Psi-High and Others (Ace G-730)

by Alan E Nourse

  They waited.

  It might have been hours, or even days, before the probing from the Enemy began. Provost felt it first, for he had known it before, tiny exploratory waves from the alien minds, tentative, easy to strike away. He caught himself just in time, allowed himself no response, trying to make his mind a blank gray surface, a sheet of nothing.

  More probing then, more urgency. Sensations of surprise, of confusion, of concern. Unanswered questions, fleeting whispers of doubt in the alien minds. Slowly confusion gave way to doubt, then to fear.

  This was something the Enemy clearly had not anticipated, this sudden unequivocal collapse. The probing grew more frantic in its intensity. Deepening of doubt, and then, amazingly, regretfulness, self-reproach, uncertainty. What has happened? Could we have destroyed them? Could we have driven them too far?

  The probing stopped abruptly. Provost felt the DepPsych girl stir; vaguely his eyes registered the darkness of the cubicle around him, the oval viewport in the wall showing the pale yellow globe of Saturn lying below, its rings spreading like a delicate filigree....

  Nothing.

  In his own mind he felt a stir of panic, and fought it down. What if the DepPsych girl were wrong? It was only a human mind which had assumed that creatures which behaved alike were alike. In the silence a thousand alternative possibilities flooded his mind. The minutes passed and the panic rose again, stronger. . . .

  Then he saw it in the viewport. Up from the methane clouds they came, slowly, four great ships in perfect formation. They rose and stabilized in orbit, moved again, stabilized, moved again.

  They were approaching the Satellite.

  He felt his fingers clench on the grips as he watched, his mind leaping exultantly. She had been right. They were forced out. The offensive had shifted, and now the Enemy were forced to move.

  Provost saw with perfect clarity the part the DepPsych girl hadn’t told him—the thing he and she were going to do.

  They waited until the ships were very close. Then:

  “ProvostI Nowl”

  They struck out together, as a unit, hard. They hit with all the power they could muster, striking the sensitive alien minds without warning. They could feel the sudden crashing impact of their attack. He could never have done it alone; together their power was staggering. The alien minds were open, confused, defensive; they reeled back in pain and fear—

  In panic.

  Suddenly the four great ships broke apart. They moved out in erratic courses, driving back for the planet's surface. They scuttled like bugs when a rock is overturned, beyond control and frantic. In a matter of minutes they were gone again, and the silence rose like a cloud from the surface.

  VIII

  Somewhere in the Satellite a bell was ringing. John Provost heard it, dreamily, as he rose and stretched his cramped muscles. He met Dorie Kendall in the corridor, and he could tell from the look on her face that she knew it was over, too.

  The aliens were vulnerable. They were vulnerable to the same primitive and irrational defense reactions that humans were vulnerable to when faced with a crisis: the suspension of reason and logic that constituted panic. The knowledge was the weapon that Earthmen needed; to make contact possible.

  Now each side had a weapon. The mirror had reflected the aliens accurately, and the meaning of the reflection was unmistakably clear. There need be no danger in’'contact now. Now there could be a beginning to understanding.

  Without a word John Provost and the girl began to waken the crew of the Satellite.

  EPILOGUE

  Somewhere within the Watcher’s ship a gentle alarm began to chime, more of a dreamlike echo than a sound. The Old One stirred, turned again to the space scanner, as his young companion hurried into the cabin.

  “Is it Kadar? At last?"

  “Look for yourself,” the Old One said.

  In the blackness of space between Mars and Jupiter something had appeared on the screen, a faint fluorescent glow that shimmered and faded and then returned more strongly. Soon it was nearer, and the tiny scooter ship seemed to materialize before their eyes. Then, in a deft maneuver, the scooter came abreast and was engulfed by the mother ship, and Kadar had returned to them.

  At last.

  "No problems?" the Old One asked later, after Kadar had refreshed himself. “Nothing new to add? We can really go?"

  “Nothing new,” said Kadar. “It was a graceful exit, I might say; no fanfare, no suspicions. And we can go—although I’ll miss them, I suppose, after spending so long among them.”

  “And your final impression?”

  “The same as before, of course, for a favorable decision. I’ve known that for decades, just as you have. But even so, we have to go. After all, they don’t need us any more.”

  The Young One, listening dubiously, frowned. "Don’t need us? I don’t understand.”

  “You reviewed the records again?” the Old One asked.

  “Of course—but I thought we were Watchers only. How could they have needed us if we were merely watching? And why was Kadar there so long, posing as one of them in their own Hoffman Center? Have we in fact been doing more than watching? The Covenant forbids contact or interference.”

  The Old One smiled. "Of course. But guidance could be something else again. Especially when a people show such frightening promise. These Earthmen could qualify as Watchers, one day! But the smallest choices now could mean so much, the balance between the right move and the wrong so very delicate. Can a gentle nudge at precisely the right point in time be condemned as interference?”

  “Maybe not,” the Young One said angrily, “but color it as you will, we still have violated the Covenant. We have been more than Watchers here. We have been teachers and guides as well.”

  “Not quite,” the Old One said. “Protectors, if you insist, seeking now and then to shield them from themselves until no shield was needed. What is their quaint term, Kadar? Guardian angels. Every child has one, some of them believe, until he learns to find his way.”

  “And now?” the Young One said.

  "We will be back,” replied the Old One, turning to the ship's controls with finality. “But not as guardian angels. Merely to watch the child grow strong and healthy. He has already learned to find his way.”