And Jonman! Jonman was a sadist; so, probably, was the sharkfaced Conrad. The boy wouldn't have had a chance.

  Well, he'd do what he had to do, he reflected bitterly. He'd been named judge and executioner.

  Unless the boy wasn't a beyond. He pondered the possibility and thought it dim. Still, it could have been the old man's imagination, or too much bottle. Strange things happened to spacers.

  Or was he grasping at a thin straw?

  What of himself? He'd been avoiding the question all along, now he let it seep into his mind. The old fear, the old doubt that at times verged on certainty. Contemplating it, he felt a cold knot form in his stomach. Now he was going to the planet of the telepaths! Yet -- and he clung to the hope --

  he had passed Hallam Vogel's scrutiny, hadn't he? Then why the fears? Perhaps his mind possessed a bud that had never flowered, manifesting itself only as a hint within his consciousness. Perhaps no outward sign was detectable, even to a telepath. Perhaps and perhaps and perhaps...

  Sighing, he pushed the papers aside. Of one thing he was certain: he wasn't going to enjoy the weeks ahead.

  Alek Selby looked at Hallam Vogel across an expanse of desk and asked, "Is IQ related to telepathic ability?"

  Page 16

  "A tricky question," Vogel admitted. "What do you have in mind?"

  "We've all seized on David Gant," he explained, "but there's still Johnny Sloan."

  "There's no correlation that we know," Vogel said. "Our tests, for what they're worth, don't indicate a relationship."

  "I should think there would be," he said doubtfully.

  "It's the logical assumption, Alek. Yet we know that certain forms of nonhuman life are telepathic -- the giant ants of Kadar, for example. They function solely by instinct. Tests have proved that conclusively."

  "Then you don't believe a relationship exists. Correct?"

  "I didn't say that. I was merely citing some of the evidence against it." Vogel's eyes twinkled. "It's not popular to consider telepaths as supermen, much less beyonds. We'd rather equate them with ants."

  "Then you believe there is a relationship?"

  "That's my personal belief, yes."

  "Based on what?"

  "Call it a hunch."

  Selby shook his head. "I don't believe you play hunches," he said.

  Vogel smiled. "Trying to pin me?"

  "Trying to get information," he countered.

  "We're in the realm of the unknown, Alek. We simply haven't the data from which to draw conclusions."

  "Yet you've drawn one."

  "Yes, I have." Vogel leaned back thoughtfully. His eyes held the reflective look of a man searching inward. Finally he said, "I regard man as an evolutionary product, Alek, and history bears it out. If we accept that assumption, we can draw some inferences about telepaths and beyonds."

  "What inferences?"

  "Telepathy, as an established fact, is a fairly recent development -- a few thousand years at most.

  If we place the telepath in the time table, we have to agree that he's a new model, and the beyond is newer yet. That implies increased intelligence."

  "Does it? How about the Kadar ants?"

  "Nature often is prodigal in her first mutations," Vogel observed. "Many are failures, or actual regressions; a few break through and go ahead. I

  suspect that human telepathy might be the proving ground for the beyond."

  "So we broke through but the ants didn't. Is that what you're saying?"

  Vogel laughed. "There was no place for the ants to go. They were limited by physical form and environment. It's possible they developed telepathically in an attempt to break through the limits imposed on them. Who knows, perhaps they did have intelligence once, but were forced by environment into an automated existence. If so, after untold generations the need for intelligence would disappear; genes would transmit automation in the form of instinct. Man didn't have the same limitations, Alek."

  "Limitations?"

  Vogel nodded. "Once we broke into space we discarded our limitations. If an environment didn't suit, we modified it or found another that did. If we're stagnating now, it's by choice. Or perhaps telepathy is nature's way of trying to break the stagnation."

  "Not a very popular view," Selby observed.

  "Definitely not. But were we destined to wind up in a blind alley?" He shook his head. "I don't believe so. We've come too far; now nature's prodding us."

  Page 17

  "Is that why you eliminated Johnny, because of his intelligence?"

  "The dog," Vogel explained. "It was David's dog."

  "We don't know that it's a one-man dog," Selby rebutted. "It could have been with Johnny."

  "That's possible."

  "Yet you're certain that the boy was David, and not Johnny?"

  "If a beyond exists," Vogel amended.

  "So it does come back to intelligence, doesn't it?"

  "If you put it that way, yes."

  Selby said pointedly, "The inference I draw is that you believe in a beyond."

  Vogel smiled easily. "You're twisting my words."

  "Not intentionally."

  "As a point in fact, I'm certain such people exist, but they're extremely rare. The probability of such an occurrence at any given time or place is highly remote. I wouldn't expect it to happen more than one or two times per generation, and when you extrapolate that to the billions upon billions of people in the Federation..." He paused and shrugged.

  "Yet following that reasoning, it would have to happen somewhere," Selby argued. "What could be a more logical place than Engo?"

  "It's possible," Vogel acceded.

  "But I hope not." Selby cocked his head. "I note by the records that David has a sister."

  "Around nineteen or twenty at the time," Vogel reflected. "She exposed herself to accompany the boy. A courageous act, Alek."

  "Very," he murmured.

  "It created quite a stir at the time," Vogel pursued. "People with such highly developed telepathy seldom escape detection during childhood."

  "How do we know?" he challenged. "We know only those who are detected."

  "You have a point," the psymaster conceded.

  "How does the director feel about this?"

  "The possibility of a pk on Engo? He can't afford the luxury of opinion, Alek. The rumor is sufficient to demand immediate action, regardless of its truth. Look at Wig's reaction. That should tell you something of the political implications."

  "I realize them all too well," he admitted wryly.

  "He can't afford to have a pk created," Vogel said pointedly.

  "I have the feeling one will be created, at least in the public mind,"

  Selby reflected. "Too many people know of the case -- Cromwell, his crew, the police who took him into custody..."

  "True enough." Vogel smiled faintly. "But I don't believe Cromwell will open his mouth again, not after the scare he got. He was sweating out the threat of a detention planet when the director offered a reprieve."

  "You believe he'll cooperate?"

  "I feel certain of it," Vogel declared.

  "He must be quite familiar with the planet," he mused.

  "Not according to the findings of the probe master," Vogel countered.

  "His sole contact is Simon, an old man who runs the spaceport and acts as intermediary in the trading."

  "After a score or more of trips?" asked Selby disbelievingly.

  "They're a secretive people, Alek. Can you blame them? We've denied them, thrust them out of the human race, so to speak. Would you expect a welcoming committee?"

  "Not when you put it that way," he admitted.

  Page 18

  "It's no secret they were sent there to die," Vogel continued. "That was the original intent, but since then the government has changed somewhat, perhaps because of the humanist outcry. As it stands now, the prohibition against commerce usually is enforced only in cases of flagrant violations.

  Actually, with the exception of Ewol Strang and one or two others, the High Council is content with things as they are. But that's a high-level secret, Alek. The public wouldn't stand for leniency."

  "How do the lower echelons feel?"

  "The same, if you're thinking of our sector," Vogel answered. "Other sector directors see things differently. In those cases, the government doesn't interfere with the prosecution."

  "Wig should work for them," Selby said bitterly.

  "They have their Wigs," Vogel answered caustically. "There's seldom a shortage of that type."

  As Selby rose to go, he said, "I'd appreciate any advice you might have to give..."

  "Make your own judgments, Alek." Vogel rubbed his hands briskly.

  "In view of what you said about Cromwell's experience, I might have trouble making contacts."

  "It won't be easy." The psymaster gazed toward the window. "But I feel you'll do all right."

  Hallam Vogel punched a button and watched the screen come to life. Korl Smithson's aged face took shape, the blue eyes peering at him from under shaggy brows. Vogel saw the lines of tiredness and felt a quick sympathy. The director hadn't had a moment's rest since the Engo story had broken.

  "Are you on private?" Smithson asked.

  Vogel glanced at the security button and nodded.

  "Ewol Strang has the full story," Smithson pursued grimly.

  "Already?" Vogel whistled softly. Strang represented the Third Sector on the High Council, only a step down from the Imperator himself; and with his strong antimutant bias...He sighed and asked, "How did he get it?" He had scant doubt but that Wig had leaked the information.

  "He didn't say."

  "What did he say?" Smithson's grim expression made him fear the worst.

  "He's ordered a sweeping investigation."

  "Does he know we have one under way?"

  "Probably, but he specified that it be conducted under Department 404 --

  Executor Wig, to be exact."

  "Then it came from Wig," Vogel asserted. He could speak frankly with his old friend.

  "It's even worse than that, Hallam." The director paused thoughtfully.

  "Strang has wangled an order of execution from the Imperator."

  "Warrant of execution?" Vogel asked slowly.

  "It's in Wig's hands already."

  "Without certification?" he demanded.

  "If Wig actually views a paranormal act, that's deemed sufficient," the director answered gravely.

  "The Imperator has waived the necessity for probing."

  "That's tantamount to the determination of guilt by accusation, Korl."

  "It is."

  Vogel looked steadily into the screen. "A warrant has to bear a name.

  The law requires..."

  "It names David Gant," the director explained. "In Wig's mind, he's the boy."

  "The Imperator went along with that?"

  "Strang sold him on the idea that the mutant underground might attempt to rescue the boy from Engo. I imagine he painted quite a lurid picture."

  "The same suggestion Wig made," Vogel commented drily.

  Page 19

  "They speak the same language, Hallam."

  "Is there anything we can do?"

  "Nothing," Smithson stated flatly.

  "Do you know how Wig intends to handle it?"

  "His usual method -- force," the director said. "He's taking along Jonman and Conrad. We've been ordered to place one of the SocAd patrol ships at his disposal."

  "Engo will never be the same, Korl."

  "No, it won't. We'll be lucky if this doesn't bring the whole mutant problem back into the limelight. That could be disastrous."

  "Does Alek know of the development?"

  "Not yet. I just received word."

  "What do you intend to do, Korl?"

  "Alek was due to leave in the morning," Smithson answered musingly. "I'm going to let him go."

  "Instead of Wig?" asked Vogel sharply. Disobeying an order from Ewol Strang was political suicide.

  Smithson acknowledged the situation, saying, "There's nothing in Strang's message to prevent a concurrent investigation, Hallam. What could be more sweeping than two investigations? Even Ewol couldn't dispute that."

  "You're treading on thin ice," Vogel warned.

  "At seventy-eight?" A chuckle came over the communicator. "At my age you live on thin ice."

  "I'm not opposing the idea, Korl."

  "I didn't believe you would."

  "Selby's presence on Engo won't temper Wig's activities," Vogel stated bluntly. "He's committed to finding a pk."

  "I'm afraid that's true, Hallam, but an official dissent might help."

  "I'm not that optimistic."

  "What do you suggest?"

  "Nothing, really," Vogel admitted. "I was just thinking the situation through, trying to assess what Selby's presence might mean."

  "I'd like the added source of information, Hallam. I believe it necessary."

  "So do I, but I'd certainly apprise Alek of the true situation."

  "Let him know he might be bucking Ewol Strang, eh?"

  "He should know," declared Vogel.

  "We agree on that, Hallam. Do you believe we're placing him in an unfair situation?"

  "That's an understatement," Vogel asserted, "but I imagine he'll take care of himself. He's tougher than he looks."

  "That's how I size him up."

  "Does Wig know you plan to send Alek anyway?"

  "I haven't mentioned it. I'd rather let Alek get away first."

  "A good idea," Vogel agreed. "Wig would certainly try to spike it."

  "I realize that." The director's voice changed. "I don't want this to interfere with your plans, Hallam."

  "They won't. I'm still going to grab that vacation."

  "I envy you," Smithson replied. "Do you know how long since I've had a vacation? Twenty years."

  "The moral to that is never be a director."

  "I learned too late," Smithson answered.

  When the director's image faded from the screen, Vogel sank comfortably back into his chair Page 20

  and stared toward the window. Ewol Strang's order gave

  Philip Wig an absolutely free hand to push his investigation however he wanted; that was undeniable. And just as undeniably, Wig had but one goal: to turn up a pk and reap his reward.

  That reward, the psymaster knew, was the director's chair. Korl Smithson knew that too; so did Alek Selby.

  More to the point, a ten-year-old boy's life was at stake. And the future of the telepaths. If Wig were successful, a new wave of hysteria and hate would be set into motion, and the Federation as a whole would take another backward step into the slow oblivion into which it had been sinking.

  That was intolerable.

  Four

  ENGO FILLED the starport.

  From his position on the bridge of the Cosmic Wind, Selby watched the planet grow -- a vast, sullen expanse of shifting orange hues which Captain Cromwell had explained as the light of the Giza sun reflecting off the planet's cloud cover. Selby found it an awesome sight.

  As they emerged from the time stream, the planet first had appeared as a small orange ball accompanied off to one side by an even more diminutive but equally orange moon. Both seemed unrelated to the sun, which lay like a burnished disk in an almost starless firmament. He had never imagined such an empty sky. Aside from two glowing fragments which formed the Magellanic

  Clouds, it appeared like a bottomless pit.

  He marveled that Cromwell would dare take the ancient tramper into such remote and alien skies. Both on entering and emerging from the time stream, the howling engines and vibrations had given him the sense of impending disaster. Prim, the purser, had noticed his perturbation.

  "The old gal's getting old," he said.

  Selby forced a grin. "Does she always shake like this?"

  "Usually worse," said Prim.

  Approaching the planet, Cromwell grew gloomy over their prospects. "The moon's past apogee," he explained. "We're due for violent winds and quakes."

  "Can't be much worse than this baby," Snorkel put in. "Feel her shake?"

  "He says that every time we're in retrofire," Cromwell grumbled.

  "It's true," Snorkel insisted. "We ought to put this baby in for overhaul."

  "Money, he allus wants to spend money."

  Selby laughed. In the few weeks since boarding the freighter, he had come to have a friendly regard for both the skipper and his three-man crew. At first Cromwell had been aloof and formal, an aging, erect man with bitter eyes, and the others had regarded him as somewhat of an interloper.

  Selby didn't mind. He understood exactly how Cromwell and the crew felt.

  To them, he represented the government -- the police, to be exact -- hence had to be an enemy.

  The feeling gradually thawed as they discovered he was neither officious nor aloof; and it vanished altogether the day they discovered he liked chess.

  "It's what keeps spacers from going crazy," the captain explained, when Selby accepted his invitation to play. Cromwell had just beaten Grimp, the engineer, and was rubbing his hands expectantly.

  "Yeah?" asked Snorkel. "What about Prim?"

  The purser looked pained.

  "At least he can play chess," Cromwell responded. "According to the score, I'm twelve hundred and ten games ahead of you."

  "That's for forty years," Snorkel protested. "Why don't you figure it on a percentage basis, like I Page 21

  do. That comes to fifty-two percent. Hardly more than half, as I see it."

  "Twelve hundred and ten games ahead," the captain said firmly.

  "We're not finished yet."

  "Excuses, always excuses, Snorky."

  Selby was surprised when Cromwell checkmated him in less than a dozen moves. Although he didn't rate himself as expert, he considered himself a good player, or had until then. After losing four consecutive games, he didn't think Snorkel's record bad -- not with the grizzled captain as adversary.

  That had been the start. Since then the friendliness had increased, together with his losses.

  Although he managed occasionally to beat Grimp and

  Prim, and less often Snorkel, his victories over Cromwell were few and long between.

 

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