He returned to his own office and paced in a fury for five minutes. "It's no use," he muttered. "I know I'll have to kill him. He won't accept merger. Why should he? He's licked me and he knows it. I'll have to kill him and I'll need help. Peeper help."
He flipped on the v-phone and told the operator; "Recreation."
A sparkling lounge appeared on the screen, decorated in chrome and enamel, equipped with game tables and a bar dispenser. It appeared to be and was used as a recreation center. It was, in fact, headquarters of Monarch's powerful espionage division. The Recreation Director, a bearded scholar named West, looked up from a chess problem, then rose to attention.
"Good morning, Mr. Reich."
Warned by the formal 'Mister,' Reich said: "Good morning, Mr. West. Just a routine check. Paternalism, you know. How's amusement these days?"
"Modulated, Mr. Reich. However, I must complain, sir. I think there's entirely too much gambling going on." West stalled in a fussy voice until two bona fide Monarch clerks innocently finished their drinks and departed. Then he relaxed and slumped into his chair. "All clear, Ben. Shoot."
"Has Hassop broken the confidential code yet, Ellery?"
The peeper shook his head.
"Trying?"
West smiled and nodded.
"Where's D'Courtney?"
"En route to Terra, aboard the 'Astra'."
"Know his plans? Where he'll be staying?"
"No. Want a check?"
"I don't know. It depends..."
"Depends on what?" West glanced at him curiously. "I wish the Telepathic Pattern could be transmitted by phone, Ben. I'd like to know what you're thinking at."
Reich smiled grimly. "Thank God for the phone. At least we've got that protection from mind readers. What's your attitude on crime, Ellery?"
"Typical."
"Of anybody?"
"Of the Guild. The Guild doesn't like it, Ben."
"So what's so hot about the Esper Guild? You know the value of money, success... Why don't you clever-up? Why do you let the Guild do your thinking?"
"You don't understand. We're born in the Guild. We live with the Guild. We die in the Guild. We have the right to elect Guild officers, and that's all. The Guild runs our professional lives. It trains us, grades us, sets ethical standards, and sees that we stick to them. It protects us by protecting the layman, the same as medical associations. We have the equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath. It's called the Esper Pledge. God help any of us if we break it... as I judge you're suggesting I should."
"Maybe I am," Reich said intently. "Maybe I'm hinting it could be worth your while to break the peeper pledge. Maybe I'm thinking in terms of money ... more than you or any 2nd Class peeper ever sees in a lifetime."
"Forget it, Ben. Not interested."
"So you bust your pledge. What happens?"
"We're ostracized."
"That's all? Is that so awful? With a fortune in your pocket? Smart peepers have broken with the Guild before. They've been ostracized. So what? Clever-up, Ellery."
West smiled wryly: "You wouldn't understand, Ben."
"Make me understand."
"Those ousted peepers you mention... like Jerry Church. They weren't so smart. It's like this..." West considered. "Before surgery really got started, there used to be a handicapped group called deaf-mutes."
"No-hear no-talk?"
"That's it. They communicated by a manual sign language. That meant they couldn't communicate with anybody but deaf-mutes. Understand? They had to live in their own community or they couldn't live at all. A man goes crazy if he can't talk to friends."
"So?"
"Some of them started a racket. They'd tax the more successful deaf-mutes for weekly hand-outs. If the victim refused to pay, they'd ostracize him. The victim always paid. It was a choice of paying or living in solitary until he went mad."
"You mean you peepers are like deaf-mutes?"
"No, Ben. You normals are the deaf-mutes. If we had to live with you alone, we'd go mad. So leave me alone. If you're nursing something dirty, I don't want to know."
West cut off the phone in Reich's face. With a roar of rage, Reich snatched up a gold paper-weight and hurled it into the crystal screen. Before the shattered fragments finished flying, he was in the corridor and on his way out of the building.
His peeper secretary knew where he was going. His peeper chauffeur knew where he wanted to go. Reich arrived in his apartment and was met by his peeper house-supervisor who at once announced early luncheon and dialed the meal to Reich's unspoken demands. Feeling slightly less violent, Reich stalked into his study and turned to his safe, a shimmer of light in the corner.
It was simply a honey-comb paper rack turned out of temporal phrase with a single-cycle beat. Each second when the safe phase and the temporal phase coincided, the rack pulsed with a brilliant glow. The safe could only be opened by the pore-pattern of Reich's left index finger which was irreproducible.
Reich placed the tip of his finger in the center of the glow. It faded and the honey-comb rack appeared. Holding his finger in place, he reached up and took down a small black notebook and a large red envelope. He removed his index finger and the safe pulsed out of phase again.
Reich flipped through the pages of the notebook... ABDUCTION... ANARCHISTS... ARSONISTS... BRIBERY (PROVEN)... BRIBERY (POTENTIAL)... Under (POTENTIAL) he found the names of fifty-seven prominent people. One of them was Augustus Tate, Esper Medical Doctor 1. He nodded with satisfaction.
He tore open the red envelope and examined its contents. It contained five sheets of closely written pages in a handwriting that was centuries old. It was a message from the founder of Monarch Utilities and the Reich clan. Four of the pages were lettered: PLAN A, PLAN B, PLAN C, PLAN D. The fifth was headed INTRODUCTION. Reich read the ancient spidery cursive slowly:
To those who come after me: The test of intellect is the refusal to belabor the obvious. If you have opened this letter we understand one another. I have prepared four general murder plans which may help you. I bequeath them to you as part of your Reich inheritance. They are outlines. The details must be filled in by yourself as your time, your environment, and necessity require.
Caution: The essence of murder never changes. In every era it remains the conflict of the killer against society with the victim as the prize. And the ABC of conflict with society remains constant. Be audacious, be brave, be confident and you will not fail. Against these assets society can have no defense.
Geoffry Reich
Reich leafed through the plans slowly, filled with admiration for the first of his line who had had the fore-thought to prepare for every possible emergency. The plans were out-dated but they kindled imagination; and ideas began forming and crystallizing to be considered, discarded, and instantly replaced. One phrase caught his attention:
If you believe yourself a natural killer, avoid planning too carefully. Leave most to your instinct. Intellect may fail you, but the killer instinct is invincible.
"The killer instinct," Reich breathed. "By God, I've got that."
The phone chimed once and then the automatic switched on. There was a quick chatter and tape began to stutter out of the recorder. Reich strode to the desk and examined it. The message was short and deadly:
CODE TO REICH: REPLY WWHG.
"WWHG. 'Offer refused.' "
"Refused! REFUSED! I knew it!" Reich shouted. "All right, D'Courtney. If you won't let it be merger, then I'll make it murder."
2
AUGUSTUS TATE, E.M.D. 1, received Cr. 1,000 per hour of analysis... not a high fee considering that a patient rarely required more than an hour of the doctor's devastating time; but it placed his income at Cr. 8,000 a day or well over Cr. 2 million a year. Few people knew what proportion of that income was paid into the Esper Guild for the education of other Telepaths and the furthering of the Guild's Eugenic plan to bring Extra Sensory Perception to everyone in the world.
Augustus Tate knew, and the 95% he pa
id was a sore point with him. Consequently, he belonged to "The League of Esper Patriots," an extreme right-wing political group within the Guild, dedicated to the preservation of the autocracy and incomes of the upper grade Espers. It was this membership that placed him in Ben Reich's BRIBERY (POTENTIAL) category. Reich marched into Tate's exquisite consultation room, glanced once at Tate's tiny frame — a figure slightly out of proportion but carefully realigned by tailors. Reich sat down and grunted: "Peep me quick."
He glared in concentration at Tate while the elegant little peeper examined him with a glittering eye and spoke in quick bursts: "You're Ben Reich of Monarch. Ten billion credit firm. Think I should know you. I do. You're involved in a death struggle with the D'Courtney Cartel. Right? You're savagely hostile toward D'Courtney. Right? Offered merger this morning. Coded message: YYJI TTED RRCB UUFE AALK QQBA. Offer refused. Right? In desperation you have resolved to—" Tate broke off abruptly.
"Go ahead," Reich said.
"To murder Craye D'Courtney as the first step in taking over his cartel. You want my help... Mr. Reich, this is ridiculous! If you keep on thinking like this, I'll have to commit you. You know the law."
"Clever-up, Tate. You're going to help me break the law."
"No, Mr. Reich. I'm not in a position to help you."
"You say that? A 1st Class Esper? And I'm supposed to believe it? I'm supposed to believe you're incapable of outwitting any man, any group, the whole world?"
Tate smiled. "Sugar for the fly," he said. "A characteristic device of—"
"Peep me," Reich interrupted. "It'll save time. Read what's in my mind. Your gift. My resources. An unbeatable combination. My God! It's lucky for the world I'm willing to stop at one murder. Together we could rape the universe."
"No," Tate said with decision. "This won't do. I'll have to commit you, Mr. Reich."
"Wait. Want to find out what I'm offering you? Read me deeper. How much am I willing to pay? What's my top limit?"
Tate closed his eyes. His mannequin face tightened painfully. Then his eyes opened in surprise. "You can't be serious," he exclaimed.
"I am," Reich grunted. "And what's more, you know it's an offer in good faith, don't you?"
Tate nodded slowly.
"And you're aware that Monarch plus D'Courtney can make the offer good."
"I almost believe you."
"You can believe me. I've been financing your League of Esper Patriots for five years. If you've peeped me deep enough you know why. I hate the damned Esper Guild as much as you do. Guild ethics are bad for business... lousy for making money. Your League is the organization that can break the Esper Guild some day..."
"I've got all that," Tate said sharply.
"With Monarch and D'Courtney in my pocket I can do better than help your faction break the Guild. I can make you President of a new Esper Guild for life. That's an unconditional guarantee. You can't do it alone, but you can do it with me."
Tate closed his eyes and murmured: "There hasn't been a successful premeditated murder in 79 years. Espers make it impossible to conceal intent before murder. Or, if Espers have been evaded before the murder, they make it impossible to conceal the guilt afterwards."
"Esper evidence isn't admitted in court."
"True, but once an Esper discovers guilt he can always uncover objective evidence to support his peeping. Lincoln Powell, the Prefect of the Police Psychotic Division, is deadly." Tate opened his eyes. "D'you want to forget this conversation?"
"No," Reich growled. "Look it over with me first. Why have murders failed? Because mind-readers patrol the world. What can stop a mind-reader? Another one. But no killer ever had the sense to hire a good peeper to run interference for him; or if he had the sense, he couldn't make the deal. I've made the deal."
"Have you?"
"I'm going to fight a war," Reich continued. "I'm going to fight one sharp skirmish with society. Let's look at it as a problem in strategy and tactics. My problem's simply the problem of any army. Audacity, bravery, and confidence aren't enough. An army needs Intelligence. A war is won with Intelligence. I need you for my G-2."
"Agreed."
"I'll do the fighting. You'll provide the Intelligence. I'll have to know where D'Courtney will be, where I can strike, when I can strike. I'll take care of the killing myself, but you'll have to tell me when and where the opportunity will be."
"Understood."
"I'll have to invade first... cut through the defensive network surrounding D'Courtney. That means reconnaissance from you. You'll have to check the normals, spot the peepers, warn me and block their mind-reading if I can't avoid them. I'll have to retreat after the killing through another network of normals and peepers. You'll have to help me fight a rear-guard action. You'll have to remain on the scene after the murder. You'll find out whom the police suspect and why. If I know suspicion is directed against myself, I can divert it. If I know it's directed against someone else, I can clinch it. I can fight this war and win this war with your Intelligence. Is that the truth? Peep me."
After a long pause, Tate said: "It's the truth. We can do it."
"Will you do it?"
Tate hesitated, then nodded with finality. "Yes. I'll do it."
Reich took a deep breath. "Right. Now here's the course I'm plotting. I think I can set up the killing with an old game called 'Sardine.' It will give me the opportunity to get at D'Courtney, and I've figured out a trick to kill him; I know how to fire an antique explosive gun without bullets."
"Wait," Tate interrupted sharply. "How are you going to keep all this intent concealed from stray peepers? I can only screen you when I'm with you. I won't be with you all the time."
"I can work up a temporary mind-block. There's a song-writer down on Melody Lane I can swindle into helping me."
"It may work," Tate said after a moment's peeping. "But one thing occurs to me. Suppose D'Courtney is protected? Do you expect to shoot it out with his body-guards?"
"No. I'm hoping it won't be necessary. A physiologist named Jordan has just developed visual knock-out drops for Monarch. We intended using it for strike riots. I'll use it on D'Courtney's guards."
"I see."
"You'll be working with me all along... doing reconnaissance and intelligence, but I need one piece of information first. When D'Courtney comes to town he's usually the guest of Maria Beaumont."
"The Gilt Corpse?"
"The same. I want you to find out if D'Courtney intends staying with her this trip. Everything depends on that."
"Easy enough. I can locate D'Courtney's destination and plans for you. There's to be a social gathering tonight at Lincoln Powell's house, D'Courtney's physician will probably be there. He's on Terra for a week's visit. I'll start the reconnaissance through him."
"And you're not afraid of Powell?"
Tate smiled contemptuously. "If I were, Mr. Reich, would I trust myself in this bargain with you? Make no mistake. I'm no Jerry Church."
"Church!"
"Yes. Don't act surprised. Church, the 2nd. He was kicked out of the Guild ten years ago for that little junket of his with you."
"Damn you. Got that from my mind, eh?"
"Your mind and history."
"Well, it won't repeat itself this time. You're tougher and smarter than Church. Need anything special for Powell's party? Women? Clothes? Jewels? Money? Just call on Monarch."
"Nothing, but thank you very much."
"Criminal but generous, that's me." Reich smiled as he arose to go. He did not offer to shake hands.
"Mr. Reich!" Tate called suddenly.
Reich turned at the door.
"The screaming will continue. The Man With No Face is not a symbol of murder."
"What? Oh Christ! The nightmares? Still? You God damned peeper. How did you get that? How did you—"
"Don't be a fool. D'you think you can play games with a 1st?"
"Who's playing, you bastard? What about the nightmares?"
"No, Mr. Reich, I won't tell y
ou. I doubt if anyone but a 1st can tell you, and naturally you would not dare to consult another after this conference."
"For God's sake, man! Are you going to help me?"
"No, Mr. Reich." Tate smiled malevolently. "That's my little weapon. It keeps us on a parity basis. Balance of power, you understand. Mutual dependence ensures mutual faith. Criminal but peeper... that's me."
* * *
Like all upper-grade Espers, Lincoln Powell, Ph.D. 1, lived in a private house. It was not a question of conspicuous consumption, but rather a problem of privacy. Although thought transmission was too faint to penetrate masonry, the average plastic apartment unit was too flimsy to block this transmission. Life in any such multiple dwelling was life in an inferno of naked emotion for an Esper.
Powell, the Police Prefect, could afford a small lime-stone maisonette on Hudson Ramp overlooking the North River. There were only four rooms; upstairs a bedroom and study, downstairs a living room and kitchen. There was no servant in the house. Like most upper-grade Espers, Powell required large quantities of solitude. He preferred to do for himself. He was in the kitchen, checking over the refreshment-dials in preparation for the party, whistling a plaintive, crooked tune.
He was a slender man in his late thirties, tall, loose, slow moving. His wide mouth seemed perpetually on the verge of laughter, but at the moment he wore an expression of sad disappointment. He was lecturing himself on the follies and stupidities of his worst vice. The essence of the Esper is his responsiveness. His personality always takes color from his surroundings. The trouble with Powell was an enlarged sense of humor, and his response was invariably exaggerated. He had attacks of what he called "Dishonest Abe" moods. Someone would ask Lincoln Powell an innocent question, and Dishonest Abe would answer. His fervent imagination would cook up the wildest tall-story and he would deliver it with straight-faced sincerity. He could not suppress the liar in him.