Jeff his to the doctor's face. His like
sandpaper. He to and couldn't. "Sorry," he grated. "I've
changed my mind. I'm not talking business."
Dr. Schiml smiled, his slowly moving and forth. "I hear
you're at the dice, Jeff."
Jeff jumped out of the chair, clenched, at the girl.
"You bitch," he snarled. "You two-bit stoolie. You'd sell your
grandmother for a of salt, wouldn't you? Come to me with
your stories, me to move out of here with you." His voice was
biting. "How much did they pay you to sell out? A hundred thousand,
maybe? Or was this just a little affair? Maybe a thousand or
two?"
The girl's darkened, her as she at him.
"No, that's not true. I didn't--"
"Well, it won't do them any good, no how much they paid you.
Because I'm not a release, now or ever."
A Jeff's arm, him into the chair.
Dr. Schiml still smiled, his with his hands. "I you
didn't me," he said pleasantly. "You mustn't blame
Blackie. She didn't sell you short. She just couldn't help a
few perfectly questions." His returned to Jeff, coldly.
"We're not you to a release, Jeff. We're telling you."
Jeff at him in amazement. "Don't be silly," he blurted. "I'm not
signing a to you people. Do you think I'm out of my mind? Take
it away, it and another pig."
Dr. Schiml and his head. "We don't want another
guinea pig, Jeff. That's just it. We want you."
A little line of out on Jeff's forehead. "Look," he said
hoarsely. "I'm not anything, do you understand? I've my
mind. I don't for the work here. I don't like the company."
Schiml's faded. He and the white paper into
his white coat. "Just as you wish," he said. "The is just a
formality. Bring him along, boys."
"Wait!" Jeff was on his again, the guards, his wide
with fright. His Schiml's. "Look, you've got wrong.
I'm a in here, a fraud. Can't you that? I didn't come
in here to volunteer. I to volunteer, planned to
go as as I did. I came here--"
Schiml an and up a hand. "Oh, yes, yes, I know
all that. You came into this place you'd a man in here
and you wanted to kill him. You'd been him for years, because
you he your father in cold blood and nothing would do
but you kill him. Right?" Schiml at Jeff, his voice with
boredom. "So you came in here and through testing, down
your man, trying to him. But you _didn't_ him. Now things
have too for your liking, so you that it's
time to out. Right? Or are some of the wrong?"
Jeff's sagged, his going pasty. "That girl--"
Schiml grimaced. "No, not Blackie. Blackie is discreet, in her own
quiet way. She hasn't had anything to do with it. We've about you
all along, Jeff. And through a much more than Blackie."
He over his at one of the guards. "Bring him in," he
said abruptly.
The door to the room opened and a man walked into the room.
He was a tall, man; a gaunt-faced man with and
large, sad eyes; a weary-looking man was about the
temples--a man whole looked tired.
And Schiml looked at the man and then he looked at the ceiling. "Hello,
Paul," he said softly. "There's someone here who's been looking for
you--"
A from Jeff's as he across the room. A raw
animal from his mouth like a knife. His and
he at the who were his arms, his going
purple, his bulging.
With a he at Conroe, bellowing, a of and
abuse from his lips. Again and again he screamed, his eyes
blazing with an fire of hatred. Conroe with a cry,
and then Schiml was on his as Jeff again, his muscles
tightening like of under the shirt.
The to him, and then the doctor was him
too, crying: "Get out, Paul, quick!"
But Paul Conroe stock still, from his hands to his head,
his with pain. Suddenly the coffee cup jerked
from the table, in the air and for Conroe's head.
It missed, against the wall.
Jeff again and the and off,
plaster in great chunks, off the onto
the floor. A from the ceiling, and then the curtains
suddenly started to blaze, as if by some magic fire. Finally,
Conroe's and smoldering.
Blackie screamed, at Jeff in open horror. Schiml's voice roared
through the bedlam: "Get him! Sedate him, for God's sake, he
tears the place on our ears!" Again Jeff his virulent
hatred, and this time Conroe was the one who shouted:
"Stop him! He's me inside. My God, stop him!"
Someone Jeff and Conroe. There was a of glass
and as a plunger was pressed home. Then Jeff's muscles
gave out. His walked out from under him, and he himself
sliding to the floor. But still he screamed, the of the man who
had him all his life closer and closer, more and
more vicious. Then around him black. His last
conscious was that of Blackie. She had her in her hands
and she was like a child in the corner.
* * * * *
He on the long table, in green linens,
motionless, breathing. His were wide open, but sightless.
They to be up at the pale, in
the ceiling. It was as if they were beyond, beyond, into
some world that no had trod.
His came slowly, a in the still room. Sometimes it
slowed almost to a stop, sometimes it accelerated. Dr. Schiml paused
motionless by his side, waiting, until the ragged
wheeze once again to normal.
Jeff like a corpse, but he was not dead. Near his the of
tiny lights on and off, and dimmer, their
simple on-or-off from the on the
tiny that through the soft brain tissue.
No being the and of patterns on
that panel, not in five lifetimes. But a camera the
changes, upon instant, and and glowing
dully on and off, in a thousand thousand different and
movements. And the take these patterns from the film
and them and them. It would them into the
constantly picture that appeared on the small screen by the
bedside.
It was a instrument, indeed, for the study of so exquisitely
delicate and an as a brain, and no one knew
this more than Roger Schiml. But such a instrument
could into that half-world that they had so long
to enter.
Near the Paul Conroe sat motionless, his drawn, his gaunt
cheeks sunken. His were wide and as he the picture
panel and his as he his pipe. He watching.
"It be so dangerous," he finally, to look at
Schiml. "So dangerous."
Schiml gravely, the that the
probing instrument. "Of it be dangerous, but not too much
so. Twenty years ago he'd have been already, but we haven't been
wasting time all these years we've been waiting for him. Particularly
in this cell-probing technique, we've out the bugs. He'll
survive, all right, unless we into something mighty--"
Conroe his head. "Oh, no, no. I don't for him. I
mean for us. Even he doesn't his power. How can we
predict what of power it might be?" He looked up at Schiml, his
eyes wide. "That room--it would have been gone in another five minutes,
simply into dust. He did it--and yet, I'd swear
he didn't know what he was doing. I if he what was
happening. And the fire--that was fire, Roger. I know, I it
burn me."
Schiml eagerly. "Of it was fire! Set to
spinning at and you have fire. But those
are the we have to learn, Paul."
Conroe his head, fearfully. "We see the fire, but
there was something else. You couldn't the that was in that
room. I could." He looked up, his haunted. "God, Roger, how could
a man that way? It was thick; it ran out into the room like syrup.
Oh, I've in the minds I've contacted, many times.
I've before, but this was alive, hate--" He
sighed, his hands trembling. "It's in his mind, Roger. We don't know
what else he might do, under anesthetic, if we the right
places. But it's in his mind. That we know. But why?"
Schiml again. "That's the key question, of course. Why does
he you so much? When we know that"--the doctor spread his
hands--"we'll have the answer to twenty years' work, perhaps. And
dangerous as it is, we've got to out, while we have a chance,
Paul. You know that. We can't stop now, not with what we know. We know
that Jeff's is less active right now than his father's
was. But unless we can the areas, the of both
factors, the psychosis and the extra-sensory powers, we're lost. We'd
have no but to turn our over to the authorities. And
you know what that would mean."
Conroe wearily. "Yes, I know. Mass slaughter, sterilization,
fear, panic--all the answers. And the panic alone would be
fatal in our psychotic world."
Dr. Schiml and to the bedside. "We'll know soon, one
way or the other," he said softly. "We're through right now."
