joined.
Chapter 11
PSIONTISTS
Secretary of Labor Deissner was very unhappy. The United Copper Miners, as a union,
had been wiped out of existence. Mighty Drivers’ all-out effort at New York Spaceport
had been smashed with an ease that was, to Deissner’s mind, appalling. Worse, it was
inexplicable; and, since no one else really knew anything, either, he was being buffeted,
pushed, and pulled in a dozen different directions at once.
The Dutchman, however, was nobody’s push-over. He merely set his stubborn jaw a little
more stubbornly. “I want facts!” he bellowed, smashing his open hand down onto the top
of his desk. “I’ve got to have facts! Until I get facts we can’t move-I won’t move!”
For weeks, then, and months, “Dutch” Deissner studied ultra confidential reports and
interviewed ultra-secret agents-many of whom were so ultra-ultra-secret as to be entirely
unknown to any other member of WestHem’s government . . and the more he worked the
less secure he felt and the more unhappy he became. He was particularly unhappy when,
late one night and very secretly, he conferred with a plenipotentiary from EastHem.
“The Nameless One is weary of meaningless replies to his questions,” the Slay said,
bruskly. “I therefore demand with his mouth a plan of action and its date of execution.”
“Demand and be damned,” Deissner said, flatly. “I will not act until I know what that
verdammte Maynard has got up his sleeve. Tell Nameless that.”
“In that case you will come with me now.”
“You talk like a fool. One false move and you and your escort die where you sit. Tell
Nameless he does not own me yet and it may very well be he never will. If he wants to
talk to me I will arrange a meeting in South Africa.”
“You are rash. Are you fool enough to believe that he will condescend to meet you at any
place of your choosing?”
“I don’t care whether he does or not. If he knows as much as I do, he will.”
The messenger went away; and, a long time. later, the Nameless One did meet
Deissner-with due precautions on each side, of course-in South Africa.
“Don’t you know, fool,” the dictator opened up, “that you will die for this?”
“No. Neither do you. Glance over this list of the real names of some men who have died
lately in accidents of various kinds.”
If the Slav’s iron control was shaken as he read the long list, it was scarcely perceptible.
Deissner went on: “As long as it was to my advantage I let you think that I was just
another one of your puppets, but I’m not. If you insist on committing suicide by jumping in
the dark, count me out.”
“In the dark? My information is that . . .”
“Have you any information as to where those so-huge tanks came from? Where they
could possibly have been built?”
“No, but.
“Then whatever information you have is completely useless,” the Dutchman drove
relentlessly on. ” Maynard has been ready. What more is he ready for? That thought
made me think. How did he get that way? I investigated. Do you know that computers
and automation to the amount of hundreds of millions of dollars have been paid for by
and delivered to non-existent firms?”
“No, but what . . . ?”
“From that fact I drew the tentative conclusion that MetEnge has industrialized a virgin
planet somewhere; one that we know nothing whatever about.”
“Ridiculous! MetEnge builds its own automation . but to save time they might . . . but
such a planet would have to be staffed, and that could not be done tracelessly.”
“It was done tracelessly enough so that we did not suspect it. I find that about sixty
thousand male graduate engineers and scientists, and about the same number of young
and nubile females of the same types, have disappeared from the ninety six planets.”
“So?” This information had little visible effect.
“So those disappearances prove beyond any reasonable doubt that my tentative
conclusion is a fact. Maynard is not bluffing; he is ready. Now, if MetEnge has worked
that long and hard in complete secrecy it should be clear even to you that you and your
missiles are precisely as dangerous to them as a one-week-old kitten would be. Before
we can act we must find that planet and bomb it out of existence.”
“It is impossible to hide so many people, especially young . . .”
“Do you think my agents didn’t check? They did, thoroughly, and could find . . .”
“Bah! Your agents are stupid!”
“They were smart enough to put the arm on your men on that list, and if you think
Maynard is stupid you had better think again. The worst fact is that twenty eight of my
agents have disappeared, too, all of whom had worked up into good jobs with MetEnge
and any one of whom could have and would have built a subspace communicator had it
been humanly possible. The situation is bad. Very bad. That is why I have not acted. I
will not act until I have enough facts to act on.”
“My agents would have found that planet if it exists. I will send my own men and they will
find it if it exists.” “You think you’ve got a monopoly on brains?” Deissner sneered. “Send
your men and be damned. You’ll learn. Here are copies of everything I have found out,”
and he handed The Nameless One a bulging brief-case.
Nameless took it without thanks. “In three months I will know all about everything and I
will act accordingly.” “You hope. In the meantime you must agree that a general strike is
out of the question.”
“Until I investigate, yes. Harassing tactics merely.” “Exactly what I am doing. Plan M.”
“As good as any. Your status in my organization will depend upon my findings,” and the
Nameless One of EastHem strode out.
The tremendous new starship, the Explorer, built of leybyrdite and equipped for any
foreseeable eventuality, was ready to fly. The Destons and the Joneses were holding
their last pre-flight conference. No one had said anything for a couple of minutes; yet no
one had suggested that the meeting was over.
“Well, that covers it . . . I guess. . . .” Deston said, finally. “Except maybe for one thing
that’s been niggling at me … but it makes so little sense that I’m afraid to say it out loud.
So if any of you can think of anything else we might need, no matter how wild it sounds .
. . I’m playing a hunch. Write it down on a slip of paper and put it face-down on the table
… here’s mine . . . it’ll be three out of four, I think … read ’em and weep, Bun.”
Bernice turned the four slips over. “Four out of four. Perce Train and Cecily Byrd. But
what in hell do we want ’em for?”
“Search me; just a hunch,” Deston said, and:
“Me neither; just intuition.” Barbara nodded her head. “But why didn’t we say anything …
oh, I see. You and I didn’t, Babe, because we thought Bun wouldn’t want her along. Bun
didn’t because she thought we’d think it was so she could kick her teeth out. Here didn’t
because Bun might think he wanted her along for monkey business. Right?”
That was right, and Deston called Maynard. “You can have ’em both and welcome,” was
the tycoon’s surprising reaction to Deston’s request. “They’re the two hardest cases I
ever tried to handle in my life, and I’ve got troubles enough without combing them out of
my hair every hour on the hour. They did such good jobs on their projects that they
haven’t got enough to do. I’d like to fire them both-their assistants are a lot better for
their present jobs than they are-but of course I can’t. But listen, son. Why lead with your
chin? If I can’t handle those two damned kittyhawks, how do you expect to?”
“I don’t know, chief; I’m just playing a hunch. Thanks a lot, and so-long.”
Percival Train and Cecily Byrd boarded the Explorer together. “What can you four want
of us?” the red-head asked, as soon as the six were seated around a table. “Particularly,
what can you possibly want of me?”
“We haven’t the foggiest idea,” was Deston’s surprising answer. “But four solid hunches
can’t be wrong. So suppose you break down and tell us.”
“In that case I think I can. That must mean that you and Bobby are a lot more than just a
wizard and a witch; and that both Here and Bun are heavy-duty psionicists, too-I’ve more
than suspected just that of Here. Right?”
That’s right,” Barbara agreed. “So you and Perce both are too.” Train’s jaw dropped and
he looked at Barbara in pop-eyed astonishment. “Which I didn’t suspect consciously for a
second. How long have you had it, Curly-known that you had it, I mean?”