The demolished man (5 page)
some order. I don't even ask for beauty."
"Just name the pattern, Linc."
"What'll you have?"
"Basket-weave? Math curves? Music? Architectural design?"
"Anything. Anything. Just so long as you don't make my brains itch."
Sorry, Lincoln.
We weren't party-minded
Enough
Tate
thought
Esper
but
Alan
Men
I'm
Seaver
remaining
Not that a Pres
was ever elected still
unmarried
at
coming
can
liberty
but
ruin
To be generous,
I feel Al's a man to loa
the
reveal
don't
Guild's
anything
TP
entire
about
him
eugenic
D'Courtney if
arriving according to
plan
yet
There was another burst of laughter when Mary Noyes was left hanging with that
unreticulated "yet." The door-bell chimed again, and a Solar Equity Advocate 2
entered with his girl. She was a demure little thing, surprisingly attractive
outwardly, and new to the company. Her TP pattern was naive and not deeply
responsive. Obviously a 3rd.
"Grettings. Greetings. Abject apologies for the delay. Orange blossoms & wedding
rings are the excuse. I proposed on the way over."
"And I'm afraid I accepted," the girl said, smiling.
"Don't talk," the lawyer shot at her. "This isn't a 3rd Class brawl, I told you
not to use words."
"I forgot," she blurted again, and then heated the room with her fright and
shame. Powell stepped forward and took the girl's trembling hand.
"Ignore him, he's a 2nd-come-lately snob. I'm Lincoln Powell, your host. I
Sherlock for the cops. If your fiance beats you, I'll help him regret it. Come
and meet your fellow freaks..." He conducted her around the room. "This is Gus
Tate, a quack-one. Next to him, Sam & Sally @kins. Sam's another of the same.
She's a baby-sitter-two. They're just in from Venus. Here on a visit..."
"H-How---I mean, how do you do?"
"That fat man sitting on the floor is Wally Chervil, architect-two. The blonde
sitting in his (lap) is June, his wife. June's an editor-two. That's their son,
Galen, talking to Ellery West. Gally's a tech-undergrad-three..."
Young Galen Chervil indignantly started to point out that he'd just been classed
2nd and hadn't needed to use words in over a year. Powell cut him off and below
the girl's perceptive threshold explained the reason for the deliberate mistake.
"Oh," said Galen. "Yep, brother and sister 3rds, that's us. And am I glad you're
here. These deep peepers were beginning to scare me."
"Oh, I don't know. I was scared at first, but I'm not any more."
"And this is your hostess, Mary Noyes."
"Hello, Canapes?"
"Thank you. They look delicious, Mrs. Powell."
"Now how about a game?" Powell interposed quickly. "Rebus, anyone?"
Outside, huddled in the shadow of the limestone arch, Jerry Church pressed
against the garden door of Powel's house, listening with all his soul. He was
cold, silent, immobile, and starved. He was resentful, hating, contemptuous, and
starved. He was an Esper 2 and starved. The bend sinister of ostracism was the
source of his hunger.
Through the thin maple panel filtered the multiple TP pattern of the party; a
weaving, ever-changing, exhilarating design. And Church, Esper 2, living on a
sub-marginal diet of words for the past ten years, was starved for his own
people---for the Esper world he had lost.
"The reason I mentioned D'Courtney is that I've just come across a case that
might be similar."
That was Augustus Tate, sucking up to @kins.
"Oh really? Very interesting. I'd like to compare notes. Matter of fact, I made
the trip to Terra because D'Courtney is coming here. Too bad D'Courtney
won't---well, be available." @kins was obviously being discreet and it smelled
as though Tate was after something. Maybe not, Church speculated, but there was
some elegant block and counter-blocking going on, like duellists fencing with
complicated electrical circuits.
"Look here, peeper, I think you've been pretty snotty to that poor girl."
"Listen to him shoot off his mind," Church muttered.
"Powell, that holy louse
who had me kicked out, preaching down his big nose at the lawyer."
"Poor girl? You mean dumb girl, Powell. My God! How gauche can you get?"
"She's only a 3rd. Be fair."
"She gives me a pain."
"Do you think it's decent... marrying a girl when you feel that way about her?"
"Don't be a romantic ass, Powell. We've got to marry peepers. I might as well
settle for a pretty face."
The Rebus game was going on in the living room. The Noyes girl was busy building
a camouflaged image with an old poem:
The
vast,
sea
and
is
out
Glimmering
calm
in
the
stand,
tonight,
tranquil
bay
England
The
Come
to
the window
of
tide
sweet
is
the night
cliffs
is
air.
Only
the
full
from
the
gone;
the
long
line
is
moon
of spray
and
lies
Gleams
fair
light
Upon the straights;---on the French coast the
What the devil was that? An eye in a glass? Eh? Oh. Not a glass. A stein. Eye in
a stein. Einstein. Easy.
"What d'you think of Powell for the job, Ellery?" That was Chervil with his
phoney smile and his big fat pontifical belly.
"For Guild President?"
"Yes."
"Damned efficient man. Romantic but efficient. The perfect candidate if only
he'd get married."
"That's the romance in him. He's having trouble locating a girl."
"Don't all you deep peepers? Thank God I'm not a 1st."
And then a smash of glass crashing in the kitchen and Preacher Powell again,
lecturing that little snot, Gus Tate.
"Never mind the glass, Gus. I had to drop it to cover for you. You're radiating
anxiety like a nova."
"The devil I am, Powell."
"The devil you're not. What's all this about Ben Reich?"
The little man was really on guard. You could feel his mental shell hardening.
"Ben Reich? What brought him up?"
"You did, Gus. It's been moiling in your mind all evening. I couldn't help
reading it."
"Not me, Powell. You must be tuning another TP."
Image of a horse laughing.
"Powell, I swear I'm not---"
"Are you mixed up with Reich, Gus?"
"No." But you could feel the blocks bang down into place.
"Take a hint from an old hand, Gus. Reich can get you into trouble. Be careful.
Remember Jerry Church? Reich ruined him. Don't let it happen to you."
Tate drifted back to the living room; Powell remained in the kitchen, calm and
slow-moving, sweeping up broken glass. Church lay frozen against the back door,
suppressing the seething hatred in his heart. The Chervil boy was showing off
for the lawyer's girl, singing a love ballad and paralleling it with a visual
parody. College stuff. The wives were arguing violently in sine curves, @kins
and West were interlacing cross-conversation in a fascinatingly intricate
pattern of sensory images that made Church's starvation keener.
"Would you like a drink, Jerry?"
The garden door opened. Powell stood silhouetted in the light, a bubbling glass
in his hand. The stars lit his face softly. The deep hooded eyes were
compassionate and understanding. Dazed, Church climbed to his feet and timidly
took the proffered drink.
"Don't report this to the Guild, Jerry. I'll catch hell for breaking the taboo.
I'm always breaking rules. Poor Jerry... We've got to do something for you. Ten
years is too long."
Suddenly Church hurled the drink in Powell's face, then turned and fled.
3
At nine Monday morning, Tate's mannequin face appeared on the screen of Reich's
v-phone.
"Is this line secure?" he asked sharply.
In answer Reich simply pointed to the Warranty Seal.
"All right," Tate said. "I think I've done the job for you, I peeped @kins last
night. But before I report, I must warn you. There's a chance of error when you
deep peep a 1st. @kins blocked pretty carefully."
"I understand."
"Craye D'Courtney arrives from Mars on the `Astra' next Wednesday morning. He
will go at once to Maria Beaumont's town house where he will be a secret and
hidden guest for exactly one night... No more."
"One night," Reich muttered. "And then? His plans?"
"I don't know. Apparently D'Courtney is planning some form of drastic action---"
"Against me!" Reich growled.
"Perhaps. According to @kins, D'Courtney is under some kind of violent strain
and his adaptation pattern is shattering. The Life Instinct and Death Instinct
have defused. He is regressing under the emotional bankruptcy very rapidly..."
"God damn it! My life depends on this," Reich raged. "Talk straight."
"It's quite simple. Every man is a balance of two opposed drives... The Life
Instinct and the Death Instinct. Both drives have the identical purpose... to
win Nirvana. The Life Instinct fights for Nirvana by smashing all opposition.
The Death Instinct attempts to win Nirvana by destroying itself. Usually both
instincts fuse in the adapted individual. Under strain they defuse. That's
what's happening to D'Courtney."
"Yes, by God! And he's jetting for me!"
"@kins will see D'Courtney Thursday morning in an effort to dissuade him from
whatever he contemplates. @kins is afraid of it and determined to stop it. He
made a flying trip from Venus to cut D'Courtney off."
"He won't have to stop it. I'll stop it myself. He won't have to protect me.
I'll protect myself. It's self-defense, Tate... not murder! Self-defense! You've
done a good job. This is all I need."
"You need much more, Reich. Among other things, time. This is Monday. You'll
have to be ready by Wednesday."
"I'll be ready," Reich growled. "You'd better be ready too."
"We can't afford to fail, Reich. If we do---it's Demolition. You realized that?"
"Demolition for both of us. I realize that." Reich's voice began to crack. "Yes,
Tate, you're in this with me, and I'm in it straight to the finish... all the
way to Demolition."
He planned all through Monday, audaciously, bravely, with confidence. He
pencilled the outlines as an artist fills a sheet with delicate tracery before
the bold inking-in; but he did no final inking. That was to be left for the
killer-instinct on Wednesday. He put the plan away and slept Monday night... and
awoke screaming, dreaming again of The Man With No Face.
Tuesday afternoon, Reich left Monarch Tower early and dropped in at the Century
Audio-bookstore on Sheridan Place. It specialized mostly in piezoelectric