The Mind Pool Page 8

  “Moron!” shouted Leah. “What do you mean, moron? Chan’s as good—”

  “Not now.” Flammarion waved his hand across Leah’s face to interrupt her. “Don’t hassle Tatty—you can see she’s not herself. Have some sympathy with her. She’s in Paradox withdrawal.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve been there. I know. Believe me, all she can think about is how bad she needs a shot.”

  “Shot for Tatty,” said Chan happily. “Tatty’s my friend.” He went across and hugged her.

  Flammarion offered him a puzzled stare. The tests that had assigned Chan the intelligence of a two-year-old were imprecise in many ways, and their overall conclusion was just an average of many factors. Sometimes Chan seemed to understand nothing that was said to him. At other times he would fix his gaze on the speaker and nod intelligently, as though he was listening hard and taking in every word. Leah said that was no more than a protective coloration, something that she had painstakingly taught Chan to let him survive in the tough environment of the Gallimaufries. But it was hard to accept that someone who seemed to listen so intelligently could be understanding nothing that was said to him. Leah’s explanation had only halfway persuaded Flammarion.

  “Anyway, I won’t leave Chan, and you can’t make me,” said Leah, standing up from the table. “You want me to become a candidate for your stupid Pursuit Teams? Then you just try and force me. But if you make me leave here, I promise you I won’t cooperate on anything.”

  Flammarion wriggled in nervous frustration. He had been carefully coached in the next part by Mondrian, but he was not sure he could carry it off. “How much do you care for Chan, Leah?”

  “More than anything or anyone.” Leah went to the blond youth’s side. “He’s all I care about. I worry more about what happens to Chan than to anyone on Earth, or off it, or in all your wonderful ‘Stellar Group.’ You just asked a really stupid question.” She put her arms possessively around Chan.

  “It wasn’t really a question.” Flammarion sniffed. “I thought that’s what you’d say. Now you listen to me, Leah Rainbow. In all your years of looking after Chan and loving him, didn’t it ever make you sad to know that Chan would not develop as a normal human being? I’m not talking about the physical side, I mean his mental maturity.”

  “Of course it did. It broke my heart.”

  “And didn’t you grieve, to think that he’d always be like this, and never know the world that we know?”

  “I cried myself to sleep over Chan, a thousand times.”

  Flammarion looked uneasily across at Chan Dalton. It made him feel very uncomfortable, referring to Chan as though he was not even there; although surely Leah must know what she was doing, and Chan didn’t comprehend what they were saying about him.

  But the questions were having a profound effect on Leah Rainbow herself, and Chan noticed that. He put his arms around her in turn, and squeezed her to him.

  “You silly old man.” Leah’s eyes were blinking away tears. “I’ve wept more for Chan than I’ve ever wept for myself. I’ve often thought I’d trade everything I had, sell my body, give my whole life—if it could somehow make Chan grow up. I still feel that way, I would do anything. Only now I’m old enough to know that it’s a hopeless wish.”

  “Hopeless, is it? Then you listen to me, Leah Rainbow.” Flammarion leaned forward and lowered his voice confidentially, although the room held the only people within seventy million kilometers. “People on Earth don’t know everything, even though there’s many as thinks they do. So you listen. A few years ago, a man named Tolkov built a gadget out on Oberon Station. He intended it for use in working with alien forms, ones who might be intelligent but who seemed like borderline cases. It worked pretty well, and people called his invention a Tolkov Stimulator. Just a few models were made, and their use was pretty much prohibited for use on humans. The only exception is in case of Stellar Group emergencies. You see, the Stimulator heightens the level of mental activity. Sort of like some of the mental stimulant drugs—except that it does it permanently.”

  “It makes people smarter?”

  “Sometimes. Some people. It makes others go insane, and that’s why it’s prohibited for general use. But Mondrian, my boss, he has access to a stimulator if he needs one, because he’s head of the Anabasis. He could make one available.” Flammarion leaned close to Leah. “If Commander Mondrian was sure that everyone else was cooperating with the Anabasis’ effort, he might make it available for Chan.”

  “For Chan,” echoed Dalton happily. He was still standing between Leah and Tatty Snipes. “For Chan.”

  “See?” said Flammarion. “He knows what he wants. But I’ll guarantee one thing—Commander Mondrian won’t make the Stimulator available if you refuse to cooperate and won’t go ahead with pursuit team training. That’s why I asked you: How important is Chan to you?”

  Flammarion paused. He had reached the end of Mondrian’s advice as to how to proceed. Now all he could do was sit and wonder how Leah would react.

  She burst into tears. “Chan, did you hear him?” She hugged Dalton to her. “Oh, Chan, you’re going to grow up—read, and write, and know the names of the animals and the flowers and the days of the week, and dress yourself, and learn the names of all your friends. Won’t it be wonderful?”

  “You’ll do it?” Flammarion stood up, stretching the creases in his wrinkled uniform.

  Leah’s tears gave way to rage. “Of course I’ll do it, you great fool. You’re offering me what I’ve prayed for. You think you’re so clever, knowing exactly which pressure points to push.”

  “I didn’t push—”

  “You decided where to probe and twist me, didn’t you, and you think you’ve won. But we’ll be the real winners, me and Chan. I’ll do it, of course I will. I’ll go away, and study, and do my best to work with your stupid Pursuit Team. But you’ll have to promise me something, Captain. Chan must have a full treatment with your machine, and you’ll have to give me regular progress reports. And I get to come here sometimes, to see for myself how he is doing. And you tell me at once when he becomes normal.”

  “If he becomes normal. I told you, the Stimulator isn’t a sure thing. There’s a good chance it can fail. And even if it works, you won’t know for a while. It’s an odd process. It goes real slow at first, then all of a sudden the change comes in a big rush. But don’t get me wrong. There’s no guarantee that the change we want will ever come. Chan may stay a mor—a not too bright person, for all his life.” And if it doesn’t work, that won’t be very long.

  “Even if it doesn’t work, he’ll be no worse off then he is now. How often will I be able to come here and visit?”

  “Maybe a couple of times.” Flammarion wriggled again in his seat. Mondrian would go out of his mind when he learned how Leah Rainbow had bargained. “You see, it’s not a great idea to come here. The period when the Stimulator is being applied is very . . . intense. Tough for the person being treated, and tough for the one giving the treatment. There shouldn’t be interruptions. For Chan’s own sake, he ought to interact with just one person until the course is finished. And that person will be Princess Tatiana.”

  “How long—before we know?”

  “Nobody can say. Maybe a month or two, but it could be more. Anyway, by that time your training ought to be over, and you’ll have a Pursuit Team assignment.”

  “You’re telling me I may not see him at all.”

  “I don’t know—and I’m not trying to trick you. Miss Leah, can you get all this across to Chan? It would make Princess Tatiana’s job a lot easier if he really understood what was going on.”

  “I can try. It’s very abstract for him, but I’ll do my best.” Leah turned to Chan. “Channy, let’s go away and play, just us, in the swim-room. All right? Tatty and the Captain will stay here.”

  Chan nodded. “OK. Captain smell real bad. We’ll go.”

  “There.” Leah turned fiercely on Flammarion. “You think Chan�
��s not smart, but he just told you something you ought to have been told a long time ago. You smell. Captain Flammarion. To be more accurate, you stink. Come on, Chan, let’s get out of here. Tatty, don’t let him talk you into anything you don’t want to do.”

  She headed for the door, pulling Chan along by the hand. Kubo Flammarion stared after them in perplexity. He shrugged, scratched at his scalp, rubbed his sleeve across his nose, and finally walked across to Tatty Snipes. She was still leaning forward with her head on her hands.

  Flammarion took a purple globe the size of a small grape from his pocket and pressed it firmly against her arm. “Only half a dose, Princess, but better than nothing. There, now. Give it a minute or two, and you’ll start to feel better.”

  She groaned at the first shock of the injection. After a few seconds she raised her head, and a touch of pink began to creep into the livid cheeks. “Ah-h-h. Thanks, Kubo. Oh God, I’ve been feeling wretched. I thought I’d die when I found out there were going to be no more shots.”

  “Didn’t Commander Mondrian tell you that?”

  “He did. But I tried not to think about it. Are you disobeying orders, giving it to me?”

  “Well, I suppose you might say so.” Flammarion sat down next to Tatty. “It’s certainly illegal, I promise you that.”

  “So why are you doing it?”

  “Because I understand Commander Mondrian. You see, Princess Tatiana, he doesn’t think like you or me. He believes he’s tough enough, himself, to stand anything that’s thrown at him.”

  “He’s very strong.”

  “Right. So sometimes he assumes we’re all the same. Me, I know better. I’ve got my own problems, and I know just what you’re going through. So I’ve been thinking, if we can just ease you off the Paradox, little by little, then you have a chance of making it all the way and being off it forever—even when you’re on Earth and can get it all the time.”

  Tatty held out her arm, showing the regular line of blue-black dots from wrist to shoulder. “You’re an optimist, Captain Flammarion. Eight hundred shots say you’re wrong.”

  “That’s the past, Princess. Think of the future.”

  Flammarion also thought of the future, and Tatty’s next few months. He still had a lot of explaining to do to her. But she was turning to him, gripping his hand in hers.

  “I hate him. I do. Captain, when I think of what he did to me . . . bringing me away from Earth, sending me here—and then not coming here himself, or even calling . . .”

  “He’ll be here in a few days.” Flammarion squeezed her thin, bony hand. “You know, he’s just unbelievably busy. He still has to run all the Boundary security, and now he has to get the whole Pursuit Team activity going as well. And we’re having a terrible time with the Ambassador’s office, because Dougal MacDougal wants to be in the middle of everything. The only person who can deal with that is Commander Mondrian.”

  “Don’t make excuses for him, Captain. That’s not part of your job.” Tatty gave Flammarion a weary smile. “You’re a very loyal man, and I hope he appreciates you.”

  “It’s not loyalty. I just understand the Commander.”

  “No. You think you do, but believe me I know him a whole lot better—better than anyone who just works for him. If it fits his own needs, Commander Mondrian would sell you and me and anyone he knows.”

  “Now, Princess, you’re just getting upset again. If you think that way, why did you agree to come here? You didn’t have to leave Earth.”

  “I’m aware of that. Why do you think I’m so angry with myself? You see, I knew all this, knew it years ago. And still I’m out here, in the middle of nowhere, doing exactly what he wants me to do. I shouldn’t be blaming him. I ought to be blaming myself.” Tatty stood up slowly, stretching to relieve long-tensed muscles. “I’ve had it, Captain. Unless there’s something else we absolutely have to talk about, I want to rest.”

  It was very tempting—put it off for another day or two, and hope somehow that it would never have to be done. But Mondrian would ask, the next time he called. “There is one more thing, Princess. About the Tolkov Stimulator. I told Leah Rainbow that the treatment gets very intense, for the person giving it as well as the one receiving it.” Flammarion fixed his eyes on the table in front of him. It was the old story; Esro Mondrian taking an action, and leaving Kubo Flammarion to clean up the mess. “I have to tell you just how intense it might get for you.”

  “Tomorrow, Captain . . .”

  “No, Princess Tatiana. Today. I’m sorry, but we have to do it before that shot of Paradox wears off.”

  Chapter 8

  Esro Mondrian had puzzled over the directions before he tried to follow them. They were far from the usual Fropper territory. He had been sent meandering through an endless series of descent shafts, to the deepest basement levels of the Gallimaufries. So far down in the Earth’s crust, continuous cooling was needed to make the levels even marginally habitable, and only the power maintenance crews visited on a regular basis. It seemed inconceivable that any successful Fropper would have an office down in these smoking warrens. But the directions had been detailed and specific.

  The final hundred meters of his journey were in near-total darkness, stepping carefully along a steadily descending shallow ramp. At the foot, the gloom closed in to become absolute. Mondrian paused to unsnap a miniature flashlight from his belt.

  “No lights, please,” said a soft voice from a few yards in front of him. “Take hold, Commander Mondrian, and follow me.”

  “You are Skrynol?”

  “I am.” A warm, fleshy flipper gripped Mondrian’s fingers. He walked, step by slow step, led by the Fropper in front of him. Finally he was guided to a seat covered by warm, velvety material.

  “Sit there, Commander. And relax.”

  “You have to be joking. Could you relax, in my situation? I’ve been to a lot of Froppers before, but I’ve never had to put up with anything like this. Why the darkness? I’d like at least a little light.”

  “That desire is understandable. But it is not a good idea. I work far more effectively in total darkness. And with light, you might feel far less relaxed.”

  “I don’t care what you look like. I don’t expect a Fropper to win beauty contests.”

  “How true. But there are limits. Not every product of a Needler lab is a work of art in aesthetic terms.”

  Mondrian peered into the darkness. “Are you telling me you’re an Artefact?”

  “I do seem to be saying that, don’t I?” There was a trill of laughter from somewhere above and in front of Mondrian. “Does that give you a problem?”

  “I didn’t know Artefacts could be Froppers.”

  “If you doubt my capabilities, I can refer you to others who will provide excellent testimonials. And from my initial assessment of your mental condition, the Froppers you have visited in the past have done little for you. Could an Artefact do worse?”

  Mondrian leaned back again in his seat. “I can’t argue with that. The others I’ve seen have done nothing for me. How can you say you’ve assessed my mental condition when I’ve only been here for two minutes?”

  “You are asking me to reveal the secrets of my profession. I will not do so. But if you require proof that I can do what I say, you shall have an example. Sit quietly, relax as much as possible, and let your thoughts wander where they wish. I am going to attach a few electrodes.” Cold touches came on Mondrian’s forehead, hands, and neck. “And now, a few moments of silence.”

  The temperature in the room was far too hot for comfort. Mondrian sat, sweating heavily, and tried to follow the Fropper’s order to relax. What form could possibly be so horrible that the sight of it was worse than this oppressive and stifling darkness? His eyes should be totally adjusted by now, but he could see nothing. Was he wasting his time, on yet another unproductive visit to a Fropper? There had to be a reason why Froppers were banned, everywhere except on Earth.

  “I have enough.” Skrynol’s voice
came suddenly out of the darkness. “Remember, I cannot read your thoughts, and I will never claim to do so. But I can read your body, and they tell me more about what you are thinking than you may be prepared to believe. For example, let me read back to you a few of the more obvious and familiar indicators. Your pupils are somewhat dilated—yes, part of that is certainly due to the dark; but not all of it. And yes, I can see you very well, even though you cannot see me. You have a slightly accelerated eye blink. Your body temperature is elevated half a degree above what I judge to be its normal value. Your muscles are tense, but in tight control, although you are now making a conscious effort to relax your back and shoulders. Your pulse is elevated, ten counts or so above normal. Palms wet, perspiration high in acids and low in potassium ions. Mouth tight, lips a little dry. Nasal mucous membranes dry also, and a fraction of a degree cooler than expected. Frequent swallowing, and tight sphincters. In summary, you are hugely excited, and tremendously controlled.

  “Now, you will say that those are mere physical variables. A med machine could tell as much about you. But what I can do, and no med machine could ever do, is to integrate all those factors, and place them in context. So I can guess—nothing more than a guess, although a highly educated one—at the mental state that accompanies the physical one.

  “I conclude this about your thoughts, Commander Mondrian. At the conscious level, you are pondering me and my probable appearance. That is perfectly natural. But below that, in the center of your real attention, are two other worries. First, you have lost something, and it is enormously important for you to find it. And second, a concern which takes us deeper yet, and points to the reasons that you came here in the first place: the thing that was lost is important to you, only because it protects you from something else, the thing that you fear most. The hidden thing.”