— even his own existence is in doubt! He wants to ‘talk’ about all of his experiences, everything he ever did or saw or said, because that way he will know that he is real, that he has existence. But if he physically tried to do it at the speed his mind is working, he would rapidly dehydrate
and burn himself out; especially if he were awake, conscious. Also, we are not interested in the accumulation of all of that information, we do not wish to know ‘everything’. His life in general holds little of interest to us, but of course we are completely fascinated with details of his work for INTESP.’
Dolgikh shook his head in bewilderment. ‘You are stealing his thoughts?’
‘Oh yes! It’s an idea we borrowed from Boris Dragosani. He was a necromancer: he could steal the thoughts of the dead! We can only do it to the living, but when we’re finished they’re as good as dead. . .‘
‘But. . . I mean, how?’ The concept was over Dolgikh’s head.
Gerenko glanced at him, just a glance, a twitch of the eyes in his wizened head. ‘I can’t explain “how” — not to you — only “what”. When he touches upon a mundane matter, the entire subject is drawn from him swiftly — and erased. This saves time, for he can’t return to that subject again. But when we are interested in his subject, then the telepaths absorb the content of his thoughts as best they can. If what they learn is difficult to remember or understand, they make a note, a jotting which can be studied later. And as soon as that line of inquiry is exhausted, then that subject, too, is erased.’
Dolgikh had taken most of this in, but his interest now centred on Zek Föener. ‘That girl, she is very beautiful.’ His gaze was openly lecherous. ‘Now if only she were a subject for interrogation. My sort of interrogation, of course.’ He gave a coarse chuckle.
At that exact moment the girl looked up. Her bright blue eyes blazed with fury. She looked directly at the oneway glass, as if. .
‘Ah!’ said Dolgikh, the word a small gasp. ‘Impossible! She looks through the glass at us!’
‘No,’ Gerenko shook his head. ‘She thinks through it —at you, if I’m not mistaken!’
Foener stood up, strode purposefully to a side door and left the room, emerging into the rubber-floored corridor where the observers stood. She came straight up to them, glanced once at Dolgikh and showed him her perfect, sharp white teeth, then turned to Gerenko. ‘Ivan, take this . . . this ape away from here. He’s inside my radius, and his mind’s like a sewer!’
‘Of course, my dear,’ Gerenko smiled and nodded his wrinkled walnut head. He turned away, taking Dolgikh’s elbow. ‘Come, Theo.’
Dolgikh shook himself loose, scowled at the girl. ‘You are very free with your insults.’
‘That is the correct way.’ She spoke curtly. ‘Face to face and out with it. But your insults crawl like worms, and you keep them in the slime in your head!’ And to Gerenko she added: ‘I can’t work with him here.’
Gerenko looked at Dolgikh. ‘Well?’
Dolgikh’s expression was ugly, but slowly he relaxed, shrugged. ‘Very well, my apologies, Fräulein Föener.’ He deliberately avoided use of his customary ‘Comrade’; and when he looked her up and down one last time, that too was quite deliberate. ‘It’s simply that I’ve always considered my thoughts private. And anyway, I’m only human.’
‘Barely!’ she snapped, and at once returned to her work.
As Dolgikh followed Gerenko to his office, the Second in Command of E-Branch said, ‘That one’s mind is very finely tuned, finely balanced. We must be careful not to -disturb it. However distasteful this may seem, Theo, you should never forget that any one of the espers here is worth ten of you.’
Dolgikh had pride. ‘Oh?’ he growled. ‘Then why didn’t Andropov ask you to send one of them to Italy, eh? Maybe you yourself, eh, Comrade?’
Gerenko smiled thinly. ‘Muscle occasionally has its advantages. That’s why you went to Genoa, and it’s why you’re here now. I expect to have more work for you very soon. Work to your liking. But, Theo, be warned: so far you’ve done very well, so don’t spoil it now. Our mutual, er, shall we say “superior”, will be well pleased with you. But he would not be pleased if he thought you’d tried to impose your matter over our mind. Here at the Château Bronnitsy, its always the other way around — mind over matter!’