To Ride Pegasus Page 2

  As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to argue with his surgeons (and because Molly assured Wahlman that Henry couldn’t get around her vigilance), he was allowed to go back to work full time. Not, as previously, in his capacity as a dilettante astrologer, but as the manager, organizer, fund-raiser, and recruiter par excellence for the Parapsychic Center.

  “Mary-Molly luv, it’s going to be accomplished in steps, this establishment of the Talented in the scheme of things. Not society, mind you, for we’re the original nonconformists,” and he tapped his forehead just below the pink flesh of the newly healed head wound. “And Society will never permit us to integrate. That’s okay!” He consigned Society to insignificance with a flick of his fingers. “The Talented form their own society and that’s as it should be: birds of a feather. No, not birds. Winged horses! Hal Yes, indeed. Pegasus … the poetic winged horse of flights of fancy. A bloody good symbol for us. You’d see a lot from the back of a winged horse …”

  “Yes, an airplane has blind spots. Where would you put a saddle?” Molly had her practical side.

  He laughed and hugged her. Henry’s frequent demonstrations of affection were a source of great delight to Molly, whose own strength was in tactile contacts.

  “Don’t know. Lord, how would you bridle a winged horse?”

  “With the heart?”

  “Indubitably!” The notion pleased him. “Yes, with the heart and the head because Pegasus is too strong a steed to control or subdue by any ordinary method.”

  “You couldn’t break our sort of Pegasus anyhow,” Molly said firmly. “Wouldn’t want to even when he flies so high …” She burrowed into Henry’s arms, suddenly frightened by the analogy.

  “Yes, luv. When you ride the winged horse, you can’t dismount. Any more than you can suppress the Talent you’ve been given. We’ll find our bridle, I think, with time and training and more practice at riding.

  “That Goosegg was the really important break. Now we can prove parapsychic powers exist and who has them. We can discredit the charlatans and clowns who’ve given the rest of us a bad name. The real Talents will be registered with the Center, and we’ll have graphs to prove they’ve had valid Incidents. The Center will supply them with the specialized jobs that utilize their Talents. From just a sampling of validly Talented people we’ve already attracted, I can think of hundreds of top jobs.”

  “Even Titter Beyley and Charity McGillicuddy?” Molly Mahony Darrow’s eyes danced with mischief because Titter drank continuously and Charity pursued an old profession diligently.

  “Takes a thief to catch a thief and Titter’s been stealing for years to support his habit Remember that Charity’s heart of gold beats in a true telepath’s breast.”

  “Size 42-C.”

  “Molly!”

  “Go on with our future, Henry.”

  “I want Watson Claire as our PR man because I know damned well he’s a receiving telepath: he must be to handle clients the way he does. He’s got a positive genius for presenting the campaign a client’ll buy. Claire’s the sort of person we’ve got to enlist, for his sake as well as ours. Ours, because we’ve got the biggest goddamn public relations program on our hands, and the public can make or break us. His sake, because he’s not happy pushing products he despises.”

  Molly nodded sympathetically.

  “We get an intensive information program going and that will help recruiting. Then we’ve got to start rescue operations for those hidden Talents and especially those poor misfits in institutions because they heard voices … which they did … or they imagined impossible things, which they didn’t. Or their empathy with the world around them was too great to be endured and they abandoned reality. And we’ve got to figure out the best way to train these Talents once we’ve got them verified.

  “Then we’ve got to get exactly the right place to live in.”

  “To live? But this apartment is …”

  “Okay for us, for the time being. But not for the rest of us. No, now don’t worry, Molly luv. I know where we’re going.”

  Molly regarded him steadily for a second. “But you don’t know exactly how we’ll get there, is that it?”

  Henry laughed, nodding.

  “That’s the challenge, luv.”

  “And then what’s on the agenda? I’d better know the worst.”

  Henry chuckled to give himself time to evade. “Then comes one of the harder jobs …”

  Molly’s eyes grew round. “You’ve outlined a lifetime’s work and then tell me one of the harder jobs …”

  “Will be to establish professional immunity for the Talents so we don’t get sued out of our eyeball sockets because we said something would happen which didn’t because we said it would. Oh, we’ll get it sooner or later, but I’d rather sooner than later when you consider the money that’ll be tied up in suits. But that won’t be my headache.”

  “It won’t be?”

  “I can’t live forever, luv.”

  She clung to him and he gave her only a quick embrace.

  “I’ll live long enough, Mary-Molly luv, and so will you.” He put her away from him then, for he had to keep his desire in check with the pressures of his destiny.

  “Now, gentlemen, the subject all wired up to the electroencephalograph, familiarly known as the Goosegg, is a telekinetic Talent. That means, gentlemen, that he can move objects without any other agency than his mind. Ralph, would you be good enough to demonstrate?”

  Ralph, who used to be known as Rat Wilson, was not the most prepossessing of individuals, being skinny to the point of emaciation, with a rodent-like face and a mouth that remained slightly open due to untended tonsils and adenoids; but his rather large grey eyes were dancing with mischief and interest. That he had perfected his art in the variety of correctional institutions which had attempted to remold him to society’s requirements was irrelevant—now.

  He sat under the electrode net of the Goosegg at one end of a large hall, a camcorder throwing a picture of the print-out on the big screen above him. Forty-seven scientists and businessmen were seated around the room, in the center of which sat a table with a variety of objects: a hammer, nails and a plank of wood; a coffee tray with an urn, cups, cream and sugar; a guitar; and a training set of waldoes, limp and grotesque without hands to fill the gloves.

  Henry Darrow walked to the other end of the room, as far from both Ralph and the table as possible.

  There was a significant silence in the room, with the audience casting glances from table to Ralph to Henry. Suddenly a cup rattled, rose, was joined to a saucer and aligned itself under the spout of the urn which was tapped almost simultaneously to pour coffee into the cup. Belatedly, a spoon clattered into the saucer.

  “Who takes it black?” asked Ralph as cup and saucer veered to the nearest watchers.

  “I do,” said one cool businessman, lifting his hand.

  “Hang on to it then, mac,” replied Ralph. “Got it?”

  “Hey!” The man closed his fingers around the lip of the saucer but when Ralph released it, he was unprepared and the black coffee sloshed over the saucer rim onto his hand.

  There was a slight wave of amusement, shattered by the crash of a hammer driving a nail into a block of wood.

  “I’ll make the next one white. Who’s for it?”

  A second cup was delivered to its receiver as the hammer drove the nail smartly into the wood. At the same time, the waldoes jerked alive and began to assemble the objects in the tray. The guitar twanged with a bawdy ballad.

  With cups sailing around the room, the crack of the hammer to the tempo of the song, the industry of the waldoes leaving everyone gaping, Henry returned to the stage, taking a pointer and starting the sales pitch.

  “As you will notice, if you can take your eyes from the flying saucers, Ralph’s use of his Talent results in the hard variations of the alpha waves, here and here. The beta fluctuation is rapid, deep. Note the difference at the beginning of the graph before Ralph started
. Notice the increase as he stepped up the output of the parapsychic faculty. Has anyone any doubts about the authenticity of this demonstration? Will you accept this print-out as valid, and that the graph represents Ralph’s paranormal ability?”

  “Stop him!”

  Henry signalled to Ralph and coffee cups crashed to the floor. The hammer bounced and fell to the table and the waldoes went limp to a discordant twang on the guitar.

  “For chrissake,” and the man on whom a cup of coffee had fallen sprang to his feet, wiping at soaked pants and dancing from the hot bath. Instantly the cup righted itself and incredibly refilled with the just-emptied coffee.

  “Sorry about that, mac, but someone said stop!”

  The abrupt surcease of the parapsychic was recorded on the graph, as was the minor activity of mopping up the spill.

  “Hey, my pants are dry!”

  “Are there any other questions?” asked Henry, winking surreptitiously to the grinning Ralph.

  “Yes,” and a heavy set man towards the rear of the room stood slowly to his feet. “Coffee vending machines handle this sort of service, an idiot can drive a nail; granted a waldo is used for delicate sterile operations, any rock musician plays electric guitar … not all at once, admittedly, but how would someone like Ralph be employed? And incidentally, I know his background.”

  “You might say,” Henry said with a smile, “that Ralph is a real product of his background of reform school and correctional institution. That’s how he acquired his Talent. Society wasn’t ready for Ralph or his Talent. We are.

  “We’ve demonstrated here that Ralph can do a variety of things simultaneously; tasks requiring multiple action such as assembling coffee implements and teleporting them to the proper destination, as well as exercises requiring a certain strength and/or precision.

  “However, Ralph has a limited range. We’ve duplicated today’s fun and games over a distance of half a mile, but not further with any precision or strength. Ralph is not a superman. That’s the first point I wish to impress on you. He has a Talent but it’s a finite one, suitable for certain, rather limited use. He would be a profitable investment for someone like yourself, Mr. Gregory, for precision assembly under vacuum, sterile or radiation conditions.

  “I don’t say that Ralph is a totally reformed character at all,” and Henry grinned at Ralph, “but he is now able to purchase legally the things he used to heist. He is subject, and he knows it, to the mental examination of a strong telepath. He also thoroughly enjoys his present occupation.”

  “You bet, mac.” And the scathing look Ralph bent on the audience left no doubts that the little man delighted in disconcerting the men of distinction, rank and position.

  “If you can’t cure’em, recruit’em,” Henry added.

  “Are you implying, Mr. Darrow, that half the population of jails and mental institutions are peopled by your misunderstood parapsychics?”

  “Not at all. I admit we’re testing many so-called misfits to see if thwarted or yes, misunderstood, paranormal Talents are not partly responsible for their maladjustment. But that does not mean they are all graduates of institutions.

  “Talent, gentlemen, can include something as simple as being a born mechanic. We’ve all known or heard of the guy who just listens to the sound of an engine and knows what’s wrong with it. Or the plumber who can dowse the exact location of a break in water pipes. Or the pyromaniac who “knows” when and where a fire will break out and has so often been accused of starting it; the woman whose hands ease a fever or soothe a pain, the worker who knows instinctively what the boss needs, the person who can always find what’s been mislaid or lost. These are everyday, but valid, evidences of the parapsychic Talent. These are the people we want to include in our Centers—not just the more dramatic mind-readers and clairvoyants. The Talented are rarely supermen and women, just people who operate on a different wavelength. Employ them in the proper capacity and utilize their Talents to your advantage.”

  “Besides money, what do you want from us, Darrow?”

  “Doctor Abbey, isn’t it? From you and your colleagues all over the world, I want the public admission that Talent has left the tearoom and entered the laboratory. We have scientific evidence that the parapsychic faculty exists and can be used, at will, with predictable result Science, gentlemen, by definition, is any skill that reflects a precise application of principles. The principle in Ralph’s case is moving objects without artificial aid.”

  “I might buy the teleportation, Darrow,” replied Doctor Abbey, slightly contemptuous, “but go back to the tearoom a minute. Give me an example of the science behind precognition.”

  “I knew you’d ask that, Doctor Abbey. And I predict that you will receive a favorable answer to your latest inquiry into the problem—” Henry raised his hand to suppress Abbey’s exclamation, “I’m discreet enough, Doctor Abbey—into the problem you’re investigating with Doctors Schwarz, Vosogin and Clasmire. That, Doctor Abbey, is predictable, scientific and accurate enough—since your correspondence with the three men is a closely guarded secret—to be convincing. Right?

  From the stunned expression on Dr. Abbey’s face as he sank into his chair, Darrow knew he was right and Abbey was convinced.

  “Now,” Henry asked the audience in general, “all of you have had problems which I believe some of our Talents can solve. What am I offered?”

  “Why after fourteen years and nine rent increases—which I didn’t protest by the way—will you not renew my lease?”

  “Mister Darrow, I’ve been told that your lease is not renewable and that’s what I’ve been told to tell you.”

  “How come the ‘Mister Darrow,’ Frank? Now look, I’ve paid my rent right on the button for fourteen years. I’ve had no more than legitimate redecorating, why am I not able to renew my lease?” Henry knew the problem, had foreseen this situation, but he was human enough to like to see people squirm. Particularly if it might let in a little wisdom and understanding of Talent.

  Frank: Hummel looked very uncomfortable.

  “C’mon, Frank. You know. Don’t try to kid me you don’t.”

  Frank looked up with a miserable expression in his eyes. “And that’s it, Hank. That’s just it. You do know. You know too goddamned much and the other tenants are scared.”

  Henry threw back his head and roared with laughter. “No one’s conscience is clear? My God, Frank, do they really think I know or care, for that matter, about their petty intrigues and affairs?” Then he saw he’d offended Frank and wished he were a telepath, not a precog. “Frank, I ‘see’ no more than I did when I used astrology to focus my Talent. No one was afraid of me when I was just a star-gazer.”

  Frank did squirm at Henry’s choice of phrase because that’s how the man thought of Henry.

  “I can’t read minds,” Henry went on, “and come to that, Frank, I don’t really know what’s going on under my nose. My Talent is not for individuals: it’s for mass futures. Oh, yes, important individuals who will affect the lives of millions. But not if Mrs. Walters in 4-C is going to have a baby … not unless I have cast her individual horoscope … and she’s too scared of her husband to come to me for that.” Henry sighed for even that piece of common sense insight was now being misconstrued by the apprehensive real estate agent. “Look, everyone in the building knows Walters’s opinion of me, and how scared she is of him. That takes no Talent at all, Frank. And it takes no Talent either to know that Walters is probably one of the prime instigators in getting me evicted.”

  “You’re not being evicted, Mr. Darrow.”

  “Oh no?”

  “No! It’s just that your lease is not being renewed.”

  “How much of an extension can I have to find new quarters? You know how tight the housing situation is in Jerhattan.”

  Frank looked everywhere but at Henry.

  “Frank … Frank? Frank, look at me,” and reluctantly, hesitantly, the man obeyed. “Frank, you’ve known me for fourteen years. Why, su
ddenly, are you afraid of me?” Henry knew the answer but he wanted Frank to admit it. One man, one Frank Hummel, wouldn’t change the struggle of the Talented for acceptance but it might change one other mind now, three next week. Every ally was valuable. And to have allies one had to admit to enemies.

  “It’s just that … that … hell, you’re not a star-gazer anymore, Mister Darrow. You’re for real.” The apprehension in Frank Hummel’s face was equally real.

  “Frank, thank you. This isn’t easy for you and I will make it less easy but I want you to remember fourteen years of a very pleasant relationship. I knew you’d be here today. I knew it four months ago when Molly and I had that series of graffiti painted on the door and the so-called burglary attempts. I’ve a lease on new quarters. We’re moving tomorrow.”

  Frank already had too much to think about. “You mean, you knew? Already? But I just got the orders yesterday and you told me that you didn’t see individual … and you’re—”

  “I’m not lying about what I can see, Frank, but I’d certainly better see what affects myself, or a fine star-gazer I’d be. Right?”

  Hummel was slowly backing out of the apartment, less and less convinced. Once again Henry wished he were a telepath—or at least empathic—and could know what was running through Frank’s mind and counter it.

  “Do me one favor, Frank,” Henry said “On the 18th of next month, in the fourth race at Belmont, bet every credit you’ve been saving on a horse named Mibimi. Only don’t place your bet until the last minute before the race. Will you do that for me? And then when Mibimi wins, remember Talent is useful.”

  Frank had retreated to the elevato and Henry wondered if the confused man had taken in his tip. He didn’t often give them but for a friend you can do a favor … if it’ll cement his friendship.

  Henry shrugged as he closed the door. The scene just played in his living room had been repeated over and over, with acknowledged Talents as reluctant dramatis personae.