before. I couldn't help feeling that you were lonely, and I can remember feeling that way myself.'
She bobbed her head at me and then stared intently at her empty soup bowl.
I reached deep within her mind and discovered a great longing to respond to me but an equally great fear of being rejected or looking foolish-those two universal fears of micro man. I continued to beam positive, confident, and accepting thoughts to her.
I wondered what her name was and willed her to tell me. There was a short struggle, then she spoke. 'My name is Neda Cricksley,' she whispered in such a low voice that if I hadn't already picked her name up telepathically I'd have had to ask her to repeat it.
'Neda,' I said, 'I like that name and I like you, too.'
After I said this I realized that for some reason I did like this girl. I had gotten beneath her unattractive surface and made contact with a part of her soul which was very satisfying to me. Without thinking, I reached out and captured one of her thin bony hands.
Again I saw the startled expression on her face, but I willed her to accept my gesture as one of kindness and genuine concern. I could feel the tension in her arm and body slowly subside. I decided it was time to take the next step.
'Tell me about yourself, Neda,' I asked. 'I want to know all about you.' I felt her wondering why I should want to know about her. 'Because I like you,' I responded to this unspoken thought. 'And I think I can help solve some problems that are bothering you.'
'How do you know I have problems that you can help me with?' she whispered.
'Well,' I replied, 'everyone has some problems, and one of my goals in life is to help as many people as possible solve their problems.'
She thought about this for a moment, then said, 'I want to thank you for being so kind to me. I've never met anyone like you before. I don't know how or why, but I'm convinced that somehow you do like me and you do want to help me. I... I'm very grateful.'
'Their you'll let me have the pleasure of getting you dessert,' I said. 'How about a chocolate sundae, or maybe strawberry?'
She smiled shyly and didn't respond, but I caught her thought of how good a strawberry sundae would taste.
'Okay,' I said, 'I'll surprise you. All you have to do is save my seat for me.'
As I left our table I sent as powerful a thought as I could to the girl at the ice cream counter, and by the time I got to her she was already busily preparing two sundaes, one chocolate and one strawberry. I waited until she finished, thanked her for reading my mind, and paid her for them. All the way back to our table I could see her startled expression and feel her wonderment at the kooky possibility that she really had somehow read my mind.
The strawberry sundae proved to be the final step in overcoming Neda's shyness with me. She began talking about herself. She was a twenty-year-old liberal arts junior who lived off campus with her mother and stepfather. While she didn't say so, I picked up from her mind that she desperately wanted to escape from her tyrannical mother, who hated her for being ugly, and a coarse sneering stepfather who enjoyed tormenting her about her looks.
She didn't know what she wanted to do after college and, while her grades were excellent, going to classes was a torture because of her shyness. She was majoring in English composition and literature, and her one escape was in reading and writing.
As I listened intently to her talking about her happiness in writing short stories, I noticed that the more she talked about this area in her life the more animated her face became. The dark eyes came alive and the voice rose from a whisper to an easily understandable level. I learned from her mind that I was the second person in her life that she had ever talked to about her writing. The first person had been her high school English teacher, an elderly lady who had died shortly after Neda graduated. Since this old woman had been the only friend in her life, her loss had been almost too much for Neda to endure.
I realized that Neda had completely accepted her mother's view of her as being an ugly blight on her parent's lives. Consequently she was filled with self-loathing and massive feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy. It was no wonder that she tried desperately to avoid contact with others, since she believed her appearance was completely revolting to all who saw her.
Now, how could I help Neda? Every night I had access to all the knowledge of the Macro society's Central Information. How could my Macro powers change Neda's life? What did I want to do?
'Well, I thought, I want to help her find a new life in which she can learn to like herself and the world about her. But wouldn't I need all the power and wisdom of a Rana to accomplish such a miracle? As I carefully, but surreptitiously, examined the face and figure of Neda, I wondered if even tenth-level awareness would be sufficient to change Neda's self-concept. But I decided I was going to try.
After questioning Neda about her typing ability and learning that she was a very good typist, I offered her a job typing up notes from the dissertation research that Karl and I had been doing and which he was still working on. When I finally convinced her that I really needed her help and that she would be doing me a great favor by accepting the job, I took the big plunge.
'Neda,' I said, 'I want you to move out of your mother's home and into an apartment at the building where I live. Yes,' I said, forestalling her objection, 'I know you don't have much money, but since Karl and I own the building we live in, your rent can be part of your monthly salary. Karl and I will be conveniently located near you so you'll actually be able to function not only as a typist, but also as a sort of research assistant.'
I had been talking fast and off the top of my head, but now I paused to check Neda's reaction. She was so overwhelmed by me that resistance seemed impossible. I felt that somewhere in the past hour she had capitulated totally to the loving accepting thoughts I had been sending her. But then, how could a person languishing in hell turn down an invitation to heaven? I told her that I would help her move into her new quarters immediately.
Fifteen minutes later we arrived at her home in a taxi. The house was a run-down two-story stucco located in a fast-decaying neighborhood. I told our taxi driver to wait for us and then accompanied Neda to her door. There she hesitated until I calmly, but firmly, opened the door for her and ushered her inside: I immediately realized why she had hesitated, since charging toward us out of the kitchen was the most formidable-looking old harridan I had ever seen. This was Neda's mother, who was roaring at Neda about being late and eyeing me suspiciously.
After Neda tried to respond to her mother and got shouted down, I decided to lend a hand. I told Neda to go to her room and pack her belongings, then, with a gentle nudge, sent her on her way. I stopped her mother in mid-roar with a mighty PK shove that sent her reeling backwards to land with a thud on the couch.
'Be quiet, Mrs. Cricksley,' I said. 'I want you to hear what I've got to say.'
Her mouth was open but no sound came out, and her eyes were enormous as she finally managed to gasp, 'You pushed me!'
'Really, Mrs. Cricksley,' I replied, 'you know that I didn't touch you. Now pay attention to me. I've offered your daughter a job as typist and research assistant to myself and my partner. We're doing psychological research at the university. I've asked her to take an apartment near the university so she'll be closer to her work. I'll advance her enough on her salary so that she can pay the rent and live quite comfortably. Now do you have any questions?'
Mrs. Cricksley was obviously not used to being dominated and treated in such a confidently imperious manner. She opened and closed her mouth, for all the world like an ugly flounder that has just found itself beached. I decided to keep the pressure on before she could jump back into the water.
'Of course,' I continued, 'this will relieve you of the considerable financial burden of caring for your daughter and providing her with an education. Naturally her salary will be sufficient, to comfortably cover the tuition for her remaining years of college.'
I had decided to go all the way. Since Karl and I had invested our inheritance in the apartment building we lived in, we had more than sufficient funds for our rather modest needs and could afford my project with Neda without too much difficulty.
Mrs. Cricksley was shaking her head in a bewildered manner. Things were happening just too fast for her to comprehend. Was she really going to be able to unload that ugly blight of a daughter? she was thinking. I easily picked up her thoughts. However, it was painful for me to tune into the old woman's mind. There was no physical ugliness that could match the mental ugliness of her mind. It was a seething caldron of spite, greed, jealousy, and
