[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
simple. You could find the ingredients anywhere and prepare them easily. Then
you could take your helicopter over a town, drop an egg overside-and perform
an erasure.
Outside of the wilderness malcontents, the maladjusted people found in every
race, nobody kicked.
And the roaming tribes never raided and never banded together in large
groups-for fear of an erasure.
The artisans were maladjusted too, to some degree, but they weren't
antisocial, so they lived where they wanted and painted, wrote, composed, and
retreated into their own private worlds. The scientists, equally maladjusted
in other lines, retreated to their slightly larger towns, banding together in
small universes, and turned out remarkable technical achievements.
And the Baldies-found jobs where they could.
No non-telepath would have viewed the world environment quite as Burkhalter
did. He was abnormally conscious of the human element, attaching a deeper,
more profound significance to those human values, undoubtedly because he saw
men in more than the ordinary dimensions. And also, in a way-
and inevitably
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-he looked at humanity from outside.
Yet he was human. The barrier that telepathy had raised made men suspicious of
him, more so than if he had had two heads- then they could have pitied. As it
was---
As it was, he adjusted the scanner until new pages of the typescript came
flickering into view above. 'Say when,' he told Quayle.
Quayle brushed back his gray hair. 'I feel sensitive all over,' he objected.
'After all, I've been under a considerable strain correlating my material.'
'Well, we can always postpone publication.' Burkhalter threw out the
suggestion casually, and was pleased when Quayle didn't nibble. He didn't like
to fail, either.
'No. No, I want to get the thing done now.'
'Mental catharsis---'
'Well, by a psychologist, perhaps. But not by--'
'-a Baldy. You know that a lot of psychologists have Baldy helpers. They get
good results, too.'
Quayle turned on the tobacco smoke, inhaling slowly. 'I suppose .. . I've not
had much contact with Baldies. Or too much
-without selectivity. I saw some in an asylum once. I'm not being offensive,
ami?'
'No,' Burkhalter said. 'Every mutation can run too close to the line. There
were lots of failures.
The hard radiations brought about one true mutation: hairless telepaths, but
they didn't all hew true to the line. The mind's a queer gadget-you know that.
It's a colloid balancing, figuratively, on the point of a pin. If there's any
flaw, telepathy's apt to bring it out. So you'll find that the Blowup caused a
hell of a lot of insanity. Not only among the Baldies, but among the other
mutations that developed then. Except that the Baldies are almost always
paranoidal.'
'And dementia praecox,' Quayle said, finding relief from his own embarrassment
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
in turning the spotlight on Burkhalter.
'And d.p. Yeah. When a confused mind acquires the telepathic instinct-a
hereditary bollixed mind-
it can't handle it all. There's disorientation. The paranoia group retreat
into their own worlds, and the d.p.'s simply don't realize that this world
exists. There are distinctions, but I think that's a valid basis.'
'In a way,' Quayle said, 'it's frightening. I can't think of any historical
parallel.'
'No.'
'What do you think the end of it will be?'
'I don't know,' Burkhalter said thoughtfully. 'I think we'll be assimilated.
There hasn't been enough time yet. We're specialized in a certain way, and
we're useful in certain jobs.'
'If you're satisfied to stay there. The Baldies who won't wear wigs---'
'They're so bad-tempered I expect they'll all be killed off in duels
eventually,' Burkhalter smiled. 'No great loss. The rest of us, we're getting
what we want-acceptance. We don't have horns or halos.'
Quayle shook his head. 'I'm glad, I think, that I'm not a tele-path. The
mind's mysterious enough anyway, without new doors opening. Thanks for letting
me talk. I think I've got part of it talked out, anyway. Shall we try the
script again?"
'Sure,' Burkhalter said, and again the procession of pages flickered on the
screen above them.
Quayle did seem less guarded; his thoughts were more lucid, and Burkhalter was
able to get at the true meanings of many of the hitherto muddy statements.
They worked easily, the telepath dictating rephrasings into his dictograph,
and only twice did they have to hurdle emotional tangles. At noon they knocked
off, and Burkhalter, with a friendy nod, took the dropper to his office, where
he found some calls listed on the visor. He ran off repeats, and a worried
look crept into his blue eyes.
He talked with Dr. Moon in a booth at luncheon. The conversation lasted so
long that only the induction cups kept the coffee hot, but Burkhalter had more
than one problem to discuss. And he'd known Moon for a long time. The fat man
was one of the few who were not, he thought, subconsciously repelled by the
fact that Burkhalter was a Baldy.
'I've never fought a duel in my life, Doc. I can't afford to."
'You can't afford not to. You can't turn down the challenge, Ed. It isn't
done.'
'But this fellow Reilly-I don't even know him.'
'I know of him,' Moon said. 'He's got a bad temper. Dueled a lot.'
Burkhalter slammed his hand down on the table. 'It's ridiculous. I won't do
it!'
'Well,' Moon said practically, 'your wife can't fight him. And if Ethel's been
reading Mrs. Reilly's mind and gossiping, Reilly's got a case.'
'Don't you think we know the dangers of that?' Burkhalter asked in a low [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl akte20.pev.pl
simple. You could find the ingredients anywhere and prepare them easily. Then
you could take your helicopter over a town, drop an egg overside-and perform
an erasure.
Outside of the wilderness malcontents, the maladjusted people found in every
race, nobody kicked.
And the roaming tribes never raided and never banded together in large
groups-for fear of an erasure.
The artisans were maladjusted too, to some degree, but they weren't
antisocial, so they lived where they wanted and painted, wrote, composed, and
retreated into their own private worlds. The scientists, equally maladjusted
in other lines, retreated to their slightly larger towns, banding together in
small universes, and turned out remarkable technical achievements.
And the Baldies-found jobs where they could.
No non-telepath would have viewed the world environment quite as Burkhalter
did. He was abnormally conscious of the human element, attaching a deeper,
more profound significance to those human values, undoubtedly because he saw
men in more than the ordinary dimensions. And also, in a way-
and inevitably
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt (98 of 166) [2/4/03 10:15:49 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Henry%20Kuttner/Kuttner%20-%20The%20Best%20of%20Kuttner%201%20U
C.txt
-he looked at humanity from outside.
Yet he was human. The barrier that telepathy had raised made men suspicious of
him, more so than if he had had two heads- then they could have pitied. As it
was---
As it was, he adjusted the scanner until new pages of the typescript came
flickering into view above. 'Say when,' he told Quayle.
Quayle brushed back his gray hair. 'I feel sensitive all over,' he objected.
'After all, I've been under a considerable strain correlating my material.'
'Well, we can always postpone publication.' Burkhalter threw out the
suggestion casually, and was pleased when Quayle didn't nibble. He didn't like
to fail, either.
'No. No, I want to get the thing done now.'
'Mental catharsis---'
'Well, by a psychologist, perhaps. But not by--'
'-a Baldy. You know that a lot of psychologists have Baldy helpers. They get
good results, too.'
Quayle turned on the tobacco smoke, inhaling slowly. 'I suppose .. . I've not
had much contact with Baldies. Or too much
-without selectivity. I saw some in an asylum once. I'm not being offensive,
ami?'
'No,' Burkhalter said. 'Every mutation can run too close to the line. There
were lots of failures.
The hard radiations brought about one true mutation: hairless telepaths, but
they didn't all hew true to the line. The mind's a queer gadget-you know that.
It's a colloid balancing, figuratively, on the point of a pin. If there's any
flaw, telepathy's apt to bring it out. So you'll find that the Blowup caused a
hell of a lot of insanity. Not only among the Baldies, but among the other
mutations that developed then. Except that the Baldies are almost always
paranoidal.'
'And dementia praecox,' Quayle said, finding relief from his own embarrassment
Page 132
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
in turning the spotlight on Burkhalter.
'And d.p. Yeah. When a confused mind acquires the telepathic instinct-a
hereditary bollixed mind-
it can't handle it all. There's disorientation. The paranoia group retreat
into their own worlds, and the d.p.'s simply don't realize that this world
exists. There are distinctions, but I think that's a valid basis.'
'In a way,' Quayle said, 'it's frightening. I can't think of any historical
parallel.'
'No.'
'What do you think the end of it will be?'
'I don't know,' Burkhalter said thoughtfully. 'I think we'll be assimilated.
There hasn't been enough time yet. We're specialized in a certain way, and
we're useful in certain jobs.'
'If you're satisfied to stay there. The Baldies who won't wear wigs---'
'They're so bad-tempered I expect they'll all be killed off in duels
eventually,' Burkhalter smiled. 'No great loss. The rest of us, we're getting
what we want-acceptance. We don't have horns or halos.'
Quayle shook his head. 'I'm glad, I think, that I'm not a tele-path. The
mind's mysterious enough anyway, without new doors opening. Thanks for letting
me talk. I think I've got part of it talked out, anyway. Shall we try the
script again?"
'Sure,' Burkhalter said, and again the procession of pages flickered on the
screen above them.
Quayle did seem less guarded; his thoughts were more lucid, and Burkhalter was
able to get at the true meanings of many of the hitherto muddy statements.
They worked easily, the telepath dictating rephrasings into his dictograph,
and only twice did they have to hurdle emotional tangles. At noon they knocked
off, and Burkhalter, with a friendy nod, took the dropper to his office, where
he found some calls listed on the visor. He ran off repeats, and a worried
look crept into his blue eyes.
He talked with Dr. Moon in a booth at luncheon. The conversation lasted so
long that only the induction cups kept the coffee hot, but Burkhalter had more
than one problem to discuss. And he'd known Moon for a long time. The fat man
was one of the few who were not, he thought, subconsciously repelled by the
fact that Burkhalter was a Baldy.
'I've never fought a duel in my life, Doc. I can't afford to."
'You can't afford not to. You can't turn down the challenge, Ed. It isn't
done.'
'But this fellow Reilly-I don't even know him.'
'I know of him,' Moon said. 'He's got a bad temper. Dueled a lot.'
Burkhalter slammed his hand down on the table. 'It's ridiculous. I won't do
it!'
'Well,' Moon said practically, 'your wife can't fight him. And if Ethel's been
reading Mrs. Reilly's mind and gossiping, Reilly's got a case.'
'Don't you think we know the dangers of that?' Burkhalter asked in a low [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]