One of the gray-clothed men uttered a high-pitched yell of horror. His shaking hand pointed at the hollowed projection of the Stone.
Two human hearts thumped and thudded bloodily about in it. A din of screaming arose in the black hall.
“Your Askab showed such extraordinary presence of mind in taking charge of the situation that I’m convinced you’re controlling him!” Hatzel told Telzey and Trigger in hurried undertones. “However, that was, in fact, the best immediate way of handling this unexpected turn of events! Toru obviously intended treachery against our group. I had to make him and the Servant appear to be the Stone’s intended sacrifices or allow myself to be butchered.”
He added, “I’ll have to let Larking know about this at once—but first I want to warn you. Your lives and those of Casmard and Vallain are no longer endangered, so be satisfied with that! Don’t try to make use of what’s happened to interfere with our plans. They remain essentially unchanged, though details must be modified now. Sams Larking, in other words, will still be the new Askab of Tamandun at the end of Glory Day. Casmard and you two will be seen to a Federation spaceport, and if you’re wise you won’t lose too much time then getting off the planet!”
A bleak smile touched his face.
“This should in fact improve our future position!” he remarked. “The discovery that Toru’s and Ormota’s bodies showed no outward sign of injury after the Stone had taken their hearts has made many new believers in the supernatural tonight!” He turned away, concluding, “Remember what I’ve told you!” and walked off.
They looked after him. Unaware that he was doing it, Hatzel reached into a pocket and switched his mind shield back on. It would stay on now.
Trigger said thoughtfully, “No way those telepaths can find out you had him point the Stone’s wand or whatever it was at himself?”
“No,” Telzey said. “I released my controls on him just a moment ago. Sams is naturally suspicious, but if he looks over Hatzel’s mind, it will seem everything happened exactly as Hatzel thinks it did.”
VIII
The Glory Day games began. The Grand Arena’s spectator sections were astir with rumors, curiosity, and interest. Word had spread of great and strange events in the House of Wirolla the night before—the Regent Torn and the Servant of the Stone had been revealed as traitors and slain by the Stone itself, and the long-absent Askab Penal Casmard again ruled Tamandun, supported unanimously by the nobility. The general expectation was that there would be omens and signs to make this year’s Glory Day one to be long remembered.
Five sat in what previously had been the Regent’s box—the Askab Casmard, Lord Vallain, Telzey, Trigger, and Hatzel, Lord of the Games. Casmard and Vallain were in an undisturbed state of mind. They were undisturbed because they knew that the occurrence in the House of Wirolla, horrifying—though very fortunate—as it had appeared at the time, had been the work of a friendly psi. They knew it because the friendly psi had told each of them so mentally; and they’d compared notes. They didn’t know who the psi was and had been instructed not to try to find out. They wouldn’t. Casmard intended to announce his abdication in favor of Lord Vallain at the end of the day’s games—
Sams Larking and his group were aware that Telzey was controlling Casmard and Vallain, but there was no reason for them to object. The two had needed support and guidance in a critical situation, and she was supporting and guiding them in a way which avoided problems for Sams. Hatzel, when he appeared in the arena box, had murmured to Telzey and Trigger, “Larking tells me you’re cooperating nicely. That’s fine! Let’s be sure it stays that way!” He’d smiled gently at them. He had no doubt it would stay that way. He’d demonstrated his potential for instant deadlines, if there’d been any question about it. And one of Sams’s telepaths was remaining in good enough contact with Casmard and Vallain to catch any suspicious maneuvers Telzey might attempt through them. If she attempted any, Hatzel would be informed at once and was to take whatever steps seemed required. The group was playing for keeps and had made the fact clear.
There was another mind on which Telzey was keeping tabs—that of the yacht navigator. Kewen had been released from the arena pens to which he’d been transferred; and it occurred to Casmard then that a fine seat at the Glory Day games should compensate the poor fellow in part for his unnerving experiences. He wasn’t far from the Askab’s box. One of the telepaths had checked him and found Kewen had been in a state of shock and was coming gradually out of it, held under calming control by Telzey.
As far as the psi group was concerned, that took care of Telzey. She’d been neutralized. She mightn’t like what they were doing, but it didn’t matter. They each had their work to handle now, playing out rehearsed roles in the ascending series of thrills and marvels which would wind up with Sams Larking being roared into office as the new Askab by the people of Tamandun.
The opening events of the games were brisk and colorful enough, but still tame stuff by Tamandun’s standards—mere preludes to what the day should bring. The crowds watched in tolerant appreciation for the most part, details of the action being shown in enlarging screens above each arena section.
Then what seemed to be happening in the arena was no longer what was shown to be happening in the screens. Dovari’s illusions were putting in an appearance. The spectators realized it gradually, grew still, fascinated—the Stone of Wirolla was manifesting in ways it hadn’t manifested before! The illusions weren’t disturbing in themselves. But uncanniness was touching that area of Tamandun.
Dovari was an excellent illusionist, Telzey thought. And now it seemed to be time. She gave Trigger the signal they’d agreed on. Trigger smiled in response, slipped a knockout pill into her mouth, swallowed it.
Ten seconds later, a shock of fright jolted through Kewen’s drowsy complacence. And Kewen responded. Telzey erased her shielding screens in that instant, brought all personal psi activity to an abrupt stop.
Hatzel, sitting behind Casmard, jerked violently, and disappeared. Trigger slumped limply back in her seat, eyes closed. The illusions in the arena whirled in a wild, chaotically ugly turmoil.
Shock waves of alarm could almost be sensed rising from the spectator sections. Perial Casmard calmly switched on the amplifying system before him. His calm voice spoke throughout the Grand Arena, telling his subjects that what they were witnessing wasn’t merely another manifestation but one which, by its very violence, must be regarded as an augury of an approaching great period in Tamandun’s history . . .
It was a rehearsed speech, but Casmard didn’t know it. And it was effective. There was no general panic.
“There’s one type of psi,” Telzey had told Trigger some hours before, “no other psi wants to run into. They call him the howler. A howler has just one talent—he can kick up such a hurricane of psi static that the abilities of any other psis in his range fly out of control and start working every which way. That’s pretty horrible for those psis, especially for the ones with plenty of equipment! The more they can do, the more’s gone suddenly wrong—and the harder they try to hang on to control, the worse the matter gets!
“You and I got hit by a howler when Casmard’s yacht was attacked. It was our navigator. Kewen didn’t know he was doing it; he doesn’t know he’s a psi. But when he gets Frightened, he howls! It’s an unconscious defensive reaction with him. He was frightened then—and your shield began to batter itself with psi energy instead of repelling it. You felt as if your head were being pounded with clubs. I can’t really say how I felt! I went crazy instantly in several different ways. Fortunately, it was just a few seconds before the stun beam they used knocked us and Kewen out—”
This time, Kewen was going to stay frightened for something like three minutes. That, Telzey thought, certainly should be enough. Then his fears would shut off automatically. She’d arranged for that.
Trigger would be unconscious meanwhile, oblivious to the fact that her shield was drawing torrents of hammering energy on itsel
f. While Telzey, awake and unshielded, would have divorced herself from anything remotely resembling an ability to handle psi until the howler had gone out of action again.
IX
Some four hours after the official conclusion of Glory Day in Tamandun, Telzey and Trigger were sitting in a lounge of an Orado-bound liner. Sams Larking walked in, glanced around and came over to their table.
“Why, hello, Sams!” Telzey said. “We didn’t know you were aboard.”
“I know you didn’t,” Sams said. His eyes seemed slightly glazed. He sat down, ordered a drink through the table speaker, sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“To tell you the truth. I’m not in the best of condition,” he said. “But I didn’t feel I needed to be hospitalized. I came on just before takeoff, rather expecting to find you around somewhere.”
“How are the rest of them doing?” Telzey asked. It had taken a while to locate the members of Sams’s group individually and get them under sedation; but they’d all been rounded up at last and transferred to the Federation’s base hospital on Askanam.
Sams shrugged. “They’re not well people, but they’ll recover. They’re shipping out on a hospital boat tomorrow. None of them felt like hanging around Askanam any longer than they had to.” He shook his head. “So you ran in a psi howler on us!”
Telzey lifted her eyebrows. “I did?”
“Since you two are in fine shape, yes. There aren’t that many howlers around. It wasn’t a coincidence that brought one to the Grand Arena, and set him off just as we were going into action. How long did he go on blasting?”
“Three minutes, more or less.”
“It seemed a lifetime,” Sams said darkly. “A hideous, insane lifetime!” His drink came; he emptied it, reordered. “Ah, now!” he said. “That’s a little better! It was rougher on the special talents, you know. Dovari was still running waking nightmares when I left—and those are pretty badly singed pyrotics!”
“Hatzel and the other teleport should have got only a touch,” Telzey said.
Sams nodded. “And that’s what shook them up so completely. Only a touch—and Hatzel found he’d flipped himself halfway around Askanam! The other one didn’t go quite that far, of course; but neither had done that kind of thing before, and neither wants to do it again. They can’t remember how they did it. And they keep thinking of the various gruesome things that can happen to a teleport at the end of a blind flip—those two are very, very scared.”
His second drink came. He took a swallow, set it down, smacked his lips. “Beginning to feel more like myself!” He gave them a brief grin.
Trigger said, “Are you going to try any more operations on Askanam?” Sams shook his head.
“Too much bother. I’d have to build up a new gang. Besides, I decided Telzey was right—I’d get bored to death in a year playing games like that. Who’s Askab in Tamandun now, by the way?”
“Vallain,” Telzey said. “Casmard abdicated publicly in his favor at the end of Glory Day. A popular decision, apparently! Casmard doesn’t intend to go back to Askanam again either.”
“He’s on board?”
“Uh-huh.”
Trigger said, “He was telling us in confidence a short while ago that he and Vallain had personal proof there’d been a mysterious but well-intentioned psi involved in the downfall of Toru and Ormota and the various other strange Glory Day events. He said it was something that shouldn’t discussed, at the psi’s special request.”
“Well, there’s been no significant breach of secrecy then,” Sams said. “The Service might have got stuffy on that point!” He reflected, grinned. “I was sure Toru and Ormota would be taken out one way or another after you two ambushed Hatzel in the gardens!”
“You knew about that, eh?” Telzey said.
“Knowing you,” said Sams, “I didn’t expect you to pass up any opportunities. It wasn’t a surprise.”
“Why didn’t you try to do something about it?”
He shrugged. “Oh, I figured I could spot you Hatzel and still win the game. And if you hadn’t come up with the howler, I’d have done it.” Telzey smiled. “Perhaps you would, Sams—perhaps you would!”
POLTERGEIST
Any power—any talent—anything can be used for good or evil. Sometimes only destruction can be good.
Late summer had faded into fall in that region of Orado, and though the afternoon sun was still warm, the season was over at the mountain resort take. No more than a dozen boats could be seen drifting slowly about its placid surface.
The solitude suited Telzey fine. The last three weeks at college had been packed; the weeks to come were going to be at least as demanding. For this one weekend she was cutting out of the pressure. They were to be two totally unambitious days, dedicated to mental and physical loafing, separated by relaxed nightlong sleep. Then, some time tomorrow evening, refreshed and renewed, she’d head south to Pehanron College and dive back into her study schedule.
The little kayak she’d rented went gliding across the green-blue lake toward the distant banks opposite the quiet resort village. Great cliffs rose there, broken by numerous narrow bays where trees crowded down to the edge of the water. If she came across some interesting looking spot, she might get out and do a little leisurely exploring.
She pressed a fingertip against the acceleration button on the console before her. A paddle was fastened along the side of the kayak, but it hadn’t touched water this afternoon, and wouldn’t. Exercise definitely wasn’t on the program. Telzey clasped her hands behind her head, settled against the cushioned back rest, steering rod held lightly between tanned knees.
Her eyebrows lifted.
What was that?
It came again. A faint quivering tingle, not of the nerves, but of mind . . . a light momentary touch of psi energy. Interest stirred briefly. She was a psi of some months standing, a telepath—still a beginner and aware of it. So far, there hadn’t been as much opportunity to practice her newly discovered abilities as she’d have liked. The college work load was too heavy at present, and she’d learned quickly that investigating the possibilities of a burgeoning psi talent was no casual undertaking. It was full of surprises, not always pleasant ones. She’d have more leisure for that kind of thing by and by.
As for those ripples of energy, they hadn’t necessarily been generated in the vicinity of the lake. Chance could have brought them echoing into her awareness from some other area of the planet. In any case, she didn’t intend to break her restful mood now by trying to determine their source.
Eyes half shut, knees occasionally nudging the kayak’s steering rod a little to one side or the other, Telzey watched the tall gray cliffs along the lake front drift slowly closer. She sensed no more psi touches and the momentary experience soon sank to the back of her thoughts. There was a government department called the Psychology Service which demonstrated a patemalistically restrictive attitude toward psis who weren’t members of its organization and not inclined to join up. Not long after her telepathic ability began to manifest, she’d discovered that the Service had tagged her, put restraints on her use of psi. She’d worked free of the restraints and maneuvered the Service then into accepting the fact that it would be best all around if she were left alone. It wasn’t impossible though that they still had an eye on her, that those psi whispers had been bait designed to draw some reaction from her the Service could study.
Telzey decided not to worry about it. If it had been bait, she hadn’t accepted it. Some other day she might, just to see what would happen.
Nobody seemed to be living along the water inlets among the cliffs. Campers might be there in summer. Tall trees stood gathered above the shelving rocks, and there were indications of animal life. They were pleasant, peaceful nooks. The kayak circled through each in turn, emerged, glided on along the cliffs to the next. So far, Telzey hadn’t seen one that evoked the urge to explore.
But this, she thought, might be it.
Cup-shaped and cons
iderably larger than most, the bay was enclosed by great steep rock walls on both sides. Trees rose above a sandy shore ahead, their ranks stretching far back into a cleft in the mountain. It would be easy to beach the kayak here and get out.
She saw someone lying on the sand then, not far above the water. A motionless figure, face down, feet turned toward her. There was no boat in sight, but an aircar might be parked back among the trees. What seemed immediately wrong was that the man wasn’t dressed for a sprawl on the sand. He was wearing city clothes, an orange and white business suit. She had the impression he might be sick or dead—or stoned and sleeping it off.
She sent the kayak gliding closer to shore. Thirty feet away, she stopped, called out to the figure, “Hello there! Are you all right?”
He wasn’t dead, at any rate. At the sound of her voice, his body jerked; then he was up on hands and knees, staring around at the trees clustered along the bank above him.
“I’m out here!” Telzey called.
He turned his head, saw her, got to his feet. Brushing sand from his coat, he started down toward the water’s edge. Telzey saw his mouth working silently. Something certainly was wrong with that man!
“Are you sick?” she asked him. “You were lying there so quietly.”
He looked distressed. But he shook his head, tried to smile.
“No,” he said. “I’m quite all right. Thank you very much for your concern. It’s good of you. But . . . well, I’d rather be by myself.” He tried to smile again.
Telzey hesitated. His voice indicated he was neither drunk nor doped. “You’re sure you’re all right?” she said. “You don’t look well.”
“No, I’m perfectly all right. Please do go now! This isn’t . . . well, it simply isn’t a good place for a young girl to be.”
Complete Short Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 231