Only half of Jason’s mind was occupied with the work as he drew up a list of materials he would need for the psionic direction finder. His thoughts plodded in tight circles, searching for a way out that didn’t exist. He was too deeply involved now to just leave. Kerk would see to that. Unless he could find a way to end the war and settle the grubber question, he was marooned on Pyrrus for life. A very short life.
When the list was ready, he called Supply. With a few substitutions, everything he might possibly need was in stock, and would be sent over. Skop sank into an apparent doze in his chair and Jason, his head propped against the pull of gravity by one arm, began a working sketch of his machine.
Jason looked up suddenly, aware of the silence. He could hear machinery in the building and voices in the hall outside. What kind of silence then-?
Mental silence. He had been so preoccupied since his return to the city that he hadn’t noticed the complete lack of any kind of psi sensation. The constant wash of animal reactions was missing, as was the vague tactile awareness of his PK. With sudden realization, he remembered that it was always this way inside the city.
He tried to listen with his mind-and stopped almost before he began. There was a constant press of thought about him that he was made aware of when he reached out. It was like being in a vessel far beneath the ocean, with your hand on the door that held back the frightening pressure. Touching the door, without opening it, you could feel the stresses, the power pushing in and waiting to crush you. It was this way with the psi pressure in the city. The unvoiced hate-filled screams of Pyrrus would instantly destroy any mind that received them. Some function of his brain acted as a psi circuit breaker, shutting off awareness before his mind could be blasted. There was just enough leakthrough to keep him aware of the pressure-and supply the raw materials for his constant nightmares.
There was only one fringe benefit. The lack of thought pressure
made it easier for him to concentrate. In spite of his fatigue, the d gram developed swiftly.
Meta arrived late that afternoon, bringing the parts he had orderc She slid the long box onto the workbench, started to speak, but chang her mind and said nothing. Jason looked up at her and smiled.
“Confused?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said. “I’m not confused. Just r noyed. The regular trip has been canceled and our supply schedule ‘~ be thrown off for months to come. And instead of piloting or perimel assignment all I am allowed to do is stand around and wait for yc Then take some silly flight following your directions. Do you wond that I’m annoyed?”
Jason carefully set the parts out on the chassis before he spoke. ” I said, you’re confused. I can point out how you’re confused-whi will make you even more confused. A temptation that I frankly fr hard to resist.”
She looked across the bench at him, frowning, one finger uncc sciously curling and uncurling a short lock of hair. Jason liked her ti way. As a Pyrran operating at full blast, she had as much personality a gear in a machine. Once out of that pattern she reminded him mc of the girl he had known on that first flight to Pyrrus. He wondered it was possible to really get across to her what he meant.
“I’m not being insulting when I say ‘confused,’ Meta. With ye background you couldn’t be any other way. You have an insular p sonality. Admittedly, Pyrrus is an unusual island with a lot of hi~ power problems that you are an expert at solving. That doesn’t make any less of an island. When you face a cosmopolitan problem, you conf used. Or even worse, when your island problems are put intc bigger context. That’s like playing your own game, only having t rules change constantly as you go along.”
“You’re talking nonsense,” she snapped at him. “Pyrrus isn’t an islai and battling for survival is definitely not a game.”