“Then the voices went away. I was completely alone in a void. I was falling into a vortex that sucked me up and pulled me in ever faster and deeper. I fell for a long time, then blacked out completely. When I came to, I was walking around on the upper deck, wondering whether the subject in the SD chamber was ready to be taken out and questioned.”
“You were—”
“I was someone else. I was the man with the smug look who had put me away. For a time the identification was complete; my own personality was entirely submerged. When I realized the split, I thought at first that part of me was going crazy and the rest of me wasn’t noticing. Then I remembered that I was the subject in the SD chamber that I was thinking about. Then I knew what had happened; either I was in the most realistic hallucination since man ate moldy bread, or I was a telepath. Believe me, it’s the hard way to acquire the skill.”
“What happened?”
“Well, either I convinced them that I was a fully-conditioned double-agent, since I knew what reactions they were looking for, or I’m still in that goddam sensory deprivation chamber having one hell of a hallucination. Do you believe all this?”
Robert smiled a tight-lipped smile. “Can’t you tell?”
Friendly closed his eyes. “—hard way—clearly worth it in the long run—pain—depths of empathy—something about a one-eyed man—confused imagery—what I’m thinking—got to close—no! mustn’t think about—well! I didn’t know that you—”
“All right.” Robert said sharply, holding his ears in an instinctive, futile gesture. “Stop!”
“I have.”
Robert considered for a moment. “I believe you. Completely. Why did you decide to tell me?”
“You’re going to have to have faith in me for what we are about to do. The best way to engender faith is to give a good, logical reason why it is deserved.”
Robert nodded. “Fair enough, that makes sense. Why do we have to go ahead at all? I mean, if you can read minds—and I don’t doubt that you can—why not just get the information from out here?”
“It’s much easier face to face. It would take a crew of telepaths working at a distance and a computer correlating what they picked up to get what we need without personal contact.”
*
On the screen: The Tuna rested on the rocky bottom of the Atlantic while a squadron of E-boats roared across the surface, seeding depth charges behind them like vindictive, mechanical Onans. Watching: Four female receptors and a male receptor, their eyes focused in drugged unconcern, while carefully metered doses of esoteric drugs kept them telepathically sensitive and verbally oriented. They watched, they heard, and they spoke. Microphones picked up every murmur and fed the sound into preliminary analyzers, which sorted out the recognizable words and passed them into the computer.
The computer sorted out key words, key phrases; compiled, compared, checked for overlap, and posted its output as hard copy and as a moving line of sentences on a cathode ray tube. The content analyzer, the first human on the chain, sat watch over the tube, circling new key words and arrowing possible correlations with a light-pencil, feeding acquired information immediately back into the machine. Occasionally the computer would backtrack and print out an expanded version of a phrase or statement that was now considered to be of possible value.
Hing slumped over the printout, his chin cupped in his hands, and stared at the words forming line by line beneath his nose. “It is not enough,” he complained. “Too slow, and in too small bits.”
The elder Sen considered his long nails. “Modern technology makes you impatient. As I understand it, the brain-in-a-box will become increasingly more efficient as it learns what to look for.”
“Yes, but our human component, the receptors, they will stay at the same level of rambling efficiency. Is there nothing we can do to make them more efficient? This is, I assure you, a purely rhetorical—hypothetical—question.”
“Perhaps,” Sen offered, “we could attempt to observe which of the sea-films they are watching provokes them to the highest percentage of usable output.”
Hing lifted his head and stared thoughtfully at the submarine running silent and deep across the screen. “It is a possibility. It is certainly worth checking. I thank you, Senior Sen. I shall endeavor to make it a practice to ask you my rhetorical questions on a more regular basis.”
“It seems a shame,” Sen mused, tapping a fingernail on his nose, “that we can’t use willing, or even eager, receptors. Surely in the vast population of the People’s Republic—”
“Have you thought what that would mean?” Hing asked, shaking his head. “Picture it from the practical side. Think of what it would be like to have someone around who could read your mind—someone who is not under your complete control. No, the dangers are too vast to contemplate. Think of it, Grandfather, the final privacy gone. No, it is a useful tool in the hands of the state, but for some private individual—it does not bear thinking about.”
*
“Just follow my lead,” Friendly whispered as they rounded the building, headed for the ship. The guard at the foot of the gangplank snapped to attention at their approach. He seemed, Robert was glad to note, not at all surprised by Friendly’s timeless version of a dress uniform. “Gentlemen!” he snapped.
Friendly snapped his security badge to his collar and Robert fumbled for the chain around his neck and made a half-hearted attempt to pull his out. “Serapis,” Friendly said firmly.
“Bonne Homme Richard,” the sailor replied. “Pass.”
They mounted the gangplank. An ensign stumbled out of the cabin at the top, trying to simultaneously button his collar, adjust his tie, and fasten his jacket. They saluted the ship, fore and aft, and the flag in ancient ceremony while the ensign straightened himself up. “Permission to board?” Friendly enquired in stentorian tones, frowning severely at the ensign’s antics.
“Permission, ah, granted,” the ensign said, finally getting the stiff jacket collar buttoned. His uniform dated to somewhere around the Civil War. He snapped an impressively stiff salute. “Welcome aboard, sir. Gentlemen. Ah—?”
“Protocol officer,” Friendly told him. “My aide. You were expecting us?”
“Ah, yes. Yes, sir. A Jonesgram just came through informing us you were coming, ah, tonight. You’re, ah, early.”
“Yes,” Friendly agreed.
“Ah!”
“Well, Ensign, let’s get down to the, um, heart of the matter.”
“Ah, yes. Aye, Aye, sir. Please follow me.” He led them along corridors and down ladders to the lower decks of the Alfred, stopping in front of a small, wood-paneled door. “Here we are, sirs.” He touched a button and the door slid aside, revealing a tiny room. They entered and the ensign touched an inner button closing the door. The room started to descend.
“An elevator!” Robert said. Friendly scowled.
“Yes, sir,” the ensign said. “Under the ship, under the dock, and under the ground. We’ll be at headquarters in a minute.”
The morning shift was coming on duty as the ensign led them down the blue and white underground corridors. Robert saw a variety of anachronistic uniforms on the men hurrying to work.
“I’ll leave you here, gentlemen,” the ensign said, stopping in front of a door labeled CONFERENCE. “Someone will be along to take care of you directly. I have to get back topside.”
“Of course,” Captain Friendly said, striding into the room and easing himself into one of the wooden armchairs surrounding the highly-polished veneer of the conference table.
“The mess is still serving, if you’d like me to send a steward for a couple of breakfast trays,” the ensign offered.
“I would hold you in high esteem and see that your name is mentioned in the dispatches if you could arrange that,” Friendly informed him.
The ensign smiled. “Very good, sir. I’ll see to it. The name is Pulver, sir.” He backed out of the room and closed the door.
Robert dropped into a cha
ir and felt what energy reserve he had left draining out through his fingertips and the soles of his feet. He waited until he had Friendly’s attention and then mouthed “Can we talk?” clearly and silently.
Friendly shook his head no. But I can listen, the words formed in Robert’s head. Tell me what you want.
Robert thought: I want you out of my head!
Subvocalize and I will hear only what you say. I won’t probe any deeper. Don’t speak aloud, this room has more mikes and cameras on it than a sound stage.
Robert nodded. “Do they suspect us?” he breathed.
No. No more than any paranoid suspects everyone. SOP.
“I think I’ve figured out the uniforms.”
You could have asked.
“I did. I got a lecture about the Continental Congress. How did you know the John Paul Jones Society would use old dress uniforms as a recognition device?”
I picked the mind of Commander Pickwick. Our stuttering spy friend gave me a lot of valuable background. One good look around this place and I should have everything we need. What to do about it is going to present an interesting problem, but time is a stream and first we have to paddle ashore.
“What does that mean?”
Smile, here comes our breakfast. “As I was saying, Lieutenant, the advantages of a square sail over a lateen rig for anything over one mast becomes painfully evident when you have to run close-hauled in heavy weather. Ah! Thank you, steward. What an attractive setting: good china, heavy silverware, linen napkins, silver coffee pot; much better treatment than we’re used to.”
The steward looked pleased. He set the dishes in front of them with the care of a French waiter and whisked the trays away. “I took the liberty of assuming that you gentlemen would like poached eggs,” he said, “but if that’s not satisfactory, it will only take a minute—”
“Fine for me,” Robert said, hefting his fork.
“It’s as if you read my mind,” Friendly assured the steward.
“Very good, sir. I’ll come by and clear up later.”
Robert subvocalized while he was chewing. “Do you possess the power to cloud men’s minds?”
How’s that?
“They expected us.”
Oh, that. They do expect someone. The JPJS is set up in the cell system, like most efficient illicit organizations. In this case it works to our advantage; they don’t know the name of the protocol officer they’re expecting. As long as we get out of here before he arrives, we’re fine. Friendly devoured a piece of toast.
“They have no way of checking?”
We’ll probably get a series of test questions: the usual spy-type games. Since I can read the answers they expect, we should have little trouble. Just keep all your senses pitched to the usual hyperthalamic level and relax.
“Ha!” Robert choked on his toast. Friendly was slapping him on the back when the door opened.
“At ease!” The admiral who came in was dressed to fight the War of 1812. The captain who accompanied him could have stood alongside Perry when they steamed into Araga Harbor. “Finish your meal, gentlemen.”
Friendly stood up, followed by Robert. “Admiral Luche, sir. I’d recognize you anywhere.” He extended his hand. “Captain Addison Friendly, sir. My aide, Lieutenant Burrows.”
Luche took the hand and shook it precisely, like a man metering a cut of bologna. “Friendly. Burrows. Burrows? Do I know you, Lieutenant? My staff officer, Captain Leem. Burrows? The name rings a bell?”
“My father, sir. Or perhaps my uncle. I haven’t done anything to attract attention.”
“Eh? Well, I suppose. You will, Lieutenant, you will. Stick with me, boy.” He turned his attention back to Friendly, much to Robert’s relief. “Welcome aboard. We didn’t expect you until this afternoon. America first.”
“Last and always,” Friendly agreed, sitting down. “Can we offer you coffee, sir?”
“Why, yes. Thank you, Captain. Cream and sugar. We’ll sit and chat while you finish breakfast, then I’ll have Captain Leem show you around.”
“I appreciate your taking the time to greet us, sir. I know you’re a busy man.” Friendly poured the cream. “Black, Captain?”
Leem smiled unhappily. “A little cream for the ulcer, I’m afraid.”
“You have no idea how busy,” Luche said. “Especially now, with The Day almost upon us. But I always value an exchange of ideas with our colleagues from NorAtCom. I’m always open to new ideas. Too little horizontal mobility, that’s what’s wrong with our little organization.” He leaned forward, his hawk eyes staring at Robert. “The sword, Lieutenant, we must give them the sword!”
Robert tried not to look confused. Powder and patch came strongly into his mind. “Ah—” he said. Powder and patch! It’s the reply. Spy Games. Use “powder and patch” in a sentence. “I prefer, ah, powder and patch. More direct. Powder and patch.”
“Ball and shot!” Captain Leem bellowed.
“Fuse and grapnel!” Friendly agreed strongly.
“It may seem silly to you,” Admiral Luche said, nodding his satisfaction, “but you have no idea how many times unauthorized people have tried to sneak in here. The Navy is beginning to suspect that we’re more than a social club. The duplicity of the human mind is frightening. Frightening!”
“Not silly at all, sir. Be sure, then act! John Paul Jones said that,” Friendly said.
“He did, eh? I’ll remember that one.”
“It’s how legends are born,” Friendly agreed. “I must say, Admiral, that I’m very excited at being here at last.”
“You won’t be disappointed.” Luche nodded to the captain, who took two small, red-white-and-blue stickers from his pocket and affixed one to the bottom of each of his guests’ security badges. “Our own private recognition marker. It will enable you to move freely down here, but be sure you remove them before going topside.”
“Right, Admiral. Thank you.”
“Captain Leem will show you around. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting. We’ll have a meeting in the chartroom at four bells of the noon watch.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” They snapped to attention as Admiral Luche got up to leave.
“At ease.” The admiral strode to the door. “Tradition, it’s a wonderful thing. Tradition. All important.” He left.
“The Day?” Robert subvocalized so strongly that he almost whispered.
Friendly for once wasn’t listening. Captain Leem drained his coffee. “If you’re ready, gentlemen?”
They went out into the blue and white corridor, and Leem turned right. “It’s laid out like a ship,” he said. “We’re going forward.”
Robert tapped Friendly’s shoulder as they followed the captain. The Day? his thoughts demanded.
I couldn’t get the exact reference, Friendly answered. Luche’s thoughts are tightly-controlled delusional paranoid. I need more. I have an idea, but I hope I’m wrong.
“This is A deck,” Leem informed them, rapping on the corridor walls. “Most control functions up here. Berths, wardrooms and mess on B deck, supplies and air conditioning on C, pile and power—heat, light, and so on—on D deck, and so on.”
“Very clever, having the entrance through the Alfred,” Friendly commented.
“Yes,” Leem said smugly. “Eighteenth-century frigate floating above, underground battleship below; it’s quite neat.” He led them through a guarded double door into a large room filled with consoles, racked apparatus, and purposeful men. “The main control room.”
Two large screens took up adjacent walls. The one on the right showed a Mercator projection of the Earth, centered on the United States; the left an enlarged view of the North Pacific area. Various lights, arrows, lines, blobs, words, and paragraphs glowed on the screens. “It’s all here, gentlemen,” Leem said proudly, raising a hand to indicate the screens. “The concentrated power of the free people of the United States. Everything’s plotted and tabbed: our sites, the Russkies, the Chicoms, The U.N. Safety satellites, t
he Air Force recon satellites, even the French and Brazilians. Whenever anything moves on or over this planet, it goes on our chart.”
“Very impressive,” Friendly said sincerely.
“You ain’t seen nothing yet. Hell, the Air Force has a setup like this. Come through here with me.” He led them through a door on the far side of the room into a smaller room outfitted much like the first. “This is the Instant Response Center. Look up on that board over there. Those six red dots represent our bases on the floor of the Pacific.”
“Cyrene and Tyre and A-Ur,” Friendly said.
“And Mu and Lemuria and Atlantis. You understand that what you see is only their approximate locations; that’s all we need to know here. From these fortresses, protected by miles of water, the missiles stand, launch-ready, to defend the United States in its hour of need.”
Friendly slapped the captain on the back. “Very poetic,” he said. “Spoken like a true patriot.”
“But,” Robert said, “the United Nations Satellite Force—”
Captain Leem glared at him. “Made up eighty percent by foreigners. Cannot be depended upon to see the truth of who’s attacking whom. And, as we well know, eh. Lieutenant, capable of being infiltrated.”
“Of course,” Robert agreed forcefully.
“Never trust anyone who’s not on your side,” the captain said. “The Romans forgot about that and lost an empire. We won’t make the same mistake. Here—look here—see that?” He pointed to a large console in the middle of the room manned by two determined-looking officers. “That’s the board. Each of those men has a key. They insert both keys and turn them, and the board is live, ready to send out the information that will launch a hundred and eighty ballistic missiles and three hundred cruise missiles at their preselected targets.”
“Is that a direct link?” Friendly asked.
Captain Leem considered. “No. It sends a coded information signal on what we call the astonishingly-low-frequency band. ALF is impossible to jam. The commanders of the bases act upon this signal. They maintain a five-minute-to-launch status, and they are highly reliable men; handpicked by the Admiral.”
Psi Hunt Page 16