Authors: Anne McCaffrey
They did marry, as soon as his leg was out of the cast. Marriage was not the only thing Henry foresaw for Molly: he knew, too, her date of death, a fact he never disclosed to her. Talents, he learned very shortly, had to discount such precogs in their own lives if they were to operate efficiently for others. Molly was treasured, loved and cherished all the days of her life by her husband because he knew how little of her time he would enjoy.
The significance of the Goosegg’s remarkable activity did not immediately impinge on Henry’s awareness. To
Molly Mahony belongs all the credit, therefore, for lifting the parapsychic function from the realm of chicanery to science.
For starters, Molly was fascinated with the unusual strength and pattern of Henry’s EEG charts. She couldn’t dismiss, as Dr. Scherman had, the variations. In her favor was a natural inclination to place Henry Darrow’s mind into an exceptional category. Added to that, she knew Henry’d had the precognition of their marriage at the precise moment the Goosegg went wild. At the very first opportunity she tried an empiric experiment. She attached the electrodes to her own skull the next time she had occasion to exert her own ability in the intensive care ward. A similar variation occurred in her reading; not as intense as Henry’s, but significant. She took several more of herself, and copied those portions of Henry’s records which showed this curious excitation.
She was rather surprised that Dr. Wahlman, Henry’s surgeon, did not cancel the Goosegg monitoring when Henry appeared to have recovered from the worst of the concussion. She wondered if Wahlman was as interested in the EEG variation as she was.
Henry had two more precognitive incidents before she felt she could approach Dr. Wahlman with her private conclusions.
“For my own information, Dr. Wahlman, what is the significance of this activity in an EEG?”
“Well, now,” said Wahlman, taking the graphs diffidently and studying them in a manner which told Molly that he hadn’t a clue. “To be frank, Mahony, I don’t know. This particular sort of print-out usually occurs just prior to death. And Darrow’s very much alive.” The surgeon looked towards Henry’s closed door with some irritation. Henry had insisted on pursuing his avocation of charting horoscopes, had even imported his camputer, embarking on a cerebrali activity which apparently had no deleterious effects on his rapid recovery but did not strike Wahlman
as exactly the sort of occupation suitable to a man recovering from a near-fatal head injury.
“And these?” Molly showed him her own graphs.
“Whose are these? A terminal reading? No, couldn’t be. The alpha’s too intense. What are you up to, Mahony?”
“I’m not certain, doctor, but I do know that when Mr. Darrow is … hardest at work, that’s when this sort of variation occurs.”
“Jasus help us, the damned Goosegg’s queer for astrology?”
Molly smiled and apologized for bothering the surgeon with anomalies.
“Mahony, if you weren’t the best post-operative nurse we have, I’d tell you to bug off. But if you have any idea, any unreasonable idea, why that kind of reading occurs, would you please let me in on the secret?”
She let Henry in first.
“The moment you woke up after your accident and asked was I Gemini and then said I was going to marry you, was that a precog?”
“Fact, my love—fact!”
“No, Henry, stop that now. Later. Answer me. Was your precognitive faculty at work?”
“Violently.” The modified bandage on his head gave him a slightly rakish look but he stopped caressing her, responding to her serious mood.
“And, for instance, when Mrs. Rellahan was here, you told me that you had an intense prevision …”
“Hmmmm.” Henry’s mouth tightened slightly with dislike.
“This is what the Goosegg printed out. See, here the rapid needle, strong strokes, the length of the pattern … And, in these …”
“That’s not my pattern, too, is it? Quite a difference.”
“No, that’s my brain waves. And this is what happens when I’m healing.”
Henry looked slowly up at Molly, an incredulous joy
brightening his eyes, a light suffusing his face that rewarded Molly for her efforts and intuition.
“Molly, my own heart’s darling, do you know what we have here?”
The world in general remained skeptical. Fortunately Henry Darrow cared very little for the world’s thoughts but he was able to produce proof to a powerful, wealthy few that the parapsychic faculty existed in certain individuals and could be manifested at will.
A whole new line of research was instigated by those private persons and concerns which had long hoped for scientific recognition of the paranormal abilities.
“I’ve always had a presentiment of Destiny, of being on the threshold of some vast important breakthrough,” Henry told Molly during the early hectic days shortly before they formed the first Parapsychic Center. “Most megalomaniacs do, too, and your psychotic paranoids like Nero, Napoleon, Hitler and Kyudu. That’s why I had that team of psychiatrists examine my mental health with fine Freudian tongs. Nonetheless it’s a prejudicial admission. D’you know, I’ve been afraid to forecast my own future too far in advance now? Some details are unwise for any man to know …” He looked with unfocused eyes at the blank wall in front of them for a moment before he smiled reassuringly at her. “I’ve been a dilettante up till now and my critics can say either that I gained my wits in that accident, or lost the few I had, but
that
event was the threshold of my … of our destiny.”
“Damn the torpedoes and full steam ahead,” Molly replied, gesturing theatrically.
“And torpedoes there will be,” Henry agreed grimly.
“I thought you said you didn’t see far in advance …”
“For myself, I meant. Not for what we must do.” He was silent again for a moment. “God, it’s β going to be fun.”
Molly looked at the amusement in his eyes, the anticipatory gleam of malice. “For whom?” she asked.
His eyes sparkled as he turned his gaze back to her.
“For us,” he said, hugging her affectionately, “for all of us,” and he meant the newly recruited Talents. “We may perceive the outcome, but half the fun, most of the fun in life, is getting there. And I’ve got just enough time.”
As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to argue with his surgeons (and because Molly assured Wahlman that Henry couldn’t get around
her
vigilance), he was allowed to go back to work full time. Not, as previously, in his capacity as a dilettante astrologer, but as the manager, organizer, fund-raiser, and recruiter par excellence for the Parapsychic Center.
“Mary-Molly luv, it’s going to be accomplished in steps, this establishment of the Talented in the scheme of things. Not society, mind you, for we’re the original nonconformists,” and he tapped his forehead just below the pink flesh of the newly healed head wound. “And Society will never permit us to integrate. That’s okay!” He consigned Society to insignificance with a flick of his fingers. “The Talented form their own society and that’s as it should be: birds of a feather. No, not birds. Winged horses! Hal Yes, indeed. Pegasus … the poetic winged horse of flights of fancy. A bloody good symbol for us. You’d see a lot from the back of a winged horse …”
“Yes, an airplane has blind spots. Where would you put a saddle?” Molly had her practical side.
He laughed and hugged her. Henry’s frequent demonstrations of affection were a source of great delight to Molly, whose own strength was in tactile contacts.
“Don’t know. Lord, how would you bridle a winged horse?”
“With the heart?”
“Indubitably!” The notion pleased him. “Yes, with the heart and the head because Pegasus is too strong a steed to control or subdue by any ordinary method.”
“You couldn’t break our sort of Pegasus anyhow,” Molly said firmly. “Wouldn’t want to even when he flies so high …” She burrowed into Henry’s arms, suddenly frightened by the analogy.
“Yes, luv. When you ride the winged horse, you can’t dismount. Any more than you can suppress the Talent you’ve been given. We’ll find our bridle, I think, with time and training and more practice at riding.
“That Goosegg was the really important break. Now we can prove parapsychic powers exist and who has them. We can discredit the charlatans and clowns who’ve given the rest of us a bad name. The real Talents will be registered with the Center, and we’ll have graphs to prove they’ve had valid Incidents. The Center will supply them with the specialized jobs that utilize their Talents. From just a sampling of validly Talented people we’ve already attracted, I can think of hundreds of top jobs.”
“Even Titter Beyley and Charity McGillicuddy?” Molly Mahony Darrow’s eyes danced with mischief because Titter drank continuously and Charity pursued an old profession diligently.
“Takes a thief to catch a thief and Titter’s been stealing for years to support his habit Remember that Charity’s heart of gold beats in a true telepath’s breast.”
“Size 42-C.”
“Molly!”
“Go on with our future, Henry.”
“I want Watson Claire as our PR man because I know damned well he’s a receiving telepath: he must be to handle clients the way he does. He’s got a positive genius for presenting
the
campaign a client’ll buy. Claire’s the sort of person we’ve got to enlist, for his sake as well as ours. Ours, because we’ve got the biggest goddamn public relations program on our hands, and the public can make or break us. His sake, because he’s not happy pushing products he despises.”
Molly nodded sympathetically.
“We get an intensive information program going and that will help recruiting. Then we’ve got to start rescue operations for those hidden Talents and especially those poor misfits in institutions because they heard voices … which they did … or they imagined impossible things, which they didn’t. Or their empathy with the world around them was too great to be endured and they abandoned reality. And we’ve got to figure out the best way to train these Talents once we’ve got them verified.
“
Then
we’ve got to get exactly the right place to live in.”
“To live? But this apartment is …”
“Okay for us, for the time being. But not for the rest of us. No, now don’t worry, Molly luv. I know where we’re going.”
Molly regarded him steadily for a second. “But you don’t know exactly how we’ll get there, is that it?”
Henry laughed, nodding.
“That’s the challenge, luv.”
“And then what’s on the agenda? I’d better know the worst.”
Henry chuckled to give himself time to evade. “Then comes one of the harder jobs …”
Molly’s eyes grew round. “You’ve outlined a lifetime’s work and then tell me one of the harder jobs …”
“Will be to establish professional immunity for the Talents so we don’t get sued out of our eyeball sockets because we said something would happen which didn’t because we said it would. Oh, we’ll get it sooner or later, but I’d rather sooner than later when you consider the money that’ll be tied up in suits. But that won’t be my headache.”
“It won’t be?”
“I can’t live forever, luv.”
She clung to him and he gave her only a quick embrace.
“I’ll live long enough, Mary-Molly luv, and so will
you.” He put her away from him then, for he had to keep his desire in check with the pressures of his destiny.
“Now, gentlemen, the subject all wired up to the electroencephalograph, familiarly known as the Goosegg, is a telekinetic Talent. That means, gentlemen, that he can move objects without any other agency than his mind. Ralph, would you be good enough to demonstrate?”
Ralph, who used to be known as Rat Wilson, was not the most prepossessing of individuals, being skinny to the point of emaciation, with a rodent-like face and a mouth that remained slightly open due to untended tonsils and adenoids; but his rather large grey eyes were dancing with mischief and interest. That he had perfected his art in the variety of correctional institutions which had attempted to remold him to society’s requirements was irrelevant—now.
He sat under the electrode net of the Goosegg at one end of a large hall, a camcorder throwing a picture of the print-out on the big screen above him. Forty-seven scientists and businessmen were seated around the room, in the center of which sat a table with a variety of objects: a hammer, nails and a plank of wood; a coffee tray with an urn, cups, cream and sugar; a guitar; and a training set of waldoes, limp and grotesque without hands to fill the gloves.
Henry Darrow walked to the other end of the room, as far from both Ralph and the table as possible.
There was a significant silence in the room, with the audience casting glances from table to Ralph to Henry. Suddenly a cup rattled, rose, was joined to a saucer and aligned itself under the spout of the urn which was tapped almost simultaneously to pour coffee into the cup. Belatedly, a spoon clattered into the saucer.
“Who takes it black?” asked Ralph as cup and saucer veered to the nearest watchers.
“I do,” said one cool businessman, lifting his hand.
“Hang on to it then, mac,” replied Ralph. “Got it?”
“Hey!” The man closed his fingers around the lip of the saucer but when Ralph released it, he was unprepared and the black coffee sloshed over the saucer rim onto his hand.
There was a slight wave of amusement, shattered by the crash of a hammer driving a nail into a block of wood.
“I’ll make the next one white. Who’s for it?”
A second cup was delivered to its receiver as the hammer drove the nail smartly into the wood. At the same time, the waldoes jerked alive and began to assemble the objects in the tray. The guitar twanged with a bawdy ballad.
With cups sailing around the room, the crack of the hammer to the tempo of the song, the industry of the waldoes leaving everyone gaping, Henry returned to the stage, taking a pointer and starting the sales pitch.
“As you will notice, if you can take your eyes from the flying saucers, Ralph’s use of his Talent results in the hard variations of the alpha waves, here and here. The beta fluctuation is rapid, deep. Note the difference at the beginning of the graph before Ralph started. Notice the increase as he stepped up the output of the parapsychic faculty. Has anyone any doubts about the authenticity of this demonstration? Will you accept this print-out as valid, and that the graph represents Ralph’s paranormal ability?”