He glared down out of the screen in righteous wrath. “They are impeded at every turn, they are balked at every approach! And, while the courts dither and obstruct them, the telepath moves unimpeded onto our fair mother planet!” He shook his head slowly. “Citizens, this has gone too far! This obsession with legal pettifoggery has now imperiled your lives and mine, nay, even the fabric of our whole society! Who now can feel free to nurture secret hopes or longings, to dream of his beloved or reflect on his sins—knowing that, every moment, another’s mind may have wormed its way into his, cozening up to his dearest, most cherished secrets!
“Nay! The time has come to put a stop to the nonsense! To purge the technicalities and loopholes that let the criminal escape while the law-abiding citizen shuffles in chains! To exorcize the demons of law! Make no mistake, citizens—a vast conspiracy of telepaths has wrapped its coils around us, and is even now beginning to squeeze the life from our democracy!
“Will they triumph? Nay!” he thundered. “We will tear their coils apart, we will rip them asunder! The law will cease obstructing the champions of justice!”
Then, suddenly, his eyes were locked onto Dar’s again, burning. “But this cannot be done while Executive Secretary Louhi Kulervo dithers and vacillates! A man of decision must take the helm, a man of true strength, who does not waste expanses of time mewling about ‘sacred trusts’ and ‘constitutionality’!”
He took a deep breath, very obviously fighting down wrath, struggling for composure, then said more calmly:
“It is for these reasons, citizens, that I will, today, demand a vote of confidence in the Assembly, and a general election. We must succeed in forcing this referendum, my fellow citizens—or we will waken one morning to find ourselves enmeshed in chains of thought! Contact your Elector, now, this minute, and tell him to demand an election. We must have it, citizens—we must have a man of decision and action to lead us—or the light of democracy will flicker out, and die!”
The image on the screen flickered out, and died.
A roar of conversation burst out all around them.
Whitey glanced back at his adrenalized crew, looking a little nervous himself. “Ah … I think we should just start drifting toward the main terminal … and try to look surprised, folks.”
That wasn’t hard. Dar felt as though he’d just been knocked spinning by a shockwave. It wasn’t just that one fleeing little ship had been turned into a conspiracy—or that the coup was leaping out into the open. It was the idea that they might even be able to do it legally!
A very good chance, from what he was overhearing as they “drifted”:
“I thought they only had a couple of telepaths in the whole sphere!” an obese commercial-type was saying.
“So did I,” a slenderized companion answered, “but I guess those were just the ones they knew about—you know, legal ones.”
“They can really find out your most secret memories?” This from an old harridan who obviously had one hell of a past, but didn’t necessarily want it known.
“But … they could learn all my accounts, all the latest information I’ve gleaned about which stocks are due to rise!” The beefy, florid-faced individual in the conservatively expensive coverall glared in righteous indignation. “That’s a completely immoral competitive advantage!”
“Have to be stopped,” his companion agreed. “Have to be.”
“They could take over!” a sweet young thing shrilled, “and they might clamp down on the vice laws!”
“Telepaths certainly wouldn’t want people running around with their heads full of smut.” Her companion had the look of a questionable publisher. “I mean, what about civil rights?”
“But what about civil rights?” Snow-white hair, face full of authority, oozing confidence—maybe a judge?
“They’d be gone.” His companion was younger, but cut from the same cloth. “Make Pohyola Exec Sec’y, give him full emergency powers—and the first thing he’ll do is suspend the constitution. We’ll have a full-scale dictatorship in a year.”
“Are you two going to natter about technicalities at a time like this?” a slender, intense-type bawled, turning on them. “Do you realize what our chances of getting approval for a price-hike would be if telepaths were running the Department of the Economy?”
They finally broke free of the mob, into a clear space in front of a drop-tube. Whitey hit the button; time stretched out as they waited, chafing, unable to do anything. Then the doors valved open and more citizens streamed out, chattering,
“… threat to everything we believe in …”
“… probably sacrifice babies at those secret meetings they have …”
“… got to vote Pohyola in!”
“Inside, folks,” Whitey growled, and they sprang. The doors valved shut behind them, and Whitey hit the street-level button.
“I’m scared, Grandpa,” Lona said softly.
“Comes of having brains,” Whitey growled. “Me, I’m just terrified.”
Sam’s eyes were huge in a pale, drawn face.
Dar’s voice was very low. “These people are so scared, they’re actually going to be willing to give up all their rights!”
“Willing?” Whitey snorted. “They’re going to rush to it!”
“Whitey … my mission …”
“Still important,” Whitey snapped. “If they lose the election, they’ll still try their coup. In fact, they may not wait for due process.”
The doors valved open. “Walk calmly,” Whitey growled. “Don’t do anything out of the ordinary. Just follow Papa.”
The crowd was much thinner here where people were coming into the terminal or leaving it, but there were still a lot of huddles of frantic citizens. Whitey strolled through them with his crew, retrieved his luggage, and sauntered out the ground-transport door.
A uniform stepped up to them with a man inside it. “Mr. Tambourin?”
Dar’s heart jammed into his throat. Then he realized it didn’t have any brass or badge; it couldn’t be Security.
Whitey turned his head slowly, glowering. “Yes?”
“Mr. Bocello’s compliments, sir. Would you accept his hospitality for the next few days?”
“Horatio always did have a great sense of timing,” Whitey sighed, pressing back into the limousine’s seat. It responded, adjusting itself to his contours.
“What’s in the cupboard?” Dar nodded at a sliding panel set into the wall in front of him.
“Why not ask the driver?” Whitey nodded toward a speaker-grill. “He’s just on the other side of the wall.”
“Why not?” Dar pressed the panel glowing beneath the grill. “Uh, can you tell me what this little cupboard in the forward wall is?”
“A complete bar, sir,” the chauffeur replied. “Please feel free to drain it. I hope we have your brands stocked.”
“Oh, anything expensive is fine, thanks.” Dar slid open the hatch, grinned at the gleaming panel in front of him, checked the codes listed above it, and punched up a Deneb Dimmer. “Next order?”
“Sirian Scrambler,” said Lona.
“Canopus Concentrate,” said Sam.
“Château LaMorgue ‘46,” said Whitey.
Dar squinted at the index. “Sorry, Whitey, all they’ve got is a ‘48.”
“Well, that wasn’t a bad year,” Whitey sighed. “It’ll do.”
Dar pressed in the code and glanced at Father Marco.
“Nothing, thanks.” The priest raised a palm. “I only drink in the early morning.”