City

meaning, but the implied meaning of what someone else is saying. Almost telepathy, but not quite. A whole lot better, some ways.'

'And, Joe, how do you go about it? How do you-'

The laughter was back again. 'You think about it a while, Tyler… find out how bad you want it. Then maybe we can talk.'

'Horse trading,' said Webster.

Joe nodded.

'Booby— trapped, too, I suppose,' said Webster.

'Couple of them,' said Joe. 'You find them and we'll talk about that, too.'

'What are you fellows going to want?'

'Plenty,' Joe told him, 'but maybe it'll be worth it.'

The screen went dead and Webster sat staring at it with unseeing eyes. Booby-trapped? Of course it was. Clear up to the hilt.

***

Webster screwed his eyes shut and felt the blood pounding in his brain.

What was it that had been claimed for the Juwain philosophy in that far-gone day when it had been lost? That it would have put mankind a hundred thousand years ahead in two short generations. Something like that.

Maybe stretching it a bit — but not too much. A little justified exaggeration, that was all.

Men understanding one another, accepting one another's ideas at face value, each man seeing behind the words, seeing the thing as, someone else would see it and accepting that concept as if it were his own. Making it, in fact, part of his own knowledge that could be brought to bear upon the subject at band. No misunderstanding, no prejudice, no bias, no jangling — but a clear, complete grasp of all the conflicting angles of any human problem. Applicable to anything, to any type of human endeavour. To sociology, psychology, to engineering, to all the various facets of a complex civilization. No more bungling, no more quarrelling, but honest and sincere appraisal of the facts and the ideas at hand.

A hundred thousand years in two generations? Perhaps not too far off, at that.

But booby-trapped? Or was it? Did the mutants really mean to part with it? For any kind of prize? Just another bait dangled in front of mankind's eyes while around the corner the mutants rolled with laughter.

The mutants hadn't used it. Of course, they hadn't, for they had no real need of it. They already had telepathy and that would serve the purpose as far as the mutants were concerned. Individualists would have little use for a device which would make them understand one another, for they would not care whether they understood one another. The mutants got along together, apparently, tolerating whatever contact was necessary to safeguard their interests. But that was all. They'd work together to save their skins, but they found no pleasure in it.

An honest offer? A bait, a lure to hold a man's attention in one quarter while a dirty deal was being pulled off in another? A mere ironic joke? Or an offer that had a stinger in it?

Webster shook his head. There was no telling. No way to gauge a mutant's motives or his reason.

Soft, glowing light had crept into the walls and ceiling of the office with the departing of the day, the automatic, hidden light growing stronger a' the darkness fell. Webster glanced at the window, saw that it was an oblong of blackness, dotted by the few advertising signs that flared and flickered on the city's skyline.

He reached out, thumbed over a tumbler, spoke to the secretary in the outer office.

'I'm sorry I kept you so long. I forgot the time.'

'That's all right, sir,' said the secretary. 'There's a visitor to see you, Mr. Fowler.'

'Fowler?'

'Yes, the gentleman from Jupiter.'

'I know,' said Webster wearily. 'Ask him to come in.'

He had almost forgotten Fowler and the threat the man had made.

He stared absent-mindedly at his desk, saw the kaleidoscope lying where he'd left it. Funny toy, he thought. Quaint idea. A simple thing for the simple minds of long ago. But the kid will get a boot out of it.

He reached out a hand and grasped it, lifted it to his eyes. The transmitted light wove a pattern of crazy colour, a geometric nightmare. He twirled the tube a bit and the pattern changed. And yet again His brain wrenched with a sudden sickness and the colour burned itself into his mind in a single flare of soul-twisting torture.

The tube dropped and clattered on the desk. Webster reached out with both hands and clutched at the desk edge.

And through his brain went the thought of horror: What a toy for a kid!

The sickness faded and he sat stock-still, brain clear again, breath coming regularly.

Funny, he thought. Funny that it should do a thing like that. Or could it have been something else and not the kaleidoscope at all. A seizure of some sort. Heart acting up. A bit too young for that and he'd been checked just recently.

***

The door clicked and Webster looked up.

Fowler came across the room with measured step, slowly, until he stood across from the desk.

'Yes, Fowler?'

'I left in anger,' Fowler said, 'and I didn't want it that way. You might have understood, but again you might not have. It was just that I was upset, you see. I came from Jupiter, feeling that finally all the years I'd spend there in the domes bad been justified, that all the anguish I had felt when I saw the men go out somehow had paid off. I was bringing news, you understand, news that the world awaited. To me it was the most wonderful thing that could have happened and I thought you'd see it, too. I thought the people would see it. It was as if I had been bringing them word that Paradise was just around the corner. For that is what it is, Webster, that is what it is.'

He put his hands 'flat upon the desk and leaned forward, whispering.

'You see how it is, don't you, Webster? You understand a bit.'

Webster's hands were shaking and he laid them in his lap, clenched them together until the fingers hurt.

'Yes,' he whispered back. 'Yes, I think I know.'

For he did know.

Knew more than the words had told him. Knew the anguish and the pleading and bitter disappointment that lay behind the words. Knew them almost as if he'd said the words himself — almost as if he were Fowler.

Fowler's voice broke in alarm. 'What's the matter, Webster? What's the trouble with you?'

Webster tried to speak and the words were dust. His throat tightened until there was a knot of pain above his Adam's apple.

He tried again and the words were low and forced. 'Tell me, Fowler. You learned a lot of things out there. Things that men don't know or know imperfectly. Like high grade telepathy, maybe… or… or-'

'Yes,' said Fowler, 'a lot of things. But I didn't bring them back with me. When I became a man again, that was all I was. Just a man, that's all. None of it came back. Most of it just hazy memories and a… well, you might call it yearning.'

'You mean that you haven't one of the abilities you had when you were a Loper?'

'Not a single one.'

'You couldn't, by chance, be able to make me understand a thing you wanted me to know. Make me feel the way you feel.'

'Not a chance,' said Fowler.

Webster reached out a hand, pushed the kaleidoscope gently with his finger. It rolled forwards, then came to rest again.

'What did you come back for?' asked Webster.

'To square myself with you,' said Fowler. 'To let you know I wasn't really sore. To try to make you understand that I had a side, too. Just a difference of opinion, that's all. I thought maybe we might shake on