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diff --git a/old/51305.txt b/old/51305.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e56e1cb..0000000 --- a/old/51305.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1137 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Confidence Game, by Jim Harmon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Confidence Game - -Author: Jim Harmon - -Release Date: February 26, 2016 [EBook #51305] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONFIDENCE GAME *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - - Confidence Game - - By JIM HARMON - - Illustrated by EPSTEIN - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Science Fiction June 1957. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - I admit it: I didn't know if I was coming or - going--but I know that if I stuck to the old - man, I was a comer ... even if he was a goner! - - -Doc had this solemn human by the throat when I caught up with him. - -"Tonight," Doc was saying in his old voice that was as crackled and -important as parchment, "tonight Man will reach the Moon. The golden -Moon and the silver ship, symbols of greed. Tonight is the night when -this is to happen." - -"Sure," the man agreed severely, prying a little worriedly at Doc's -arthritic fingers that were clamped on his collar. "No argument. Sure, -up we go. But leave me go or, so help me, I'll fetch you one in the -teeth!" - -I came alongside and carefully started to lever the old man loose, -one finger at a time. It had to be done this way. I had learned that -during all these weeks and months. His hands looked old and crippled, -but I felt they were the strongest in the world. If a half dozen winos -in Seattle hadn't helped me get them loose, Doc and I would have been -wanted for the murder of a North American Mountie. - -It was easier this night and that made me afraid. Doc's thin frame, -layered with lumpy fat, was beginning to muscle-dance against my side. -One of his times was coming on him. Then at last he was free of the -greasy collar of the human. - -"I hope you'll forgive him, sir," I said, not meeting the man's eyes. -"He's my father and very old, as you can see." I laughed inside at the -absurd, easy lie. "Old events seem recent to him." - -The human nodded, Adam's apple jerking in the angry neon twilight. -"'Memory Jump,' you mean. All my great-grandfathers have it. But -Great-great-grandmother Lupos, funny thing, is like a schoolgirl. -Sharp, you know. I.... Say, the poor old guy looks sick. Want any help?" - -I told the human no, thanks, and walked Doc toward the flophouse three -doors down. I hoped we would make it. I didn't know what would happen -if we didn't. Doc was liable to say something that might nova Sol, for -all I knew. - - * * * * * - -Martians approaching the corner were sensing at Doc and me. They -were just cheap tourists slumming down on Skid Row. I hated tourists -and especially I hated Martian tourists because I especially hated -Martians. They were _aliens_. They weren't _men_ like Doc and me. - -Then I realized what was about to happen. It was foolish and awful and -true. I was going to have one of mine at the same time Doc was having -his. That was bad. It had happened a few times right after I first -found him, but now it was worse. For some undefinable reason, I felt we -kept getting closer each of the times. - -I tried not to think about it and helped Doc through the fly-specked -flophouse doors. - -The tubercular clerk looked up from the gaudy comics sections of one of -those little tabloids that have the funnies a week in advance. - -"Fifteen cents a bed," he said mechanically. - -"We'll use one bed," I told him. "I'll give you twenty cents." I felt -the round hard quarter in my pocket, sweaty hand against sticky lining. - -"Fifteen cents a bed," he played it back for me. - -Doc was quivering against me, his legs boneless. - -"We can always make it over to the mission," I lied. - -The clerk turned his upper lip as if he were going to spit. "Awright, -since we ain't full up. In _ad_vance." - -I placed the quarter on the desk. - -"Give me a nickel." - -The clerk's hand fell on the coin and slid it off into the unknown -before I could move, what with holding up Doc. - -"You've got your nerve," he said at me with a fine mist of dew. "Had a -quarter all along and yet you Martian me down to twenty cents." He saw -the look on my face. "I'll give you a _room_ for the two bits. That's -better'n a bed for twenty." - -I knew I was going to need that nickel. _Desperately._ I reached across -the desk with my free hand and hauled the scrawny human up against the -register hard. I'm not as strong in my hands as Doc, but I managed. - -"Give me a nickel," I said. - -"What nickel?" His eyes were big, but they kept looking right at me. -"You don't have any nickel. You don't have any quarter, not if I say -so. Want I should call a cop and tell him you were flexing a muscle?" - -I let go of him. He didn't scare me, but Doc was beginning to mumble -and that _did_ scare me. I had to get him alone. - -"Where's the room?" I asked. - - * * * * * - -The room was six feet in all directions and the walls were five feet -high. The other foot was finished in chicken wire. There was a wino -singing on the left, a wino praying on the right, and the door didn't -have any lock on it. At last, Doc and I were alone. - -I laid Doc out on the gray-brown cot and put his forearm over his face -to shield it some from the glare of the light bulb. I swept off all the -bedbugs in sight and stepped on them heavily. - -Then I dropped down into the painted stool chair and let my burning -eyes rest on the obscene wall drawings just to focus them. I was so -dirty, I could feel the grime grinding together all over me. My shaggy -scalp still smarted from the alcohol I had stolen from a convertible's -gas tank to get rid of Doc's and my cooties. Lucky that I never needed -to shave and that my face was so dirty, no one would even notice that I -didn't need to. - -The cramp hit me and I folded out of the chair onto the littered, -uncovered floor. - -It stopped hurting, but I knew it would begin if I moved. I stared at a -jagged cut-out nude curled against a lump of dust and lint, giving it -an unreal distortion. - -Doc began to mumble louder. - -I knew I had to move. - -I waited just a moment, savoring the painless peace. Then, finally, I -moved. - -I was bent double, but I got from the floor to the chair and found -my notebook and orb-point in my hands. I found I couldn't focus both -my mind and my eyes through the electric flashes of agony, so I -concentrated on Doc's voice and trusted my hands would follow their -habit pattern and construct the symbols for his words. They were -suddenly distinguishable. - -"_Outsider_ ... _Thoth_ ... _Dyzan_ ... _Seven_ ... _Hsan_ ... -_Beyond Six, Seven, Eight_ ... _Two boxes_ ... _Ralston_ ... _Richard -Wentworth_ ... _Jimmy Christopher_ ... _Kent Allard_ ... _Ayem_ ... -_Oh, are_ ... _see_...." - - * * * * * - -His voice rose to a meaningless wail that stretched into non-existence. -The pen slid across the scribbled face of the notebook and both dropped -from my numb hands. But I knew. Somehow, inside me, _I knew_ that these -words were what I had been waiting for. They told everything I needed -to know to become the most powerful man in the Solar Federation. - -That wasn't just an addict's dream. I knew who Doc was. When I got -to thinking it was just a dream and that I was dragging this old man -around North America for nothing, I remembered who he was. - -I remembered that he was somebody very important whose name and work I -had once known, even if now I knew him only as Doc. - -Pain was a pendulum within me, swinging from low throbbing bass to high -screaming tenor. I had to get out and get some. But I didn't have a -nickel. Still, I had to get some. - -I crawled to the door and raised myself by the knob, slick with greasy -dirt. The door opened and shut--there was no lock. I shouldn't leave -Doc alone, but I had to. - -He was starting to cry. He didn't always do that. - -I listened to him for a moment, then tested and tasted the craving that -crawled through my veins. I got back inside somehow. - -Doc was twisting on the cot, tears washing white streaks across his -face. I shoved Doc's face up against my chest. I held onto him and let -him bellow. I soothed the lanks of soiled white hair back over his -lumpy skull. - -He shut up at last and I laid him down again and put his arm back -across his face. (You can't turn the light off and on in places like -that. The old wiring will blow the bulb half the time.) - -I don't remember how I got out onto the street. - - * * * * * - -She was pink and clean and her platinum hair was pulled straight back, -drawing her cheek-bones tighter, straightening her wide, appealing -mouth, drawing her lean, athletic, feminine body erect. She was wearing -a powder-blue dress that covered all of her breasts and hips and the -upper half of her legs. - -The most wonderful thing about her was her perfume. Then I realized it -wasn't perfume, only the scent of soap. Finally, I knew it wasn't that. -It was just healthy, fresh-scrubbed skin. - -I went to her at the bus stop, forcing my legs not to stagger. Nobody -would help a drunk. I don't know why, but nobody will help you if they -think you are blotto. - -"Ma'am, could you help a man who's not had work?" I kept my eyes down. -I couldn't look a human in the eye and ask for help. "Just a dime for a -cup of coffee." I knew where I could get it for three cents, maybe two -and a half. - -I felt her looking at me. She spoke in an educated voice, one she used, -perhaps, as a teacher or supervising telephone operator. "Do you want -it for coffee, or to apply, or a glass or hypo of something else?" - -I cringed and whined. She would expect it of me. I suddenly realized -that anybody as clean as she was had to be a tourist here. I hate -tourists. - -"Just coffee, ma'am." She was younger than I was, so I didn't have to -call her that. "A little more for food, if you could spare it." - -I hadn't eaten in a day and a half, but I didn't care much. - -"I'll buy you a dinner," she said carefully, "provided I can go with -you and see for myself that you actually eat it." - -I felt my face flushing red. "You wouldn't want to be seen with a bum -like me, ma'am." - -"I'll be seen with you if you really want to eat." - -It was certainly unfair and probably immoral. But I had no choice -whatever. - -"Okay," I said, tasting bitterness over the craving. - - * * * * * - -The coffee was in a thick white cup before me on the counter. It was -pale, grayish brown and steaming faintly. I picked it up in both hands -to feel its warmth. - -Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman sitting on the stool -beside me. She had no right to intrude. This moment should be mine, but -there she sat, marring it for me, a contemptible _tourist_. - -I gulped down the thick, dark liquid brutally. It was all I could -do. The cramp flowed out of my diaphragm. I took another swallow and -was able to think straight again. A third swallow and I felt--good. -Not abnormally stimulated, but strong, alert, poised on the brink of -exhilaration. - -That was what coffee did for me. - -I was a caffeine addict. - -Earth-norm humans sometimes have the addiction to a slight extent, but -I knew that as a Centurian I had it infinitely worse. Caffeine affected -my metabolism like a pure alkaloid. The immediate effects weren't the -same, but the _need_ ran as deep. - -I finished the cup. I didn't order another because I wasn't a pure -sensualist. I just needed release. Sometimes, when I didn't have the -price of a cup, I would look around in alleys and find cola bottles -with a few drops left in them. They have a little caffeine in -them--not enough, never enough, but better than nothing. - -"Now what do you want to eat?" the woman asked. - -I didn't look at her. She didn't know. She thought I was a human--an -_Earth_ human. I was a _man_, of course, not an _alien_ like a Martian. -Earthmen ran the whole Solar Federation, but I was just as good as an -Earthman. With my suntan and short mane, I could pass, couldn't I? That -proved it, didn't it? - -"Hamburger," I said. "Well done." I knew that would probably be all -they had fit to eat at a place like this. It might be horse meat, but -then I didn't have the local prejudices. - -I didn't look at the woman. I couldn't. But I kept remembering how -clean she looked and I was aware of how clean she smelled. I was so -dirty, so very dirty that I could never get clean if I bathed every -hour for the rest of my life. - -The hamburger was engulfed by five black-crowned, broken fingernails -and raised to two rows of yellow ivory. I surrounded it like an ameba, -almost in a single movement of my jaws. - -Several other hamburgers followed the first. I lost count. I drank a -glass of milk. I didn't want to black out on coffee with Doc waiting -for me. - -"Could I have a few to take with me, miss?" I pleaded. - -She smiled. I caught that out of the edge of my vision, but mostly I -just felt it. - -"That's the first time you've called me anything but 'ma'am'," she -said. "I'm not an old-maid schoolteacher, you know." - -That probably meant she was a schoolteacher, though. "No, miss," I said. - -"It's Miss Casey--Vivian Casey," she corrected. She was a -schoolteacher, all right. No other girl would introduce herself as Miss -Last Name. Then there was something in her voice.... - -"What's your name?" she said to me. - -I choked a little on a bite of stale bun. - -I _had_ a name, _of course_. - - * * * * * - -Everybody has a name, and I knew if I went off somewhere quiet and -thought about it, mine would come to me. Meanwhile, I would tell the -girl that my name was ... Kevin O'Malley. Abruptly I realized that that -_was_ my name. - -"Kevin," I told her. "John Kevin." - -"Mister Kevin," she said, her words dancing with bright absurdity like -waterhose mist on a summer afternoon, "I wonder if you could help _me_." - -"Happy to, miss," I mumbled. - -She pushed a white rectangle in front of me on the painted maroon bar. -"What do you think of this?" - -I looked at the piece of paper. It was a coupon from a magazine. - - Dear Acolyte R. I. S.: - - Please send me FREE of obligation, in sealed wrapper, "The - Scarlet Book" revealing to me how I may gain Secret Mastery of the - Universe - - Name: ........................ - - Address: ..................... - -The world disoriented itself and I was on the floor of the somber diner -and Miss Vivian Casey was out of sight and scent. - -There was a five dollar bill tight in my fist. The counterman was -trying to pull it out. - -I looked up at his stubbled face. "I had half a dozen hamburgers, a -cup of coffee and a glass of milk. I want four more 'burgers to go and -a pint of coffee. By your prices, that will be one sixty-five--if the -lady didn't pay you." - -"She didn't," he stammered. "Why do you think I was trying to get that -bill out of your hand?" - -I didn't say anything, just got up off the floor. After the counterman -put down my change, I spread out the five dollar bill on the vacant -bar, smoothing it. - -I scooped up my change and walked out the door. There was no one on the -sidewalk, only in the doorways. - - * * * * * - -First I opened the door on an amber world, then an azure one. Neon -light was coming from the chickenwire border of the room, from a window -somewhere beyond. The wino on one side of the room was singing and -the one on the other side was praying, same as before. Only they had -changed around--prayer came from the left, song from the right. - -Doc sat on the floor in the half-darkness and he had made a _thing_. - -My heart hammered at my lungs. I _knew_ this last time had been -different. Whatever it was was getting closer. This was the first time -Doc had ever made anything. It didn't look like much, but it was a -start. - -He had broken the light bulb and used the filament and screw bottom. -His strong hands had unraveled some of the bed "springs"--metal -webbing--and fashioned them to his needs. My orb-point pen had -dissolved under his touch. All of them, useless parts, were made into a -meaningful whole. - -I knew the thing had meaning, but when I tried to follow its design, I -became lost. - -I put the paper container of warm coffee and the greasy bag of -hamburgers on the wooden chair, hoping the odor wouldn't bring any -hungry rats out of the walls. - -I knelt beside Doc. - -"An order, my boy, an order," he whispered. - -I didn't know what he meant. Was he suddenly trying to give me orders? - -He held something out to me. It was my notebook. He had used my pen, -before dismantling it, to write something. I tilted the notebook -against the neon light, now red wine, now fresh grape. I read it. - -"Concentrate," Doc said hoarsely. "Concentrate...." - -I wondered what the words meant. Wondering takes a kind of -concentration. - -The words "First Edition" were what I was thinking about most. - - * * * * * - -The heavy-set man in the ornate armchair was saying, "The bullet struck -me as I was pulling on my boot...." - -I was kneeling on the floor of a Victorian living room. I'm quite -familiar with Earth history and I recognized the period immediately. - -Then I realized what I had been trying to get from Doc all these -months--time travel. - -A thin, sickly man was sprawled in the other chair in a rumpled -dressing gown. My eyes held to his face, his pinpoint pupils and -whitened nose. He was a condemned snowbird! If there was anything I -hated or held in more contempt than tourists or Martians, it was a -snowbird. - -"My clients have occasioned singular methods of entry into these -rooms," the thin man remarked, "but never before have they used -instantaneous materialization." - -The heavier man was half choking, half laughing. "I say--I say, I would -like to see you explain this, my dear fellow." - -"I have no data," the thin man answered coolly. "In such instance, one -begins to twist theories into fact, or facts into theories. I must ask -this unemployed, former professional man who has gone through a serious -illness and is suffering a more serious addiction to tell me the place -and _time_ from which he comes." - -The surprise stung. "How did you know?" I asked. - -He gestured with a pale hand. "To maintain a logical approach, I must -reject the supernatural. Your arrival, unless hallucinatory--and -despite my voluntary use of one drug and my involuntary experiences -recently with another, I must accept the evidence of my senses or -retire from my profession--your arrival was then super-normal. I might -say super-scientific, of a science not of my or the good doctor's time, -clearly. Time travel is a familiar folk legend and I have been reading -an article by the entertaining Mr. Wells. Perhaps he will expand it -into one of his novels of scientific romance." - -I knew who these two men were, with a tormenting doubt. "But the -other--" - -"Your hands, though unclean, have never seen physical labor. Your -cranial construction is of a superior type, or even if you reject my -theories, concentration does set the facial features. I judge you have -suffered an illness because of the inhibition of your beard growth. -Your over-fondness for rum or opium, perhaps, is self-evident. You -are at too resilient an age to be so sunk by even an amour. Why else -then would you let yourself fall into such an underfed and unsanitary -state?" - - * * * * * - -He was so smug and so sure, this snowbird. I hated him. Because I -couldn't trust to my own senses as he did. - -"You don't exist," I said slowly, painfully. "You are fictional -creations." - -The doctor flushed darkly. "You give my literary agent too much credit -for the addition of professional polish to my works." - -The other man was filling a large, curved pipe from something that -looked vaguely like an ice-skate. "Interesting. Perhaps if our visitor -would tell us something of his age with special reference to the theory -and practice of temporal transference, Doctor, we would be better -equipped to judge whether we exist." - -There was no theory or practice of time travel. I told them all I had -ever heard theorized from Hindu yoga through Extra-sensory Perception -to Relativity and the positron and negatron. - -"Interesting." He breathed out suffocating black clouds of smoke. -"Presume that the people of your time by their 'Extra-sensory -Perception' have altered the past to make it as they suppose it to be. -The great historical figures are made the larger than life-size that we -know them. The great literary creations assume reality." - -I thought of Cleopatra and Helen of Troy and wondered if they would be -the goddesses of love that people imagined or the scrawny, big-nosed -redhead and fading old woman of scholarship. Then I noticed the -detective's hand that had been resting idly on a round brass weight of -unknown sort to me. His tapered fingertips had indented the metal. - -His bright eyes followed mine and he smiled faintly. "Withdrawal -symptoms." - -The admiration and affection for this man that had been slowly building -up behind my hatred unbrinked. I remembered now that he had stopped. He -was not _really_ a snowbird. - -After a time, I asked the doctor a question. - -"Why, yes. I'm flattered. This is the first manuscript. Considering my -professional handwriting, I recopied it more laboriously." - -Accepting the sheaf of papers and not looking back at these two great -and good men, I concentrated on my own time and Doc. Nothing happened. -My heart raced, but I saw something dancing before me like a dust mote -in sunlight and stepped toward it.... - -... into the effective range of Miss Casey's tiny gun. - - * * * * * - -She inclined the lethal silver toy. "Let me see those papers, Kevin." - -I handed her the doctor's manuscript. - -Her breath escaped slowly and loudly. "It's all right. It's all right. -It exists. It's real. Not even one of the unwritten ones. I've read -this myself." - -Doc was lying on the cot, half his face twisted into horror. - -"Don't move, Kevin," she said. "I'll have to shoot you--maybe not to -kill, but painfully." - -I watched her face flash blue, red, blue and knew she meant it. But I -had known too much in too short a time. I had to help Doc, but there -was something else. - -"I just want a drink of coffee from that container on the chair," I -told her. - -She shook her head. "I don't know what you think it does to you." - -It was getting hard for me to think. "Who are you?" - -She showed me a card from her wrist purse. Vivian Casey, Constable, -North American Mounted Police. - -I had to help Doc. I had to have some coffee. "What do you want?" - -"Listen, Kevin. Listen carefully to what I am saying. Doc found -a method of time travel. It was almost a purely mathematical, -topographical way divorced from modern physical sciences. He kept it -secret and he wanted to make money with it. He was an idealist--he had -his crusades. How can you make money with time travel?" - -I didn't know whether she was asking me, but I didn't know. All I knew -was that I had to help Doc and get some coffee. - -"It takes money--money Doc didn't have--to make money," Miss Casey -said, "even if you know what horse will come in and what stock will -prosper. Besides, horse-racing and the stock market weren't a part of -Doc's character. He was a scholar." - -Why did she keep using the past tense in reference to Doc? It scared -me. He was lying so still with the left side of his face so twisted. I -needed some coffee. - -"He became a book finder. He got rare editions of books and magazines -for his clients in absolutely mint condition. That was all right--until -he started obtaining books that _did not exist_." - - * * * * * - -I didn't know what all that was supposed to mean. I got to the chair, -snatched up the coffee container, tore it open and gulped down the -soothing liquid. - -I turned toward her and threw the rest of the coffee into her face. - -The coffee splashed out over her platinum hair and powder-blue dress -that looked white when the neon was azure, purple when it was amber. -The coffee stained and soiled and ruined, and I was fiercely glad, -unreasonably happy. - -I tore the gun away from her by the short barrel, not letting my filthy -hands touch her scrubbed pink ones. - -I pointed the gun generally at her and backed around the _thing_ on the -floor to the cot. Doc had a pulse, but it was irregular. I checked for -a fever and there wasn't one. After that, I didn't know what to do. - -I looked up finally and saw a Martian in or about the doorway. - -"Call me Andre," the Martian said. "A common name but foreign. It -should serve as a point of reference." - -I had always wondered how a thing like a Martian could talk. Sometimes -I wondered if they really could. - -"You won't need the gun," Andre said conversationally. - -"I'll keep it, thanks. What do _you_ want?" - -"I'll begin as Miss Casey did--by telling you things. Hundreds of -people disappeared from North America a few months ago." - -"They always do," I told him. - -"They ceased to exist--as human beings--shortly after they received a -book from Doc," the Martian said. - -Something seemed to strike me in the back of the neck. I staggered, but -managed to hold onto the gun and stand up. - -"Use one of those sneaky Martian weapons again," I warned him, -"and I'll kill the girl." Martians were supposed to be against the -destruction of any life-form, I had read someplace. I doubted it, but -it was worth a try. - -"Kevin," Andre said, "why don't you take a bath?" - -The Martian weapon staggered me again. I tried to say something. I -tried to explain that I was so dirty that I could never get clean no -matter how often I bathed. No words formed. - -"But, Kevin," Andre said, "you aren't _that_ dirty." - - * * * * * - -The blow shook the gun from my fingers. It almost fell into the _thing_ -on the floor, but at the last moment seemed to change direction and -miss it. - -I knew something. "I don't wash because I drink coffee." - -"It's all right to drink coffee, isn't it?" he asked. - -"Of course," I said, and added absurdly, "That's why I don't wash." - -"You mean," Andre said slowly, ploddingly, "that if you bathed, you -would be admitting that drinking coffee was in the same class as any -other solitary vice that makes people wash frequently." - -I was knocked to my knees. - -"Kevin," the Martian said, "drinking coffee represents a major vice -only in Centurian humanoids, not Earth-norm human beings. _Which are -you?_" - -Nothing came out of my gabbling mouth. - -"_What is Doc's full name?_" - -I almost fell in, but at the last instant I caught myself and said, -"Doctor Kevin O'Malley, Senior." - -From the bed, Doc said a word. "Son." - -Then he disappeared. - -I looked at that which he had made. I wondered where he had gone, in -search of what. - -"He didn't use that," Andre said. - -So I was an Earthman, Doc's son. So my addiction to coffee was all in -my mind. That didn't change anything. They say sex is all in your mind. -I didn't want to be cured. I wouldn't be. Doc was gone. That was all I -had now. That and the _thing_ he left. - -"The rest is simple," Andre said. "Doc O'Malley bought up all the stock -in a certain ancient metaphysical order and started supplying members -with certain books. Can you imagine the effect of the _Book of Dyzan_ -or the _Book of Thoth_ or the _Seven Cryptical Books of Hsan_ or the -_Necronomican_ itself on human beings?" - -"But they don't exist," I said wearily. - -"Exactly, Kevin, exactly. They have never existed any more than your -Victorian detective friend. But the unconscious racial mind has reached -back into time and created them. And that unconscious mind, deeper than -psychology terms the subconscious, has always known about the powers -of ESP, telepathy, telekinesis, precognition. Through these books, -the human race can tell itself how to achieve a state of pure logic, -without food, without sex, without conflict--just as Doc has achieved -such a state--a little late, true. He had a powerful guilt complex, -even stronger than your withdrawal, over releasing this blessing on -the inhabited universe, but reason finally prevailed. He had reached a -state of pure thought." - -"The North American government _has_ to have this secret, Kevin," the -girl said. "You can't let it fall into the hands of the Martians." - - * * * * * - -Andre did not deny that he wanted it to fall into his hands. - -I knew I could not let Doc's--Dad's--time travel _thing_ fall into -anyone's hands. I remembered that all the copies of the books had -disappeared with their readers now. There must not be any more, I knew. - -Miss Casey did her duty and tried to stop me with a judo hold, but I -don't think her heart was in it, because I reversed and broke it. - -I kicked the _thing_ to pieces and stomped on the pieces. Maybe you -can't stop the progress of science, but I knew it might be millenniums -before Doc's genes and creative environment were recreated and time -travel was rediscovered. Maybe we would be ready for it then. I knew we -weren't now. - -Miss Casey leaned against my dirty chest and cried into it. I didn't -mind her touching me. - -"I'm glad," she said. - -Andre flowed out of the doorway with a sigh. Of relief? - -I would never know. I supposed I had destroyed _it_ because I didn't -want the human race to become a thing of pure reason without purpose, -direction or love, but I would never know for sure. I thought I could -kick the habit--perhaps with Miss Casey's help--but I wasn't really -confident. - -Maybe I had destroyed the time machine because a world without material -needs would not grow and roast coffee. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Confidence Game, by Jim Harmon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONFIDENCE GAME *** - -***** This file should be named 51305.txt or 51305.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/3/0/51305/ - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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