream of traffic. He watched one ship, which edged +forward, stopped barely in time to avoid being hit, edged forward again, +and finally managed to block traffic for a time while its inept driver +fooled with the controls and finally got on course. + +"Quarrelsome, brawling fools," he muttered. "Even among themselves, they +can't get along." + +He looked around, noting that the air over the Administrative Group was +comparatively free of traffic. To be sure, he would have to cross the +traffic lines, but he could take the upper lanes, avoiding all but +official traffic. A guard might challenge, but he could use his +identifying lights. He wouldn't be halted. He corrected his course a +little, glanced at the altimeter, and put his ship into a climb. + +At length, he eased his ship over the parklike area over Administrative +Square and hovered over the parking entry. A light blinked on his dash, +to tell him that all the official spaces were occupied. He grunted. + +"Wonder they couldn't leave a clear space in Official. They know I'm +coming in for conference." + +He moved the control wheel, allowing his ship to slide over to a +shopping center parking slot, and hovered over the entry, debating. He +could park here and take the sub-surface to Administrative, or he could +use the surface lot just outside of the headquarters group. Of course, +the director frowned on use of the surface lot, except in emergency. The +underground lots were designated for all normal parking. Morely thought +over the problem, ignoring the helis which hovered, waiting for him to +clear the center of the landing area. Finally, his hand started for the +throttle. He would settle in the landing slot, let the guards shove his +heli to a space, and avoid any conflict with the director's orders +regarding the surface lot. + + * * * * * + +Suddenly, there was a sputtering roar. Someone had become impatient at +the delay. A small sports heli swept by, impellers reversed, and dropped +rapidly toward the entry to the underground parking space. Morely's ship +rocked a little in the air blast. + +For an instant, Morely felt a sharp pain which gnawed at the pit of his +stomach. His head was abruptly light, and his hand, apparently of its +own volition, closed over the throttle knob. + +This joy boy was overdue for a lesson. + +Morely measured the distance quickly, judging the instant when the other +pilot would have to repitch his impellers and halt his downward rush. He +allowed his own heavy ship to wallow earthward. + +Scant feet from ground surface, the sportster pilot flicked his pitch +control and pulled his throttle out for the brief burst of power which +would allow him to drop gently to the landing platform. + +Morely grinned savagely as he saw the impellers below him change pitch +and start to move faster. He twisted his own impellers to full pitch and +pulled out the throttle for a sudden, roaring surge of power, then swung +the control column, jerking his ship up and away. As he steadied his +heli and cut power, he looked down. + +The powerful downblast had completely upset the sportster pilot's +calculations. The small ship, struck by the gale from above, had listed +to the right and gone out of control, grazing one of the heavy splinter +shutters at the side of the landing slot. The ship lay on its side, +amidst the wreckage of its impellers. + +Morely flicked on his warning siren and lights, then feathered his own +impellers, dropping his ship in free fall. He dropped to the grassy area +by the landing slot, ignoring the other ships which scattered like +frightened chickens, to give him room. At the last instant, he twisted +the impellers to full pitch again, pulled out the throttle for a moment, +then slammed the lever to the closed position. His ship touched down on +springy turf, its landing gear settling gently to accept the weight. A +klaxon was sounding, and warning lights flashed from the landing slot, +to warn ships away from an attempted landing. + +It would be a long time before the shiny, new sportster would be in +condition to sweep into another parking area. And, after paying his fine +and taking care of his extra duties, it would be an even longer time +before the employee-pilot would have much business in the luxury +shopping center, anyway. + +Morely smiled bitterly as he closed the door of his ship. It didn't pay +to cross Howard Morely--ever. + +He walked slowly toward the landing slot, motioning imperiously to an +approaching guard. + +"Have someone place that ship for me," he ordered, jerking a thumb back +toward his heli. "Then come over to that wreck. I shall want words with +the pilot." He held out his small identification folder. + +The guard's glance went to the folder. For an instant, he studied the +card exposed before him, then he straightened and saluted, his face +expressionless. + +"Yes, sir." He signaled another guard, then pointed toward Morely's +ship, and to the landing slot. "I can go with you now." + +The two went down in the elevator and walked over to the wrecked +sportster. A slender man was crawling from a door. When the man was +clear of his ship, Morely beckoned. + +"Over here, Fellow," he commanded. + +The sportster pilot approached, the indignation on his face changing to +bewilderment, then dismay as he noted Morely's insignia and the attitude +of the two men who faced him. + +Morely turned to the guard. + +"Get me his name, identification number, and the name of his leader." + +"Yes, sir." + +The guard turned to the man, who grimaced a little with pain as he +slowly put a hand in his pocket. Wordlessly, he extracted a bulky +folder, from which he took a small booklet. He held out the booklet to +the guard. + +Morely held out a hand. "Never mind," he said. "Simply put him in +custody. I'll turn this over to his leader myself." + +He had noted the cover design on the booklet. It was from District +One--Harwood's district. He flipped the cover open, ascertaining that +there was no transfer notice. He'd give this to Harwood all right--at +the right time. He looked at his watch. + +"I shall want my heli in about three hours," he announced. "See to it +that it's ready. And have a man check the fuel and see if the ship's +damaged in any way." He turned away. + + * * * * * + +The district leaders sat before the large conference table. Among them, +close to the director's place, was Morely, his face fixed in an +expression of alert interest. His informant had been right. The man must +have gotten a look at the Old Man's notes. The regional director was +criticizing the laxity in inspection and control of employee activities. +He objected to the excessive luxury activity allowed to some members of +the employee classes, as well as to the overabundance of leisure allowed +in several cases, some of which he described in detail. + +He especially pointed up the fact that a recent heli meet had been +almost dominated by employee class entries. And he pointed out the fact +that there was considerable rehabilitation work to be done in bombed +areas. It could be done by employees, during their time away from their +subsistence jobs. That was all community time, he reminded. + +It was all very well, he said, to allow the second- and even third-class +citizens a certain amount of leisure recreation. That kept morale up. +But they were certainly not to be allowed any position of dominance, +either individually, or as a class. That, he said, was something else +again. It was precisely the sort of thing that had led to the collapse +and downfall of many previous civilizations. + +"Keep 'em busy," he ordered. "So busy they don't have time to think up +mischief to get into. Remember, gentlemen, second- and third-class +citizens have no rights--only privileges. And privileges may be +withdrawn at any time." + +He rapped sharply on the table and sat down, looking at the leader of +District One. + +One by one, the district leaders made their verbal reports of activity. +Occasionally, questions of production or work quotas were brought up and +decided. Morely waited. + +At last, he made his own report, emphasizing the fact that his district +had exceeded its quotas--subsistence, luxury, and rehabilitation--for +the fourth consecutive quarter. He cited a couple of community +construction projects he had ordered and which were well on the way to +completion, and brought out the fact that his people, at least, were +being inspected constantly and thoroughly. + +Also, he suggested, if any time remained to be used, or if leisure +activity threatened to become excessive, it might be well to turn some +attention outside of the old urban areas. There was considerable bomb +damage in the suburban and former farming areas, and the scrap from some +of the ruined structures could be stockpiled for disposal to factories +and community reclamation plants. + +Further, a beautification program for the entire region might keep some +of the employee class busy for some time. And some of the ex-farmers +among the lower classes might find it pleasant to work once again with +the soil, instead of their normal work in the synthetic food labs or +machine shops. With the director's permission, he could start the +program by removing the useless tower and wreckage at the bay channel, +and by salvaging the metal from it. Of course, he admitted, it was a +trifle beyond his own authority, since most of the channel was in +District One. The regional director cast him a sharp glance, then +considered the suggestion. At last, he nodded. + +"It might be well," he decided. "Go ahead, Morely. Take care of that +detail." He looked over at his executive. "Have Planning draw up +something on salvage and beautification in the former rural areas," he +ordered. He looked about the room. + +"And the rest of you might try looking over your own districts. You +don't have to wait for a directive, and every one of you can find some +improvement that could be made. If it's a district line matter, submit +some plan for mutual agreement to my office." He rose and went to the +door. + +Morely waited, watching George Harwood. The leader of District One +gathered his papers, looked down the table for an instant, then went +out. Morely followed him at a discreet distance. + +As Harwood neared the door to the regional director's office, Morely +caught up with him. + +"Oh, Harwood," he said loudly. "Caught one of your people in a flagrant +case of reckless flying this morning. Why don't you bear down a little +on those fellows of yours? This one seemed to think he was winning a +heli meet." + +He held out the folder he had confiscated. "Here's his identification. I +had the guards hold him for you. Second-class citizen. Must've had a lot +of spare time, to get the luxury credits and purchase authorization for +that ship of his." + +Harwood looked at him, a faint expression of annoyance crossing his +face. Then, he glanced at the open door nearby, and comprehension grew +on his face. He took the folder, nodded wordlessly, and walked rapidly +past Morely, who turned to watch him. + +As Harwood swung through the door to an elevator, Morely smiled +appreciatively. That had been a smart trick, he thought. Have to +remember that one. No argument to disturb the Old Man. Not even positive +proof that Morely hadn't been talking to empty space. But there was an +answer to that, too, if one was alert. He walked through the doorway +into the director's office. + +The regional director looked up. + +"Oh, Morely. You wanted to see me?" + +"Yes, sir." Morely stood at rigid attention. "I just thought of all +those useless highways around the countryside. Of course, a few of them +have been camouflaged and converted to temporary and emergency heli +parking lots, but there's still a lot of waste concrete about that could +be removed. It would improve the camouflage of the groups. It could be +divided into community projects for spare time work, sir." + +"Very good idea. If this stalemate we're in should develop into another +war, it would be well to have as few landmarks as possible. And some of +these people do have too much time on their hands. They sit around, +thinking of their so-called rights. Next thing we know, some of the +second-class citizens'll be screaming for the privilege of a vote. Set +it up in your district, Morely. We'll see how it works out, and the rest +of the district leaders can follow your example." + +He looked sharply at Morely. "Heard a little disturbance in the hall +just before you came in." + +"Oh, that." Morely contrived a look of confusion. "I'm sorry, sir. I +didn't mean anyone to hear that. It was just that I had a minor bit of +business with Leader Harwood. One of his people nearly knocked me out of +the air this morning, over a parking area, and I confiscated his +identification. I tried to give it to Harwood after the conference, but +he must have been in a hurry. I caught up with him and gave him the +folder." + +"So I heard." The director smiled wryly. "Anything more?" + +"No, sir." Morely saluted and left. + +"That," he told himself, "should drop Harwood a few points." + +He went to the parking area to reclaim his helicopter. Better get back +to his district and start setting up those community projects. Too, he +would have to run a check inspection or so this evening. See to it his +sector men weren't getting lax. He'd check on Bond tonight. + + * * * * * + +He flew back to District Twelve, dropped his helicopter into the landing +area, and made his way to his office. + +Inside, he went to a file, from which he took his spot-inspection +folder. Carrying it to his desk, he checked it. Yes, Bond's sector was +due for a spot inspection. Might be well to make a detailed check of one +of the employees in that sector, too. Morely touched a button on his +desk. + +Almost immediately, a clerk stood in the doorway. + +"Get me the master quarters file for Sector Fourteen," Morely ordered. + +The clerk went out, to return with two long file drawers. Quickly, he +set them side by side on a small table, which he pushed over to his +superior's desk. + +Idly, Morely fingered through the cards, noting the indexing and +condition of the file. He nodded in approval, then gave the clerk a nod +of dismissal. At least, his people were keeping their files in order. + +He reached into a pocket, to withdraw a notebook. Turning its pages, he +found a few of the entries he had made on population changes, then +cross-checked them against the files. All were posted and properly +cross-indexed. Again, he nodded in satisfaction. + +Evidently, that last dressing down he had given the files section had +done some good. For a moment, he considered calling in the chief clerk +and complimenting him. Then, he changed his mind. + +"No use giving him a swelled head," he told himself. + +He drew a file drawer to him, running his finger down its length. At +last, he pulled a card at random. It was colored light blue. + +He put it back. Didn't want to check a group leader. He'd be a +first-class citizen, and entitled to privacy. He pulled another card +from a different section of the file. This one was salmon pink--an +assistant group leader. He examined it. The man was a junior equipment +designer in one of the communications plants. For a moment, Morely +tapped the card against his desk. Actually, he had wanted a basic +employee, but it might be well to check one of the leadmen. He could +have the man accompany him while he made a further check on one of the +apartments in his sub-group. Again, he looked at the card. + +Paul Graham, he noted, was forty-two years of age. He had three +children--was an electronics designer, junior grade. His professional +profile showed considerable ability and training, but the security +profile showed a couple of threes. Nothing really serious, but he would +be naturally expected to be a second-class citizen--or below. It was not +an unusual card. + +Morely looked at the quarters code. Graham lived in Apartment 7A, Group +723, which was in Block 1022, Sector Fourteen. It would be well to check +his quarters first, then check, say, 7E. Morely went through the +numerical file, found the card under 7E, and flipped the pages of his +notebook to a blank sheet, upon which he copied the data he needed from +the two cards. + +He put the notebook in his pocket and returned the cards to their places +in the file, then riffled the entire file once more, to be sure there +would be no clue as to which cards he had consulted. Finally, he touched +the button on his desk again. + +Once more, the clerk stood in the doorway. + +"This file seems to be satisfactory," he was told. "You may bring in the +correspondence now." + +The correspondence was no heavier than usual. Morely flipped through the +routine matter, occasionally selecting a report or letter and +abstracting data. Tomorrow, he could check performance by referring to +these. At last, he turned to the separate pile of directives, production +and man-hour reports, and other papers which demanded more attention +than the routine paper. + +He worked through the stack of paper, occasionally calling upon his +clerk for file data, sometimes making a communicator call. At last, he +pushed away the last remaining report and leaned back. He spun his chair +about, activated the large entertainment screen, and spent some time +watching a playlet. At the end of the play, he glanced at his watch, +then turned back to his desk. He leaned forward to touch a button on his +communicator. + +As the viewsphere lit, he flicked on the two-way video, then spoke. + +"Get me Sector Leader Bond." He snapped the communicator off almost +before the operator could acknowledge, then spun about, switching his +entertainment screen to ground surface scan. A scene built up, showing a +view from his estate in the hills. + + * * * * * + +There were some buildings on the surface--mostly homes of upper grade +citizens, who preferred the open air, and could afford to have a surface +estate in addition to their quarters in the groups. These homes, for the +most part, were located in wooded areas, where their owners could find +suitable fishing and hunting. + +Most of the traces of damage done by the bombings of the Nineties were +gone from about the estate areas by now, and the few which remained were +being eliminated. Morely increased the magnification, to watch a few +animals at a waterhole. He could do a little hunting in a few weeks. +Take a nice leave. He drew a deep breath. + +Those years after the end of the last war had been hectic, what with new +organizational directives, the few sporadic revolts, the integration of +homecoming fighters, and the final, tight set-up. But it had all been +worth it. Everything was running smoothly now. + +The second- and third-class citizens had learned to accept their status, +and some few of them had even found they liked it. At least, now they +had far more security. There was subsistence in plenty for all +producers, thanks to the war-born advances in technology, and to the +highly organized social framework. To be sure, a few still felt uneasy +in the underground quarters, but the necessity for protection from +bombing in another war had been made clear, and they'd just have to get +used to conditions. And, there were a very few who, unable to get or +hold employment, existed somehow in the spartan discomfort of the +subsistence quarters. + +For most, however, there was minor luxury, and a plenitude of +necessities. And there was considerable freedom of action and choice as +well as full living comfort for the full citizens, who had proved +themselves to be completely trustworthy, and who were deemed fit to hold +key positions. + +The communicator beeped softly, and he glanced at the sphere. It showed +the face of Harold Bond, leader of the fourteenth sector. The district +leader snapped on his scanner. + +"Report to me here in my office at eighteen hours, Bond." + +"Yes, sir." + +"And you might be sure your people are all in quarters this evening." + +Bond nodded. "They will be, sir." + +"That's all." Morely flicked the disconnect switch. + +He got up, strode around the office, then consulted his watch. There +would be time for a cup of coffee before Bond arrived. Time for a cup of +coffee, and time for the employees in Sector Fourteen to scurry about, +getting their quarters in shape for an inspection. They would have no +way of knowing which quarters were to be checked, and all would be put +in order. + +He smiled. It was a good way, he thought, to insure that there would be +no sloppiness in the homes of his people. And it certainly saved a lot +of inspection time and a lot of direct contact. + +He went out of the office, and walked slowly down to the snack bar, +where he took his time over coffee, looking critically at the neat +counter and about the room as he drank. + +The counter girls busied themselves cleaning up imaginary spots on the +plastic counter and on their equipment, casting occasional, apprehensive +glances at him. Finally, he set his cup down, looked at the clock over +the counter, and walked out. + +Bond was waiting in the office. Morely examined the younger man, +carefully appraising his appearance. The sector leader, he saw, was +properly attired. The neat uniform looked as if freshly taken from the +tailor shop. The man stepped forward alertly, to halt at the correct +distance before his superior. + +"Good evening, sir. My heli is on the roof." + +"Very good." Morely nodded shortly and took his notebook from his +pocket. "We'll go to Building Seven Twenty-three." + +He turned and walked toward the self-service elevator. Bond hurried a +little to open the door for him. + + * * * * * + +Bond eased the helicopter neatly through the entry slot and on down into +one of the empty visitor spaces in the landing area at Block 1022. The +two men walked across the areaway to an entrance. + +As they went up the short flight of stairs into the hall, Morely took +careful notice of the building. The mosaic tile of the stairs and floor +gleamed from a recent scrubbing. The plastic and metal handrails were +spotless. He looked briefly at his subordinate, then motioned toward the +door at their right. + +"This one," he ordered. + +Bond touched the call button and they waited. + +From inside the apartment, there was a slight rustle of motion, then the +door opened and a man stood before them. For an instant, he looked +startled, then he straightened. + +"Paul Graham, sir," he announced. "Apartment 7A is ready for +inspection." He stepped back. + +Morely looked him over critically, saw nothing that warranted criticism, +and went inside, followed by Bond. + +Cursorily, the district leader let his gaze wander about the apartment. +The kitchen at his left, he saw, was in perfect order, everything being +in place and obviously clean. He went to the range and motioned with his +head. + +"Pull the drip pan," he ordered. + +Graham came forward and pulled a flat sheet from the range, then opened +an access door at the front of the stove. + +Morely peered inside, then thrust a hand in. For a moment, he groped +around, then he pulled his hand out and looked at it. It was clean. He +sniffed at his fingers, then turned away. + +"You may replace the pan, Fellow." He went into the living room, noting +that the woman and three children were neat and in the proper attitudes +of attention. One of the children was looking at him, wide-eyed. He saw +that the child was clean and apparently healthy. + +In addition to the usual chairs, table, and divan, there were some +bookcases which formed a small alcove around a combination desk and +drawing table. Morely circled the bookcases, to stand before the desk. + +"What's this?" he demanded. He turned to a bookcase, to examine the +titles. + +Most of the books were engineering texts and reference works. There +were some standard works of philosophy and a few on psychology. None of +the titles seemed to be actually objectionable. + +"I--" Graham started to speak, but Morely silenced him with an upraised +hand. + +"Later," he said coldly. "Bond, has this been reported to you, and have +you investigated?" + +Bond nodded. "Yes, sir," he said. "Graham is a design engineer, sir, and +has been granted permission to do some research in his quarters. + +"He's commercially employed, sir, and it was a routine matter. His +employer says he has been keeping his production quotas, no alteration +to the apartment has been made, and no community property has been +defaced. I'm told that several of Graham's designs have been of value in +his plant. I didn't think--" + +"I see you didn't. What is this man working on now?" + +"A new type of communicator, sir. I don't know all the details." + +[Illustration] + +"Get them, Bond. Get them all, and give me a full report on his project +and its progress tomorrow. Since this work is being done during time +when the man is not working for his employer, he's using community time +and the community becomes vitally interested in his results." Morely +paused, looking at the bookcase again. + +"And, while we are on the subject," he added, "get me details on those +previous designs you spoke of. It's quite possible the community has not +been getting royalty payments to which it's entitled." He picked out a +book, flipping over its pages for a moment, then replaced it and looked +searchingly at Bond. + +"And get me a full inventory of this man's books and any equipment he +may have." He turned on Graham. + +"Do you have purchase authorization and receipts for all of this?" + +"Yes, sir." Graham motioned toward the desk. + +"Very well. I shan't bother with that now. An investigating team can +check that." + +Morely took a final glance at the half-finished schematic on the drawing +board, then circled the bookcases again, to come out into the main room. + +"We'll inspect the rest of your quarters." + + * * * * * + +At last, Morely left the quarters area, followed by Bond. As they +reached the helicopter, Morely turned, one hand on the door. + +"Laxity, Bond, is something I don't tolerate. You should know that. +Possibly this man, Graham, is doing nothing illegal, or even irregular. +Possibly, he is not wasting community time, but I have very serious +doubts. I'll venture to say the community has a financial interest in +several of his recent designs, and I mean to find out which ones and how +much. And it's certainly an unusual situation. The man's a leadman, you +know, and could spend his time more profitably in checking on the people +he's responsible for." He slid into the seat. + +"I'll concede," he continued, "that employees are to be allowed a +certain amount of recreation of their own choosing. They may have light +reading in their quarters, and they may even work on small +projects--with permission, of course. But this man seems to have gone +much farther than that. He has a small electronics factory of his own, +as well as a rather extensive library. He's obviously spending a lot of +time at his activities, and that time must come out of his community +performance. This certainly is not routine, and I can't condone your +failure to make a report on it." + +"But, I--" + +Morely held up a hand sternly. "Let's not have a string of excuses," he +said. "Give me a full report on the man's possessions, his history, and +the progress of whatever work he's doing in that private factory of his. +Get the details on his previous designs, too. And bring your report in +to me in the morning, personally. I shall want to determine whether to +make this new device a community project, or whether to allow it to be +offered to his employer on a community royalty agreement. And I shall +require details on his older designs for Fiscal to examine into. +Research, you should know, is a community function, not something to be +done in any set of quarters. I shall want to talk to you further when +I've gone over this matter. + +"Now, get me back to the district offices. I want to get home, and +you've work to do tonight." + + * * * * * + +The report was a long one. Morely smiled to himself as he thought of the +time it must have taken Bond to assemble the data and to make up his +final draft. Possibly in the future, that young man would be a little +less inclined to assume too much authority, or to be too soft in his +dealings with the employee classes. The spring in his swivel chair +twanged musically as the district leader leaned back to read. + +First, there was an inventory of Graham's effects. It was a lengthy +list, followed by a certification by a security inspector that all of +the equipment inventoried was covered by authorizations and receipts +held by Graham, and that none of the books and equipment were of +improper nature for possession by a member of the employee classes. +Morely grunted and tossed that section aside. + +There was a detailed history of Graham's activities, so far as known to +Security. Morely scanned through it hurriedly. There was nothing here of +an unusual nature. + +Graham had been graduated from one of the large technical colleges +during the early nineties. Morely noted that it was one of those schools +which had been later closed as a result of one of the post-war +investigations. + +The subject had been employed by Consolidated Electronics as a junior +engineer, and had designed several improvements for Consolidated's +products. There was a record of promotions and a few awards. He had held +a few patents, which had been taken over by the Central Coordination +Products Division during the post-war reorganization. He had also +belonged to the now proscribed Society of Electronic Engineers, had +contributed articles to that organization's journal, and had taken an +active part in some of its chapter meetings. + +During the war, he had worked on radio-controlled servos, doing +acceptable work. When the professional and trade societies and other +organizations were outlawed, he had promptly resigned from his society, +and made the required declarations. But he had been reported as +privately remarking that it was "a sad thing to see the last vestiges of +personal freedom removed." + +Morely pursed his lips. Not an unusual history, he decided. Of course, +the man was completely ineligible for full citizenship--bad risk. He was +barely qualified for second-class citizenship, his obvious ability being +the only qualifying factor. Unlike many, he had no record of any effort +to shirk duty, or do economic damage during the critical period. The +district leader tossed the dossier aside and picked up the report on +Graham's present activities. + +There were a series of complex schematics, and several machine drawings +which he shuffled to the back of his report. Those could be interpreted +later, if necessary. He was interested in the description of function. + +The device Graham was working on was described as a communicator which +operated by direct mind-to-mind transfer. Morely sat up straighter, +reading the paragraph over again. Either this man was a true genius, who +had discovered a new principle, or he was completely a crackpot. + +"Telepathy!" + +Morely snorted and went over to the descriptions of the device, reading +carefully. Finally, he read the comments of a senior engineer, who +cautiously admitted that the circuits involved, though highly +unconventional, were not of a type to cause spurious radiation, or to +interfere with normal communication in any way. + +The engineer also noted that it was possible that the device might be +capable of radiation effects outside of the electromagnetic spectrum, +and that the power device was capable of integration into standard +equipment--in fact, might be well worth adoption. He carefully declined, +however, to give any definite opinion without an actual model to run +tests on. And he added the comment that the first model was as yet +incomplete. + +Morely tossed the last sheet to his desk and leaned forward, tapping +idly on the dull-finished plastic. Finally, he touched his call button +and waited till the clerk came in. + +"You may send Mr. Bond in now," he directed. + +He picked up the section of the report dealing with Graham's past +designs, and started scanning it. He would have the Fiscal chief go over +this and set up the necessary royalty agreements with Consolidated. Some +of them might generate worth-while amounts of funds. + + * * * * * + +He made no sign of recognition or awareness when Bond entered the +office, but continued with his reading. At last, he pulled a notepad to +him, wrote a brief indorsement to the Fiscal chief, and clipped it to +the part of the report dealing with Graham's older designs. He replaced +his pen in its stand and leaned back, to stare at his junior, who stood +at rigid attention. + +"Yes?" + +"Sector Leader Bond, sir, reporting as ordered." Bond saluted. + +Negligently, Merely returned the salute, then picked up Bond's report. + +"I have gone through this, Bond," he announced. "Very interesting. And +you thought it too unimportant to report on before?" + +"I didn't want to bother you with some idle fantasy, sir. Until the +man's experiments showed definite results of some sort, I--" + +"And then, you hoped to spring a completed device on me? Take credit for +it yourself, eh?" + +"Not at all, sir. I--" + +Morely raised a hand. "Never mind. I don't need any kind of aid to read +your intentions. They're quite plain, I see. It would have been quite a +credit to you, wouldn't it? + +"'Look what I worked out, with a little, minor help from one of the +employees in my sector.' + +"But I've seen that line worked before, Bond, and worked smoothly. You +don't catch the Old Man napping so easily as that." He paused. + +"Of course we don't know whether or not this device is going to be of +any real use. But we do know that this man, Graham, has developed one +thing which can be profitably incorporated into conventional equipment. +That power source of his appears to be quite practical, and we'll adopt +it. Offer it to the man's employer, subject to community royalty. And +see if you can get Graham a little time off work in compensation. Then, +keep a close watch on his work on the rest of his device. He'll probably +use his time off to work on it--at least, he'll be a lot better off if +he does. + +"I want frequent reports on his progress--daily reports, if any +significant developments occur. And I want a model of that device as +soon as it's developed and has had preliminary tests. If it works, it +might be valuable for community defense." He waved a hand. + +"That's all." + +Bond turned to go, and almost got to the door before Morely called him +back. + +"Oh, one more thing, Bond. Keep a closer watch on the rest of your +people. If any more of them decide to do extra work of any unusual +nature, I shall expect an immediate report in full. Don't fail me again. +Is that clear?" + +"Yes, sir." Bond saluted again and made his escape. + +Morely watched him disappear, then turned to his communicator. "Get me +Field Leader Denton," he ordered. + +The pause was slight, then the face of a middle-aged man appeared in the +viewsphere. + +"Denton," said the district leader, "I want you to keep closer watch on +your sector men. Last night I spot-checked Bond, in Fourteen, and I +found an irregularity. I'll expect you to endorse the report back, and +I'll expect you to tighten down. Keep an especially close eye on this +man, Bond." + +The field leader's eyebrows raised a little. "Bond, sir? He's one of--" + +"Bond. Yes." His superior interrupted forcefully. "And tighten down on +all your men. You know how I feel about laxity." + +He snapped the communicator off and gathered Bond's report together. For +a few seconds, he looked at the neat stack of paper, then he slipped a +paper clamp on it and punched his call button. + + * * * * * + +"There!" Paul Graham straightened from his hunched-over position at the +desk. He laid his soldering iron down and massaged the small of his +back, grimacing slightly. + +"Oh, me! I'll swear my back'll never be the same again. But that ought +to do it, at last." He looked at the equipment before him and grinned +ruefully. + +"Of all the haywire messes. It started out so nice. And it ended up so +awful." + +The device _had_ started out as a fairly neat assembly, using a headband +as a chassis. But the circuitry seemed to have gone out of control. +Miniature sub-assemblies hung at all angles from their wires and tiny +components were interlaced through the unit, till the entire assembly +looked like a wig from a horror play. Graham shook his head, picked up +the band; and carefully fitted it, being careful that the contacts +touched his forehead and temples properly. + +For an instant, he looked a little dazed. Then, he reached up and +fumbled for a moment with the controls at the front of the headband. +Suddenly, he stopped, an expression of pleasure on his face. He stood +for a time, looking at the wall, then looked up at the ceiling. He +frowned and looked at his wife, who was anxiously watching him. A smile +grew on his face, and she was clearly conscious of the projected +thought. + +"_I told you, Elaine, it can't possibly hurt anyone. Stop worrying about +me._" + +Elaine Graham looked startled. "I didn't, say anything, darling." + +Her husband looked at her with an impish grin. She frowned a little, +then her eyes widened and her mouth opened a little. She ran at him +indignantly. + +"It simply isn't decent! You take that thing off, Paul Graham, right +now. I won't have you reading my mind!" + +Graham laughingly fended her off with one hand as he carefully removed +the headband with the other. He set the device gently on the desk, then +seized his wife about the waist. + +"It works, honey," he said jubilantly. "It really works." He waltzed her +away from the desk, to the middle of the living room. + +"Of course, I couldn't get anything from anyone but you. It seems to +work just as I thought it might--only if you can see the person you want +to contact. But I'll bet two people who were acquainted could use two of +these things to communicate with each other at any distance. And it may +be possible to work out the problem of single-device communication at +distance and through obstacles. But that'll have to come later. Right +now, this thing works." + +"But Paul. I'm afraid. What will _they_ do with something like this? We +have so little freedom left now. Why, they won't even let us think +privately." She paused, her head turning from side to side as she looked +about the apartment. + +"You know, Paul, I hardly ever dare go out of this apartment now, they +upset me so. And if they're able to read my thoughts, I shan't be safe, +even here." + +Graham frowned. "True," he admitted. "But somehow, when I had the thing +on, I got some funny ideas. I wonder if anyone could really oppress +someone he fully understood. I wonder if two people who could fully +comprehend each other's point of view could have a really serious +disagreement." He picked up the headband, looking at it searchingly. + + * * * * * + +"And there's another thing," he added. "Unless both parties are wearing +the things, vision seems to be essential to any reaction, at least in +this model. I tried to get thoughts from the kids and from the Moreno's, +upstairs. But there wasn't a thing. And yet, I could get you clearly. +Apparently this thing won't work out as a spy device." + +"But, are you sure?" + +Graham shrugged wryly. "Well ... no," he admitted. "I'll have to finish +wiring the other set and try 'em both out before I'll be sure of +anything. And it'll take a lot of tests before I'm sure of very much. +Now, I've just got some ideas." He frowned thoughtfully. + +"Anyway, I can't stop now. They know about the thing, and I've got to +finish it--or furnish definite proof it's impractical." He turned back +to the desk. "Should be through with the other band in a few minutes. +Just have to put in a couple of filters." + +He picked up the completed device and turned around again. "Here, +Elaine, put this on, will you? See what you get. Try to catch a thought +from outside the room." + + * * * * * + +Dutifully, Elaine Graham accepted the headband. She eyed it doubtfully +for a moment, then adjusted it over her hair, setting the contacts on +her skin as she had seen her husband do. For a few seconds, she stared +at her husband, wide-eyed. Then, she looked away, her eyes focused on +infinity. + +Graham busied himself with the soldering iron and another headband. + +At last, Elaine took the headband off. "It's weird, Paul," she said. +"When I was looking at you, I knew everything you were thinking. But +when I looked away, there was nothing. It was almost as though I didn't +have it on. Only, I seemed to be able to think so much more clearly." + +Graham looked up from his work, squinting thoughtfully. "Yeah," he +muttered. "Yeah, I noticed that, too, come to think of it. Feedback +effect of some sort, I suppose. Have to experiment with that, too, I +expect." He turned back to his work. + + * * * * * + +Elaine put the headband back on and watched him. She felt a complete +familiarity with everything he was working on. For the first time, she +felt she fully understood this man with whom she had lived for so many +years. And the understanding was pleasant. She could comprehend the +mysteries of the circuits he was working on. She had always felt +slightly neglected when he worked with his equipment, especially since +the bureaucracy, who took his results without recompense. Now, she could +feel his interest in his work for its own sake. She could sympathize +with it. And, with a little study, she felt she could join with him. + +Graham straightened again. "It's done," he said. He picked the second +headband from the desk and put it on. Abruptly, both he and his wife +were aware of a fuzziness in their thoughts and senses. The walls, the +floor, and the furniture seemed to blur and waver, like the fantasy +world of delirium. He put his hand up and adjusted the controls. The +room returned to normal, and their senses were abruptly sharp and clear +again. He dropped his hand. + +"_Outside. See if it'll work when we can't see each other._" + +"_Almost curfew time._" + +"_Only a couple of minutes. Then lights out and sleep._" + +Elaine walked to the door. She stepped out into the corridor and walked +down the steps. + +"_All right?_" + +"_Perfect! Try the parking lot. Close the door._" + +She went out of the quarters, crossed the areaway, and stood under the +landing slot. Far overhead, a segment of sky appeared between the open +bomb shutters. Stars shone coldly. She was conscious of a movement and +looked down, toward a shadow which moved among the parked helicopters. + +"What's that?" + +She looked more closely at the shadow, then shuddered a little. + +"_Never mind._" The thought was urgent. "_Come inside. I got him, too._" + + * * * * * + +Quickly, Elaine walked back into the apartment. She closed the door and +walked to the desk, removing the headband as she approached. Her husband +put his headband beside it. + +"We'd better get to bed," he said quietly. "I'll notify them tomorrow." + +"No, Paul. It would be harder then. And there would be so many +questions. Call the sector leader tonight. We'll have to get it over." +Elaine shivered. + +"But what _will_ they do with it?" She asked the question almost +despairingly. + +Graham shook his head. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "I started with the +idea of simply building a really effective communicator. But this is +more than that. To you and I, it meant full understanding. But to that +person out there ... I don't know." + +"His thoughts were flat--almost lifeless. And he made my skin crawl. +Paul, do you remember how you used to feel when you came close to a +snake? There's something wrong with that man." + +"I know. I felt it, too. And it made the blood rush into my ears." +Graham moved toward the communicator, placing his hand on the switch. +"And you're right. I'll have to report immediately. They don't really +need telepathy. And certainly, they never required real evidence. A +suspicion is sufficient, and they'd be very suspicious if I didn't +notify the sector leader tonight." + +He depressed the switch deliberately, like a man firing a weapon. Then, +he dialed a number, and waited. + +The sphere lit, to show the face of Harold Bond. + +"Oh, Graham." Bond frowned a little. "It's late. Do you have something +to report?" + +"Yes, sir." Graham's face was expressionless. "The mental communicator +is finished. Do you wish to test it, sir?" + +Bond opened his eyes a little more and nodded. "It's really done, +then?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I'll be there in a few minutes." The sphere darkened. + +Graham looked at it. De-energized, the communicator seemed to be merely +a large ball of clear material. It stood on its low pedestal, against +its black background, reflecting a distorted picture of the chiaroscuro +of the room. He leaned toward it, and saw a faint, deformed reflection +of his own head and shoulders. + +He spread his hands a little, and turned around. Elaine had crossed to +the divan, where she sat, looking apathetically at the door, her hands +folded in her lap. He smiled apprehensively, coughed, and held up a +hand, two fingers crossed. + +Elaine glanced at him, nodded, and resumed her watch of the door. Graham +shrugged and walked over to his desk, where he stood, aimlessly looking +down at the two headbands. + + * * * * * + +They both jumped convulsively when the buzzer sounded. Graham strode +rapidly to the door, opened it, and stood back as the sector leader came +in. Elaine had come to her feet, and stood rigidly, facing the door. + +Sector Leader Bond closed the door, then looked from one of them to the +other. He shook his head a little sadly, and waved a hand gently back +and forth. + +"Relax, you two," he said. "I'm alone this time." He turned to Graham. +"Let's see what we've got." + +Graham walked to his desk and picked up the two headbands. + +"They're a little rough-looking, sir," he apologized. "But they work." + +Bond tossed his head back with a little laugh. "They do look a little +rugged, don't they?" he chuckled. "Well, we'll worry about appearance +later. Right now, I'm curious. I want to see what these things do." + +Graham handed over one of the bands and slowly adjusted the other to his +head. For a moment, he looked searchingly at the sector leader, then his +face relaxed into a relieved expression. + +"_Hear me?_" + +Bond had been examining the device in his hands. He looked up, puzzled. + +"Of course I hear you," he said. "I'm not deaf." + +Graham smiled a little, then placed a hand tightly over his mouth. + +"_Still get me?_" + +Bond cocked his head to one side, looked down at the device in his +hands, then looked up again. "Well," he commented. "So that's the way +they work. I thought you spoke." + +Graham shook his head. "_Didn't have to. Try it on._" + +Bond shrugged. "Well, here we go." He pulled off his cap, tossed it to a +chair, and replaced it with the headband. For a moment, he looked around +the apartment, then he glanced at Mrs. Graham. He blinked, ducked his +head, and looked more closely at her. + +"_Ow! Nobody could be as bad as that!_" He looked at Graham. "_What do +you think?_" + +"_There's one outside._" Graham inclined his head a little. + +Elaine Graham sprang to her feet. "I'm terribly sorry," she apologized +contritely. "It's just that I--" + +Bond took off the headband abruptly. "I'm sorry, too," he said. "I was +prying." He looked down at the device. "I'm not too sure about this +thing," he added. "It works. I can see that much. But I'm almost afraid +it works too well. What's it going to cause?" + +Graham pulled off his own headband and extended his hand for the other. +"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I'm not sure of anything at all." He +frowned. "Wish I hadn't--" He looked at the sector leader quickly. + +"I'm sorry, sir," he apologized. "Forgot my training, I guess." + +Bond waved a hand. "Look," he said, "there are times, and there are +places. Right now, I'm in your home, and I'm just as worried about this +as you are. I'm just another person." He looked down at his neat +uniform. + +"Once," he mused, "we were all just people. Now--" He shrugged. "And +then, these things come along." He looked at the two headbands, then at +the man holding them. + +"Wonder how many people feel like that?" + +Graham held out the headbands. "I know one way to find out." + +Bond nodded. "I see what you mean," he admitted. "But it could be pretty +bad." He walked over to the chair and picked up his cap. + +[Illustration] + +"Well," he added with a sigh, "I suppose I'd better grab these things +and take them over to Research. Have to find out all we can about them. +I've still got to report on them." Again, he looked at Graham. "You'd +better come along, too. Research people might have a lot of questions, +and I could never answer them." + + * * * * * + +Graham nodded and went to the hall closet. He took his coat from the +hanger, put it on, and reached for his hat, then hesitated. + +"You know," he said, "we might try one experiment, right here." + +"Oh?" Bond raised his eyebrows. + +"There's a man out in the parking lot. I believe he's detailed to keep +watch on me. You might try him with one of the headbands. Then, see what +he'll do with one on." + +"Any special reason?" + +Graham twisted his face uneasily. "I can't describe it," he said almost +inaudibly. "You'd have to see for yourself." + +Bond looked at him speculatively for a moment, then held out his cap and +one of the headbands. + +"Here, hold these." + +He put the other headband on, accepted the first, and walked out of the +apartment, followed by Graham, who still carried the cap. + +As they came out and started across the parking lot, a man approached +them. + +Bond looked at him, frowned, then cast a sidelong look at Graham. + +"_That what you meant?_" His thought carried an undercurrent of +incredulity. + +Graham nodded wordlessly, and Bond looked toward the approaching man +again. Once more, his face wrinkled distastefully, then he spoke aloud. + +"Oh, Ross. Want you to try some thing." He held out the headband he was +carrying in his left hand. + +Ross came up, accepted the device, and looked at it curiously. "You mean +this is the thing he's been working on?" He jerked a thumb at Graham. +"Saw his wife come out a while ago. Guess she had one of 'em on. She +went right back in again." + +Bond nodded. "This is it," he said. "Let's see how it works for you." + +Ross shrugged. "Try anything once, I guess." He adjusted the band to his +head, then stood, looking at the two men. + +"_Notice anything?_" Bond looked at him sharply. + +Again, Ross shrugged. "Nothing special," he said with a slight grunt. +"Seems as though this guy's pretty nervous." + +"_You don't have to say anything, just think it. And see if you can +communicate with Graham._" + +"Huh?" Ross had been looking directly at Bond. He frowned. + +"_You mean, this thing--_" He paused, looking for a moment at Graham, +then took the headband off. "Thing doesn't feel good," he complained. He +held the device out to Bond, who accepted it. + +"But it works? You could communicate both ways with it?" + +"Oh, sure." Ross nodded grudgingly. "I got you, all right. But I +couldn't get a thing out of this guy." He wagged his head toward Graham. +"Except he was jittery about something." + +"I see. Thanks." Bond accepted the headband. "We're going to take these +to Research," he added. "Let the technicians there find out how good +they are." He turned away and led Graham to his helicopter. + +As Graham settled in the seat, he turned to the sector leader. "He just +couldn't use it properly," he remarked. "Maybe only certain people _can_ +use them." + +Bond nodded as he started the motor. "Or maybe only certain people +can't." He busied himself in getting the machine up through the landing +slot, then turned as they climbed into the night sky. + +"Maybe you've got to be able to understand and like people before you +can establish full contact with them. Maybe ... Maybe a lot of things." +He was silent for a moment. "You know, this thing might become far more +valuable than you thought, Graham." + + * * * * * + +Howard Morely looked up from a memo as the clerk tapped on the door. + +"Come in." + +The man opened the door and stepped inside. + +"Sector Leader Bond is here, sir. He has some gentlemen with him." + +"And what does he want?" + +"He said it was about that new communicator, sir." + +"Oh." Morely turned his attention back to the memo. "Have them wait." He +waved a hand in dismissal and went on with his reading. + +The beautification program was progressing well. Twenty miles of the old +main highway through the valley had been completely cleared and planted. +Crews were working on another stretch. The foreman of the wrecking crew +down at the point, in Sector Nine, reported that the last bit of scrap +had been removed from the old bridge support. Underwater crews had +salvaged the cables and almost all of the metal from the fallen bridge +itself, and the scrap was on the beach, ready for delivery to the +reclamation mills in District One. + +Morely smiled sourly. Harwood would have a storage problem on his hands +in a day or so. The delay in delivery could be explained and justified. +Morely had seen to that. Now, all the material was ready and could be +delivered in one lot. + +Harwood would have to raise his production quota in his community mills +to use up the excess material, and that would slow down the clean-up in +District One. The Old Man couldn't help but notice, and he'd see who was +efficient in his region. The district leader pushed the memo sheets +aside and placed his hands behind his head. + +Slowly, he pivoted his chair, to look at the entertainment screen. He +started to energize it, then drew his hand back. + +So that crackpot, Graham, had finally come up with something definite. +Morely smiled again. It had almost seemed as though the man had been +stalling for a while. But the pressure and the veiled threats had been +productive--again. + +To be sure, the agents covering that project had reported that the +device seemed to be merely another fairly good means of +communication--nothing of any tremendous importance. But results had +been obtained, and a communicator which was reasonably free from +interception and which required relatively low power might be of some +value to the community. He might be able to get a commendation out of +it, at least. + +And even if it were unsuitable for defense, there'd be a new product for +one of the luxury products plants in the district, and the district +would get royalties from the manufacturer. Too, it would keep people +busy and make 'em spend more of their credits. + +He grimaced at his vague reflection in the screen before him, and spoke +aloud. + +"That's the way to get things done. Make 'em know who's in charge. And +let 'em know that no nonsense will be tolerated. Breathe down their +necks a little. They'll produce." He cleared his throat and spun around, +to punch the button on his desk. + + * * * * * + +The door opened and the clerk stood, respectfully awaiting orders. + +"Send in Bond and the people with him." + +The clerk stepped back, turning his head. + +"You may go in now, sir." He disappeared around the door. + +Harold Bond stepped through the doorway, followed by two men. Morely +looked at them closely. Engineers, he thought. + +"What have you got?" he demanded. + +One of the men opened a briefcase and removed a large, dully gleaming +band. Apparently, it was made of plastic, or some light alloy, for he +handled it as though it weighed very little. + +As the man laid it on the desk, Morely examined the object closely. It +was large enough to go on a man's head, he saw. It had adjustable +straps, which could be used to hold it in place, and there were a few +spring-loaded contacts, which apparently were meant to rest against a +wearer's forehead and temples. + +A few tiny knobs protruded from one side of the band, and a short wire, +terminated by a miniature plug, depended from the other. + +The engineer dipped into his brief case again, to produce a small, flat +case with a long wire leading from it. He put this by the headband, and +connected the plugs. + +"The band, sir," he explained, "is to be worn on the head." He pointed +to the flat case. "To save weight in the band, we built a separate power +unit. It can be carried in a pocket. We've tested the unit, sir, and it +does provide a means of private communication with anyone within sight, +or with a group of people. Two people, wearing the headbands, can +communicate for considerable distances, regardless of obstacles." + +"I see." Morely picked up the headband. "Do you have more than one of +these?" + +"Yes, sir. We made four of the prototypes and tested them thoroughly." +Bond stepped forward. "I sent a report in on them yesterday." + +"Yes, yes. I know." Morely waved impatiently. He examined the headband +again. "And you say it provides communication?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"No chance of interception?" + +Bond shook his head. "Well," he admitted, "if two people are in contact, +and a third equipped person wishes to contact either one, he can join +the conversation." + +"So, it's easier to tap than a cable circuit, or even a security type +radio circuit." Morely frowned. "Far from a secure means of +communication." + +"Well, sir, if anyone cuts in on a communication, both parties know it +immediately." + +Morely grunted and shook his head. "Still not secure," he growled. He +looked at the papers on his desk. "Oh, put one on. We'll see how they +work." He leaned back in his chair. + + * * * * * + +Bond turned to the man with the brief case, who held out another +headband. The sector leader fitted it to his head, plugged in the power +supply and looked around the room. Finally, he glanced at his superior. +A shadow of uncertainty crossed his face, followed by a quickly +suppressed expression of distaste. + +Morely watched him. "Well?" he demanded impatiently, "I don't feel or +see anything unusual." + +"Of course not, sir," explained Bond smoothly. "You haven't put on the +other headband yet." + +"Oh? I thought you could establish communication with only one headset, +so long as you were in the same room." + +Bond smiled ingratiatingly. "Only sometimes, sir. Some people are more +susceptible than others." + +"I see." Morely looked again at the headband, then set it on his head. +One of the engineers hurried forward to help him with the power pack, +and he looked around the room, becoming conscious of slight sensations +of outside thought. As he glanced at the engineers, he received faint +impressions of anxious interest. + +"_Can you receive me, sir?_" + +Morely looked at Bond. The younger man was staring at him with an +intense expression on his face. The district leader started to speak, +then remembered and simply thought the words. + +"_Of course I can. Didn't you expect results?_" + +"_Oh, certainly, sir. Do you want me to go outside for a further test?_" + +The headband was bothering Morely a little. Unwanted impressions seemed +to be hovering about, uncomfortably outside the range of recognition. He +took the device off and looked at it again. + +"No," he said aloud. "It won't be necessary. It's obvious to me that +this thing will never be any good for practical application in any +community communications problem. It's too vague. But it'll make an +interesting toy, I suppose. Some people might like it as a novelty, and +it'll give them some incentive to do extra work in order to own one. +That's what luxury items are for. And the district can use any royalty +funds it may generate." + +He laid the headband on his desk. "Go ahead and produce a few samples. +Offer the designs to Graham's employer. He can offer them on the luxury +market, if he wishes, and we'll see what they do. If people want them, +it might be profitable, both for the district and for Consolidated." He +shrugged. + +"No telling what'll make people spend their credits." He started to nod +a dismissal, then hesitated. + +"Oh, yes. I think I'll keep this one," he added. "And you might leave a +couple more. The regional director might be amused by them." + +He accepted the two headbands and their power packs, put them in a desk +drawer, and sat back to watch the three men leave the office. + + * * * * * + +After the door closed, he still sat, idly staring at the headband on his +desk. He put it on his head again, then sat, looking about the room. +There was no unusual effect, and he took the band off again, looked at +it sourly, and laid it down. + +Somehow, when Bond and those other two had been in the room, he had +sensed a vague feeling of expectancy. Those three had seemed to be +enthusiastic and hopeful about something, he was sure. But he failed to +see what. This headband certainly showed him nothing. + +He stared at the band for a while longer, then put it back on and +punched the call button on his desk. As his clerk came into sight, he +watched the man closely. There _was_ a slight effect. He could sense a +vague fear. And a little, gnawing hatred. But nothing was definite, and +no details of thought came through. He shrugged. + +Of course the man was fearful. He probably was reviewing his recent +mistakes, wondering which one he might be called upon to explain. Too +bad his mind wasn't clear enough to read. But what could you expect? +Possibly, he could drive Research into improving the device later. + +"Anyway," he told himself, "everyone has something they're afraid of. +It's natural. And everyone has their pet hates, too." For an instant, he +thought of Harwood. + +He focused his mind on a single thought. "_Get me the quarters file for +Sector Nine._" + +There was a definite effect this time. There was a sharp radiation of +pained surprise. Then, there was acquiescence. The clerk started to say +something, then backed toward the door. The impression of fear +intensified. Morely smiled sardonically. The thing was an amusing toy, +at that. He might find uses for it. + +He sat back, thinking. He could use it as a detector. Coupled with +shrewd reasoning, well-directed questions, and his own accurate +knowledge of human failings, it could tell him a great deal about his +people and their activities. + +For instance, a question about some suspicious circumstance would cause +a twinge of fear from the erring person. And that could be detected and +localized. Further questions would produce alternate feelings of relief +and intensified fear. He nodded complacently. Very little had ever +gotten by him, he thought. But from now on, no error would remain +undiscovered or unpunished. + +The clerk returned to place the file drawers convenient to his +superior's desk. He hesitated a moment, his eyes on the headband, then +picked up the completed papers from the desk and went out. + +Morely riffled through the cards, idly checked a few against his notes, +and leaned back again. The file section seemed to be operating smoothly. +He looked at his desk. Everything that had to be done immediately was +done. And the morning was hardly more than half over. + +He rose to his feet. Surely, somewhere in the headquarters, there must +be some sort of trouble spot. Somewhere, someone was not producing to +the fullest possible. There must be some loose end. And he'd find it. He +went out, jerking a thumb back at his office as he passed his clerk's +desk. + +"You can pick up those files again, Roberts. And see to it that my +office gets cleaned up a little. I won't be back for a while." + +He went out, to walk down the corridor to the snack bar. + + * * * * * + +There were a few girls there. He walked by their table, glancing at +their badges. Communications people. He nodded to himself, ordered +coffee, and chose a table. + +As he glanced at the girls' table, he could detect a current of +uneasiness. They'd probably been fooling away more time than they +should. Too bad he couldn't get more definite information from their +thoughts. Like to know just how long they had been there. He tilted his +wrist, taking a long look at his watch. The current of uneasiness +increased. No doubt to it, they'd been more than ten minutes already. + +The girls hurriedly finished their coffee and left. Morely sipped at his +own cup. + +At last, he got up and went out. Might be a good idea to visit the Fixed +Communications Section. Looked as though there might be a little laxity +there. + +As he walked down the corridor, he mentally reviewed the operation of +communications. There was Fixed Communications, responsible for +communicator service to all the offices and quarters in the district, as +well as to the various commercial organizations. There were also Mobile +Comm, Warning, Long Lines, and Administrative Radio. + +Of these, the largest was Fixed Communications, with its dial +equipment, its banks of video amplifiers, the network of cables, and the +substation equipment. It would take days to thoroughly check all their +activities. But the office was the key to the entire operation. He could +check their records, and get a clue to their efficiency. And he could +question the section chief. + +He took the elevator to the communications level and walked slowly along +the hallway, glancing at the heavy steel door leading to Warning as he +passed it. That could be checked later, though there would be little +point to it. + +It had always annoyed him to think of the operators in that section. +They simply sat around, doing nothing but watch their screens and keep +their few, piddling records. They did nothing productive, but they had +to be retained. Actually, he had to admit, they were a necessity under +present conditions. War was always a possibility and the enemy was +building up his potential. He might strike at any time, and he'd +certainly not send advance notification. If he did strike, the warning +teams would perform their brief mission, alerting the active, working +members of the defense groups. Then, they would be available for +defense. And the defense coordinators required warning teams and +equipment in prescribed districts. His was one of these. + +He grumbled to himself. Even the number of operators and their +organization were prescribed. This was a section, right within his own +district, where he had little authority. And it was irritating. Drones, +that's what they were. + +He continued to the Fixed Communications office. Here, at least, he had +authority. + +He walked through the door, casting a quick glance at the office as he +entered. The section chief got up from his chair, and came forward. +Morely felt a little glow of satisfaction as he detected the now +familiar aura of uneasiness. Again, he wished this device he wore were +more effective. He would like to know the details of this man's +thoughts. + + * * * * * + +"Good morning, sir." The Fixed Communication chief saluted. + +Morely returned the salute perfunctorily, then examined the man +critically. + +"Morning," he acknowledged. "Kirk, I want you to get some new uniforms. +You look like a rag bag." + +A little anger was added to the uneasiness. Kirk looked down at his +clothing. It wasn't new, but there was actually little wrong, other than +the slight smudge on a trouser leg, and a few, small spots of dullness +on his highly polished boots. + +"I've been inspecting some cable vaults, sir," he explained. "We had a +little trouble, due to ground seepage." + +"It makes no difference," the district leader snorted, "what you've been +doing. A man in your position should be properly attired at all times." +He paused, looking Kirk over minutely. "If your cable vaults are in +such bad condition, get them cleaned up. When I look your installations +over, I shall expect them to be clean. Clean, and in order." + +He looked beyond Kirk. "And get that desk cleared. A competent man works +on one thing at a time and keeps his work in order. A place for +everything, and everything in its place, you know. You don't need all +that clutter. Is the rest of your office as disorderly as this?" + +He looked disparagingly about the small room, then turned toward the +door to the main communications office. Kirk moved to open the door. + +At one side of the large office was a battery of file cabinets. Four +desks were arranged conveniently to them. Morely looked at this +arrangement. + +"What's this?" + +"Billing and Directory, sir. These are the master files of all fixed +communication subscribers. From them, we make up the semiannual +directory, its corrective supplements, and the monthly bills." + +Morely frowned at the desks and files, then looked at the clerks, who +were bent over their desks. As one of the girls straightened +momentarily, he recognized her. He'd seen her earlier, in the snack bar. +He looked more closely at her desk. She had reason, he thought for that +radiation of uncertain fear he could sense. + +"What's in those files?" he demanded. + +"It's a complete index to all subscribers, sir." Kirk looked a little +surprised. Morely recognized that the man thought the question a little +foolish. He cleared his throat growlingly. + +"Let's see one of those cards." + +Kirk walked to the file, pulled a small envelope at random, and held it +out. The district leader examined it. + +"Hah!" he snorted. "I thought so. Duplication of effort. This has +nothing on it that isn't in my quarters and locator files." + +"There's billing information on the back, sir," Kirk, pointed out. "And +current charge slips are kept in the envelope. We use these to prepare +the subscriber bills, as well as to maintain the directory service. It's +a convenience file, to speed up our work." + +Morely turned the envelope over in his hands. "Oh, yes." He opened the +envelope, to look at the slips inside. "How do you get the information +for these?" + +"The charge slips come from Long Lines, sir." Kirk paused. "We get +billing information for basic billing from the counters in the dial +machine. The other information comes from installation reports and from +the quarters file section and the locator files." + + * * * * * + +Morely handed the envelope back. + +"I can see, Kirk," he said, "that you've built up a whole subsection of +unnecessary people here." He stepped over to the file cabinets, examined +their indices, then pulled a drawer open. He pulled his notebook out, +consulted its entries, and searched out an envelope. For a moment, he +compared it with the notebook. Then, he turned, holding out the +envelope. + +[Illustration] + +"And you don't even keep your information current," he accused. "This +man was transferred yesterday afternoon, to another sector. You still +show him at his old quarters, with his old communicator code." + +"We haven't that information from Files yet, sir," protested Kirk. "They +send us a consolidated list of changes daily, but it generally doesn't +come in till thirteen hundred." + +Morely dropped the envelope on one of the desks. + +"Quarters Files can handle this entire operation," he declared, "with a +little help from Fiscal. And they can handle it far better than your +people here." He stopped for a moment, thinking, then continued. +"Certainly," he decided, "Fiscal can take care of your billing. They +handle the funds anyway, in the final analysis. And you can coordinate +your directory work with the chief clerk at Files. You've got excess +people here, Kirk. We don't need any of them." + +He looked at the desks and felt a wave of consternation. Kirk spread his +hands. + +"But we have the information we need close at hand, sir. Our directory +has been coming out on time, and in accurate condition. And our billing +is well organized. The directory and billing are my respons--" + +Morely waved a hand, then tapped himself on the chest with a long +forefinger. "The entire operation of this headquarters is my +responsibility, Kirk," he said positively, "and mine alone. And I mean +to take care of it. You're responsible to me that Fixed Communications +are kept in order, and I don't mean to relieve you of a bit of that +responsibility. But I won't have you making jobs and wasting funds on +excess personnel." He snorted. "Convenience files are all right. But +they're meant to save work, not make it." + +Kirk shook his head. "A decentralization will make it difficult," he +began. + +Again, Morely cut him off. "Don't start telling me why you can't do +something," he snapped. "Work out a way you _can_ do it. Make up plans +for transferring this filing function to Quarters Files, and work up a +plan for transferring your billing to Fiscal. That's their business, and +they know how to handle it. Submit your study to me this afternoon." He +looked around the office again. + +"The people in Files and Fiscal can handle this workload without adding +a single person. And they will. You're using four clerks to swing it. +Kirk, I want this organization to run efficiently, and excess personnel +don't lead to economic operation." He stared at the section chief. + +"Give these four people their notices today, and I'll expect some +suggestions from you as to further streamlining of your section within +the next two days. And be sure they're sound suggestions, which result +in personnel savings. Otherwise, I'll be looking for a new section chief +up here." + +For a few seconds, he stood, enjoying the waves of consternation and +futile anger which beat about him. Almost, he could pick up some of the +despairing thoughts in detail. The clerks, of course, were second-class +citizens. And without employment, they'd soon lose their luxury +privileges. Unless they were fortunate enough to find other employment +very soon, they'd have to move to subsistence quarters, and learn to do +without all but the most meagre of food, clothing, and shelter. When +they did get employment again, they'd appreciate it. He looked +majestically around the office once more, then turned and strode away. + +He went through the corridor to the elevator, and stepped in, smiling +contentedly. The morning hadn't been entirely wasted. + +As he got out of the elevator on executive level, he glanced at his +watch. It wasn't quite time for lunch, but there would be little point +in spending the few remaining minutes in his office. He walked slowly +toward the executive cafeteria. + + * * * * * + +After lunch, he returned to his office. A few matters awaited his +examination and decision, and he busied himself for a short time, +disposing of them. He paused over the last. + +It was a request from Kirk for more cable construction. The +justification showed figures which indicated an increase in executive +type communications during the past few months. This, coupled with new +quarters construction, necessitated additions to the cable trunks from +the main exchange. There was added a short survey of necessary repair to +existing cable facilities. + +Morely leaned back. If he approved the request, he would be helping Kirk +increase his section. On the other hand, if he disapproved it, and the +communicator lines became congested, he might find himself open to +criticism later. Some of his satisfaction evaporated. He looked sourly +at the paper. + +Suddenly, he thought of Bond's new project. The man had claimed this +device could serve as a communication means between its wearers, and had +demonstrated that his claim had some truth. After noting the slight +fatigue the device seemed to cause in this application, and the +vagueness of the device's operation, Morely had disregarded the claim. +But junior executives could put up with a little fatigue and +inconvenience. And he could see that they did. It might even cut down +the time they were always wasting, talking with one another. He rubbed +his chin with one hand. + +"Well," he told himself, "let's see how it works." + +From the way Bond had acted in his office, the sector leader might be +still wearing his headband. In fact, he probably was. Morely +concentrated on the man, then concentrated on a single, peremptory +thought. + +"_Bond! Can you receive me?_" + +The answer was prompt. "_Yes, sir. You wanted me?_" + +"_Of course, Idiot. Why do you think I called? Do you really believe +these things would be suitable for routine communication? Could they +supplement our normal system?_" + +"_Certainly, sir. They should be very effective._" + +"_Have you offered them to Consolidated yet?_" + +"_Yes, sir. They've accepted them. They're beginning to tool up for +production._" + +Morely winced. He had given the order, to be sure--and before creditable +witnesses. Bond had been right in taking immediate action, and his speed +would have been commendable in most cases. But this time, Morely +regretted his subordinate's efficiency. It was possible the devices +might have a practical use after all. Possibly he had been hasty in +releasing them to the open market. He shrugged away his thoughts. After +all, an administrator had to make quick decisions. He returned to his +unusual conversation. + +"_Set up a line in research and make up sufficient of those +communicators to outfit the executive personnel of this district._" + +"_Yes, sir._" + +"_And give me delivery as soon as you possibly can. How soon will that +be?_" + +"_We can do it in five days, sir._" + +"_Make it three. That's all._" + +Morely took off his headband. It wasn't as good as a communicator +sphere, but it would be good enough. He looked at the request from +Communications. Possibly, he would be able to cut Kirk down still more. +He scrawled a "disapproved" on the sheet and initialed it. He started to +toss the sheet to the corner of his desk, then hesitated. + +Drawing the request back to him, he added: "Two subjects on same +request. Resubmit as separate requests." He tossed the sheet to the desk +corner, for the clerk to pick up. Let Kirk make up new requests, then +worry about why his new construction request was still disapproved. He +could always be advised to resubmit later, if the headbands didn't work +out. + + * * * * * + +Miles away, Bond turned to an engineer. + +"Tool up and start producing these communicators as fast as you can make +'em, Morris. I'll tell you when to stop. The Old Man just ordered a +batch of 'em, and this is one order I want to comply with, and fast!" + +He walked toward the small production office. Let's see, he had to +produce enough for all the exec personnel in the district. Have to start +finding out just how many of those guys there were. + +"Make delivery as soon as possible, huh? Cut my estimate by two days? +I'll have 'em out over night, if I have to start driving people to do +it." + + * * * * * + +Morely looked up as the communicator beeped. He reached to the control +panel and touched the switch. The face of his deputy appeared in the +sphere. + +"The section chiefs and field leaders are in the conference room, sir." + +"Very good." Morely pushed back his chair. "I'll be right in." + +He stepped through the door and crossed the outer office to the +conference room. As he entered, there was a rustle of motion. The +section chiefs and field leaders stood at attention around the table, +waiting. At each place at the table was a blank notepad. The district +leader went immediately to the head of the table and sat down. + +"Gentlemen," he began, "I'll make this short. I've called you in to try +out a new device which I intend to use to help solve the ever-present +problem of communication." He looked toward Ward Kirk, who had glanced +up in surprise. + +"From time to time," he continued, "requests for more and more +communicator lines have been coming in to my office. Since no one else +seemed to be able to do anything about it, I decided it was time for me +to step in. After all, we can't expand our cables indefinitely. We +haven't unlimited funds at our disposal and there are other projects +demanding attention. Important projects. + +"A new electronic development has come to my attention, and it promises +to relieve the load on our communicators. Each of you will be issued one +of these devices, which I believe are called 'mental communicators,' or +something of the sort. And you will draw sufficient of them to outfit +those of your people who have occasion to use communication to any large +degree. You will use them for all routine communications." He nodded to +his deputy, who stepped to the door and beckoned. + +Two men came in, carrying cartons, which they distributed around the +room. Morely waited until one of the cartons was in the hands of each of +the men before him, then he reached up to touch the headband he was +wearing. + +"This is the device I'm speaking of," he said. "Each of you will wear +one of these at all times while you are on duty. You will find, after a +little practice, that you will be able to call any associate who is +similarly equipped. And you will use them in place of the conventional +communications whenever possible." He cleared his throat raspingly. + +"Sufficient of these devices have been produced to outfit all the key +people of this district. I shall leave it to you to distribute them to +your subordinates, and to instruct those subordinates in their use. And +I shall expect the load on our communicator cables to be appreciably +diminished." He looked to one side of the room. + +"Bond." + +"Yes, sir." + +"You will instruct those present in the use of this new communicator." +Morely rose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +As the district leader disappeared through the door, Harold Bond walked +to the front of the room. In his hands, he held one of the headbands and +a power pack. + +"Gentlemen," he said, "this is a form of communicator. I don't pretend +to understand precisely how it operates, though I watched its +development and set up a production line for it. All I know is that it +works. And I know how to use it--to some extent. + +"The district leader remarked that one could learn to use it with a +little practice, and he's right. Basically, anyone can use it as soon as +he puts it on for the first time. But it's like so many other tools. The +more you use it, the more proficient you get with it. And I suspect it +has capabilities I haven't found yet." He shrugged. + +"Operation is simple in the extreme. Since the first model, refinements +have been added, and it's unnecessary now for an operator to make any +adjustments, other than intensity." + +He picked up the power pack. + +"This is the power pack, which is plugged into the headband, thus." He +paused as he connected the two plugs. + +"If you gentlemen will perform the operations as I do, this will take +only a short time." + +There was a crackling in the room as cartons were opened. Power packs +and headbands rattled against the table for a moment, then Bond +continued. + +"Having plugged in the power pack, you turn this small knob very +slightly in a clockwise direction, then place the headband on your head. +The knob is the switch and intensity control, and it's quite sensitive. +Most people need very little intensity. If you have difficulty with +communication, raise the intensity a little at a time, till thoughts +come through clearly." He paused, as the men before him adjusted the +headbands to their heads. + +"The power pack," he continued, "may be placed in a pocket." He reached +down. "Personally, I carry mine in my shirt, since I find that +convenient." + +He looked around the room. Men were turning to stare at their neighbors. +Bond could detect a current of uncertainty, then a sensation of pleased +surprise. Snatches of thought drifted to him. He ignored them for the +moment. Time enough to become acquainted with people later. He placed a +hand over his mouth, so everyone could see he was not speaking. + +"_Can everyone receive me?_" + +There was a wave of affirmation, and Bond nodded. + +"_Simple, isn't it? Are there any questions?_" + +A jumble of thoughts made him waver. Most of them could have been +phrased, "How does this thing work? What does it do? Am I dreaming?" +Bond smiled in real amusement. He held up a hand. + +"_I felt the same way_," he thought reassuringly. "_Sometimes. I still +do. All I can tell you is what you've already found out for yourselves. +It works. I'm told it's a sort of telepathic amplifier and radiator. But +as I told you, I don't understand its principles. As to practice? I'm +still meeting interesting people. So will you._" He took off the +headband. + +"_If anyone has any further questions on operation, I'll try to answer +them_," he thought quickly. He glanced around the room. Three men were +looking at him blankly. He took careful note of them, and mentally shook +hands with himself. They were the ones he'd thought would blank out. He +spoke aloud. + +"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he apologized. "I forgot I might be out of +communication. I'm not completely used to this mentacom, myself." He +looked toward the deputy leader. + +"Do you have anything to add, sir?" + +The deputy shook his head. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I think the +demonstration was adequate. He cast a quizzical look at Bond, then +looked around the room. + +"You gentlemen will find a supply of these devices in the outer office. +You may draw one for each person you wish outfitted. If any of you have +further questions, I would suggest you get in touch with Community +Research. They understand this thing." He waved toward the door. "This +meeting is adjourned." + +He watched as the men filed from the room, then turned on Bond. + + * * * * * + +"What was that business after you took off your headband?" he demanded. +"I received you perfectly, and so did practically everyone here. Why the +apology?" + +Bond grimaced. "We found out something peculiar while we were making +preliminary tests on this device, sir," he explained. "Some people +don't seem to be able to pick up clear thoughts with it, unless another +person uses the mentacom to drive in to them. Most of us can pick up +thoughts from anyone we look at, whether they have a band on or not. +Definite, surface thoughts, that is." + +"And?" The deputy's expression was still questioning. He reached up to +point at the band he was still wearing. "I'm getting some mighty +peculiar secondary thoughts right now," he added. + +"And the people who can't use the device fully have other peculiarities, +sir. I'd rather not go into detail. You can find out the whole story for +yourself with a very short bit of experimentation, and you have a +subject right at hand. If I simply told you, you probably wouldn't +believe me anyway." + +The deputy nodded slowly. "For the moment," he said, "I'll take your +words--and your thoughts--as true. Now, one more question: Can a person, +using one of these things, successfully lie to another person who wears +one?" + +"No, sir." Bond was positive. "It's impossible." + +"I got that impression. Thanks." The deputy turned and walked out of the +door. Bond looked after him, a slight smile growing on his lips. + +"Old Man wanted 'em," he told himself. "He's got 'em." + + * * * * * + +The Fiscal chief glanced through the letter in his hands, then canted +his head a little and read again. He lowered it to his desk, then sat +for a moment, to stare into space. Finally, he looked down once more. + + Central Coordination Agency + Office of the Comptroller + + CCA 7.338 21 July, 2012 + + To: District Leader + District Twelve + Region Nine + + Attn.: Fiscal Chief + + Subject: Mental Communicator + + 1. It has been brought to the attention of this office that a + product known as the "Consolidated Mental Communicator" is being + manufactured in District Twelve, Region Nine, and offered for sale + as a luxury item. + + 2. The characteristics of this device have been investigated by the + Technical Division, Central Coordination Agency, and it has been + found that the device does in fact permit communication between + persons by telepathic or some similar means. + + 3. This device is presently being offered for sale in retail luxury + stores throughout the nation. The volume of sales and of potential + sales warrants distribution of the manufacturing load to + manufacturers other than the Consolidated Electronics Company, who, + it is understood, presently hold an exclusive manufacturing + agreement with the office of the District Leader, District Twelve, + Region Nine. This arrangement is inconsistent with the sales and use + potential of the device in question. + + 4. The agreement between District Twelve, Region Nine, and the + Consolidated Electronics Company will be forwarded immediately to + this headquarters for consideration. It is contemplated that this + agreement will be terminated and replaced by a manufacturing license + from the Products Division, Central Coordinating Agency, who will + further license other manufacturers to produce this device. + + By Command of Chief Coordinator Gorman + + KELLER + Comptroller + MRK/pem + +The Fiscal chief shook his head. This one spelled trouble--in capitals. +The royalty payments from Consolidated had become one of the major +sources of income for the district. And Morely had ordered project after +project, using those funds to pay for them. Some of the projects were +still outstanding. The Old Man would blow his top. + +He looked again at the small scrap of paper which was clipped to the +letter. On it was scrawled: "DeVore--See me--HRM." + +For a moment, DeVore considered using his own mentacom, then he +discarded the idea. To be sure, the leader had insisted that his +subordinates use the devices for their own communications, and he'd cut +Fixed Communications to the bone. But he still insisted on either +communicator calls or personal contact when he wished to talk to any of +his people. And he discouraged any but essential use of the communicator +system, generally demanding that people come in to see him. + +DeVore wrinkled his face disgustedly. It _was_ hard to communicate with +the district leader by means of a headband. There was a repellent +characteristic about the man's mental emanations, and he seemed to fail +to comprehend nuances of meaning. Similes, he ignored completely. +Thoughts had to be completely and clearly detailed, then phrased into +normal, basic wordage before he would acknowledge them. None of the +short-cuts used by other members of the administrative staff seemed to +work out in his case. He apparently didn't notice visualizations, and he +never made one. His transmission was as stiff and labored as the type of +communication he required from others--more so, if anything. DeVore +scratched his neck. + +"How," he asked himself, "does one define a telepathic monotone?" + +There were a few others with whom DeVore had experienced similar +difficulties, but most people, he had found, picked up meanings and +concepts without difficulty--even seemed to anticipate at times. And +since the new induction mentacoms had come on the market, with the +annoying contacts and headstraps removed, virtually everyone seemed to +be either in possession of one of the devices, or about to get one. And, +they were worn everywhere. + +He smiled as he thought of the young father-to-be, who had bored +through the evening traffic rush yesterday. The youngster had been so +intent on getting his wife to the hospital that he'd probably failed to +see half the ships that clawed out of his way. And his visualization had +been almost painfully clear. He'd probably be apologizing for weeks to +everyone he contacted. + +DeVore straightened in his chair. What would happen, he wondered, if the +leader ever ran into one of those situations? + +"Yipe!" he muttered. "What a row that would be." + +He shrugged, got out of his chair, and walked out into the corridor. + +"Better get it over with," he told himself. + + * * * * * + +As he approached the leader's door, it opened, and Ward Kirk came out. +He closed the door with a careful gentleness, then faced it for an +instant. DeVore was conscious of a wave of hopeless fury, and a fleeting +glimpse of Morely's face, framed by brilliant flame. Then, Kirk faced +around and saw him. + +"_Careful_," DeVore thought. "_You're broadcasting. He'll pick you up._" + +Kirk grimaced and DeVore saw a faint image of a tyrannosaur, which +reared up, jaws agape. Blood dripped from the human figure gripped in +the creature's talons. + +"_The old ... wouldn't understand if he did._" + +DeVore grinned. "_See what you mean. Well, guess I'm the next victim._" + +He stepped to the door and tapped. + +"Come in." + +Morely looked up as his Fiscal Chief entered, then swept some papers +aside. "Well, what do _you_ want?" + +DeVore held out the letter. "You wanted to see me, sir, about this." He +placed the paper within the reach of his superior, who snatched at it, +held it up for a moment, then dropped it to his desk. + +"Yes, I did. What can we do about it?" + +"Why," DeVore spread his hands slightly, "we'll have to comply." + +"That isn't what I meant, Idiot! How can we continue to receive the +payments from Consolidated?" + +"I don't think we can, sir. If Central Coordinating wants to put the +device on a national basis, we can't do anything about it." + +Morely looked down at the letter, then glared searchingly at DeVore. +"The way I read this," he declared, "they want to distribute +manufacturing rights on the communicator to plants in other regions than +this. Right?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"But they don't say anything about our continuing the Consolidated +payments on an overwrite basis, for the sale of devices they may make. +Now, do they?" + +"No, sir. But that's implied. In cases like this, Central always takes +over all rights." DeVore hesitated. "I believe regulations--" + +"I don't care what's implied, DeVore. And I don't care what you +believe. All I see is what's in this letter. They want to distribute the +manufacturing load, and I'm quite willing that they should. I want to +continue receiving the payments from Consolidated. Now, you arrange it +so that they're satisfied and I'm satisfied." + +[Illustration] + +"But that'll mean Consolidated will have to pay double. We can't--" + +"Don't say 'can't' to me!" Morely held up a hand angrily. "DeVore, I'm +not going to tell you how to do this. I want it done. The details are +your affair, and if I have to teach you your business, I'll get someone +who can do things without having to have them spelled out to him." He +leaned back, to glare at DeVore. + +"Now, get on the job. I told you to make arrangements for me so that we +will retain our payments from Consolidated. And I'm not interested in +what arrangements you make with them, or what arrangements they make +with Central. Is that a simple enough order for you to understand?" + +"Yes, sir. I understand all right. But--" + +"Good! I'm glad I managed to get at least one simple idea into your +head." The spring in the chair twanged as Morely came forward, to poke +his head at DeVore. "Now, get to work on it." + +He jerked his head down for a quick look at the letter on his desk, then +looked up again. + +"And I'll expect a report from you by tonight that you've got the matter +taken care of." + +DeVore looked at his superior expressionless for a heartbeat. He had +been given peculiar orders before, and he'd always managed to work out +the problems involved. But this was the ultimate. This one seemed to be +just plain illegal. And there was no point in arguing further. There was +just the barest chance that there might be some legitimate way out. If +he challenged the Old Man on an illegal order, he just might get his +ears pinned back. He'd simply have to go back to his office and try to +hunt out a technicality. He nodded. + +"Yes, sir. I'll get on it immediately." + +He saluted and started to leave the office. But he didn't make it. + +"And, DeVore!" + +The Fiscal chief halted abruptly, and turned. + +"Sir?" + +"I'm getting tired of the negative thinking you people seem to have +fallen into lately. I'm sick of going into every routine detail with +you. When you got that letter, you should have immediately worked out a +method of retaining the royalties. Then, you could have come in and +presented it for my approval. That is the kind of work I want. And +that's the kind of work I mean to get in the future. Do you understand?" + +Sternly, DeVore suppressed a sarcastic thought. He held his mind and +face blank and nodded with a semblance of respect. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Very well." Morely waved a hand. "Now get something done." + + * * * * * + +As DeVore walked through the corridor, he thought over the situation. Of +course, the easy way out would be to force Consolidated to continue the +payments in addition to their license fees from Central. That could be +done. There were all kinds of methods by which pressure could be brought +to bear on any company by the district leader's office. And from +Consolidated's point of view, double payments could offer a cheap means +of keeping out of difficulties. They would be able to pass most of the +cost to the consumer by a slight price increase, justified by a minor +modification of the devices. + +But they wouldn't be happy about it, and there would come a day when an +auditing team from Central would be checking in the district. And that +would be the day of days! + +DeVore turned in at the door to his own office, crossed the room, and +sat down at his desk. + +To be sure, he could request a share of the fees from Central, and +they'd make an award. But they'd never award more than fifty per cent, +and it'd be hard to get that much. That was no good. The Old Man would +want the same payments he'd been getting. + +Or, he could try to negotiate a new agreement with Consolidated, double +the royalties, and then request fifty per cent from Central. He grinned +wryly. That would be within legal limits, he was sure, but Central knew +the present arrangement, and he knew that they knew. And so would most +of the interested manufacturers in other regions. The first-class +citizens who owned the plants had their own liaison. They'd all balk. +Then, Central would invalidate both old and new agreements and refuse +compensation of any kind to district. That would be a suicidal course. + +He looked up, thinking of one of the girls out in the legal crew. + +"_Fiscal regulations, please. And Markowitz on royalties, too._" + +The girl turned half around, and he could see a faint impression of her +view of office details. Then, she went to a book rack. For a few +seconds, she glanced over the books, then selected two large volumes. + +"_Shall I look it up, or do you want the books?_" + +"_I'll take them. Might need quite a bit of research._" + +Shortly, the girl appeared in his doorway. Quickly, she laid the two +volumes on his desk. + +DeVore nodded his thanks and opened regulations. Some of the paragraphs +were delightfully vague, and could be subject to more than one +interpretation. But one paragraph was clear and explicit. And that was +the one he was concerned with. + +A royalty agreement with, or manufacturing license from Central +Coordination definitely abrogated any agreement with, or payment to, any +lesser headquarters. Such an agreement or license barred any further +negotiation between any lesser headquarters and a manufacturer, relating +to the product concerned. Double royalties were prohibited in any case. + +He pushed the books aside. There was no need of looking in Markowitz. +That regulation paragraph took care of this exact situation, and +disposed of it neatly. For an instant, he thought of taking the volume +in to the leader's office. Then, he remembered the threatening note in +the authoritative voice and the flat, deadly thoughts he had noted as +secondaries. + +That wouldn't work either. He thought of the undercurrent in Kirk's +thoughts. Kirk had been carrying a regulation book, he remembered. He +contacted the Fixed Communications chief. + +"_Don't_," he was told. "_I tried it. Know what happened?_" + +"_Go ahead._" + +"_He got the regional director on the communicator. I've been +transferred to Outpost. They seem to need a cable maintenance chief up +there. And I was lucky at that. I started to protest, and they nearly +had me for insubordination._" Abruptly, Kirk cut away. + + * * * * * + +DeVore stared unseeingly across the desk. He'd been at Outpost for a +short time once, on an inspection trip, and he still remembered the +place. At one time, it had been a well supplied, well organized post. At +that time, observational duty had been regarded more highly than now, +and the place had been desirable for any single officer, though the +married men had objected to being separated from their families by the +many miles of frozen waste. But that had changed. + +Now, Outpost was the end of the line. The dilapidated surface quarters +offered poor protection from the fierce cold. Supply ships were rarely +scheduled to the place, and were often held up by storms when they were +scheduled. Half rations--even quarter rations--were commonplace. He +shook his head. Kirk was in real trouble, and there would be no point in +joining him. That would help neither of them. + +This, he thought, was a situation. Then, he realized something else. +From Morely's point of view, it was a perfectly safe situation, with +nothing to lose. The district leader could easily disclaim any +responsibility for his Fiscal chief's actions in this matter. After all, +he hadn't given any detailed instructions. He had made no direct +suggestion of any illegal course. He'd merely consulted his Fiscal +expert on a technical matter, and if DeVore had seen fit to use an +illegal method of solving a problem, it was DeVore's responsibility +alone. + +To be sure, Morely had been a little emphatic in his order, but that was +simply because he was well aware of his Fiscal chief's disinclination to +make exhaustive technical research. + +DeVore pursed his lips and looked thoughtfully at the regulation book. +He might be able to use the same tactic Morely was following--if he were +so inclined. He could issue verbal instructions to the sector leader +concerned, and Bond might fail to see the trap. Then, he could report to +the leader that the matter was taken care of, indorse the letter back to +Central, with the agreement copy, and let Bond turn in funds under one +of the "miscellaneous received" accounts. In fact, he realized, that was +just about what the district leader expected him to do. + +He smiled and shook his head. A few months ago, it was possible he could +have done that, but even then, he wouldn't have. And now, with the +mental communicators in use, it would be a flat impossibility. The trap +would be as obvious to Bond as it had been to him. He leaned back in his +chair and tapped his fingertips against each other. + +The mentacoms, he knew, were in common use by this time, in virtually +every office of district, regional, and national administration, as well +as by most citizens. And he'd served under Marko Keller once--known him +fairly well, too. He shrugged. + +It would be a little irregular for a district Fiscal chief to make +direct contact with the Coordination Agency's comptroller, but there was +nothing like getting the most expert and authoritative advice available. +He relaxed, trying to recreate his memories of the man who was now +National Comptroller. + + * * * * * + +Marko Keller strode purposefully into the filing section. He could +easily get the data he needed by simply contacting one of the clerks, he +knew, but he felt an urgent need for personal activity. That +conversation with DeVore, way out in Region Nine, had upset him more +than he liked to admit, even to himself. + +It wouldn't be so bad if it were an isolated incident. Such things could +be taken care of by administrative action, and a single instance would +cause little disturbance. But there were too many, happening too often. +He pulled a file drawer open, violently. + +One of the clerks approached. "Can I help, sir?" + +Keller turned to look at him. The man, he noted, was wearing one of the +late model inductive headbands that had been sold in such quantities +lately. Deluxe model, too. Must have cost him at least two months' pay. +Like almost everyone else, he was vitally concerned in this latest +affair. Keller frowned. He, himself, he realized, was acting childishly. +He would simply be wasting time by trying to do this by himself. + +"Yes," he growled. "Get me a brief on a few cases like this one." He +made full contact with the man, rapidly summarizing his conversation +with DeVore, and including DeVore's short flash of his own conversation +with Ward Kirk. + +"_And get a rundown from personnel. Dig up something on their angle, +too. Several representative cases. Get a few people to help you--many as +you need. I'm going to take this whole mess in to the Chief tomorrow +morning._" + + * * * * * + +Paul Graham swept into the apartment, seized his wife about the waist +and swung her into the air, to set her on top of one of his bookcases. + +"They've done it, honey," he shouted. + +Elaine kicked her heels in a rapid tattoo against the back of the case. + +"Paul Graham, you get me down this instant," she ordered indignantly. +"Who's done what?" + +Graham stepped back and beat on his chest. "Meet the new production +manager, Mentacom Division, Consolidated Electronics." + +"Production manager? But, Paul, only first-class citizens can hold +supervisory positions." + +"Not any more. Didn't you have the communicator on for the news? It all +came in." + +Elaine shook her head and jumped to the floor. "I've a confession to +make, Paul. Ever since they stopped the compulsory notices, I haven't +had the thing on at all. It bothered me." + +Her husband shook his head in mock dismay. "So now, I'm married to an +ignoramus." He spread his hands. "She doesn't know what's going on in +the great, big world." He shook a finger at her. + +"It all busted this afternoon, darling. While you sat around in your +splendid isolation, everything turned upside down." + +She looked at him indignantly for an instant, then turned toward the +kitchen. + +"Paul, if you don't stop raving, I'm going to get my mentacom and pry it +out of you," she threatened. "Now, you just settle down. Stop talking in +circles and tell me what this is all about." + +"Oh, all right. If you insist." Graham sank into a chair, looking like a +small boy caught in a prank. "First, there are no more first-class +citizens--no second-class citizens--not even third-class citizens. +Everyone's a citizen again. Period." He threw his hands up. + +"You mean--?" + +"That's exactly what I mean. No more restrictions. No more compulsory +community work. No more quarters inspections. And no more privileges. +We've got rights again! + +"If you want a dress, you buy it. You don't worry about whether it suits +your station. If I can hold a job, I get it. And I did!" He got out of +the chair and strode across the room, to sit on the arm of the divan. +"And I can do this, if I want to. If I break this thing down, so help +me, George, I'll go out and buy a new one." He bounced up and down a +little. + +"The administrators are going back to their original jobs. They're +responsible for defense, in case of enemy attack, and that's all." He +paused. "Of course, until sector and district elections can be held, +they'll still take care of some of the community functions--some of +them, that is. But the elections'll be set up in a few weeks, and we'll +be able to choose our own officials for community government." + +He bounced to his feet again, strode around the bookcases, and looked +down at his desk. Then, he looked around again. + +"Corporations are being set up to take over home construction." He held +up a hand. "_Home_ construction, I said, not quarters. They're +commercializing helicopter manufacture, all kinds of repair work, and a +lot of other services. And they're going to restore patent rights. That +means plenty to us, darling, believe me." + + * * * * * + +"But, but why? What happened?" + +Graham turned on her. "Elaine," he cried, "haven't you noticed how many +people are wearing mentacoms now, all the time? Haven't you noticed the +consideration people have been giving each other for the past weeks? +Remember what I told you once? If you fully understand a person, you +simply can't kick him around. It's too much like taking slaps at +yourself. With the exception of a few empathic cripples, who can't use +the mentacom properly anyway, everyone, inside the administrative +offices, as well as out, recognized that the bureaucracy was simply +unworkable as it stood. So, they changed it. Effective immediately." + +Elaine stamped her foot. "You know I haven't been out of this +apartment," she cried. "And you know why. I simply couldn't stand the +treatment I got. I'd have gotten into serious trouble in minutes. So, +I've stayed in. I've done my shopping by communicator, and contented +myself right here." She paused. + +"But how is the new administration going to be supported? What are +people going to do? How are they taking it? It's all so sudden, I should +think--" + +Graham held up a hand. + +"Hey," he protested. "One at a time, please! First--remember taxes? +Remember how we used to growl about them? They're back. And I love 'em. +Second--nobody is going to do anything. Anything drastic or unusual, +that is. And finally? Everyone I've seen is taking it in their stride. +Seems as though they've been sort of expecting it, ever since they +started mind-to-mind communication. + +"You'd be surprised how good most people are at it, now that they're +used to it. You start into a line of helicopters. All at once, you +realize that the guy coming is really in a hurry. He's got to get +somewhere, fast. So, you let him go by. The next fellow's not going to +be in any tearing rush. He'll let you in, and cheer you on your way. + +"You feel like being left alone? Nobody'll even notice you. But if you +feel like talking, half a dozen total strangers'll find something in +common with you. And they'll discuss it. Honey, you'll be surprised how +much you've missed. Get your mentacom. Let's take a little shopping +trip." + + * * * * * + +"And here's one of our more difficult cases. But he's coming along +nicely." Dr. Moran pointed through the one-way window. + +"Name's Howard Morely. He used to be a district leader, under the +bureaucracy. But along in the last few weeks, just before the change, he +got into some sort of scrape. They questioned him, and declared him +unfit for service. Put him out on a pension." He pulled at an ear. + +"Matter of fact, I understand his case had quite a deal to do with the +change--sort of triggered it. They tell me it sort of pointed up the +fallacies of the bureaucracy." He shrugged. + +"But that's unimportant now, I guess. He almost receded into complete +paranoia. Had a virtually complete case of empathic paralysis when he +came to us. Simply no conception of any other person's point of view, +and a hatred of people that was fantastic. But he's nearly normal now." + +The visiting psychiatrist nodded. "I've seen the type, of course. We +have a number of them, too. You say this new technique was successfully +used in his case?" + +"Yes. We had doubts of it, too. Seemed too simple. Sure, we're all +familiar with the mentacoms by now. Wouldn't be without my own. But the +idea of a field generator so powerful as to force clear impressions into +a crippled mind like his, without completely destroying that mind, +seemed a little fantastic." He shrugged. + +"In this case, though, it was a last resort, so we tried it. He resisted +the field for days. Simply sat in his cell and stared at the walls. We +were almost ready to give up when one of the operators finally got +through to him. Know what his first visualization was?" + +The visitor shook his head and laughed. "I could try a guess, I +suppose," he said, "but my chances would be something less than one in a +thousand million." + +Moran grinned. "You're so right. There was a whole bunch of kids +standing around. Looked like dozens of 'em. And they were all chanting +at the top of their voices. You know that old jingle? 'Howie's got a +gir-rul?' Chanted it over and over." The grin widened. "Operator said +his face stung for ten minutes. That girl must have packed one sweet +wallop!" + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ June 1955. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Final Weapon, by Everett B. 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