Part 2

"Excellent. And when the requisition numbering the last of the block comes in, I'll sign up and mail another block to your home. Leave a forwarding address. The bank will honor your signature on company checks to the tune of one thousand dollars per month."

"Applied psychology is wonderful," smiled the tall, thin man. "You wouldn't have trusted me a thousand years ago."

"There are a lot of people I wouldn't trust now, today."

"But the difference is, Andy, that nowadays you know whom you can trust."

* * * * *

Gaya Lel Rayne's entry into the grand ballroom had the same effect, just as it always had. In another woman it might have produced triangle-trouble, but Gaya's attraction for men was not her only charm; the woman who hated her for her ability to draw men was one who did not know her. Once introduced, and permitted to talk with Gaya, the jealous dislike died, for Gaya was not far below her husband in wit and intelligence. Like all intelligent people, Gaya was capable of making herself liked by all, even in the face of dislike. Those who still felt the twinge of jealousy often pitied her; feeling that her beauty was compensation for the necessity that she be of high intelligence, and quite certain of their husbands, whom they knew would not care to live their lives with a woman who outshone them in every field. They knew also that there was but one man on the whole planet that Gaya loved--Gerd. He was the only man she could possibly love and the only man who could possibly love her. Gerd was the only man who could even keep up with her thought-processes.

Gerd had his amusement, too. Partly in payment for the slight put upon them by their husbands, Gerd was surrounded by women as he entered. And they knew that he was more than capable of running far ahead of their own devious thought-processes, a condition which they hoped was untrue in their husbands. Yet he was interesting and attractive, and equally as versatile as his wife.

The party took on a faster air, and all were dazzled save one. Andrew Tremaine stood on the side lines and watched.

He saw Gaya whirl from man to man across the dance floor and with equal amusement he saw Gerd moving through a closely-knit crowd. He wished fervently for someone to discuss it with, but even his wife was in the press of people about Gerd Lel Rayne.

Emissaries, he thought. Ambassadors who cut their mentality because they did not care to appear so far beyond their friends would certainly develop a contempt. It must be so, if for no other reason than it could not be otherwise. Andrew wondered what made them tick.

He'd heard from Gene Leglen briefly. It was not good. A negative result--which was inconclusive. Yet, according to the letter, the thought-process frequencies had been inspected carefully by the most delicate detector that Gene could make, and he had found nothing out of line. Strays from the I.Q. Register machine that ran continually in the shielded vault below the psychology building in government square were recorded; a few pip-markers leaked out of the intent-register on strong impulses and caused Gene's machine to chatter wildly at long and indefinite times; even a few infra-faint recordings came from the intent-register machine as a matrix was sent through to record changes from a previous marking were caught on Gene's detector.

But nothing with overall intensity. Nothing that could be expected to block the operation of nine tenths of a man's brain.

* * * * *

Andy saw Rayne approaching with Lenore, and smiled.

"Why so thoughtful?" asked his wife.

"Thinking deeply again?" asked Rayne. "More power?"

"Don't laugh at me, Gerd," pleaded Andrew.

"Laugh at you?" asked Gerd in genuine dismay. "Never. You are a good friend, Andrew. I will never laugh at you." He shook his head. "Tell me, what makes you think I'm laughing?"

"I can not but think, sometimes, that you are playing with all of us."

"Please ... please. Is there nothing I can do to dispel this idea, this fixation of yours?" he turned to Lenore. "Do you, too, think I'm toying?"

"No," she said quickly. "You're too fine a person to toy with another. I know."

Gerd flustered at that. "The trouble with this job of mine," he said, "is that no one ever tells me that I'm a meddling fool or to mind my own business."

"That's your fault," said Andrew. "Honestly, I doubt that there is a man on this confounded planet that wouldn't hasten to carry your banner. You are a well-liked man, Gerd, and as such no one wants to tell you off. Furthermore, you always seem to know when to let a man alone--and that in itself precludes any possibility of telling you to stay away. How do you know that sort of thing?"

"Accident of birth," said Gerd wryly.

"Spacewash."

"You think I studied to learn it?"

Andrew laughed. "If I thought that, I'd apply for entrance to the same school," he said. "I'd like to have that trait myself."

Lenore interrupted. "Andy," she said, "you must remember that Gerd is a sensitive man. You might have been a sensitive man at one time, but being a publisher has taken all of the reticence out of you. Wresting hidden secrets from people who have things to hide is life and blood for a newsman--and it does not make a man sensitive for other people's feelings."

"Well," grumbled Andrew, "I'd like to be able to recognize when someone does not want to be bothered, anyway."

"And those are just the people you'd bother, I know."

"But what was bothering you?" asked Gerd with honest concern.

"I was just thinking about brains. One of the women said that your wife's brains excluded her from the 'dangerous female' classification because she wouldn't be really bothered with any one of the husbands present. It led to other trains of thought and I came to the universal question: Why does a man use but nine tenths of his brain?"

"Oh that? That's obvious! You have a flier. What is its peak power?"

"About seven dirats."

"And it develops that total power only at high speed. Suppose you drove the machine at that power all the time?"

"Wouldn't last--besides, you couldn't. It takes time to get to that speed."

"Right. It is a matter of capacity. The brain is built to exceed the present demand, Andy. When it is needed, it will be available. Nature expects that the brain will be called on, one hundred percent, and she intends to keep increasing that availability as it is needed. But it takes millions of years to develop and evolve something as intricate as brain-material, and nature does not intend that you and I catch up with her and find her adaptive ultimate inadequate to proceed because of her lack of foresight. The necessities of brain material have far exceeded her ability to evolve it, up to the present time. You're using infinitely greater proportions of your brain than your ancestors. Suppose that they had been running at full capability? You'd be limited; at the top of your capability to progress.

"So, Andrew, you're running on one tenth of your brain all because no real thinking can come out of a full brain. The fill will increase, with evolution and science, to high percentages, but will never reach saturation. Saturation, I believe, might be dangerous."

"Sounds plausible," admitted Andrew.

"It is true," said Gerd. "And now before you drive yourself mad by thinking in circles, come and have a good time."

"No, I've just thought of something important. Your explanation gave me the impetus to think it out. Lenore, do you mind if I leave for an hour?"

"I'd better go along--"

"Please do not," objected Gerd. "Andy, I'll see that Lenore is properly entertained in your absence. May I?"

Andrew nodded, and Lenore smiled brightly. "I'll be in excellent company," she said.

"The best," agreed Andrew. "Don't forget that Gaya is here, too."

"This is an evening of pleasure," said Gerd. "One, I should not deny Gaya her admiration nor her friends the opportunity of being with her. Two, Gaya and I understand one another perfectly."

"Look, Gerd, I was fooling with Lenore. No one has any illusions about either you or Gaya, or fears, or doubts, or worries. If you'll keep Lenore from being lonely while I'm gone, I'll be more than grateful. See you in an hour."

"Fair enough."

* * * * *

Andrew drove his flier at almost peak power all the way to Gene's home and dropped in on the roof with a sharp landing. He raced inside and found Gene working over a bread-board layout of an amplifier for the thought frequencies.

He told Gene about Rayne's speech and waited for an answer.

"What did you expect?" asked Gene. "The answer?"

"No, but I hoped to catch him."

"In catching anything, Andy, you should first know more than your rabbit."

"You do not believe it?"

"Nope." Gene handed the editor a sheet of paper. "Follow that?"

Andrew started down the listed equations and stopped after the fourth. "Way ahead of me. How did you derive this term here?"

"By deduction."

"Guesswork?"

"Deduction. It can be nothing else."

"But knowing that is like establishing the validity of a negative result."

"Yes, but I tried everything else and nothing else worked."

"You tried everything? Look, Gene, everything covers--"

"I know," grinned Gene. "Space is bigger than anything. I'm going to make another try at seeking the possible conflicting term. That is, as soon as I get this field-generator adjusted higher."

"You did it with that?"

"So far, yes. But it still leaves a lot to be desired. Now, I've got it running properly. Give me that paper and stand back out of the way!"

Gene set the temple-clamp over his head and snapped the switch. The equipment warmed for a minute, and then Gene started to put characters down on the page as fast as he could write. He filled a half page in finger-cramping fury, and then stopped writing to stare at the page for a full ten seconds. Another equation appeared after this, and another which Gene combined. There was no more writing for a full minute then, and Andrew lost all track or semblance of order to Gene's writing. A scant term here, a single character there, a summation line--it became a sort of mathematical shorthand; a mere reminder of the salient points in the argument. The manipulation of the terms went on mentally.

The tenseness increased. The shorthand scrawls became fewer and fewer and disappeared entirely. The paper was forgotten, and the pencil dropped from Gene's fingers.

Andrew watched, held by the intensity of Gene's thinking. The other man was motionless, his muscles tensed slightly. An hour passed, and Gene had not moved, before Andrew became worried. He remembered--

"Gene had not blinked his eye for forty minutes!"

"Gene! Gene!"

No answer.

"Shut that thing off!"

No answer.

* * * * *

Andrew stood up, looked around, and then stepped forward. Nothing happened, so he took another step forward. What had happened to Gene? He didn't know, but he was going to find out. He stepped forward again, and then walked into the field of the machine. A wave of excitement filled him as the leakage-impact caught him; it heightened his perceptive sense and increased his emotional powers proportionately to the square of the distance between himself and the machine. He touched the corner of the desk with the tip of his hand and though he was not looking at the wood he knew that it was Terran oak, had been varnished with synthanic twice, and that it should be refinished again in a few months if it was to be preserved adequately. The air in the room came to his notice, and a portion of his brain found time to wonder at the phenomena for the breath of life is seldom questioned. Yet the air seemed tangy, pleasant, as though some subtle perfumes had been blended in it. He forgot the air in a quick inspection of the inert man. Yes, he knew without close examination that the psychologist was dead. From what cause? Andrew guessed that it was overload; if his senses and brain power were heightened with this mere field-leakage of Gene's machine, the effect of being in absolute contact with the machine's output would be similar to running a small motor without protective circuits from a high-power source. Gene had succeeded too well.

His perception of his surroundings continued to lift into the higher levels. Knotty little problems did not bother him, and his mind leaped from problem to answer without stopping to investigate and inspect the in-between steps.

Andrew wondered whether leaving the machine would cause his increased perception to drop. Forgetting Gene because the dead psychologist was no longer a sentient being, Andrew turned and walked away from the desk. The field must be terrific, he thought, and to further check the field effect, Andrew left the building and made his way down the street.

He finally dismissed the dead man from his mind. The things he saw and felt and knew were of greater consequence--and whether or not the effect failed, there was one great question that he, Andrew Tremaine, was going to solve.

He returned to the party.

He stood upon the rim of the dance floor and considered the crowd of circling dancers. He listened to the light chatter and the foolish laughter and he pitied them. His ears, he found, had taken on a sort of selectivity and were infinitely higher in sensitivity--and yet he could control that sound-pickup to a comfortable degree. Talk from the far side of the floor came to him, filtered from the rest of the general noise-level by his own, newly-found ability. He shamelessly listened to the conversations, and found them dull and uninteresting.

Through the broad doorway at the far side of the floor he looked in upon the bar. The odor of liquor came then, powerful and overwhelming until Andrew decided that it was too strong and caused his smell-sense to drop.

Foolishness.

There were so many important things to be done and these people were frittering their time away in utter foolishness. He wondered whether Gerd Lel Rayne would agree with him, and with the thought he knew where to find the emissary. He turned and went through the moving crowd impatiently until he found Rayne and Lenore.

* * * * *

"You're back?" asked Lenore.

"Obviously," he said shortly. "Rayne, I have a question to ask."

"Come now, Andrew," came the booming, resonant answer, "you're not going to mix business with pleasure?"

"I must--for I may lose the trend of my thought if I wait."

"Then by all means ... Lenore, you'll forgive us?"

"Yes," smiled she, "but not for too long."

Andrew contemplated his wife's exquisite shoulders as she left, and then he turned back to Gerd and bluntly asked: "Gerd, doesn't all this waste of time, effort, and brain-power disgust you?"

"Not at all. I find that relaxation is good."

"But the time--and life is so short."

"Continuous running of any machine will cause its life to be shorter. The same is true of the brain."

"Thought is thought, and we use the same portion of the brain while thinking foolishness as while thinking in deep, profound terms."

"Perhaps so."

"Don't you know?"

"Who does?"

"You and I know. Gerd, what is behind all of this? Who are you?"

"You know who I am."

Yes, Andrew knew. His higher perception told him without argument that Gerd Lel Rayne was exactly what the emissary claimed.

"But why?"

"Pure and sheer altruism."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing. We are but waiting until you evolve to the proper degree to join us. At that time you are welcome."

"Then," stormed Andrew, "why not help us evolve?"

"Impossible."

"Nonsense. You are not too far above me."

"At the present time you and I are fairly equal in intelligence. You've been working with the mental amplifier, haven't you? A more hellish instrument has never been invented, Andy."

"I find myself enjoying the sensation. If there is one thing that will raise our general level sufficiently, it is this machine. Can it be, Gerd, that your race does not want us to evolve? Do you want us to remain ignorant? Do you fear our competition?"

"My race," said Gerd with pride, "has absolutely nothing that your race can use. Your race has absolutely nothing that can possibly be of interest to us--save eventual evolution into our civilization-level. That we desire."

"Since the level of my intelligence has been raised to equal yours, why couldn't the same process work on my race as a whole. The problem then will be solved immediately."

"I see that your answer does not lie with me. Also, since you are equal to me, you must be capable of understanding the whole truth. Will you come to my home immediately?"

"To solve this problem? Certainly."

"Then come quickly. A member of the Ones is there now, reading my periodic report. I will prevail upon him to see you. But it must be swift, for he is due to leave in about one hour."

They went from the building side by side and entered Rayne's flier. Andrew wondered whether the emissary was willing to discuss the problem before his visit, and decided to try. "Who is your visitor?"

"He is Yord Tan Verde."

"A sort of high overseer?"

"Sort of. He is not connected with the Grand Council of Galactic Civilization in any managerial position, though. Yord is merely one of the group-leaders--a field representative."

"Do you mind discussing yourself?"

"I'd prefer not--though if you ask me a question that I think is not too personal, I'll be glad to answer."

"Your I.Q. is 260, according to the register. If he is your immediate superior, what must his be?"

Rayne shook his head. "I don't really know," he answered. "Your Terran method of rating intelligence is based upon age. Since your age is based upon a purely Terran concept, we could not possibly rate our intelligence on your basis, until we encounter your machines. Frankly, I'd say his was higher--but you shall see."

* * * * *

Gerd stopped Andrew at the door to his library. "Wait," he said. "I'll see if Yord is willing to see you."

"If he isn't?"

"I'll be as persuasive as I can. I think he may be interested when I inform him that you have artificially increased your I.Q. to my level."

"You think so?"

"I know so. However, Andrew, it will not be a productive interest. Your means is still artificial and not to be assumed adequate."

"Why not?"

"Because without the machine to step up your brain, you'd revert to your original state in a single generation. It is worse than the fabled death of power--for power is also the power to destroy. To lose the power of understanding and to leave the machines of intelligence lying around for all to play with would be disastrous. No, you wait and I'll go in and prepare Yord Tan Verde."

Rayne left the door partly open. There was a greeting in an alien tongue, and then as the other voice continued, Gerd interrupted. "Please--I was trained in Terran. I think best in Terran. May we use it?"

Verde's reply came in Terran. "I'd forgotten."

"Thank you." Gerd Lel Rayne explained the situation to his overseer, and it was quite obvious to Andrew that Gerd accelerated the story continuously, and the emissary ended with an air that gave Andrew to understand that the overseer was quite impatient and that he was ahead of Gerd.

The answer was a single word. It was unintelligible to Andrew at first, and then it soaked in that Verde had uttered the word: "Inconsistent."

Gerd objected at length and began to explain the workings of Andrew's mind.

"Granted!" came the answer half-way through the account. "Have him enter--he may be able to understand."

Gerd came out and nodded at Andrew. "Go in," he said with an encouraging smile. "And--good luck."

"Thanks, Gerd," said Andrew. He straightened up his shoulders and entered the inner library.

He fell under the full, interested glance of Yord Tan Verde as he entered, and Andrew's eyes were held immobile. His springy step faltered, and his swift and purposeful walk slowed to a slogging trudge. Andrew came up to the desk, looked full in the face of the One, shook his head in understanding, finally; and then by sheer force dropped his eyes. He turned and left the room.

Gerd was waiting for him, a sympathetic smile upon his benign face. Andrew looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then: "You--are his emissary?"

"I am--a moron," Gerd said evenly.

"You have a job."

"I am his in-between."

"Because only a moron can understand us," said Andrew slowly.

"No--because your people can understand me, but not the Ones."

"And my efforts with the mental amplifier can do no more than bring me to your level."

"Worse, Andrew. Nature causes many sports to be sterile because they interfere with her proper plan. Your machine will introduce sterility."

"I have one protecting job to do myself," said Andrew thoughtfully. "Or--perhaps it should be maintained--secretly, of course, for some emergency?"

"Your race is adequately protected."

Andrew shrugged. "I see. Terra will need neither the machine nor its product."

THE END.