VI
Robert Allen, the project psychiatrist, rotated the brandy snifter between his palms.
'You sent word you wanted to see me, Paul. Has something come up?'
'I don't think so,' Thomas said. 'Not anything I can put a finger on. Maybe just a bad day, that's all. Ben Russell was in to raise hell with me. Said we were holding back on him.'
'He's always saying that.'
'I know. He's probably catching heat himself. When he catches heat, he turns it back on me. A feedback mechanism. A defensive gesture. He was upset that we'd not passed FTL data on to him.'
'Have we got anything to pass?-'
'Just a lot of nothing. Some meaningless equations. I don't see how Jay stands up under it. He picked up that allergy of his again.'
'Tension,' said Allen. 'Frustration. That could bring it on.'
'Later in the day,' said Thomas, 'Brown phoned.'
The senator?'
'The senator. It was FTL again. He was all over me. The budget's coming up again.'
'Faster-than-light is something that the administrative mind can understand,' said Allen. 'Hardware.'
'Bob, I'm not too sure it's hardware. It could be something else. Jay's an astrophysicist. If it was plain physics, he would have it pegged.'
'Maybe there are many kinds of physics.'
'I don't think so. Physics should be basic. The same throughout the universe.'
'You can be sure of that?'
'No, I can't be sure of that. But my logic rejects…'
'Paul, you're over-reacting. If I were you, I'd disregard this sudden flurry over FTL. It's something that comes periodically and then dies down again.'
'I can't disregard it,' said Thomas. 'Not this time. Brown's out to get us. His power base is slipping and he needs a new issue. We would make a good issue. Here we are, here we've been for a quarter century, gobbling up tax money that could be used for something else. That's the kind of issue the people would accept. They definitely are not with us; they have a feeling that we were crammed down their throats. They were never with us. Not only do we cost a lot, but we pose threats. What if we gave away our location, so that some barbaric, bloodthirsty alien horde could come crashing in on us? What if we find out something that would upset the apple-cart, wrecking a lot of our time-honored, comfortable concepts?'
'You mean he'd destroy us just to get elected?'
'Bob, you don't know politics. I am sure he would. Even if he believed in us, he might. I have a feeling that he doesn't believe in us. If he destroyed us, he'd be a public hero. We have to do something, come up with something in the next few months or he'll have a go at us.'
'We have support,' said Allen. There are people in authority, in positions of power, who are committed to the project. Good people, reasonable people.'
'Good and reasonable people don't have too much chance when they come up against a demagogue. The only way to beat Brown, if he decides to make us an issue, is to pile up some points we can make with the public.'
'How can I help you, Paul?'
'Honestly, I don't know. A psychiatrist as a political adviser? No, I guess not. I suppose I only wanted to unload on you.'
'Paul, you didn't ask me in to talk about FTL. That's an administrative matter. You can handle it. Nor about the politics of the project. You know I'm a child in politics. There is something else.'
Thomas frowned. 'It's hard to tell you. Hard to put into words. I'm beginning to sense something that disturbs me. Nothing concrete. Fuzzy, in fact. Tonight Jennie — you know Jennie?'
'Yes, the little car-hop we picked up a few years ago. Nice girl. Smart.'
Tonight Jennie was talking about her people. They talk about death, she said. I knew it, of course. She'd been in a couple of times to talk with me about it. Depressed. Perhaps even frightened. After all, death can be a grisly subject. She had wanted to drop these people, try to pick up someone else. I urged her to hang in there a little longer. Never can tell what will happen, I told her. Tonight, when I suggested that she should drop it, she opposed me. Let me stay a while longer, she said, some worthwhile philosophy might develop out of it. I think there was something she wasn't telling me, something she is holding back.'
'Maybe the discussion has advanced beyond death,' said Allen. 'Maybe it's getting into what happens after death — if anything happens after death.'
Thomas looked in amazement at the psychiatrist. 'My thought, exactly. With one qualification. If nothing happens after death, she'd be more depressed than ever. Her interest must mean that these folks do believe something happens. They may even have proof of it. Not faith, not a religious conviction. Jennie's a hard-headed little piece. She'd not buy simple faith. It would have to be more than that.'
'You could pull the data. Have a look at it.'
'No, I can't. Not yet. She'd know. I'd be snooping on her private project. My operators are fiercely jealous of what they are putting into their data banks. I have to give her time. She'll let me know when it's time to have a look.'
'We must always keep in mind,' said Allen, 'that more than words, more than thoughts and ideas, come through from the aliens. Other things are transmitted. Things the operators hear but that can't be put into the banks. Fears, hopes, perceptions, residual memories, philosophical positions, moral evaluations, hungers, sorrow…'
T know,' said Thomas, 'and none of it gets into the banks. It would be easier in one way if it did, perhaps more confusing in another.'
'Paul, I know how easy it must be for someone in your position to become overly concerned, overwhelmed with worry, perhaps, even at times doubtful of the wisdom of the project. But you must remember, we've been at it only a little more than twenty years. We've done well in that short space of time…'
The project,' said Thomas, 'really started about a hundred years ago. With that old gentleman who was convinced he was talking with the stars. What was his name? Do you recall it?'
'George White. The last years of his life must have been a nightmare. The government took him over, ran him through all sorts of tests. They never let him be. I suspect he might have been happier if everyone had continued not believing him. They pampered him of course. That might have, in some measure, made it up to him. We still pamper our telepaths. Giving them a luxurious residential compound, with country club overtones, and…'
They have it coming to them,' snapped Thomas. 'They are all we have. They're our one great hope. Sure, we've made strides. Progress if you want to call it that. The world existing in a sort of loose confederation; wars a thing of the past. Colonies and industries in space. A start made on terraforming Mars and Venus. One largely abortive voyage to the nearest stars. But we have our problems. Despite expansion into space, our economy still is kicked all out of shape. We continually ride on the edge of economic disaster. Our disadvantaged are still stockpiled against that day, that probably will never come, when we will be able to do something for them. The development of synthetic molecules would give us a boost if R&D would get cracking on it instead of moaning about not having FTL. I have some hopes that Garner may get some feedback from the aliens he is trying to teach economics to, but nothing yet, maybe nothing ever. It's the only economics show we have going. I had hoped others might come up, but they haven't. The hell of it is that so much of what we have going is producing so little. Much of it is seemingly off on the wrong track. Yet you can't junk all this stuff and start grabbing out frantically for something else. Mary Kay, for example. She has found something that might be big, but she's so hooked on it that she can't look for answers. When she tries, there are no answers. No idea communications at all, apparently. Just this feeling of euphoria. Worthless as it stands, but we can't pass it by. We have to keep on trying. There may be something there that is worth waiting for.'
'I think the greatest problem lies in the kind of people who turn out to be the right kind of telepaths,' said Allen. 'Jay is the only man trained in science that we have. The others are not equipped to handle some of the material they are getting. I still think we could try to give some of them training in certain fields.'
'We tried it,' said Thomas, 'and it didn't work. These are a special breed of people. Sensitives. They have to be handled with kid gloves or you destroy them. And under special kinds of strain. The strange thing about it, fragile
