What counted was that the tiny flicker of life smouldered on. It would last until a blood transfusion; then they could repair the damage properly. Meantime, Howson had achieved all he could ask: survival.
It had taken exactly five minutes.
Now there would be the ambulance, and police, with questions. He couldn’t remember if attempted suicide was still a crime here; in some places, he had a vague idea, the antique Christian attitude endured…
Clara came back from putting away the needle and thread, and stood gazing down at her handiwork. “Why did he have to try and kill himself?” she said half-angrily, and Howson shook his head. He felt as tired as if he had walked a thousand miles, but he must not let weariness claim him.
“He didn’t try to kill himself,” he said. “It was an accident. It was stupid, but not suicidal. Part of a joke that went too far.”
She sensed what lay behind that, in his mind, and nodded without his needing to explain further, but he had to explain when the ambulance arrived, and again when the police came, and after it all he was so exhausted he sat down in the nearest chair and went to sleep.
When he awoke, he was for a long time puzzled as to where he could be. He lay on his back between sheets, a pillow comfortably under his head. But the bed didn’t have that slight ingenious bias which had been built into his own bed at Ulan Bator and which favoured his back so subtly. More, the light played on the too-high ceiling in the wrong manner-
He came fully awake and turned on his side, and saw that Clara, wrapped in a plaid blanket, was dozing uneasily in the room’s one arm-chair.
She sensed his awakening and blinked her eyes open. She didn’t say anything for a few moments. Then she smiled.
“Feeling all right?” she asked banally. “You were so fast asleep you didn’t even notice when I put you to bed.”
“You what?”
“Did you expect me to put you on the floor?” She got to her feet, unwrapped the blanket, and stretched. She was wearing the same clothes she had had on during the party.
“ I’d have been all right in the chair where I was !”
“Oh, shut up!” she said almost angrily. “You deserved the bed more than I did, by Christ. I don’t want to argue about it, anyway. Feel capable of breakfast ?”
Howson sat up. He found she had taken off his shoes and jacket and left him otherwise fully dressed, so he pushed aside the bedclothes and got his feet to the floor. “Well, you know — you know, I think I do.”
She brought cereal and coffee and opened a can of fruit juice, and they sat eating off their knees on the edge of the unmade bed.
“What I want to know,” she said after a while, “is how you managed to fob everyone off with that phony story about an accident.”
Howson grunted. “If there’s one thing a projective telepathist can do convincingly, it’s tell a lie. I could make the average man believe the sun was out at midnight with no difficulty. I ought really to have fixed the same idea in the skulls of tile other people who were here, for the sake of consistency, instead of ordering them off the premises. But I was so worried in case their presence distracted me…Oh, what the hell ? None of them actually saw him do it.”
He put aside the bowl from which he had been eating. “I should have asked you before. How do you feel about being a telepathist yourself ?”
The green eyes held a hint of uncertainty. “Then you meant what you said ? I tried to — to receive something from you last night, after the police had gone, and nothing happened, so I guessed you’d just spun me a yarn to boost my confidence. Or something,” she finished lamely.
“You were probably too exhausted. I did mean what I said, of course. Tell me something: how did you know what Rudi had done ?”
“Why, he — he screamed!”
“He didn’t utter a sound. He might have been a genuine Samurai. If he had screamed, everyone in the room would have heard it. Only you and I knew what had happened beyond the closed door of the kitchen, and that means you’re a receptive telepathist. I’d already begun to suspect that you might be; I’m surprised you hadn’t wondered about it yourself.”
She finished eating and lit a cigarette. “Oh, this is all so—disturbing! I mean, I’d always thought of telepathists as people — you know — apart.”
“They are,” confirmed Howson with quiet grimness.
“And I didn’t even know there were — what do you call them — receptive ones.”
“They do seem to be rather rare, as a matter of fact. I suspect there are probably a lot more than we know about. I mean, you can spot a projective telepathist easily, if he’s reasonably powerful and totally untrained — he stands out like a fire-alarm. Me” — he chuckled — “they overheard from a satellite orbiting at six thousand miles! But how do you spot a receptive unless something happens positively to identify him, or her?”
He leaned back against the wall. “However, you may take all that as read, in your case. You’re about the right age for the talent to show itself, you know; mine came on when I was twenty, and that’s typical. So what are you going to do ?”
“I’ve no idea.” She looked rather frightened. “I haven’t even worked out how I’m going to tell my family.”
“That’s one problem I never had to face,” Howson admitted. “Do they have prejudices, then ?”
“I don’t know. I mean’ the subject sort of never came up.” A thought creased her brow. “Look, what the hell do receptive telepathists do, anyway? Aren’t they pretty limited in their choice of work?”
“By comparison with projectives, I suppose they are,” Howson agreed in a judicious tone. “But a telepathist is a very special person, and the demand for their services isn’t by any means exhausted. You could probably invent your own job if you wanted. I can tell you a few of the standard occupations, to be going on with. Most of the receptives I know are psychiatric diagnosticians and therapy watchdogs—”
“Are what?”
He explained. “Then there’s Olaf Marks, who’s a genius-spotter. He loves kids, so they gave him the business of discovering outstandingly brilliant children in the pre-verbal stage. Then there’s Makerakera, whom you may well have heard of; he’s recognized by the UN as an authority on aggression, and spends his time going from one potential crisis to another identifying grievances and having them put right. Oh, don’t worry about being limited in your choice of a career — we’re near enough unique to be able to pick and choose.”
She gave a little nervous laugh. “It’s funny to hear you say “we” and know you’re including me in it! Still, what you said is quite reassuring.”
“I’m not saying it to reassure you. I’m just telling you. Apart from anything else, you wouldn’t be happy doing anything which didn’t exploit your talent once it’s fully developed. I don’t want to make out that being a telepathist doesn’t pose its own problems, Lord knows…” Howson sighed. “You were right about me last night, as you must have guessed.”
“More — more telepathy?”
“What do you think?”
She got up and began to clear away the breakfast things without answering. After an interval of silence she said, ” How about Rudi, Gerry? Did you have a chance to find out what made him do it?”
“No. One has to learn not to intrude on another mind’s privacy. One has to, or life wouldn’t be worth living. And while we were patching him up, of course, I couldn’t spare the time. You’ve had a much better chance to find out why he did it.”