The Sensitive Man

by Poul Anderson

for us to interrogate you about thesecomplex matters under its influence but we will surely find out if youhave been answering our present questions correctly."

  "And what then? Do you just let me go?"

  Bancroft shrugged. "Why shouldn't we? We may have to keep you here forawhile but soon you will have ceased to matter and can safely bereleased."

  Dalgetty considered. Not even he could do much against truth drugs.And there were still more radical procedures, prefrontal lobotomy forinstance. He shivered. The leatherite straps felt damp against histhin clothing.

  He looked at Bancroft. "What do you really want?" he asked. "Why areyou working for Bertrand Meade?"

  Bancroft's heavy mouth lifted in a smile. "I thought you were supposedto answer the questions," he said.

  "Whether I do or not depends on whose questions they are," saidDalgetty. _Stall for time! Put it off, the moment of terror, put itoff!_ "Frankly, what I know of Meade doesn't make me friendly. But Icould be wrong."

  "Mr. Meade is a distinguished executive."

  "Uh-huh. He's also the power behind a hell of a lot of politicalfigures, including you. He's the real boss of the Actionist movement."

  "What do you know of that?" asked the woman sharply.

  "It's a complicated story," said Dalgetty, "but essentially Actionismis a--a _Weltanschauung_. We're still recovering from the World Warsand their aftermath. People everywhere are swinging away from greatvague capitalized causes toward a cooler and clearer view of life.

  "It's analogous to the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, which alsofollowed a period of turmoil between conflicting fanaticisms. A beliefin reason is growing up even in the popular mind, a spirit ofmoderation and tolerance. There's a wait-and-see attitude towardeverything, including the sciences and particularly the newhalf-finished science of psychodynamics. The world wants to rest forawhile.

  "Well, such a state of mind has its own drawbacks. It produceswonderful structures of thought but there's something cold about them.There is so little real passion, so much caution--the arts, forinstance, are becoming ever more stylized. Old symbols like religionand the sovereign state and a particular form of government, for whichmen once died, are openly jeered at. We can formulate the semanticcondition at the Institute in a very neat equation.

  "And you don't like it. Your kind of man needs something big. And mereconcrete bigness isn't enough. You could give your lives to thesciences or to inter-planetary colonization or to social correction,as many people are cheerfully doing--but those aren't for you. Downunderneath you miss the universal father-image.

  "You want an almighty Church or an almighty State or an almighty_anything_, a huge misty symbol which demands everything you've gotand gives in return only a feeling of belonging." Dalgetty's voice washarsh. "In short, you can't stand on your own psychic feet. You can'tface the truth that man is a lonely creature and that his purpose mustcome from within himself."

  Bancroft scowled. "I didn't come here to be lectured," he said.

  "Have it your way," answered Dalgetty. "I thought you wanted to knowwhat I knew of Actionism. That's it in unprecise verbal language.Essentially you want to be a Leader in a Cause. Your men, such asaren't merely hired, want to be Followers. Only there isn't a Causearound, these days, except the common-sense one of improving humanlife."

  The woman, Casimir, leaned over the desk. There was a curiousintensity in her eyes. "You just pointed out the drawbacks yourself,"she said. "This _is_ a decadent period."

  "No," said Dalgetty. "Unless you insist on loaded connotations. It's anecessary period of rest. Recoil time for a whole society--well, itall works out neatly in Tighe's formulation. The present state ofaffairs should continue for about seventy-five years, we feel at theInstitute. In that time, reason can--we hope--be so firmly implantedin the basic structure of society that when the next great wave ofpassion comes it won't turn men against each other.

  "The present is, well, analytic. While we catch our breath we canbegin to understand ourselves. When the next synthetic--or creative orcrusading period, if you wish--comes, it will be saner than all whichhave gone before. And man can't afford to go insane again. Not in thesame world with the lithium bomb."

  Bancroft nodded. "And you in the Institute are trying to control thisprocess," he said. "You're trying to stretch out the period of--damnit, of decadence! Oh, I've studied the modern school system too,Dalgetty. I know how subtly the rising generation is beingindoctrinated--through policies formulated by _your_ men in thegovernment."

  "Indoctrinated? Trained, I would say. Trained in self-restraint andcritical thinking." Dalgetty grinned with one side of his mouth."Well, we aren't here to argue generalities. Specifically Meade feelshe has a mission. He is the natural leader of America--ultimately,through the U.N., in which we are still powerful, the world. He wantsto restore what he calls 'ancestral virtues'--you see, I've listenedto his speeches and yours, Bancroft.

  "These virtues consist of obedience, physical _and_ mental, to'constituted authority'--of 'dynamism,' which operationally speakingmeans people ought to jump when he gives an order--of .... Oh, why goon? It's the old story. Power hunger, the recreation of the AbsoluteState, this time on a planetary scale.

  "With psychological appeals to some and with promises of reward toothers he's built up quite a following. But he's shrewd enough to knowthat he can't just stage a revolution. He has to make people want him.He has to reverse the social current until it swings back toauthoritarianism--with him riding the crest.

  "And that of course is where the Institute comes in. Yes, we havedeveloped theories which make at least a beginning at explaining thefacts of history. It was a matter not so much of gathering data as ofinventing a rigorous self-correcting symbology and our paramathematicsseems to be just that. We haven't published all of our findingsbecause of the uses to which they could be put. If you know exactlyhow to go about it you can shape world society into almost any imageyou want--in fifty years or less! You want that knowledge of ours foryour purposes!"

  Dalgetty fell silent. There was a long quietness. His own breathingseemed unnaturally loud.

  "All right." Bancroft nodded again, slowly. "You haven't told usanything we don't know."

  "I'm well aware of that," said Dalgetty.

  "Your phrasing was rather unfriendly," said Bancroft. "What you don'tappreciate is the revolting stagnation and cynicism of this age."

  "Now you're using the loaded words," said Dalgetty. "Facts just _are_.There's no use passing moral judgments on reality, the only thing youcan do is try to change it."

  "Yes," said Bancroft. "All right then, we're trying. Do you want tohelp us?"

  "You could beat the hell out of me," said Dalgetty, "but it wouldn'tteach you a science that it takes years to learn."

  "No, but we'd know just what you have and where to find it. We havesome good brains on our side. Given your data and equations they canfigure it out." The pale eyes grew wholly chill. "You don't seem toappreciate your situation. You're a prisoner, understand?"

  Dalgetty braced his muscles. He didn't reply.

  Bancroft sighed. "Bring him in," he said.

  One of the guards went out. Dalgetty's heart stumbled. _Dad_, hethought. It was anguish in him. Casimir walked over to stand in frontof him. Her eyes searched his.

  "Don't be a fool," she said. "It hurts worse than you know. Tell us."

  He looked up at her. _I'm afraid_, he thought. _God knows I'm afraid._His own sweat was acrid in his nostrils. "No," he said.

  "I tell you they'll do everything!" She had a nice voice, low andsoft, but it roughened now. Her face was colorless with strain. "Go onman, don't condemn yourself to--mindlessness!"

  There was something strange here. Dalgetty's senses began to reachout. She was leaning close and he knew the signs of horror even if shetried to hide them. _She's not so hard as she makes out--but then whyis she with them?_

  He threw a bluff. "I know who you are," he said. "Shall I tell yourfriends?"

  "No, you
don't!" She stepped back, rigid, and his whetted sensescaught the fear-smell. In a moment there was control and she said,"All right then, have it your way."

  And underneath, the thought, slowed by the gluiness of panic, _Does heknow I'm FBI?_

  _FBI!_ He jerked against the straps. Ye gods!

  Calmness returned to him as she walked to her chief but his mindwhirred. Yes, why not?