Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (15 page)

 
          
 
"True. When are you going to try?"

 
          
 
"Tomorrow, if I am up to it. I feel that
I will be."

 
          
 
"Do you want to talk with Dr. Winchell
first?"

 
          
 
"Not really. This is my area of
specialization, not his. He would leave the decision to me, and since I have
already made it a consultation would be redundant."

 
          
 
"All right. Shall we tell Dick?"

 
          
 
"Not yet. This is not really so crucial a
point as it may seem. It is just a repetition of the earlier business. Why
disturb him when we have nothing significant to report? Wait until there is
some real progress."

 
          
 
Vicki nodded. They finished their drinks and
talked of other things.

 
          
 
The following day, with some difficulty,
Lydia
succeeded in breaking Dennis' contact with
the man called Smith. As she had anticipated, he returned once more to his
catatonic state. But now, his tendency to mutter in his sleep was greater, and
he began having occasional spells of somnambulism. Vicki once saw him move past
her door and followed, to find him seated in the courtyard staring at the moon.
When she led him back to his bed he did not awaken, though she thought he
whispered "Mother" as they went

 
          
 
After two weeks, he was a truck driver named
In-galls, on the road, heading toward
El Paso
.
Lydia
broke the contact immediately and continued
therapy. He now occasionally muttered unconnected phrases while in a waking
state. His sleepwalking became an almost nightly affair, though he never went
beyond the courtyard.

 
          
 
A week later, he was a pilot en route to
Los Angeles
.
Lydia
broke the contact and attempted to direct
his attention to things about him.

 
          
 
Four days later, he was a mining engineer in
Montana
.
Lydia
broke the contact and began taking him on
walks, as she could now stimulate motor areas of his brain which had apparently
undergone some development in the course of his various contacts. Still, it
seemed close to his somnambulism, as his mind remained vague throughout the
course of the strolling.

 
          
 
Three days later, he was a crewman aboard a
cargo vessel somewhere south of
Hawaii
.
Lydia
broke the contact and began playing music in
his presence.

 
          
 
Two days after that, he was a freshman
listening to a guest speaker at a large Eastern university.
Lydia
broke the contact and put him to sleep.

 
          
 
The following day, he was an Austrian mountain
climber somewhere in the
Alps
.
Lydia
broke the contact and took him for a walk.
As they walked along a ridge to the east, he began speaking to her in Russian.
She answered him in that language, then broke the contact and took him home.

 
          
 
Later that evening, he was the son of a farmer
in northern
India
, and he went to the kitchen and began to eat.
Lydia
spoke with him softly for a time, in a
speech full of labial consonants, and then gently broke the contact. She took
him to his room then and caused him to sleep.

 
          
 
Lydia
accepted more of Dick's scotch and went to
sit on the floor before the corner fireplace, shoes off, hair loose, eyes
turning liquid in the flamelight.

 
          
 
"What is happening?" Vicki said,
coming up behind her, touching her.

 
          
 
"He is just beginning to feel what he can
do," Lydia said, "such as reach anywhere in the world, regard
anyone's thoughts with total absorption—a vicarious pleasure, and easier than
developing his own personality. So long as he is about this,
this—vampirism-therapy remains at a standstill."

 
          
 
"What are you going to do?"

 
          
 
"Keep blocking him. Try to implant a
suggestion against this sort of behavior. Keep directing his attention to local
stimuli."

 
          
 
"Will that be sufficient?"

 
          
 
Lydia
sipped her drink, turned and stared into
the flames. At length, she spoke, "I do not know. You see, it gets more
difficult each time, now that he is growing aware of his power. I have
succeeded in blocking him each time by means of technique, not strength. Just
today, for the first time, he resisted me slightly. I do not know how much
longer it will be before this becomes an active thing. If it should, I will not
be able to block him."

 
          
 
"What then?"

 
          
 
"It may not come to that. The suggestion
may work. If it does not... Then I suppose I would have to try another technique.
Say, render him unconscious and apply the block immediately as he begins to
come out of it. That may work...."

 
          
 
"And if it does not...?”

 
          
 
“We should know fairly soon,"
Lydia
said.

 
          
 
That night, Dennis made his way to the
courtyard and began singing in Italian.
Lydia
spoke to him in Italian, led him back to
his room, returned him to sleep and reinforced the suggestion she had implanted
earlier. In the morning, she took him for a walk while the chill still lay on
the land. She showed him the sunrise and spoke with him at length. He mumbled
inappropriate responses. They returned to the house, where she fed him and
played more music.

 
          
 
That afternoon, Dennis assumed the personality
of a Japanese policeman. She chatted with him in a singsong fashion for some
twenty minutes before gently applying the block that was to break the contact.
This time, Dennis resisted more actively. She succeeded in breaking the
contact, attempted another reinforcement of the suggestion, went and called
Vicki to join her for tea.

 
          
 
"It is not working," she said,
"and his resistance to the blocking has increased. It will not be too long
before I am unable to contain him. He does not seem to be accepting the
suggestions. I will try the sleep approach next time. I feel, though, that he
will learn to resist it also."

 
          
 
"Would it help to have Dr. Winchell
prescribe some drug? A tranquilizer, perhaps? Something to slow him down, make
him easier to control?"
Lydia
shook her head.

 
          
 
"It would interfere with the therapy to
have him doped up."

 
          
 
"But what else is there to do?"

 
          
 
"I do not know. I had not anticipated
this development."

 
          
 
"If we were to move again, someplace out
of range... ?"

 
          
 
"He is able to reach all around the world
now. There is no escape that way."

 
          
 
"I had better see if I can reach Dick—and
then Dr. Winchell."

 
          
 
Lydia
nodded.

 
          
 
"Go ahead."

 
          
 
Now it happened that Dick's current mistress
was a public information officer for Moonbase n. That evening, as Dick sat
drinking in her apartment overlooking the
Potomac
, he told her of the latest report on his
son's condition.

 
          
 
"Is there a pattern?" she asked him.
"Some common trait shared by all the minds he has occupied?"

 
          
 
"Yes," he said. "I thought to
ask
Lydia
about that, and she told me that all of them were, in some way, eco
nuts. Not necessarily COE, but environmentalists and reformers, active or
passive."

 
          
 
"Interesting," she said. "If
there were none of them available, I wonder what he would do?"

 
          
 
Dick shrugged.

 
          
 
"Who can say, Sue? Withdraw completely,
once more? Or find someone else to focus on? No way of telling."

 
          
 
She came over and rubbed his shoulders.

 
          
 
"Then you’ve got to get him out of
range," she said, 'Ho someplace where there are very few people, and where
those there are have little time to think of these problems with the same
immediacy of concern."

 
          
 
Dick chuckled.

 
          
 
"You do not understand," he said.
"He can reach anywhere in the world. Here he is, the greatest telepath
alive, and it is his ability that is screwing him. Here I am, the father of the
greatest telepath alive, and I can get him anything—anything except the switch
that will turn him off long enough for them to straighten him out."

 
          
 
"The moon," she said, "is
around a quarter of a million miles away."

 
          
 
He turned and looked into her eyes. He began
to smile, then he shook his head.

 
          
 
"It wouldn't work," he said.
"There is no way...."

 
          
 
"There are two hospitals there," she
said. "I know all the people involved. You carry a lot of weight. I could
tell you which strings to pull."

 
          
 
"How do we know it will do any
good?"

 
          
 
"What is the alternative? Your therapist
admits that she cannot control him any longer. Send him to the moon where there
is very little interference. Let their psych teams have a try."

 
          
 
Dick took a large swallow and closed his eyes,

 
          
 
"I'm thinking," he said.

 
          
 
She moved around, seated herself in the chair
across from him. He reached out and took her hand.

 
          
 
"Are you reading my mind?" she
finally said.

 
          
 
"No. Should I?"