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diff --git a/30337-0.txt b/30337-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba7270e --- /dev/null +++ b/30337-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1045 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30337 *** + + Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from Analog Science Fact & Fiction September + 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the + U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. + + + + FIFTY + + PER CENT + + PROPHET + + + By DARREL T. LANGART + + + _That he was a phony Swami was beyond doubt. That he was a + genuine prophet, though, seemed ... but then, what's the + difference between a dictator and a true prophet? So was + he...._ + + + Illustrated by Schoenherr + + * * * * * + + + + +Dr. Joachim sat in the small room behind his reception hall and held +his fingers poised above the keys of the rather creaky electrotyper on +his desk. The hands seemed to hang there, long, slender, and pale, +like two gulls frozen suddenly in their long swoop towards some +precious tidbit floating on the writhing sea beneath, ready to begin +their drop instantly, as soon as time began again. + +All of Dr. Joachim's body seemed to be held in that same stasis. Only +his lips moved as he silently framed the next sentence in his mind. + +Physically, the good doctor could be called a big man: he was +broad-shouldered and well-muscled, but, hidden as his body was beneath +the folds of his blue, monkish robe, only his shortness of stature was +noticeable. He was only fifty-four, but the pale face, the full, +flowing beard, and the long white hair topped by a small blue skullcap +gave him an ageless look, as though centuries of time had flowed over +him to leave behind only the marks of experience and wisdom. + +The timelessness of an idealized Methuselah as he approached his ninth +centennial, the God-given wisdom engraved on the face of Moses as he +came down from Sinai, the mystic power of mighty Merlin as he softly +intoned a spell of albamancy, all these seemed to have been blended +carefully together and infused into the man who sat behind the typer, +composing sentences in his head. + +Those gull-hands swooped suddenly to the keyboard, and the aged +machine clattered rapidly for nearly a minute before Dr. Joachim +paused again to consider his next words. + +A bell tinkled softly. + +Dr. Joachim's brown eyes glanced quickly at the image on the +black-and-white TV screen set in the wall. It was connected to the +hidden camera in his front room, and showed a woman entering his front +door. He sighed and rose from his seat, adjusting his blue robes +carefully before he went to the door that led into the outer room. + +He'd rather hoped it was a client, but-- + +"Hello, Susan, my dear," he said in a soft baritone, as he stepped +through the door. "What seems to be the trouble?" + +It wasn't the same line that he'd have used with a client. You don't +ask a mark questions; you tell him. To a mark, he'd have said: "Ah, +you are troubled." It sounds much more authoritative and all-knowing. + +But Cherrie Tart--_née_ Sue Kowalski--was one of the best strippers on +the Boardwalk. Her winters were spent in Florida or Nevada or Puerto +Rico, but in summer she always returned to King Frankie's _Golden +Surf_, for the summer trade at Coney Island. She might be a big name +in show business now, but she had never forgotten her carny +background, and King Frankie, in spite of the ultra-ultra tone of the +_Golden Surf_, still stuck to the old Minsky traditions. + +The worried look on her too-perfect face had been easily visible in +the TV screen, but it had been replaced by a bright smile as soon as +she had heard Dr. Joachim opening the door. The smile flickered for a +moment, then she said: "Gee, Doc; you give a girl the creepy feeling +that you really _can_ read her mind." + +Dr. Joachim merely smiled. Susan might be with it, but a good mitt man +doesn't give away _all_ his little secrets. He had often wished that +he could really read minds--he had heard rumors of men who could--but +a little well-applied psychology is sometimes just as good. + +"So how's everything been, Doc?" She smiled her best stage +smile--every tooth perfect in that perfect face, her hair framing the +whole like a perfect golden helmet. She looked like a girl in her +early twenties, but Dr. Joachim knew for a fact that she'd been born +in 1955, which made her thirty-two next January. + +"Reasonably well, all things considered," Dr. Joachim admitted. "I'm +not starving to death, at least." + +She looked around at the room--the heavy drapes, the signs of the +zodiac in gold and silver, the big, over-stuffed chairs, all designed +to make the "clients" feel comfortable and yet slightly awed by the +ancient atmosphere of mysticism. In the dim light, they looked fairly +impressive, but she knew that if the lights were brighter the +shabbiness would show. + + * * * * * + +"Maybe you could use a redecorating job, then, Doc," she said. With a +gesture born of sudden impulse, she reached into her purse and pulled +out an envelope and pressed it into the man's hands. He started to +protest, but she cut him off. "No, Doc; I want you to have it. You +earned it. + +"That San Juan-New York flight, remember?" she went on hurriedly. "You +said not to take it, remember? Well, I ... I sort of forgot about what +you'd said. You know. Anyway, I got a ticket and was ready to go when +the flight was suddenly delayed. Routine, they said. Checking the +engines. But I'd never heard of any such routine as that. I remembered +what you told me, Doc, and I got scared. + +"After an hour, they put another plane into service; they were still +working on the other one. I was still worried, so I decided to wait +till the next day. + +"I guess you read what happened." + +He closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "I read." + +"Doc, I'd've been on that flight if you hadn't warned me. All the +money in the world isn't enough to pay for that." The oddly worried +look had come back into her eyes. "Doc, I don't know how you knew that +ship was going to go, and I won't ask. I don't want to know. But, ... +one thing: Was it _me_ they were after?" + +_She thinks someone blew up the ship_, he thought. _She thinks I heard +about the plot some way._ For an instant he hesitated, then: + +"No, Susan; they weren't after you. No one was trying to kill you. +Don't worry about it." + +Relief washed over her face. "O.K., Doc; if you say so. Look, I've got +to run now, but we've got to sit down and have a few drinks together, +now that I'm back. And ... Doc--" + +"Yes?" + +"Anytime you need anything--if I can ever help you--you let me know, +huh?" + +"Certainly, my dear. And don't you worry about anything. The stars are +all on your side right now." + +She smiled, patted his hand, and then was gone in a flash of gold and +honey. Dr. Joachim looked at the door that had closed behind her, then +he looked down at the envelope in his hands. He opened it gently and +took out the sheaf of bills. Fifteen hundred dollars! + +He smiled and shoved the money into his pocket. After all, he _was_ a +professional fortuneteller, even if he didn't like that particular +label, and he _had_ saved her life, hadn't he? + +He returned to the small back room, sat down again at the typer, and, +after a minute, began typing again. + +When he was finished, he addressed an envelope and put the letter +inside. + +It was signed with his legal name: _Peter J. Forsythe_. + + * * * * * + +It required less than two hours for that letter to end up at its +destination in a six-floor brick building, a rather old-fashioned +affair that stood among similar structures in a lower-middle-class +section of Arlington, Virginia, hardly a hop-skip-and-jump from the +Pentagon, and not much farther from the Capitol. + +The letter was addressed to _Mr. J. Harlan Balfour, President, The +Society for Mystical and Metaphysical Research, Inc._, but Mr. Balfour +was not at the Society's headquarters at the time, having been called +to Los Angeles to address a group who were awaiting the Incarnation of +God. + +Even if he had been there, the letter wouldn't have reached him first. +All mail was sent first to the office of the Executive Secretary, Mr. +Brian Taggert. Most of it--somewhat better than ninety-nine per +cent--went directly on to Mr. Balfour's desk, if it was so addressed; +Brian Taggert would never have been so cruel as to deprive Mr. Balfour +of the joy of sorting through the thousands of crackpot letters in +search of those who had the true spark of mysticism which so +fascinated Mr. Balfour. + +Mr. Balfour was a crackpot, and it was his job to take care of other +crackpots--a job he enjoyed immensely and wholeheartedly, feeling, as +he did, that that sort of thing was the only reason for the Society's +existence. Of course, Mr. Balfour never considered himself or the +others in the least bit crackpottish, in which he was just as much in +error as he was in his assumption of the Society's _raison d'être_. + +Ninety per cent of the members of the Society for Mystical and +Metaphysical Research were just what you would expect them to be. +Anyone who was "truly interested in the investigation of the +supranormal", as the ads in certain magazines put it, could pay five +dollars a year for membership, which, among other things, entitled +him to the Society's monthly magazine, _The Metaphysicist_, a +well-printed, conservative-looking publication which contained +articles on everything from the latest flying saucer report to careful +mathematical evaluations of the statistical methods of the Rhine +Foundation. Within its broad field, the magazine was quite catholic in +its editorial policy. + +These members constituted a very effective screen for the real work of +the society, work carried on by the "core" members, most of whom +weren't even listed on the membership rolls. And yet, it was this +group of men and women who made the Society's title true. + +Mr. Brian Taggert was a long way from being a crackpot. The big, +dark-haired, dark-eyed, hawknosed man sat at his desk in his office on +the fifth floor of the Society's building and checked over the mail. +Normally, his big wrestler's body was to be found quietly relaxed on +the couch that stood against a nearby wall. Not that he was in any way +averse to action; he simply saw no virtue in purposeless action. Nor +did he believe in the dictum of Miles Standish; if he wanted a thing +done, he sent the man most qualified to do it, whether that was +himself or someone else. + +When he came to the letter from Coney Island, New York, he read it +quickly and then jabbed at a button on the intercom switchboard in his +desktop. He said three syllables which would have been meaningless to +anyone except the few who understood that sort of verbal shorthand, +released the button, and closed his eyes, putting himself in +telepathic contact with certain of the Society's agents in New York. + + * * * * * + +Across the river, in the Senate Office Building, a telephone rang in +the office of Senator Mikhail Kerotski, head of the Senate Committee +on Space Exploration. It was an unlisted, visionless phone, and the +number was known only to a very few important officials in the United +States Government, so the senator didn't bother to identify himself; +he simply said: "Hello." He listened for a moment, said, "O.K., fine," +in a quiet voice, and cut the connection. + +He sat behind his desk for a few minutes longer, a bearlike man with a +round, pale face and eyes circled with dark rings and heavy pouches, +all of which had the effect of making him look like a rather sleepy +specimen of the giant panda. He finished the few papers he had been +working on, stacked them together, rose, and went into the outer +office, where he told his staff that he was going out for a short +walk. + +By the time he arrived at the brownstone building in Arlington and was +pushing open the door of Brian Taggert's office, Taggert had received +reports from New York and had started other chains of action. As soon +as Senator Kerotski came in, Taggert pushed the letter across the desk +toward him. "Check that." + +Kerotski read the letter, and a look of relief came over his round +face. "Not the same typewriter or paper, but this is him, all right. +What more do we know?" + +"Plenty. Hold on, and I'll give you a complete rundown." He picked up +the telephone and began speaking in a low voice. It was an +ordinary-sounding conversation; even if the wire had been tapped, no +one who was not a "core" member of the S.M.M.R. would have known that +the conversation was about anything but an esoteric article to be +printed in _The Metaphysicist_--something about dowsing rods. + +The core membership had one thing in common: _understanding_. + +Consider plutonium. Imagine someone dropping milligram-sized pellets +of the metal into an ordinary Florence flask. (In an inert atmosphere, +of course; there is no point in ruining a good analogy with side +reactions.) More than two and a half million of those little pellets +could be dropped into the flask without the operator having anything +more to worry about than if he were dropping grains of lead or gold +into the container. But after the five millionth, dropping them in by +hand would only be done by the ignorant, the stupid, or the +indestructible. A qualitative change takes place. + +So with understanding. As a human mind increases its ability to +understand another human mind, it eventually reaches a critical point, +and the mind itself changes. And, at that point, the Greek letter +_psi_ ceases to be a symbol for the unknown. + +When understanding has passed the critical point, conversation as it +is carried on by most human beings becomes unnecessarily redundant. +Even in ordinary conversation, a single gesture--a shrug of the +shoulders, a snap of the fingers, or a nose pinched between thumb and +forefinger--can express an idea that would take many words and much +more time. A single word--"slob," "nazi," "saint"--can be more +descriptive than the dozens of words required to define it. All that +is required is that the meanings of the symbols be understood. + +The ability to manipulate symbols is the most powerful tool of the +human mind; a mind which can manipulate them _effectively_ is, in +every sense of the word, truly human. + +Even without telepathy, it was possible for two S.M.M.R. agents to +carry on a conversation above and around ordinary chit-chat. It took +longer, naturally; when speaking without the chit-chat, it was +possible to convey in seconds information that would have taken +several minutes to get over in ordinary conversation. + + * * * * * + +Senator Kerotski only listened to a small part of the phone +discussion. He knew most of the story. + +In the past eight months, six anonymous letters had been received by +various companies. As Taggert had once put it, in quotes, "We seem to +have an Abudah chest containing a patent Hag who comes out and +prophesies disasters, with spring complete." + +The Big Bend Power Reactor, near Marfa, Texas, had been warned that +their stellarator would blow. The letter was dismissed as "crackpot," +and no precautions were taken. The explosion killed nine men and cut +off the power in the area for three hours, causing other accidents due +to lack of power. + +The merchant submarine _Bandar-log_, plying her way between Ceylon and +Japan, had ignored the warning sent to her owners and had never been +heard from again. + +In the Republic of Yemen, an oil refinery caught fire and destroyed +millions of dollars worth of property in spite of the anonymous letter +that had foretold the disaster. + +The Prince Charles Dam in Central Africa had broken and thousands had +drowned because those in charge had relegated a warning letter to the +cylindrical file. + +A mine cave-in in Canada had extinguished three lives because a +similar letter had been ignored. + +By the time the fifth letter had been received, the S.M.M.R. had +received the information and had begun its investigation. As an _ex +officio_ organ of the United States Government, it had ways and means +of getting hold of the originals of the letters which had been +received by the responsible persons in each of the disasters. All had +been sent by the same man; all had been typed on the same machine; all +had been mailed in New York. + +When the sixth warning had come to the offices of Caribbean Trans-Air, +the S.M.M.R., working through the FBI, had persuaded the company's +officials to take the regularly scheduled aircraft off the run and +substitute another while the regular ship was carefully inspected. But +it was the replacement ship that came to pieces in midair. + +The anonymous predictor, whoever he was, was a man of no mean ability. + +Then letter number seven had been received by the United States +Department of Space. It predicted that a meteor would smash into +America's Moonbase One, completely destroying it. + +Finally, a non-anonymous letter had come to the S.M.M.R. requesting +admission to the society, enclosing the proper fee. The letter also +said that the writer was interested in literature on the subjects of +prescience, precognition, and/or prophecy, and would be interested in +contacting anyone who had had experience with such phenomena. + +Putting two and two together only yields four, no matter how often +it's done, but two to the eighth power gives a nice, round two hundred +fifty-six, which is something one can sink one's teeth into. + +Brian Taggert cut off the phone connection. "That's it, Mike," he said +to the senator. "We've got him." + +Two of the Society's agents, both top-flight telepaths, had gone out +to "Dr. Joachim's" place on Coney Island's Boardwalk, posing as +customers--"clients" was the word Dr. Joachim preferred--and had done +a thorough probing job. + +"He's what might be called a perfectly sincere fraud," Taggert +continued. "You know the type I'm sure." + +The senator nodded silently. The woods were full of that kind of +thing. Complete, reliable control of any kind of psionic power +requires understanding and sanity, but the ability lies dormant in +many minds that cannot control it, and it can and does burst forth +erratically at times. Finding a physical analogy for the phenomenon is +difficult, since mental activities are, of necessity, of a higher +order than physical activities. + +Some of the operations of tensor calculus have analogs in algebra; +many do not. + + * * * * * + +Taggert gestured with one hand. "He's been in business there for +years. Evidently, he's been able to make a few accurate predictions +now and then--enough to keep his reputation going. He's tried to +increase the frequency, accuracy, and detail of his 'flashes' by +studying up on the techniques used by other seers, and, as a result, +he's managed to soak up enough mystic balderdash to fill a library. + +"He embellishes every one of his predictions to his 'clients' with all +kinds of hokum, and he's been doing it so long that he really isn't +sure how much of any prediction is truth and how much is embroidery +work. + +"The boys are trying to get more information on him now, and they're +going to do a little deep probing, if they can get him set up right; +maybe they'll be able to trigger off another flash on that +moon-hit--but I doubt it." + +Senator Kerotski thumbed his chin morosely. "You're probably right. +Apparently, once those hunches come to a precog, they get everything +in a flash and then they can't get another thing--ever. I wish we +could get our hands on one who was halfway along toward _the_ point. +We've got experts on psychokinetics, levitation, telepathy, +clairvoyance, and what-have-you. But precognition we don't seem to be +able to find." + +"We've got one now," Brian Taggert reminded him. + +The senator snorted. "Even assuming that we had any theory on +precognition completely symbolized, and assuming that this Forsythe +has the kind of mind that can be taught, do you think we could get it +done in a month? Because that's all the time we have." + +"He's our first case," Taggert admitted. "We'll have to probe +everything out of him and construct symbol-theory around what we get. +I'll be surprised if we get anywhere at all in the first six months." + +Senator Kerotski put his hand over his eyes. "I give up. First the +Chinese Soviet kidnaps Dr. Ch'ien and we have to scramble like maniacs +to get him back before they find out that he's building a space drive +that will make the rocket industry obsolete. Then we have to find out +what's causing the rash of accidents that is holding up Dr. Theodore +Nordred's antigravity project. And now, just as everything is coming +to a head in both departments, we find that a meteor is going to hit +Moonbase One sometime between thirty and sixty days from now." He +spread apart the middle and ring fingers of the hand that covered his +eyes and looked at Taggert through one eye. "And now you tell me that +the only man who can pinpoint that time more exactly for us is of no +use whatever to us. If we knew when that meteor was due to arrive, we +would be able to spot and deflect it in time. It must be of pretty +good size if it's going to demolish the whole base." + +"How do you know it's going to be a meteor?" + +"You think the Soviets would try to bomb it? Don't be silly, Taggert," +Kerotski said, grinning. + +Taggert grinned back. "I'm not thinking they'd bomb us; but I'm trying +to look at all the angles." + +The worried look came back to the senator's pandalike face. "We have +to do something. If only we _knew_ that Forsythe's prediction will +really come off. Or, if it will, then exactly _when_? And is there +anything we can do about it, or will it be like the airline incident. +If we hadn't made them switch planes, nothing would have happened. +What if, no matter what we do, Moonbase One goes anyway? + +"Remember, we haven't yet built Moonbase Two. If our only base on the +moon is destroyed, the Soviets will have the whole moon to themselves. +Have you any suggestions?" + +"Sure," said Taggert. "Ask yourself one question: What is the purpose +of Moonbase One?" + +Slowly, a beatific smile spread itself over the senator's face. + +[Illustration] + +The whole discussion had taken exactly ninety seconds. + + * * * * * + +"Mrs. Jesser," said Brian Taggert to the well-rounded, fortyish woman +behind the reception desk at S.M.M.R. headquarters, "this is Dr. +Forsythe. He has established a reputation as one of the finest seers +living today." + +Mrs. Jesser looked at the distinguished, white-bearded gentleman with +an expression that was almost identical with the one her grandmother +had worn when she met Rudolph Valentino, nearly sixty years before, +and the one her mother had worn when she saw Frank Sinatra a +generation later. It was not an uncommon expression for Mrs. Jesser's +face to wear: it appeared every time she was introduced to anyone who +looked impressive and was touted as a great mystic of one kind or +another. + +"I'm _so_ glad to _meet_ you, Dr. Forsythe!" she burbled eagerly. + +"Dr. Forsythe will be working for us for the next few months--his +office will be Room B on the fourth floor," Taggert finished. He was +genuinely fond of the woman, in spite of her mental dithers and +schoolgirl mannerisms. Mysticism fascinated her, and she was firmly +convinced that she had "just a _weenie_ bit" of psychic power herself, +although its exact nature seemed to change from time to time. But she +did both her jobs well, although she was not aware of her double +function. She thought she was being paid as a receptionist and phone +operator, and she was quick and efficient about her work. She was also +the perfect screen for the Society's real work, for if anyone ever +suspected that the S.M.M.R. was not the group of crackpots that it +appeared to be, five minutes talking with Mrs. Jesser would convince +them otherwise. + +"Oh, you're _staying_ with us, Dr. Forsythe? How wonderful! We simply +_must_ have a talk sometime!" + +"Indeed we must, dear lady," said Forsythe. His voice and manner had +just the right amount of benign dignity, with an almost indetectable +touch of pompous condescending. + +"Come along, doctor; I'll show you to your office." Taggert's face +betrayed nothing of the enjoyment he was getting out of watching the +mental gymnastics of the two. Forsythe and Mrs. Jesser were similar in +some ways, but, of the two, Mrs. Jesser was actually the more honest. +She only fooled herself; she never tried to fool anyone else. +Forsythe, on the other hand, tried to put on a front for others, and, +in doing so, had managed to delude himself pretty thoroughly. + +Taggert's humor was not malicious; he was not laughing at them. He was +admiring the skill of the human mind in tying itself in knots. When +one watches a clever contortionist going through his paces, one +doesn't laugh at the contortionist; one admires and enjoys the weird +twists he can get himself into. And, like Taggert, one can only feel +sympathy for one whose knots have become so devious and intricate that +he can never extricate himself. + +"Just follow me up the stairs," Taggert said. "I'll show you where +your office is. Sorry we don't have an elevator, but this old building +just wasn't built for it, and we've never had any real need for one." + +"Perfectly all right," Forsythe said, following along behind. + +_Three weeks!_ + +Taggert had to assume that the minimum time prediction was the +accurate one. Damn! Why couldn't this last prediction have been as +precise as the one about the air flight from Puerto Rico? + +It had taken six days for the "accredited" agents of the S.M.M.R. to +persuade Dr. Peter Forsythe that he should leave his little place on +the Boardwalk and come down to Arlington to work. It isn't easy to +persuade a man to leave a business that he's built up over a long +period of years, especially during the busy season. To leave the +Boardwalk during the summer would, as far as Forsythe was concerned, +be tantamount to economic suicide. He had to be offered not only an +income better than the one he was making, but better security as well. +At fifty-four, one does not lightly throw over the work of a lifetime. + +Still, he had plenty of safeguards. The rent was paid on his Boardwalk +office, he had a guaranteed salary while he was working, and a +"research bonus," designed to keep him working until the Society was +finished with that phase of its work. + +It's rather difficult for a man to resist the salesmanship of a +telepath who knows exactly what his customer wants and, better, what +he needs. + + * * * * * + +On the fourth floor, there were sounds of movement, the low staccato +chatter of typers, occasional bits of conversation, and the hum of +electronic equipment. + +Forsythe was impressed, though not a line on his face showed it. The +office to which he had been assigned was lined with electronic +calculators, and his name had already been put on the door in gold. It +was to his credit that he was impressed by the two factors in that +order. + +In the rear of the room, two technicians were working on an open panel +in one of the units. Nearby, a dark-haired, dark-eyed, maturely +handsome woman in her early thirties was holding a clip board and +making occasional notes as the men worked. One of the men was using an +electric drill, and the whine of metal on metal drowned out the slight +noise that Taggert and Forsythe made as they entered. Only the woman +was aware that they had come in, but she didn't betray the fact. + +"Miss Tedesco?" Taggert called. + +She looked up from her clip board, smiled, and walked toward the two +newcomers. "Yes, Mr. Taggert?" + +"'Bout done?" + +"Almost. They're setting in the last component now." + +Taggert nodded absently. "Miss Tedesco, this is Dr. Peter Forsythe, +whom I told you about. Dr. Forsythe, this is Miss Donna Tedesco; she's +the computer technician who will be working with you." + +Miss Tedesco's smile was positively glittering. "I'm so pleased to +meet you, doctor; I know our work together will be interesting." + +"I trust it will," Forsythe said, beaming. Then a faint cloud seemed to +come over his features. "I'm afraid I must confess a certain ... er ... +lack of knowledge in the realm of computerdom. Mr. Taggert attempted to +explain, but he, himself, has admitted that his knowledge of the details +is ... er ... somewhat vague." + +"I'm not a computerman, myself," Taggert said, smiling. "Miss Tedesco +will be able to give you the details better than I can." + +Miss Tedesco blinked. "You know the broad outline, surely? Of the +project, I mean." + +"Oh, yes, certainly," Forsythe said hurriedly. "We are attempting to +determine whether the actions of human beings can actually have any +effect on the outcome of the prophecy itself. In other words, if it is +possible to avert, say, a disaster if it is foretold, or whether the +very foretelling itself assures the ultimate outcome." + +The woman nodded her agreement. + +"As I understand it," Forsythe continued, "we are going to get several +score clients--or, rather, _subjects_--and I am to ... uh ... exercise +my talents, just as I have been doing for many years. The results are +to be tabulated and run through the computers to see if there is any +correlation between human activity taken as a result of the forecast +and the actual foretold events themselves." + +"That's right," said Miss Tedesco. She looked at Taggert. "That's what +the committee outlined, in general, isn't it?" + +"In general, yes," Taggert said. + +"But what about the details?" Forsythe asked doggedly. "I mean, just +how are we going to go about this? You must remember that I'm not at +all familiar with ... er ... scientific research procedures." + +"Oh, we'll work all that out together," said Miss Tedesco brightly. +"You didn't think we'd plan a detailed work schedule without your +co-operation, did you?" + +"Well--" Forsythe said, swelling visibly with pride, "I suppose--" + +Taggert, glancing at his watch, interrupted. "I'll have to leave you +two to work out your research schedule together. I have an appointment +in a few minutes." He grasped Forsythe's hand and pumped it +vigorously. "I believe we'll get along fine, Dr. Forsythe. And I +believe our work here will be quite fruitful. Will you excuse me?" + +"Certainly, Mr. Taggert. And I want to thank you for this opportunity +to do research work along these lines." + +Brian Taggert thanked Forsythe and hurried out with the air of a man +with important and urgent things on his mind. + +He went up the stairs to the office directly over the one he had +assigned to Forsythe and stepped in quietly. Two men were relaxed in +lounge chairs, their eyes closed. + +_Meshing?_ Taggert asked wordlessly. + +_Meshing._ + +Taggert closed the door carefully and went into his own office. + + * * * * * + +General Howard Layton, USSF, looked no different from any other Space +Force officer, except that he was rather handsomer than most. He +looked as though he might have posed for recruiting posters at one +time, and, in point of fact, he had--back when he had been an ensign +in the United States Navy's Submarine Service. He was forty-nine and +looked a prematurely graying thirty. + +He stood in the observation bunker at the landing area of St. Thomas +Spacefield and watched through the periscope as a heavy rocket settled +itself to the surface of the landing area. The blue-white tongue of +flame touched the surface and splattered; then the heavy ship settled +slowly down over it, as though it were sliding down a column of light. +The column of light shortened-- + +And abruptly vanished as the ship touched down. + +General Layton took his eyes away from the periscope. "Another one +back safely. Thank God." + +Nearby, the only other man in that room of the bunker, a rather short +civilian, had been watching the same scene on a closed-circuit TV +screen. He smiled up at the general. "How many loads does that make, +so far?" + +"Five. We'll have the job done before the deadline time." + +"Were you worried?" + +"A little. I still am, to be honest. What if nothing happens at the +end of sixty days? The President isn't one of us, and he's only gone +along with the Society's recommendations so far because we've been +able to produce results. But"--he gestured outside, indicating the +newly-landed ship--"all this extra expense isn't going to set well +with him if we goof this once." + +"I know," said the civilian. "But have you ever known Brian Taggert to +be wrong?" + +General Layton grinned. "No. And in a lesser man, that sort of +omniscience could be infernally irritating. How is he progressing with +Forsythe?" + +The civilian frowned. "We've got plenty of data so far, and the method +seems to be working well, but we don't have enough to theorize yet. + +"Forsythe just sits in his office and gives 'readings,' or whatever +you want to call them, to the subjects who come in. _The +Metaphysicist_ has been running an ad asking for volunteers, so we +have all kinds of people calling up for appointments. Forsythe is as +happy as a kid." + +"How about his predictions?" + +"Donna Tedesco is running data processing on them. She's in constant +mental contact with him. So are Hughes and Matson, in the office +above. The three of them are meshed together with each other--don't +ask me how; I'm no telepath--and they're getting a pretty good idea of +what's going on in Forsythe's mind. + +"Every once in a while, he gets a real flash of something, and it +apparently comes pretty fast. The team is trying to analyze the +fine-grain structure of the process now. + +"The rest of the time, he simply gives out with the old guff that +phony crystal-ball gazers have been giving out for centuries. Even +when he gets a real flash, he piles on a lot of intuitive +extrapolation. And the farther he gets from that central flash, the +less reliable the predictions are." + +"Do you think we'll get theory and symbology worked out before that +meteor is supposed to hit Moonbase One?" asked the general. + +The civilian shrugged. "Who knows? We'll have to take a lot on faith +if we do, because there won't be enough time to check all his +predictions. Each subject is being given a report sheet with his +forecast on it, and he's supposed to check the accuracy of it as it +happens. And our agents are making spot checks on them just to make +sure. It'll take time. All we can do is hope." + +"I suppose." General Layton took a quick look through the periscope +again. The ship's air lock still hadn't opened; the air and ground +were still too hot. He looked back at the civilian. "What about the +espionage reports?" + +The civilian tapped his briefcase. "I can give it to you in a capsule, +verbally. You can look these over later." + +"Shoot." + +"The Soviets are getting worried, to put it bluntly. We can't hide +those rockets, you know. Their own Luna-based radar has been picking +up every one of them as they come in and leave. They're wondering why +we're making so many trips all of a sudden." + +"Have they done any theorizing?" the general asked worriedly. + +"They have." The civilian chuckled sardonically. "They've decided +we're trying for another Mars shot--a big one, this time." + +The general exhaled sharply. "That's too close for comfort. How do +they figure?" + +"They figure we're amassing material at Moonbase One. They figure we +intend to build the ship there, with the loads of stuff that we're +sending up in the rockets." + +"_What?_" General Layton opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he +began to laugh. + +The civilian joined him. + + * * * * * + +Donna Tedesco pushed the papers across Brian Taggert's desk. "Check +them yourself, Brian. I've gone over them six ways from Septuagesima, +and I still can't see any other answer." + +Taggert frowned at the papers and tapped them with a thoughtful +finger, but he didn't pick them up. "I'll take your word for it, +Donna. At least for right now. If we get completely balled up, we'll +go over them together." + +"If you ask me, we've already completely balled up." + +"You think it's that bad?" + +She looked at him pleadingly. "Can you think of any other +explanation?" + +"Not just yet," Brian Taggert admitted. + +"Nor can I. There it is. Every single one of his valid predictions, +every single one of his precognitive intuitions--_without +exception_--has been based on the actions of human beings. He can +predict stock market fluctuations, and family squabbles, and South +American election results. His disaster predictions, every one of +them, were due to _human_ error, _human_ failure--not Acts of God. He +failed to predict the earthquake in Los Angeles; he missed the flood +in the Yangtze Valley; he knew nothing of the eruption of Stromboli. +All of these were disasters that took human lives in the past three +weeks, and he missed every one of them. And yet, he managed to get +nearly every major ship, airplane, and even automobile accident +connected with his subjects. + +"Seven of his subjects had relatives or friends who were hurt or +killed in the earthquake-flood-eruption sequence, but he didn't see +them. Yet he could pick up such small things as a nephew of one of the +men getting a bad scald on his arm. + +"In the face of that, how can we rely on his one prediction about a +meteor striking Moonbase One?" + +Taggert rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "I don't know," he said +slowly. "There must be a connection somehow." + +"Oh, Brian, Brian!" Her eyes were glistening with as yet unshed tears. +"I've never seen you go off on a wild tangent like this before! On the +word of an old fraud like Forsythe, a man who lies about half the +time, you talk the Administration into sinking hundreds of millions of +dollars into the biggest space lift in history! + +"Oh, sure; I know. The old fraud is convinced he was telling the +truth. But were you tapping his mind when the prediction flash came? +No! Was anyone? No! And he's perfectly capable of lying to himself, +and you know it! + +"And what will happen if it doesn't come off? We're past the first +deadline already. If that meteor doesn't hit within the next +twenty-eight days, the Society will be right back where it was ten +years ago! Or worse! + +"And all because you trusted the word of Mr. Phony-Doctor Forsythe!" + +"Donna," Taggert said softly, "do you really think I'm that big a +fool?" He handed her a handkerchief. + +"N-no," she answered, wiping at her eyes. "Of c-course I don't. It's +just that it makes me so d-darn _mad_ to see everything go wrong like +this." + +"Nothing's gone wrong yet. I suggest you go take a good look at +Forsythe's mind again and really try to understand the old boy. Maybe +you'll get more of the fine-grain structure of it if you'll try for +more understanding." + +"What do you mean?" she asked, sniffing. + +"Look. Forsythe has made his living being a fraud, right? And yet he +sent out those warning _free_--and anonymously. He had no thought of +any reward or recompense, you know that. Why? Because he is basically +a kind, decent human being. He wanted to do all he could to stop any +injury or loss of life. + +"Why, then, would he send out a fraudulent warning? He wouldn't. He +didn't. Every one of those warnings--_including the last one_--was +sent out because he _knew_ that something was going to happen. + +"Evidently, once he gets a flash about a certain event, he can't get +any more data on that particular area of the future, or we could get +more data on the Moonbase accident. I think, if we can boost his basic +understanding up past the critical point, we'll have a man with +controlled prescience, and we need that man. + +"But, Donna, the only way we're ever going to do that--the only way +we'll ever whip this problem--is for you to increase _your_ +understanding of _him_. + +"You're past the critical point--way past it--in _general_ +understanding. But you've got to keep an eye on the little specific +instances, too." + +She nodded contritely. "I know. I'm sorry. Sometimes a person can get +too near a problem." She smiled. "Thanks for the new perspective, +Brian. I'll go back to work and see if I can't look at it a little +more clearly." + + * * * * * + +In the White House, Senator Mikhail Kerotski was facing two men--James +Bandeau, the Secretary of Space, and the President of the United +States. + +"Mr. President," he said evenly, "I've known you for a long time. I +haven't failed you yet." + +"I know that, Mike," the President said smoothly. "Neither has your +Society, as far as I know. It's still difficult for me to believe that +they get their information the way you say they do, but you've never +lied to me about anything so far, so I take your word for it. Your +Society is the most efficient espionage and counterespionage group in +history, as far as I know. But this is different." + +"Damned right it's different!" snapped Secretary Bandeau. "Your own +Society, senator, admits that we've stirred the Soviets up with this +space lift thing. They've got ships of their own going out there now. +According to reports from Space Force intelligence, Chinese Moon cars +have been prowling around Moonbase One, trying to find out what's +going on." + +"More than that," added the President, "they've sneaked a small group +aboard the old _Lunik IX_ to see what they can see from up there." + +Secretary Bandeau jerked his head around to look at the President. +"The old circumlunar satellite? Where did you hear that?" + +The President smiled wanly. "From the S.M.M.R.'s report." He looked at +Kerotski. "I doubt that it will do them any good. I don't think +they'll be able to see anything now." + +"Not unless they've figured out some way to combine X rays with +radar," the senator said. "And I'm quite sure they haven't." + +"Senator," said the Secretary of Space, "a lot of money has been spent +and a lot of risks have been taken, just on your say-so. I--" + +"Now, just a minute, Jim," said the President flatly. "Let's not go +off half-cocked. It wasn't done on Mike's say-so; it was done on mine. +I signed the order because I believed it was the proper, if not the +_only_ thing to do." Then he looked at the senator. "But this is the +last day, Mike. Nothing has happened. + +"Now, I'm not blaming you. I didn't call you up here to do that. And I +think we can quit worrying about explaining away the money angle. But +we're going to have to explain _why_ we did it, Mike. And I can't tell +the truth." + +"I'll say you can't!" Bandeau exploded. "That would look great, +wouldn't it? I can see the headlines now: _'Fortuneteller Gave Me +Advice,' President Says_. Brother!" + +"Jim," the President said coldly, "I said to let me handle this." + +"What you want, then, Mr. President," Kerotski put in smoothly, "is +for me to help you concoct a good cover story." + +"That's about it, Mike," the President admitted. + +Kerotski shook his head slowly. "It won't be necessary." + +Bandeau looked as though he were going to explode, but a glance from +the President silenced him. + +"Go on, Mike," he said to the senator. + +"Mr. President, I know it looks bad. It's going to look even worse for +a while. But, let me ask you one question. How is the Ch'ien space +drive coming along?" + +"Why ... fine. It checked out months ago. The new ship is on her +shakedown cruise now. You know that." + +"Right. Now, ask yourself one more question: What is the purpose of +Moonbase One?" + +"Why, to--" + +The telephone rang. + +The President scooped it up with one hand. "Yes?" + +Then he listened for a long minute, his expression changing slowly. + +"Yes," he said at last. "Yes, I got it. No; I'll release it to the +newsmen. All right. Fine." He hung up. + +"Twelve minutes ago," he said slowly, "the old _Lunik IX_ smashed +into Moonbase One and blew it to smithereens. The Soviets say that a +meteor hit _Lunik IX_ at just the right angle to slow it down enough +to make it hit the base. They send their condolences." + + * * * * * + +Brian Taggert lay back on the couch in his office and folded his hands +complacently on his abdomen. "So Donna's theory held water and so did +mine. The accident was due to human intervention. Forsythe saw +something from space hitting Moonbase One and assumed it was a meteor. +He never dreamed the Soviets would drop old _Lunik IX_ on it." + +Senator Kerotski carefully lit a cigar. "There's going to be an awful +lot of fuss in the papers, but the President is going to announce that +he accepts the Soviet story. I convinced him that it is best to let +the Soviets think they're a long way ahead of us in the space race +now. There's nothing like a little complacency to slow someone down." + +"How'd you convince him?" + +"Asked the same question you asked me. Now that we have the Ch'ien +space drive, what purpose does a moon base serve? None at all, of +course." + +Donna Tadesco leaned forward in her chair. "Did you happen to notice +the sequence of events, senator? We were warned that the base would be +struck. We decided to abandon it. We organized the biggest space lift +in history to evacuate the men and the most valuable instruments. But +the Soviets thought we were sending equipment _up_ instead of bringing +it _down_. They didn't know what we were up to, but they decided to +put a stop to it, so they dropped an abandoned space satellite on it. + +"If we hadn't decided to evacuate the base, it would never have +happened. + +"_That_ is human intervention with a vengeance. We still don't know +whether or not Forsythe's predictions will ever do us any good or not. +Every time we've taken steps to avoid one of his prophesied +catastrophes, we've done the very thing that brought them about." + +The senator puffed his cigar in thoughtful silence. + +"We'll just have to keep working with him," Taggert said. "Maybe we'll +eventually make sense out of this precognition thing. + +"At least we've got what we wanted. The Soviets think they've put us +back ten years; they figure they've got more time, now, to get their +own program a long ways ahead. + +"When they do get to Mars and Venus and the planets of Alpha Centauri +and Sirius and Procyon, they'll find us there, waiting for them." + +Senator Kerotski chuckled softly. "You're a pretty good prophet, +yourself, Brian. The only difference between you and Forsythe is that +he's right half the time. + +"You're right _all_ the time." + +"No," said Taggert. "Not all the time. Only when it's important." + + +THE END + + * * * * * + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fifty Per Cent Prophet, by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30337 *** |