Telzey sipped meditatively at her milk. Clear and obvious in the thought record she’d displayed to the Verifier, and to whatever Psychology Service agents were studying her through their machine, was the information that unless a certain thing was done and certain other things were not done, vast numbers of copies of a report she’d deposited in a nondirect mailing vault would be dumped into the nondirect system within minutes, tagged with randomly selected delivery dates extending up to fifteen years in the future.
On any day, during that fifteen-year period, there might show up at some of the Hub’s more prominent news services a concise statement, with data appended, of every significant fact she had deduced or suspected concerning psis and psionics in the Hub, and particularly of the role the Psychology Service and its psionic machines appeared to be playing. The first such missive to reach its destination should make quite a splash throughout the Hub. . . .
So she’d blackmailed a department of the Overgovernment, and while they mightn’t relish it much, frankly, it felt good. Among the things they weren’t to do was to try to take control of her, mentally or physically. And the thing to be done, of course, was to see to it that the Parlins were found guilty at the ethics hearing of the crime they’d planned, even though the methods of convicting them might be open to question.
Considering the Verifier’s ability to scan minds at large, they must have been aware by then that the Parlins were guilty, though they wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help out Gonwil if they hadn’t been forced to it. Being forced to it, they turned in a fast, artistic job, using Telzey’s fabrication but adding a number of lifelike touches she couldn’t have provided, and presenting it in a convincing dramatic manner.
Then they’d had to take immediate additional action to keep the stunned Parlins from wailing loudly enough to raise doubts about the infallibility of the ethics hearing procedures. As she knew from experience, the psionic machines were very good at installing on-the-spot compulsions.
So Malrue and her husband had applied for rehabilitation. The machines in the rehabilitation center would take it from there. The Psychology Service might have exempted Junior as being too much of a lightweight to worry about, but they certainly had seen to it that he wouldn’t do any talking.
So far, so good, Telzey thought. She put down the glass of milk and slipped off her shoes. Chomir had strolled in from the next room and settled himself in front of her, and she placed her feet on his back now, kneading the thick, hard slabs of muscle with toes and heels. He grunted comfortably.
Gonwil’s difficulties were over. And now where did she stand with the Psychology Service?
She considered it a while. Essentially, they seemed to be practical people, so they shouldn’t be inclined to hold grudges. But she would look like a problem to them.
She’d reduced the problem as much as possible. Letting somebody look into sections of your mind was a good deal more satisfactory than making promises when you were out to create an atmosphere of confidence. If they had seen what you really intended, they didn’t worry about cheating.
The Psychology Service knew now she wouldn’t give away any of their secrets unless they forced her to it—which again was a practical decision on her part. She couldn’t talk about them to Gonwil or her parents or Dasinger because their minds would be an open book any time they came near a psionic machine, and if she had told them too much, they might be in trouble then.
And in her own interest, she had no intention of telling people in general what she knew about psis—not, at least, until she understood a great deal more of what she’d be talking about.
Again, so far, so good.
Then there was the matter of having threatened to use the nondirect mailing system to expose them. She hadn’t let them see whether she intended to give up that arrangement or not. As a matter of fact, the package of prepared reports had been destroyed shortly before she set off for Tor Heights, because of the risk of something going wrong accidentally and, not inconceivably, changing the course of Federation history as a result. They probably had expected her to do it, but they couldn’t be sure. And even if they were, they didn’t know what else she might have cooked up.
So the probability was they would decide it was wisest to leave her alone as long as she didn’t disturb their plans. For her part, she would be very happy to leave them alone providing they didn’t start trying to run her life again. No doubt, they could have taught her what she wanted to know about psionics; but their price looked like more than she was willing to pay. And she didn’t seem to be doing too badly at teaching herself.
The Federation of the Hub was a vast area, after all. Aside from occasional contacts with their mechanized spy network, there was no real reason, Telzey concluded, why she and the Psychology Service should ever run into each other again.
Satisfied, she reached around for a couch cushion, placed it behind her neck, wriggled into a different position, laid her head back and closed her eyes. Might as well go on napping until Gilas and Gonwil arrived. On checking in here, she’d been told that float-ski conditions were perfect, so tomorrow should be a strenuous day. . . .
III: Poltergeist
Late summer had faded into fall in that region of Orado, and though the afternoon sun was still warm, the season was over at the mountain resort lake. No more than a dozen boats could be seen drifting slowly about its placid surface.
The solitude suited Telzey fine. The last three weeks at college had been packed; the weeks to come were going to be at least as demanding. For this one weekend she was cutting out of the pressure. They were to be two totally unambitious days, dedicated to mental and physical loafing, separated by relaxed nightlong sleep. Then, some time tomorrow evening, refreshed and renewed, she’d head south to Pehanron College and dive back into her study schedule.
The little kayak she’d rented went gliding across the green-blue lake toward the distant banks opposite the quiet resort village. Great cliffs rose there, broken by numerous narrow bays where trees crowded down to the edge of the water. If she came across some interesting looking spot, she might get out and do a little leisurely exploring.
She pressed a fingertip against the acceleration button on the console before her. A paddle was fastened along the side of the kayak, but it hadn’t touched water this afternoon, and wouldn’t. Exercise definitely wasn’t on the program. Telzey clasped her hands behind her head, settled against the cushioned backrest, steering rod held lightly between tanned knees.
Her eyebrows lifted.
What was that?
It came again. A faint quivering tingle, not of the nerves, but of mind . . . a light momentary touch of psi energy. Interest stirred briefly. She was a psi of some months’ standing, a telepath—still a beginner and aware of it. So far, there hadn’t been as much opportunity to practice her newly discovered abilities as she’d have liked. The college workload was too heavy at present, and she’d learned quickly that investigating the possibilities of a burgeoning psi talent was no casual undertaking. It was full of surprises, not always pleasant ones. She’d have more leisure for that kind of thing by and by.
As for those ripples of energy, they hadn’t necessarily been generated in the vicinity of the lake. Chance could have brought them echoing into her awareness from some other area of the planet. In any case, she didn’t intend to break her restful mood now by trying to determine their source.
Eyes half shut, knees occasionally nudging the kayak’s steering rod a little to one side or the other, Telzey watched the tall gray cliffs along the lake front drift slowly closer. She sensed no more psi touches and the momentary experience soon sank to the back of her thoughts. There was a government department called the Psychology Service which demonstrated a paternalistically restrictive attitude toward psis who weren’t members of its organization and not inclined to join up. Not long after her telepathic ability began to manifest, she’d discovered that the Service had tagged her, put restraints on her use of psi. She’d worked free of the restraints and maneuvered the Service then into accepting the fact that it would be best all around if she were left alone. It wasn’t impossible though that they still had an eye on her, that those psi whispers had been bait designed to draw some reaction from her the Service could study.
Telzey decided not to worry about it. If it had been bait, she hadn’t accepted it. Some other day she might, just to see what would happen.