The Sensitive Man Read online

with regard to human dynamics, both mass andindividual. It takes months or years to change a man's convictions andwhen you have hundreds of millions of men...." He shrugged. "Socialcurrents are too large for all but the slightest, most gradualcontrol. In fact perhaps the most valuable results obtained to dateare not those which show what can be done but what cannot."

  "You speak with the voice of authority," said the man.

  "I'm a psychologist," said Dalgetty truthfully enough. He didn't addthat he was also a subject, observer and guinea pig in one. "And I'mafraid I talk too much. Go from bad to voice."

  "Ouch," said the man. He leaned his back against the rail and hisshadowy hand extended a pack. "Smoke?"

  "No, thanks, I don't."

  "You're a rarity." The brief lighter-flare etched the stranger's faceagainst the dusk.

  "I've found other ways of relaxing."

  "Good for you. By the way I'm a professor myself. English Litt atColorado."

  "Afraid I'm rather a roughneck in that respect," said Dalgetty. For amoment he had a sense of loss. His thought processes had become toofar removed from the ordinary human for him to find much in fiction orpoetry. But music, sculpture, painting--there was something else. Helooked over the broad glimmering water, at the stations dark againstthe first stars, and savored the many symmetries and harmonies with areal pleasure. You needed senses like his before you could know what alovely world this was.

  "I'm on vacation now," said the man. Dalgetty did not reply in kind.After a moment--"You are too, I suppose?"

  Dalgetty felt a slight shock. A personal question from astranger--well, you didn't expect otherwise from someone like the girlGlenna but a professor should be better conditioned to privacycustoms.

  "Yes," he said shortly. "Just visiting."

  "By the way, my name is Tyler, Harmon Tyler."

  "Joe Thomson." Dalgetty shook hands with him.

  "We might continue our conversation if you're going to be around forawhile," said Tyler. "You raised some interesting points."

  Dalgetty considered. It would be worthwhile staying as long asBancroft did, in the hope of learning some more. "I may be here acouple of days yet," he said.

  "Good," said Tyler. He looked up at the sky. It was beginning to fillwith stars. The deck was still empty. It ran around the dimupthrusting bulk of a weather-observation tower which was turned overto its automatics for the night and there was no one else to be seen.A few fluoros cast wan puddles of luminance on the plastic flooring.

  Glancing at his watch, Tyler said casually, "It's aboutnineteen-thirty hours now. If you don't mind waiting till twentyhundred I can show you something interesting."

  "What's that?"

  "Ah, you'll be surprised." Tyler chuckled. "Not many people know aboutit. Now, getting back to that point you raised earlier...."

  The half hour passed swiftly. Dalgetty did most of the talking.

  "--and mass action. Look, to a rather crude first approximation astate of semantic equilibrium on a world-wide scale, which of coursehas never existed, would be represented by an equation of the form--"

  "Excuse me." Tyler consulted the shining dial again. "If you don'tmind stopping for a few minutes I'll show you that odd sight I wastalking about."

  "Eh? Oh-oh, sure."

  Tyler threw away his cigarette. It was a tiny meteor in the gloom. Hetook Dalgetty's arm. They walked slowly around the weather tower.

  The men came from the opposite side and met them halfway. Dalgetty hadhardly seen them before he felt the sting in his chest.

  _A needle gun!_

  The world roared about him. He took a step forward, trying to scream,but his throat locked. The deck lifted up and hit him and his mindwhirled toward darkness.

  From somewhere will rose within him, trained reflexes worked, hesummoned all that was left of his draining strength and fought theanesthetic. His wrestling with it was a groping in fog. Again andagain he spiraled into unconsciousness and rose strangling. Dimly,through nightmare, he was aware of being carried. Once someone stoppedthe group in a corridor and asked what was wrong. The answer seemed tocome from immensely far away. "I dunno. He passed out--just like that.We're taking him to a doctor."

  There was a century spent going down some elevator. The boat-housewalls trembled liquidly around him. He was carried aboard a largevessel, it was not visible through the gray mist. Some dulled portionof himself thought that this was obviously a private boat-house, sinceno one was trying to stop--trying to stop--trying to stop....

  Then the night came.

  III

  He woke slowly, with a dry retch, and blinked his eyes open. Noise ofair, he was flying, it must have been a triphibian they took him onto.He tried to force recovery but his mind was still too paralyzed.

  "Here. Drink this."

  Dalgetty took the glass and gulped thirstily. It was coolness andsteadiness spreading through him. The vibratto within him faded, andthe headache dulled enough to be endurable. Slowly he looked around,and felt the first crawl of panic.

  _No!_ He suppressed the emotion with an almost physical thrust. Nowwas the time for calm and quick wit and--

  A big man near him nodded and stuck his head out the door. "He's okaynow, I guess," he called. "Want to talk to him?"

  Dalgetty's eyes roved the compartment. It was a rear cabin in a largeairboat, luxuriously furnished with reclining seats and an inlaidtable. A broad window looked out on the stairs.

  _Caught!_ It was pure bitterness, an impotent rage at himself. _Walkedright into their arms!_

  Tyler came into the room, followed by a pair of burly stone-faced men.He smiled. "Sorry," he murmured, "but you're playing out of yourleague, you know."

  "Yeah." Dalgetty shook his head. Wryness twisted his mouth. "I don'tleague it much either."

  Tyler grinned. It was a sympathetic expression. "You punsters areincurable," he said. "I'm glad you're taking it so well. We don'tintend any harm to you."

  Skepticism was dark in Dalgetty but he managed to relax. "How'd youget onto me?" he asked.

  "Oh, various ways. You were pretty clumsy, I'm afraid." Tyler sat downacross the table. The guards remained standing. "We were sure theInstitute would attempt a counterblow and we've studied it and itspersonnel thoroughly. You were recognized, Dalgetty--and you're knownto be very close to Tighe. So you walked after us without even aface-mask....

  "At any rate, you were noticed hanging around the colony. We checkedback on your movements. One of the rec girls had some interestingthings to tell of you. We decided you'd better be questioned. Isounded you out as much as a casual acquaintance could and then tookyou to the rendezvous." Tyler spread his hands. "That's all."

  Dalgetty sighed and his shoulders slumped under a sudden enormousburden of discouragement. Yes, they were right. He was out of hisorbit. "Well," he said, "what now?"

  "Now we have you _and_ Tighe," said the other. He took out acigarette. "I hope you're somewhat more willing to talk than he is."

  "Suppose I'm not?"

  "Understand this." Tyler frowned. "There are reasons for going slowwith Tighe. He has hostage value, for one thing. But you're nobody.And while we aren't monsters I for one have little sympathy to sparefor your kind of fanatic."

  "Now there," said Dalgetty with a lift of sardonicism, "is aninteresting example of semantic evolution. This being, on the whole,an easy-going tolerant period, the word 'fanatic' has come to besimply an epithet--a fellow on the other side."

  "That will do," snapped Tyler. "You won't be allowed to stall. Thereare questions we want answered." He ticked the points off on hisfingers. "What are the Institute's ultimate aims? How is it goingabout attaining them? How far has it gotten? Precisely what has itlearned, in a scientific way, that it hasn't published? How much doesit know about us?" He smiled thinly. "You've always been close toTighe. He raised you, didn't he? You should know just as much as he."

  _Yes_, thought Dalgetty, _Tighe raised me. He was all the father Iever had, really. I was an orphan and he took m
e in and he was good._

  Sharp in his mind rose the image of the old house. It had lain onbroad wooded grounds in the fair hills of Maine, with a little riverrunning down to a bay winged with sailboats. There had beenneighbors--quiet-spoken folk with something more real about them thanmost of today's rootless world knew. And there had been manyvisitors--men and women with minds like flickering sword-blades.

  He had grown up among intellects aimed at the future. He and Tighe