then yesterday and again today. I had never interviewed himbefore. I never interview a student personally until the tenth year--soI quite naturally had his files double-checked. Smithy, he's been givingthe same answer ever since he was five years old. Two interviews a yearfor six years--and three extra ones this week! Imagine! Fifteen timesthis boy has said he wants to be a Destructor--and no one even knowswhat a Destructor is."
"Well," Smithy said with a shrug, convinced that Possy was getting allexcited over nothing, "I admit it seems strange--and highlysingle-minded for so young a boy. But don't you imagine it's some wordhe just made up?"
"I admitted that as a possibility until this morning. But look here."
Possy reached behind his chair and took up a small leather bag. Slowlyhe unzipped it and delved inside. Then, with a grim flourish, he broughtforth the body of a cat.
As Smithy's eyes widened, Possy said dramatically: "Smithy, that boykilled this cat with a _glance_."
"With a--a what?"
"A glance! You heard me correctly. He just looked at the cat, and thebeast dropped dead. And he did it to other things, too--a sparrow, ababy fox. Why, he even did it to a rat that had been cornered by thisvery cat.
"I tell you, I had never been so shaken by anything in all my life. Isaid to myself, 'Possy, have you got yourself a mutant?' 'No,' Ireplied. 'He's completely normal in every respect, physically andotherwise. He's a bit brighter than average, perhaps--ninety-eight sixin his studies, including elementary astrophysics. He speaksbrilliantly, composes poetry, even invents little gadgets. He's agenius, maybe, but not a mutant.' Then I asked myself, 'how do youaccount for the cat?'"
Possy paused, inferentially transferring the question to his friend.
"I can't account for the cat," Smithy said. "Unless we assume its deathwas a coincidence. But I confess you've aroused my curiosity. Could Isee and talk to this boy who wants to be a--" he grimaced--"aDestructor?"
"I'm glad you asked." Possy sighed with relief. "Actually he is outsidenow, waiting to join us. But I must warn you that you'll find him quiteprecocious. However, he's extremely amenable."
Possy went quickly to the door, opened it and called, "Herbux, come in."
The boy entered. He was, Smithy observed, a quite ordinary-looking boy.He was so obviously ten years old that you couldn't say he was eitherold or young, large or small, fat or thin or anything else, "for hisage." He was just ten years old and a boy.
"Herbux," said Possy, "I want you to meet a friend of mine--the famousDr. Smithlawn."
"How do you do, sir," Herbux said politely.
"How do _you_ do," returned Smithy. He had already decided not to bepatronizing, but to take a bold, frank, comradely course with the lad.
"Herbux," he said, "Professor von Possenfeller has been telling me thestory of your life. Now you tell me, Herbux. Not _what_ you want to bewhen you grow up, but _why_."
"I don't know why, sir," Herbux replied easily. "I only know that I wantto be a Destructor."
"But, Herbux, what _is_ a Destructor?"
Herbux looked around the room. He saw Smithy's birdcage, walked over toit and stared for a moment quietly at Dicky, the doctor's parakeet.
Dicky looked back, chirped angrily twice and toppled from his perch. Helanded on his back, his tiny feet rigid and unmoving. He was quite dead,Smithy observed, with a sudden, detached, unbelieving horror. Why, Dickywas seven years old and he had been as good a pet as any lonely oldprofessor could have desired as a cheery avian companion.
"Look here, young man," he began sternly. Then, as the shock passed, hehastily changed his tone. Suppose this child _did_ have some strangesort of power--mystic perhaps, but definitely abnormal. He may belong inthe School of the Future, Smithy thought. Or perhaps in the School ofthe Past--the Dark Ages Department. But not here!
"Don't worry, sir," Herbux said. "I can't do it to you."
"But--do _what_?" Smithy cried. "What did you do?"
"I destructed."
Smithy took a deep breath. He felt as though a cruel hoax had beenplayed on him. After all, Possy could have lied about the cat and theother creatures. And the boy was quite obviously bright enough to learnlines and play a part. But how explain Dicky?
He tried to calculate the coincidental odds that might have caused Dickyto die a natural death at one precise instant in time under unusual andexact circumstances. They proved to be incalculable to hisunmathematical brain. He rubbed his face with the palms of both hands.Then he turned abruptly to Possy.
"I just don't know what to say about it," he explained. "How _could_ Iknow? How could anybody know?"
He faced the boy again. "Look here, Herbux. This--this power of yours.When did you first notice you had it?"
"Last year, sir. I always knew I would do it sometime. But one day I waslooking at a bird perched on my windowsill, and it fell over dead, justas your parakeet did. I thought it was an accident or a coincidence. Butthen the next day it happened again--with a squirrel. Soon I got towhere I could do it on purpose. But I don't know how."
"Well, how do you _feel_ about it? Do you _want_ to kill these harmlesspets?"
"Oh, no, sir. I don't want to _kill_ them. I just want to be aDestructor."
Smithy had a sudden, disquieting conviction that he was in the presenceof some completely alien, dangerous being. A cold breeze seemed toshiver through the room, though he knew that his quarters were airtightand perfectly ventilated. _This is ridiculous_, he told himself,turning to Possy with a helpless shrug. To feel like this over such anice-looking young lad ...
"My friend," he said, "all this has occurred so suddenly I must havetime to think. Such a thing could never have happened in _my_ school.Perhaps you should--but doubtless it has already occurred to you--turnhim over to physio-psychological rebuilding?"
Possy nodded. "It has, of course. But then I said to myself, 'Possy,they are a bunch of dunderheaded old fossils over there. They can take acriminal and tear him apart and make a good citizen out of him, granted.But do they find out _why_ he was a criminal? Have they reduced thenumber of new criminals? No. And they would not find out why this boywants to be a Destructor--nor even what a Destructor is.'
"'You're right,' I told myself. 'And besides, Herbux is a nice boy. Why,with this power of his--if he _wanted_ to do harm--there wouldn't be ananimal left alive around the whole University. And if he could do it topeople he's had many an opportunity to practice on me. But has he? No,not once. Besides, if you keep him in school, you can maintain a goodclose watch over him. Herbux has promised to keep me fully informed asto the progress of his strange power. If he feels it getting stronger,he will let me know immediately.' Isn't that right, Herbux?"
"Yes, sir," said the boy quietly.
"You are quite sure," Smithy asked, "that you know absolutely nothingabout this boy's past? His parents, his birthplace--anything at all?There must be _some_ clue."
"You know very well I don't," Possy retorted angrily.
"I just thought that perhaps you might have subjected him tohypno-research," Smithy said, placatingly.
"I wouldn't dream of such a thing--" Possy began--and stopped with agasp. "How did you know about that?" he demanded.
Smithy was flustered. "I--well, that is--" He could think of noconvincing answer. Hypno-research was one of Possy's most secretprojects. He had used it constantly in his efforts to determine reasonsfor non-conformity to set patterns of behavior in some of his morerecalcitrant students. He had kept it a secret because it added up to anadmission that perhaps heredity could play a part in the development ofa student's character.
"Smithy, my dear old friend," he said with mock humility. "This is notime for us to quarrel. Let us face the facts candidly. You have beenspying on my school--and I in turn have been spying on yours. I know,for instance, that when your students don't behave the way theirheredity charts predict you often use hypno-therapy to change theirthought-lines, and force them to conform. Is that any less fair thanwhat I do?"
Smithy sighed. "I
guess not, my friend. No, wait. I will go farther thanthat. It is not a matter of guessing. I am quite certain about it. Weare a couple of aging frauds, struggling selfishly along, playing withthe lives of these children solely to keep our jobs. Perhaps weshould--"
"Nevertheless, we have a problem," interrupted Possy. "It's a problemthat won't be solved by our becoming senile idiots. Get your mind backon Herbux, and help me. I feel this is a most desperate situation. If itgets beyond just the