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diff --git a/old/51202.txt b/old/51202.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7ced18e..0000000 --- a/old/51202.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1056 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Name Your Symptom, by Jim Harmon - -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/license - - -Title: Name Your Symptom - -Author: Jim Harmon - -Release Date: February 13, 2016 [EBook #51202] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NAME YOUR SYMPTOM *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - Name Your Symptom - - By JIM HARMON - - Illustrated by WEISS - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction May 1956. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - Anybody who shunned a Cure needed his - head examined--assuming he had one left! - - -Henry Infield placed the insulated circlet on his head gently. The -gleaming rod extended above his head about a foot, the wires from it -leading down into his collar, along his spine and finally out his pants -leg to a short metallic strap that dragged on the floor. - -Clyde Morgan regarded his partner. "Suppose--just suppose--you _were_ -serious about this, why not just the shoes?" - -Infield turned his soft blue eyes to the black and tan oxfords with the -very thick rubber soles. "They might get soaked through." - -Morgan took his foot off the chair behind the desk and sat down. -"Suppose they were soaked through and you were standing on a metal -plate--steps or a manhole cover--what good would your lightning rod do -you then?" - -Infield shrugged slightly. "I suppose a man must take some chances." - -Morgan said, "You can't do it, Henry. You're crossing the line. The -people we treat are on one side of the line and we're on the other. If -you cross that line, you won't be able to treat people again." - -The small man looked out the large window, blinking myopically at the -brassy sunlight. "That's just it, Clyde. There is a line between us, -a wall. How can we really understand the people who come to us, if we -hide on our side of the wall?" - -Morgan shook his thick head, ruffling his thinning red hair. "I dunno, -Henry, but staying on our side is a pretty good way to keep sane and -that's quite an accomplishment these days." - -Infield whirled and stalked to the desk. "That's the answer! The whole -world is going mad and we are just sitting back watching it hike -along. Do you know that what we are doing is really the most primitive -medicine in the world? We are treating the symptoms and not the -disease. One cannibal walking another with sleeping sickness doesn't -cure anything. Eventually the savage dies--just as all those sick -savages out in the street will die unless we can cure the disease, not -only the indications." - - * * * * * - -Morgan shifted his ponderous weight uneasily. "Now, Henry, it's no good -to talk like that. We psychiatrists can't turn back the clock. There -just aren't enough of us or enough time to give that old-fashioned -_therapy_ to all the sick people." - -Infield leaned on the desk and glared. "I called myself a psychiatrist -once. But now I know we're semi-mechanics, semi-engineers, -semi-inventors, semi lots of other things, but certainly not even -semi-psychiatrists. A psychiatrist wouldn't give a foetic gyro to a man -with claustrophobia." - -His mind went back to the first gyro ball he had ever issued; the -remembrance of his pride in the thing sickened him. Floating before -him in memory was the vertical hoop and the horizontal hoop, both of -shining steel-impervium alloy. Transfixed in the twin circles was the -face of the patient, slack with smiles and sweat. But his memory was -exaggerating the human element. The gyro actually passed over a man's -shoulder, through his legs, under his arms. Any time he felt the -walls creeping in to crush him, he could withdraw his head and limbs -into the circle and feel safe. Steel-impervium alloy could resist even -a nuclear explosion. The foetic gyro ball was worn day and night, for -life. - -The sickness overcame him. He sat down on Morgan's desk. "That's just -one thing, the gyro ball. There are so many others, so many." - -Morgan smiled. "You know, Henry, not all of our Cures are so--so--not -all are like that. Those Cures for mother complexes aren't even -obvious. If anybody does see that button in a patient's ear, it looks -like a hearing aid. Yet for a nominal sum, the patient is equipped to -hear the soothing recorded voice of his mother saying, 'It's all right, -everything's all right, Mommy loves you, it's all right....'" - -"But _is_ everything all right?" Infield asked intensely. "Suppose -the patient is driving over one hundred on an icy road. He thinks -about slowing down, but there's the voice in his ear. Or suppose he's -walking down a railroad track and hears a train whistle--if he can hear -anything over that verbal pablum gushing in his ear." - -Morgan's face stiffened. "You know as well as I do that those voices -are nearly subsonic. They don't cut a sense efficiency more than 23 -per cent." - -"At first, Clyde--only at first. But what about the severe case where -we have to burn a three-dimensional smiling mother-image on the eyes of -the patient with radiation? With that image over everything he sees and -with that insidious voice drumming in his head night and day, do you -mean to say that man's senses will only be impaired 23 per cent? Why, -he'll turn violently schizophrenic sooner or later--and you know it. -The only cure we have for that is still a strait jacket, a padded cell -or one of those inhuman lobotomies." - -Morgan shrugged helplessly. "You're an idealist." - -"You're damned right!" Infield slammed the door behind him. - - * * * * * - -The cool air of the street was a relief. Infield stepped into the main -stream of human traffic and tried to adjust to the second change in the -air. People didn't bathe very often these days. - -He walked along, buffeted by the crowd, carried along in this -direction, shoved back in that direction. Most people in the crowd -seemed to be Normals, but you couldn't tell. Many "Cures" were not -readily apparent. - -A young man with black glasses and a radar headset (a photophobe) was -unable to keep from being pushed against Infield. He sounded out the -lightning rod, his face changing when he realized it must be some kind -of Cure. "Pardon me," he said warmly. - -"Quite all right." - -It was the first time in years that anyone had apologized to Infield -for anything. He had been one of those condemned Normals, more to be -scorned than pitied. Perhaps he could really get to understand these -people, now that he had taken down the wall. - -Suddenly something else was pushing against Infield, forcing the -air from his lungs. He stared down at the magnetic suction dart -clinging leechlike to his chest. Model Acrophobe 101-X, he catalogued -immediately. Description: safety belt. But his emotions didn't behave -so well. He was thoroughly terrified, heart racing, sweat glands -pumping. The impervium cable undulated vulgarly. _Some primitive fear -of snake symbols?_ his mind wondered while panic crushed him. - -"Uncouple that cable!" the shout rang out. It was not his own. - -A clean-cut young man with mouse-colored hair was moving toward the -stubble-chinned, heavy-shouldered man quivering in the center of a web -of impervium cables stuck secure to the walls and windows of buildings -facing the street, the sidewalk, a mailbox, the lamp post and Infield. - -Mouse-hair yelled hoarsely, "Uncouple it, Davies! Can't you see the -guy's got a lightning rod? You're grounding him! - -"I can't," Davies groaned. "I'm scared!" - -Halfway down the twenty feet of cable, Mouse-hair grabbed on. "I'm -holding it. Release it, you hear?" - -Davies fumbled for the broad belt around his thickening middle. He -jabbed the button that sent a negative current through the cable. The -magnetic suction dart dropped away from Infield like a thing that had -been alive and now was killed. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief. - - * * * * * - -After breathing deeply for a few moments, he looked up to see Davies -releasing and drawing all his darts into his belt, making it resemble a -Hydra-sized spiked dog collar. Mouse-hair stood by tensely as the crowd -disassembled. - -"This isn't the first time you've pulled something like this, Davies," -he said. "You weren't too scared to release that cable. You just don't -care about other people's feelings. This is _official_." - -Mouse-hair drove a fast, hard right into the soft blue flesh of Davies' -chin. The big man fell silently. - -The other turned to Infield. "He was unconscious on his feet," he -explained. "He never knew he fell." - -"What did you mean by that punch being official?" Infield asked while -trying to arrange his feelings into the comfortable, familiar patterns. - -The young man's eyes almost seemed to narrow, although his face didn't -move; he merely radiated narrowed eyes. "How long have you been Cured?" - -"Not--not long," Infield evaded. - -The other glanced around the street. He moistened his lips and spoke -slowly. "Do you think you might be interested in joining a fraternal -organization of the Cured?" - -Infield's pulse raced, trying to get ahead of his thoughts, and losing -out. A chance to study a pseudo-culture of the "Cured" developed in -isolation! "Yes, I think I might. I owe you a drink for helping me out. -How about it?" - -The man's face paled so fast, Infield thought for an instant that he -was going to faint. "All right. I'll risk it." He touched the side of -his face away from the psychiatrist. - -Infield shifted around, trying to see that side of his benefactor, -but couldn't manage it in good grace. He wondered if the fellow was -sporting a Mom-voice hearing aid and was afraid of raising her ire. He -cleared his throat, noticing the affectation of it. "My name's Infield." - -"Price," the other answered absently. "George Price. I suppose they -have liquor at the Club. We can have a _drink_ there, I guess." - -Price set the direction and Infield fell in at his side. "Look, if you -don't drink, I'll buy you a cup of coffee. It was just a suggestion." - - * * * * * - -Under the mousy hair, Price's strong features were beginning to gleam -moistly. "You are lucky in one way, Mr. Infield. People take one look -at your Cure and don't ask you to go walking in the rain. But even -after seeing _this_, some people still ask me to have a drink." _This_ -was revealed, as he turned his head, to be a small metal cube above his -left ear. - -Infield supposed it was a Cure, although he had never issued one like -it. He didn't know if it would be good form to inquire what kind it was. - -"It's a cure for alcoholism," Price told him. "It runs a constant blood -check to see that the alcohol level doesn't go over the sobriety limit." - -"What happens if you take one too many?" - -Price looked off as if at something not particularly interesting, but -more interesting than what he was saying. "It drives a needle into my -temple and kills me." - -The psychiatrist felt cold fury rising in him. The Cures were supposed -to save lives, not endanger them. - -"What kind of irresponsible idiot could have issued such a device?" he -demanded angrily. - -"I did," Price said. "I used to be a psychiatrist. I was always good -in shop. This is a pretty effective mechanism, if I say so myself. It -can't be removed without causing my death and it's indestructible. -Impervium-shielded, you see." - -Price probably would never get crazed enough for liquor to kill -himself, Infield knew. The threat of death would keep him constantly -shocked sane. Men hide in the comforts of insanity, but when faced with -death, they are often forced back to reality. A man can't move his -legs; in a fire, though, he may run. His legs were definitely paralyzed -before and may be again, but for one moment he would forget the moral -defeat of his life and his withdrawal from life and live an enforced -sanity. But sometimes the withdrawal was--or could become--too complete. - -"We're here." - -Infield looked up self-consciously and noticed that they had crossed -two streets from his building and were standing in front of what -appeared to be a small, dingy cafe. He followed Price through the -screeching screen door. - -They seated themselves at a small table with a red-checked cloth. -Infield wondered why cheap bars and restaurants always used red-checked -cloths. Then he looked closer and discovered the reason. They did a -remarkably good job of camouflaging the spots of grease and alcohol. - - * * * * * - -A fat man who smelled of the grease and alcohol of the tablecloths -shuffled up to them with a towel on his arm, staring ahead of him at -some point in time rather than space. - -Price lit a cigarette with unsteady hands. "Reggie is studying biblical -text. Cute gadget. His contact lenses are made up of a lot of layers -of polarized glass. Every time he blinks, the amount of polarization -changes and a new page appears. His father once told him that if he -didn't study his Bible and pray for him, his old dad would die." - -The psychiatrist knew the threat on the father's part couldn't create -such a fixation by itself. His eyebrows faintly inquired. - -Price nodded jerkily. "Twenty years ago, at least." - -"What'll you have, Georgie?" Reggie asked. - -The young man snubbed out his cigarette viciously. "Bourbon. Straight." - -Reggie smiled--a toothy, vacant, comedy-relief smile. "Fine. The Good -Book says a little wine is good for a man, or something like that. I -don't remember exactly." - -Of course he didn't, Infield knew. Why should he? It was useless to -learn his Bible lessons to save his father, because it was obvious his -father was dead. He would never succeed because there was no reason to -succeed. But he had to try, didn't he, for his father's sake? He didn't -hate his father for making him study. He didn't want him to die. He had -to prove that. - -Infield sighed. At least this device kept the man on his feet, doing -some kind of useful work instead of rotting in a padded cell with a -probably imaginary Bible. A man could cut his wrists with the edge of a -sheet of paper if he tried long enough, so of course the Bible would be -imaginary. - -"But, Georgie," the waiter complained, "you know you won't drink it. -You ask me to bring you drinks and then you just look at them. Boy, do -you look funny when you're looking at drinks. Honest, Georgie, I want -to laugh when I think of the way you look at a glass with a drink in -it." He did laugh. - -Price fumbled with the cigarette stub in the black iron ashtray, -examining it with the skill of scientific observation. "Mr. Infield is -buying me the drink and that makes it different." - -Reggie went away. Price kept dissecting the tobacco and paper. Infield -cleared his throat and again reminded himself against such obvious -affectations. "You were telling me about some organization of the -Cured," he said as a reminder. - - * * * * * - -Price looked up, no longer interested in the relic of a cigarette. He -was suddenly intensely interested and intensely observant of the rest -of the cafe. "Was I? I was? Well, suppose you tell me something. What -do you really think of the Incompletes?" - -The psychiatrist felt his face frown. "Who?" - -"I forgot. You haven't been one of us long. The Incompletes is a truer -name for the so-called Normals. Have you ever thought of just how -dangerous these people are, Mr. Infield?" - -"Frankly, no," Infield said, realizing it was not the right thing to -say but tiring of constant pretense. - -"You don't understand. Everyone has some little phobia or fixation. -Maybe everyone didn't have one once, but after being told they did -have them for generations, everyone who didn't have one developed a -defense mechanism and an aberration so they would be normal. If that -phobia isn't brought to the surface and Cured, it may arise any time -and endanger other people. The only safe, good sound citizens are -Cured. Those lacking Cures--the Incompletes--_must be dealt with_." - -Infield's throat went dry. "And you're the one to deal with them?" - -"It's my Destiny." Price quickly added, "And yours, too, of course." - -Infield nodded. Price was a demagogue, young, handsome, dynamic, -likable, impassioned with his cause, and convinced that it was his -divine destiny. He was a psychopathic egotist and a dangerous man. -Doubly dangerous to Infield because, even though he was one of the few -people who still read books from the old days of therapy to recognize -Price for what he was, he nevertheless still liked the young man -for the intelligence behind the egotism and the courage behind the -fanaticism. - -"How are we going to deal with the Incompletes?" Infield asked. - -Price started to glance around the cafe, then half-shrugged, almost -visibly thinking that he shouldn't run that routine into the ground. -"We'll Cure them whether they want to be Cured or not--for their own -good." - -Infield felt cold inside. After a time, he found that the roaring was -not just in his head. It was thundering outside. He was getting sick. -Price was the type of man who could spread his ideas throughout the -ranks of the Cured--if indeed the plot was not already universal, -imposed upon many ill minds. - - * * * * * - -He could picture an entirely Cured world and he didn't like the view. -Every Cure cut down on the mental and physical abilities of the patient -as it was, whether Morgan and the others admitted it or not. But if -everyone had a crutch to lean on for one phobia, he would develop -secondary symptoms. - -People would start needing two Cures--perhaps a foetic gyro and a -safety belt--then another and another. There would always be a crutch -to lean on for one thing and then room enough to develop something -else--until everyone would be loaded down with too many Cures to -operate. - -A Cure was a last resort, dope for a malignancy case, euthanasia for -the hopeless. Enforced Cures would be a curse for the individual and -the race. - -But Infield let himself relax. How could anyone force a mechanical -relief for neurotic or psychopathic symptoms on someone who didn't -want or need it? - -"Perhaps you don't see how it could be done," Price said. "I'll -explain." - -Reggie's heavy hand sat a straight bourbon down before Price and -another before Infield. Price stared at the drink almost without -comprehension of how it came to be. He started to sweat. - -"George, drink it." - -The voice belonged to a young woman, a blonde girl with pink skin -and suave, draped clothes. In this den of the Cured, Infield thought -half-humorously, it was surprising to see a Normal--an "Incomplete." -But then he noticed something about the baby she carried. The Cure had -been very simple. It wasn't even a mechanized half-human robot, just a -rag doll. She sat down at the table. - -"George," she said, "drink it. One drink won't raise your alcohol index -to the danger point. You've got to get over this fear of even the sight -or smell of liquor." - -The girl turned to Infield. "You're one of us, but you're new, so you -don't know about George. Maybe you can help if you do. It's all silly. -He's not an alcoholic. He didn't need to put that Cure on his head. -It's just an excuse for not drinking. All of this is just because a -while back something happened to the baby here--" she adjusted the -doll's blanket--"when he was drinking. Just drinking, not drunk. - -"I don't remember what happened to the baby--it wasn't important. -But George has been brooding about it ever since. I guess he thinks -something else bad will happen because of liquor. That's silly. Why -don't you tell him it's silly?" - -"Maybe it is," Infield said softly. "You could take the shock if he -downed that drink and the shock might do you good." - - * * * * * - -Price laughed shortly. "I feel like doing something very melodramatic, -like throwing my drink--and yours--across the room, but I haven't got -the guts to touch those glasses. Do it for me, will you? Cauterizing -the bite might do me good if I'd been bitten by a rabid dog, but I -don't have the nerve to do it." - -Before Infield could move, Reggie came and set both drinks on a little -circular tray. He moved away. "I knew it. That's all he did, just look -at the drink. Makes me laugh." - -Price wiped the sweat off his palms. Infield sat and thought. Mrs. -Price cooed to the rag doll, unmindful of either of them now. - -"You were explaining," the psychiatrist said. "You were going to tell -me how you were going to Cure the Incompletes." - -"I said _we_ were going to do it. Actually _you_ will play a greater -part than I, _Doctor_ Infield." - -The psychiatrist sat rigidly. - -"You didn't think you could give me your right name in front of your -own office building and that I wouldn't recognize you? I know some -psychiatrists are sensitive about wearing Cures themselves, but it is a -mark of honor of the completely sane man. You should be proud of your -Cure and eager to Cure others. _Very_ eager." - -"Just what do you mean?" He already suspected Price's meaning. - -Price leaned forward. "There is one phobia that is so wide-spread, a -Cure is not even thought of--hypochondria. Hundreds of people come to -your office for a Cure and you turn them away. Suppose you and the -other Cured psychiatrists give _everybody_ who comes to you a Cure?" - -Infield gestured vaguely. "A psychiatrist wouldn't hand out Cures -unless they were absolutely necessary." - -"You'll feel differently after you've been Cured for a while yourself. -Other psychiatrists have." - -Before Infield could speak, a stubble-faced, barrel-chested man moved -past their table. He wore a safety belt. It was the man Price had -called Davies, the one who had fastened one of his safety lines to -Infield in the street. - -Davies went to the bar in the back. "Gimme a bottle," he demanded of a -vacant-eyed Reggie. He came back toward them, carrying the bottle in -one hand, brushing off rain drops with the other. He stopped beside -Price and glared. Price leaned back. The chair creaked. Mrs. Price kept -cooing to the doll. - -"You made me fall," Davies accused. - -Price shrugged. "You were unconscious. You never knew it." - -Sweat broke out on Davies' forehead. "You broke the Code. Don't you -think I can imagine how it was to fall? You louse!" - - * * * * * - -Suddenly, Davies triggered his safety belt. At close range, before -the lines could fan out in a radius, all the lines in front attached -themselves to Price, the ones at each side clung to their table and the -floor, and all the others to the table behind Infield. Davies released -all lines except those on Price, and then threw himself backward, -dragging Price out of his chair and onto the floor. Davies didn't mind -making others fall. They were always trying to make _him_ fall just so -they could laugh at him or pounce on him; why shouldn't he like to make -them fall first? - -Expertly, Davies moved forward and looped the loose lines around -Price's head and shoulders and then around his feet. He crouched beside -Price and shoved the bottle into the gasping mouth and poured. - -Price twisted against the binding lines in blind terror, gagging and -spouting whiskey. Davies laughed and tilted the bottle more. - -Mrs. Price screamed. "The Cure! If you get that much liquor in his -system, it will kill him!" She rocked the rag doll in her arms, trying -to soothe it, and stared in horror. - -Infield hit the big man behind the ear. He dropped the bottle and fell -over sideways on the floor. Fear and hate mingled in his eyes as he -looked up at Infield. - -Nonsense, Infield told himself. Eyes can't register emotion. - -Davies released his lines and drew them in. He got up precariously. -"I'm going to kill you," he said, glaring at Infield. "You made me fall -worse than Georgie did. I'm really going to kill you." - -Infield wasn't a large man, but he had pressed two hundred and fifty -many times in gym. He grabbed Davies' belt with both hands and lifted -him about six inches off the floor. - -"I could drop you," the psychiatrist said. - -"No!" Davies begged weakly. "Please!" - -"I'll do it if you cause more trouble." Infield sat down and rubbed his -aching forearms. - - * * * * * - -Davies backed off in terror, right into the arms of Reggie. The waiter -closed his huge hands on the acrophobe's shoulders. - -"_You_ broke the Code all the way," Reggie said. "The Good Book says -'Thou shouldn't kill' or something like that, and so does the Code." - -"Let him go, Reggie," Price choked out, getting to his feet. "I'm not -dead." He wiped his hand across his mouth. - -"No. No, you aren't." Infield felt an excitement pounding through him, -same as when he had diagnosed his first case. No, better than that. - -"That taste of liquor didn't kill you, Price. Nothing terrible -happened. You could find some way to get rid of that Cure." - -Price stared at him as if he were a padded-cell case. "That's -different. I'd be a hopeless drunk without the Cure. Besides, no one -ever gets rid of a Cure." - -They were all looking at Infield. Somehow he felt this represented a -critical point in history. It was up to him which turn the world took, -the world as represented by these four Cured people. "I'm afraid I'm -for _less_ Cures instead of more, Price. Look, if I can show you that -someone can discard a Cure, would you get rid of that--if I may use the -word--_monstrous_ thing on your head?" - -Price grinned. Infield didn't recognize its smugness at the time. - -"I'll show you." He took off the circlet with the lightning rod and -yanked at the wire running down into his collar. The new-old excitement -within was running high. He felt the wire snap and come up easily. He -threw the Cure on the floor. - -"Now," he said, "I am going out in that rain storm. There's thunder and -lightning out there. I'm afraid, but I can get along without a Cure and -so can you." - -"You can't! Nobody can!" Price screamed after him. He turned to the -others. "If he reveals us, the Cause is lost. We've got to stop him -_for good_. We've got to go after him." - -"It's slippery," Davies whimpered. "I might fall." - -Mrs. Price cuddled her rag doll. "I can't leave the baby and she -mustn't get wet." - -"Well, there's no liquor out there and you can study your text in the -lightning flashes, Reggie. Come on." - - * * * * * - -Running down the streets that were tunnels of shining tar, running into -the knifing ice bristles of the rain, Henry Infield realized that he -was very frightened of the lightning. - -There is no action without a reason, he knew from the old neglected -books. He had had a latent fear of lightning when he chose the -lightning rod Cure. He could have picked a safety belt or foetic gyro -just as well. - -He sneezed. He was soaked through, but he kept on running. He didn't -know what Price and Reggie planned to do when they caught him. He -slipped and fell. He would soon find out what they wanted. The -excitement was all gone now and it left an empty space into which fear -rushed. - -Reggie said, "We shall make a sacrifice." - -Infield looked up and saw the lightning reflected on the blade of a -thin knife. Infield reached toward it more in fascination than fear. He -managed to get all his fingers around two of Reggie's. He jerked and -the knife fell into Infield's palm. The psychiatrist pulled himself -erect by holding to Reggie's arm. Staggering to his feet, he remembered -what he must do and slashed at the waiter's head. A gash streaked -across the man's brow and blood poured into his eyes. He screamed. "I -can't see the words!" - -It was his problem. Infield usually solved other people's problems, but -now he ran away--he couldn't even solve his own. - -Infield realized that he had gone mad as he held the thin blade high -overhead, but he did need some kind of lightning rod. Price (who was -right behind him, gaining) had been right. No one could discard a Cure. -He watched the lightning play its light on the blade of his Cure and he -knew that Price was going to kill him in the next moment. - -He was wrong. - -The lightning hit him first. - - * * * * * - -Reggie squinted under the bandage at the lettering on the door that -said INFIELD & MORGAN and opened the door. He ran across the room to -the man sitting at the desk, reading by the swivel light. - -"Mr. Morgan, your partner, Mr. Infield, he--" - -"Just a moment." Morgan switched on the room lights. "What were you -saying?" - -"Mr. Infield went out without his Cure in a storm and was struck by -lightning. We took him to the morgue. He must have been crazy to go -out without his Cure." - -Morgan stared into his bright desk light without blinking. "This is -quite a shock to me. Would you mind leaving? I'll come over to your -place and you can tell me about it later." - -Reggie went out. "Yes, sir. He was struck by lightning, struck dead. He -must have been crazy to leave his Cure...." The door closed. - -Morgan exhaled. Poor Infield. But it wasn't the lightning that killed -him, of course. Morgan adjusted the soundproofing plugs in his ears, -thinking that you did have to have quite a bit of light to read lips. -The thunder, naturally, was what had killed Infield. Loud noise--any -noise--that would do it every time. Too bad Infield had never really -stopped being one of the Incompletes. Dangerous people. 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