was going, then Zambendorf would constitute a valid part of the test
environment, thus warranting objective reporting as much as anything else.
Objective reporting demanded qualified observers, and Massey’s unique background
fitted him ideally to the total situation. No, NASO would not like to reconsider
its choice.
A few days after that, Warren Taylor, the director of the North American
Division of NASO, told Conlon that he wanted the decision reversed, making
little effort to hide the fact that words had been exchanged among the higher
levels of NASO and GSEC management. Conlon could hardly defy a direct
instruction from his superior, and accepted the directive with a disinclination
to further argument that his colleagues inside NASO found surprising.
That same afternoon, Conlon gave Allan Brady a draft of a press bulletin for
immediate release, stating that Massey was to be dropped from the Mars mission
and spelling out the reasons why: The proposed inclusion of a competent stage
magician was considered threatening to a psychic superman being sponsored by a
multibillion dollar corporation. Brady balked; Conlon demanded to sign the
release note himself, and Brady retreated to seek higher counsel. Eventually the
decision came back down the line that clearance was denied. At that point Conlon
went back to Taylor to protest the unconstitutional and illegal suppression of
information not relating to national security, and threatened to resign with
full public disclosure.
And, suddenly, the heat was off. The order to drop Massey was rescinded, Conlon
tore up his press bulletin, and everybody stopped talking about the law, the
Constitution, and threats of resignation.
Not long afterward, Massey received an invitation to give a private
performance”. . . for the further entertainment of our guests . . .”at a banquet
to be held in the residence of Mr. and Mrs. Burton Ramelson in Delaware. All
expenses would be paid, naturally, and the fee was left open, effectively giving
Massey a blank check. It just so happened that the Ramelson family were
controlling stockholders in a diversity of mutually enriching industrial
enterprises, which, among other things, included General Space Enterprises
Corporation and the majority of its bondholding banks.
7
“AMAZING!” ONE OF THE LADIES IN THE ENTHUSIASTIC THRONG crowding around Massey
at the end of the dining hall in the Ramelsons’ mansion exclaimed. “Truly
amazing! Are you sure you’re not deceiving us just a little when you insist that
you don’t possess genuine psychic powers, Mr. Massey?”
Massey, resplendent, his full beard flowing above tuxedo and black tie, shook
his head firmly. “I did all the deceiving earlier. I’m here purely to entertain.
I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not.”
“Could I have an autograph, possibly?” a buxom woman, festooned with jewels and
wearing a lilac evening dress, asked. “Here on this menu card would be fine.”
“Certainly.” Massey took the card and seemed about to open it when another voice
caused him to turn away.
“I’m not sure I believe it,” a tall, distinguished-looking man with thinning
hair and a clipped mustache declared. “You’re genuine all right, Massey, but you
haven’t realized it yourself yet. It’s happened before, you know—plenty of
reliable, authenticated stories.”
In an apparently absentminded way, Massey handed what looked like the same menu
card back to the woman in the lilac dress. It was always a safe bet that someone
would want a menu card autographed at an occasion like that, and Massey made a
point of beginning such evenings with a few prepared cards concealed about his
person. “I would be most surprised,” he told the distinguished-looking man
sincerely.
“I simply must know how you did that thing with the envelope,” an attractive
girl somewhere in her twenties said. “Can’t you give us just a hint, even? I
mean … it was so impossible.”
“Oh, you should know better than to ask things like that,” Massey said
reproachfully.
“But you never touched it.”
“Didn’t I?”
“Well, no. We all know what we saw.”
“No—you just know what you think you saw.”
“Is Karl Zambendorf genuine?” a tubby man with a ruddy face asked. He was
swaying slightly and looked a little the worse for drink.
“How could I know?” Massey replied. “But I do know that I can duplicate