The Randall Garrett Omnibus. Randall Garrett

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СКАЧАТЬ my friend. There are five of you; the other four must still be unconscious."

      Four? That would be Lasser, Sager, Pederson, and—and Dorrine!

      Juan Pedro de Cadiz picked up the whole thought-process easily.

      "The girl—I'm sorry," he said. "But the other three—of us all, I think, they deserve this."

      "Juan!" came another thought-voice. "Have our newcomers awakened?"

      "Just one of them, my sweet," replied the Spaniard. "Sonali, may I present Mr. David Houston. Mr. Houston, the lovely Sonali Siddhartha."

      "Juano has a habit of jumping to conclusions, David," said the girl. "He's never even seen me, and I'm sure that after three weeks of being locked in this prison whatever beauty I may have had has disappeared."

      "Your thoughts are beautiful, Sonali," said Juan Pedro, "and with us, that is all that counts."

      "It is written," said a third voice, "that he who disturbs the slumber of his betters will wake somebody up. You people are giving me dreams, with your ceaseless mental chatter."

      "Ah!" the Spaniard said. "Mr. Matsukuo, may I—"

      "I heard, Romeo, I heard," said the Hawaiian. "An ex-cop, eh? I wonder if I like you? I'll take a few thousand years to think it over; in the meantime, you may treat me as a friend."

      "I'll try to live down my reputation," said Houston.

      It was an odd feeling. Physically, he was alone. Around him, he could see nothing but the blackness of space and the glitter of the stars. He knew that the sun must be shining on the back of his own personal asteroid, but he couldn't see it. As far as his body was concerned, there was nothing else in the universe but a chunk of pitted rock and a set of chains.

      But mentally, he felt snug and warm, safe in the security of good friends. He felt—

      "David! David! Help me! Oh, David, David, David!"

      It was Dorrine, coming up from her slumber. Like a crashing blare of static across the neural band, her wakening mind burst into sudden telepathic activity.

      Gently, Houston sent out his thoughts, soothing her mind as he had soothed Harris's mind weeks before. And he noticed, as he did it, that the other three were with him, helping. By the time Dorrine was fully awake, she was no longer frightened or panicky.

      "You're wonderful people," she thought simply, after several minutes.

      "To one so beautiful, how else could we be?" asked Juan Pedro.

      "Ignore him, Dorrine," said Sonali, "he tells me the same thing."

      "But not in the same way, amiga!" the Spaniard protested. "Not in the same way. The beauty of your mind, Sonali, is like the beauty of a mountain lake, cool and serene; the beauty of Dorrine is like the beauty of the sun—warm, fiery, and brilliant."

      "By my beard!" snorted Matsukuo. "Such blather!"

      "I'll be willing to wager my beautiful hacienda in the lovely countryside of Aragon against your miserable palm-leaf nipi shack on Oahu that you have no beard," said Juan Pedro.

      "Hah!" said Matsukuo; "that's all I need now—Castles in Spain."

      It was suddenly dizzying for Houston. Here were five people, doomed to slow, painful death, talking as though there were nothing to worry about. Within minutes, each had learned to know the others almost perfectly.

      It was more than just the words each used. Talking aloud helped focus the thoughts more, but at the same time, thousands of little, personal, fringe ideas were present with the main idea transmitted in words. Houston had talked telepathically to Dorrine hundreds of times, but never before had so much fine detail come through.

      Why? Was there something different about space that made mental communication so much more complete?

      "No, not that, I think," said Matsukuo. "I believe it is because we have lost our fear—not of death; we still fear death—but of betrayal."

      That was it. They knew they were going to die, and soon. They had already been sentenced; nothing further could frighten them. Always before, on Earth, they had kept their thoughts to themselves, fearing to broadcast too much, lest the Normals find them out. The little, personal things that made a human being a living personality were kept hidden behind heavy mental walls. The suppression worked subconsciously, even when they actually wanted to communicate with another Controller.

      But out here, there was nothing to fear on that score. Why should they, who were already facing death, be afraid of anything now?

      So they opened up—wide. And they knew each other as no group of human beings had ever known each other. Every human being has little faults and foibles that he may be ashamed of, that he wants to keep hidden from others. But such things no longer mattered out here, where they had nothing but imminent death and the emptiness of space—and each other.

      Physically, they were miserable. To be chained in one position, with very little room to move around, for three weeks, as Sonali had been, was torture. Sonali had been there longer than the others—for three days, there had been no one but herself out there in the loneliness of space.

      But now, even physical discomfort meant little; it was easy to forget the body when the mind was free.

      "What of the others?" Dorrine asked. "Where are the ones who were sentenced before us?"

      Houston thought of Robert Harris. What had happened to the young Englishman?

      "Space is big," said Juan Pedro. "Perhaps they are too far away for our thoughts to reach them—or perhaps they are already dead."

      "Let's not talk of death." Sonali Siddhartha's thought was soft. "We have so many things to do."

      "We will have a language session," said Juan Pedro. "Si?"

      Matsukuo chuckled. "Good! Houston, until you've tried to learn Spanish, Hindustani, Arabic, Japanese, and French all at once, you don't know what a language session is. We—"

      The Hawaiian's thought was suddenly broken off by a shrieking burst of mental static.

      The effect was similar to someone dropping a handful of broken glass into an electric meat grinder right in the middle of a Bach cantata.

      It was Sager, coming out of his coma.

      Almost automatically, the five contacted his mind to relax him as he awoke. They touched his mind—and were repelled!

      Stay out of my mind!

      With almost savage fury, the still half-conscious Sager hurled thoughts of hatred and fear at the five minds who had tried to help him. They recoiled from the burst of insane emotion.

      "Leave him alone," Houston thought sharply. "He's a tough fighter."

      At first, Sager was terrified when he learned what had happened to him. Then the terror was mixed with a boiling, seething hatred. A hatred of the Normals СКАЧАТЬ