The demolished man (31 page)

"That was two weeks ago, Miss D'Courtney."

She arose with magnificent poise. "Really Mr. Powell. I feel it would be best to

end the interview. If you feel impelled to cast chronographical aspersions..."

She stopped and looked at him. The urchin appeared again in her face.

"Chronographical?" she inquired.

He dropped the parcel and caught her in his arms.

"Mr. Powell, Mr. Powell, Mr. Powell..." she murmured. "Hello, Mr. Powell... "

"My God, Barbara... Baba, dear. For a moment I thought you meant it."

"I was paying you back for being grown up."

"You always were a revengeful kid."

"You always were a mean daddy." She leaned back and looked at him. "What are you

really like? What are we both like? Will we have time to find out?"

"Time?"

"Before... Peep me. I can't say it."

"No, dear. You'll have to say it."

"Mary Noyes told me. Everything."

"Oh. She did?"

Barbara nodded. "But I don't care. I don't care. She was right. I'll settle for

anything. Even if you can't marry me..."

He laughed. The exhilaration bubbled out of him. "You won't have to settle for

anything," he said. "Sit down. I want to ask you one question."

She sat down. On his lap.

"I have to go back to that night," he said.

"In Beaumont House?"

He nodded.

"lt's not easy to talk about."

"It won't take a minute. Now... You were lying in bed, asleep. Suddenly you woke

up and rushed into the Orchid room. You remember the rest."

"I remember."

"One question. What was the cry that woke you?"

"You know."

"I know, but I want you to say it. Say it out loud."

"Do you think it's... it's going to send me into hysteria again?"

"No. Just say it."

After a long pause, she said in a low voice: "Help, Barbara."

He nodded again. "Who shouted that?"

"Why, it was---" Suddenly she stopped.

"It wasn't Ben Reich. He wouldn't be yelling for help. He didn't need help. Who

did?"

"My... My father."

"But he couldn't speak, Barbara. His throat was gone... Cancer. He couldn't

utter a word."

"I heard him."

"You peeped him."

She stared; then she shook her head. "No, I---"

"You peeped him," Powell repeated gently. "You're a latent Esper. Your father

cried out on the telepathic level. If I hadn't been such an ass and so intent on

Reich, I'd have realized it long before. You were unconsciously peeping Mary and

me all the while you were in my house."

She couldn't grasp it.

"Do you love me?" Powell shot at her.

"I love you, of course," she muttered, "but I think you're inventing excuses

to---"

"Who asked you?"

"Asked me what?"

"If you loved me."

"Why you just---" She stopped, then tried again.

"You said... Y-You..."

"I didn't say it. Do you understand now? We won't have to settle for anything

short of us."

Seconds later, it seemed, but it was actually half an hour, they were separated

by a violent crash that sounded from the top of the terrace above their heads.

They looked up in astonishment.

A naked thing appeared on the stone wall, gibbering, screaming, twitching. It

toppled over the edge and crashed down through the flower beds until it landed

on the lawn, crying and jerking as though a steady stream of voltage was pouring

through its nervous system. It was Ben Reich, almost unrecognizable, part way

through Demolition.

Powell swung Barbara to him with her back to Reich. He took her chin in his hand

and said: "Are you still my girl?"

She nodded.

"I don't want you to see this. It isn't dangerous, but it isn't good for you.

Will you run back to your pavilion and wait for me? Like a good girl? All

right... Scamper now! Jet!"

She grabbed his hand, kissed it quickly, and ran across the lawn without once

looking back. Powell watched her go, then turned and inspected Reich.

When a man is demolished at Kingston Hospital, his entire psyche is destroyed.

The series of osmotic injections begins with the topmost strata of cortical

synapses and slowly works down, switching off every circuit, extinguishing every

memory, destroying every particle of the pattern that has been built up since

birth. And as the pattern is erased, each particle discharges its portion of

energy, turning the entire body into a shuddering maelstrom of dissociation.

But this is not the pain; this is not the dread of Demolition. The horror lies

in the fact that the consciousness is never lost; that as the psyche is wiped

out, the mind is aware of its slow, backward death until at last it too

disappears and awaits the rebirth. The mind bids an eternity of farewells; it

mourns at an endless funeral. And in those blinking, twitching eyes of Ben

Reich, Powell saw the awareness... the pain... the tragic despair.

"Now how the hell did he fall down there? Do we have to keep him tied?" Dr.

Jeems poked his head over the terrace. "Oh. Hi, Powell. That's a friend of

yours. Remember him?"

"Vividly."

Jeems spoke over his shoulder: "You go down to the lawn and pick him up. I'll

keep an eye on him." He turned to Powell. "He's a lusty lad. We've got great

hopes for him."

Reich squalled and twitched.

"How's the treatment coming?"

"Wonderful. He's got the stamina to take anything. We're stepping him up. Ought

to be ready for rebirth in a year."

"I'm waiting for it. We need men like Reich. It would have been a shame to lose

him."

"Lose him? How's that possible? You think a little fall like that could---"

"No. I mean something else. Three or four hundred years ago, cops used to catch

people like Reich just to kill them. Capital punishment, they called it."

"You're kidding."

"Scout's honor."

"But it doesn't make sense. If a man's got the talent and guts to buck society,

he's obviously above average. You want to hold on to him. You straighten him out

and turn him into a plus value. Why throw him away? Do that enough and all

you've got left are the sheep."

"I don't know. Maybe in those days they wanted sheep."

The attendants came trotting across the lawn and picked Reich up. He fought and

screamed. They handled him with the deft and gentle Kingston judo while they

checked him carefully for breaks and sprains. Then, reassured, they started to

lead him away.

"Just a minute," Powell called. He turned to the stone bench, picked up the

mysterious parcel and unwrapped it. It was one of Sucre et Cie's most

magnificent candy boxes. He carried it to the demolished man and held it out.

"It's a present for you, Ben. Take it."

The creature lowered at Powell and then at the box. At last the clumsy hands

came out and took the gift.

"Why damn it, I'm just his nursemaid," Powell muttered. "We're all of us

nursemaids to this crazy world. Is it worth it?"

Out of the chaos in Reich came an explosive fragment:

"Powell-peeper-Powell-friend-Powell-friend..."

It was so sudden, so unexpected, so passionately grateful that Powell was

overcome with warmth and tears. He tried to smile, then turned away and wandered

across the lawn toward the pavilion and Barbara.

"Listen," he cried in exaltation. "Listen, normals! You must learn what it is.

You must learn how it is. You must tear the barriers down. You must tear the

veils away. We see the truth you cannot see... That there is nothing in man but

love and faith, courage and kindness, generosity and sacrifice. All else is only

the barrier of your blindness. One day we'll all be mind to mind and heart to

heart..."

In the endless universe there has been nothing new, nothing different. What has

appeared exceptional to the minute mind of man has been inevitable to the

infinite Eye of God. This strange second in a life, that unusual event, those

remarkable coincidences of environment, opportunity, and encounter... all of

them have been reproduced over and over on the planet of a sun whose galaxy

revolves once in two hundred million years and has revolved nine times already.

There has been joy. There will be joy again.

The end

Last-modified: Wed, 17-Feb-99 12:49:04 GMT