But in that case, what was creating the mood of the place?
Gikkes? It wasn’t impossible. She had decided some time ago that personal acquaintances should be off limits to telepathic prowling, but when someone was around at all frequently, scraps of information were likely to filter through. So she knew Gikkes also had much more extensively developed telepathic awareness than the average person. Gikkes didn’t know it and couldn’t have put it to use anyway. In her, it was an erratic, unreliable quality which might have kept her in a badly confused state of mind if she had been more conscious of its effects.
But the general uneasiness Telzey had sensed and that brief psi surge—if that was what it was—fragmentary but carrying a complete horrid little story with it, could have come to her from Gikkes. Most people, even when they thought they were wide awake, appeared to be manufacturing dreams much of the time in an area of their minds they didn’t know about; and Gikkes seemed nervous enough this evening to be manufacturing unconscious nightmares and broadcasting them.
But again—what made Gikkes so nervous here? The unfamiliar environment, the frozen beauty of the starblaze overhanging the sloping plain like a tent of fire, might account for it. But it didn’t rule out a more specific source of disturbance.
She could make sure, Telzey thought, by probing into Gikkes’s mind and finding out what was going on in there. Gikkes wouldn’t know it was happening. But it took many hours, as a rule, to develop adequate contact unless the other mind was also that of a functioning telepath. Gikkes was borderline—a telepath, but not functional, or only partly so—and if she began probing around in those complexities without the experience to tell her just how to go about it, she might wind up doing Gikkes some harm.
She looked over at Gikkes. Gikkes met her eyes, said, “Shouldn’t you start worrying about that dog of Gonwil’s? He hasn’t been in sight for the past half-hour.”
“Chomir’s all right,” Telzey said. “He’s still checking over the area.”
Chomir was, in fact, only a few hundred yards away, moving along the Cil River up in the canyon. She’d been touching the big dog’s mind lightly from time to time during the evening to see what he was doing. Gikkes couldn’t know that, of course—nobody in this group suspected Telzey of psionic talents. But she had done a great deal of experimenting with Chomir, and nowadays she could, if she liked, almost see with his eyes, smell with his nose, and listen through his ears. At this instant, he was watching half a dozen animals large enough to have alarmed Gikkes acutely. Chomir’s interest in Melna Park’s wildlife didn’t go beyond casual curiosity. He was an Askanam hound, a breed developed to fight man or beast in pit and arena, too big and powerful to be apprehensive about other creatures and not inclined to chase strange animals about without purpose as a lesser dog might do.
“Well,” Gikkes said, “if I were responsible for somebody else’s dog, if I’d brought him here, I’d be making sure he didn’t run off and get lost—”
* * *
Telzey didn’t answer. It took no mind-reading to know that Gikkes was annoyed because Pollard had attached himself to Telzey’s fan club after supper and settled down beside her. Gikkes had invited Pollard to come along on the outing; he was president of various organizations and generally important at Pehanron College. Gikkes, the glamour girl, didn’t like it at all that he’d drifted over to Telzey’s group, and while Telzey had no designs on him, she couldn’t very well inform Gikkes of that without ruffling her further.
“I,” Gikkes concluded, “would go look for him.”
Pollard stood up. “It would be too bad if he strayed off, wouldn’t it?” he agreed. He gave Telzey a lazy smile. “Why don’t you and I look around a little together?”
Well, that was not exactly what Gikkes had intended. Rish and Dunker didn’t think much of it either. They were already climbing to their feet, gazing sternly at Pollard.
Telzey glanced at them, checked the watch Dunker had loaned her after she smashed the one in her wrist-talker on the fishing excursion.
“Let’s wait another five minutes,” she suggested. “If he isn’t back by then, we can all start looking.”
As they settled down again, she sent a come-here thought to Chomir. She didn’t yet know what steps she might have to take in the other matter, but she didn’t want to be distracted by problems with Gikkes and the boys.
She felt Chomir’s response. He turned, got his bearings instantly with nose, ears, and—though he wasn’t aware of that—by the direct touch of their minds, went bounding down into the river, and splashed noisily through the shallow water. He was taking what seemed to him a short cut to the camp. But that route would lead him high up the opposite bank of the twisting Cil, to the far side of the canyon.
“Not that way, stupid!” Telzey thought, verbalizing it for emphasis. “Turn around—go back!”
And then, as she felt the dog pause comprehendingly, a voice, edged with the shock of surprise—perhaps of fear—exclaimed in her mind, “Who are you? Who said that?”
* * *
There had been a number of occasions since she became aware of her abilities when she’d picked up the thought-forms of another telepath. She hadn’t tried to develop such contacts, feeling in no hurry to strike up an acquaintanceship on the psionic level. That was part of a world with laws and conditions of its own which should be studied thoroughly if she was to avoid creating problems for herself and others, and at present she simply didn’t have the time for thorough study.
Even with the tentative exploration she’d been doing, problems arose. One became aware of a situation of which others weren’t aware, and then it wasn’t always possible to ignore the situation, to act as if it didn’t exist. But depending on circumstances, it could be extremely difficult to do something effective about it, particularly when one didn’t care to announce publicly that one was a psi.
The thing that appeared to have happened in Melna Park tonight had seemed likely to present just such problems. Then this voice spoke to her suddenly, coming out of the night, out of nowhere. Another telepath was in the area, to whom the encounter was as unexpected as it was to her. There was no immediate way of knowing whether that was going to help with the problem or complicate it further, but she had no inclination to reply at once. Whoever the stranger was, the fact that he—there had been a strong male tinge to the thoughts—was also a psi didn’t necessarily make him a brother. She knew he was human; alien minds had other flavors. His questions had come in the sharply defined forms of a verbalization; he might have been speaking aloud in addressing her. There was something else about them she hadn’t noticed in previous telepathic contacts—an odd, filtered quality as though his thoughts passed through a distorting medium before reaching her.
She waited, wondering about it. While she wasn’t strongly drawn to this stranger, she felt no particular concern about him. He had picked up her own verbalized instructions to Chomir, had been startled by them, and, therefore, hadn’t been aware of anything she was thinking previously. She’d now tightened the veil of psi energy about her mind a little, enough to dampen out the drifting threads of subconscious thought by which an unguarded mind was most easily found and reached. Tightened further, as it could be in an instant, it had stopped genuine experts in mind-probing in their tracks. This psi was no expert; an expert wouldn’t have flung surprised questions at her. She didn’t verbalize her thinking as a rule, and wouldn’t do it now until she felt like it. And she wouldn’t reach out for him. She decided the situation was sufficiently in hand.
The silence between them lengthened. He might be equally wary now, regretting his brief outburst.
Telzey relaxed her screen, flicked out a search-thought to Chomir, felt him approaching the camp in his easy, loping run, closed the screen again. She waited a few seconds. There was no indication of interest apparently, even when he had his attention on her, he was able to sense only her verbalized thoughts. That simplified the matter.
She lightened the screen again. “Who are you?” she asked.
The reply came instantly. “So I wasn’t dreaming! For a moment, I thought . . . Are there two of you?”
“No. I was talking to my dog.” There was something odd about the quality of his thoughts. He might be using a shield or screen of some kind, not of the same type as hers but perhaps equally effective.
“Your dog? I see. It’s been over a year,” the voice said, “since I’ve spoken to others like this.” It paused. “You’re a woman . . . young . . . a girl . . .”