The demolished man (3 page)

"Make me understand."

"Those ousted peepers you mention... like Jerry Church. They weren't so smart.

It's like this..." West considered. "Before surgery really got started, there

used to be a handicapped group called deaf-mutes."

"No-hear no-talk?"

"That's it. They communicated by a manual sign language. That meant they

couldn't communicate with anybody but deaf-mutes. Understand? They had to live

in their own community or they couldn't live at all. A man goes crazy if he

can't talk to friends."

"So?"

"Some of them started a racket. They'd tax the more successful deaf-mutes for

weekly hand-outs. If the victim refused to pay, they'd ostracize him. The victim

always paid. It was a choice of paying or living in solitary until he went mad."

"You mean you peepers are like deaf-mutes?"

"No, Ben. You normals are the deaf-mutes. If we had to live with you alone, we'd

go mad. So leave me alone. If you're nursing something dirty, I don't want to

know."

West cut off the phone in Reich's face. With a roar of rage, Reich snatched up a

gold paper-weight and hurled it into the crystal screen. Before the shattered

fragments finished flying, he was in the corridor and on his way out of the

building.

His peeper secretary knew where he was going. His peeper chauffeur knew where he

wanted to go. Reich arrived in his apartment and was met by his peeper

house-supervisor who at once announced early luncheon and dialed the meal to

Reich's unspoken demands. Feeling slightly less violent, Reich stalked into bis

study and turned to bis safe, a shimmer of light in the corner.

It was simply a honey-comb paper rack turned out of temporal phrase with a

single-cycle beat. Each second when the safe phase and the temporal phase

coincided, the rack pulsed with a brilliant glow. The safe could only be opened

by the pore-pattern of Reich's left index finger which was irreproducible.

Reich placed the tip of his finger in the center of the glow. It faded and the

honey-comb rack appeared. Holding his finger in place, he reached up and took

down a small black notebook and a large red envelope. He removed his index

finger and the safe pulsed out of phase again.

Reich flipped through the pages of the notebook... ABDUCTION... ANARCHISTS...

ARSONISTS... BRIBERY (PROVEN)... BRIBERY (POTENTIAL)... Under (POTENTIAL) he

found the names of fifty-seven prominent people. One of them was Augustus Tate,

Esper Medical Doctor 1. He nodded with satisfaction.

He tore open the red envelope and examined its contents. It contained five

sheets of closely written pages in a handwriting that was centuries old. It was

a message from the founder of Monarch Utilities and the Reich clan. Four of the

pages were lettered: PLAN A, PLAN B, PLAN C, PLAN D. The fifth was headed

INTRODUCTION. Reich read the ancient spidery cursive slowly:

   
To those who come after me: The test of intellect is the refusal to belabor

   
the obvious. If you have opened this letter we understand one another. I

   
have prepared four general murder plans which may help you. I bequeath them

   
to you as part of your Reich inheritance. They are outlines. The details

   
must be filled in by yourself as your time, your environment, and necessity

   
require.

   
Caution: The essence of murder never changes. In every era it remains the

   
conflict of the killer against society with the victim as the prize. And the

   
ABC of conflict with society remains constant. Be audacious, be brave, be

   
confident and you will not fail. Against these assets society can have no

   
defense.

           
Geoffry Reich

Reich leafed through the plans slowly, filled with admiration for the first of

his line who had had the fore-thought to prepare for every possible emergency.

The plans were out-dated but they kindled imagination; and ideas began forming

and crystallizing to be considered, discarded, and instantly replaced. One

phrase caught his attention:

If you believe yourself a natural killer, avoid planning too carefully. Leave

most to your instinct. Intellect may fail you, but the killer instinct is

invincible.

"The killer instinct," Reich breathed. "By God, I've got that."

The phone chimed once and then the automatic switched on. There was a quick

chatter and tape began to stutter out of the recorder. Reich strode to the desk

and examined it. The message was short and deadly:

CODE TO REICH: REPLY WWHG.

"WWHG. `Offer refused.' Refused! REFUSED! I knew it!" Reich shouted. "All right,

D'Courtney. If you won't let it be merger, then I'll make it murder."

2

Augustus Tate, E.M.D. 1, received Cr. 1,000 per hour of analysis... not a high

fee considering that a patient rarely required more than an hour of the doctor's

devastating time; but it placed his income at Cr. 8,000 a day or well over Cr. 2

million a year. Few people knew what proportion of that income was paid into the

Esper Guild for the education of other Telepaths and the furthering of the

Guild's Eugenic plan to bring Extra Sensory Perception to everyone in the world.

Augustus Tate knew, and the 95% he paid was a sore point with him. Consequently,

he belonged to "The League of Esper Patriots," an extreme right-wing political

group within the Guild, dedicated to the preservation of the autocracy and

incomes of the upper grade Espers. It was this membership that placed him in Ben

Reich's BRIBERY (POTENTIAL) category. Reich marched into Tate's exquisite

consultation room, glanced once at Tate's tiny frame---a figure slightly out of

proportion but carefully realigned by tailors. Reich sat down and grunted: "Peep

me quick."

He glared in concentration at Tate while the elegant little peeper examined him

with a glittering eye and spoke in quick bursts: "You're Ben Reich of Monarch.

Ten billion credit firm. Think I should know you. I do. You're involved in a

death struggle with the D'Courtney Cartel. Right? You're savagely hostile toward

D'Courtney. Right? Offered merger this morning. Coded message: YYJI TTED RRCB

UUFE AALK QQBA. Offer refused. Right? In desperation you have resolved to---"

Tate broke off abruptly.

"Go ahead," Reich said.

"To murder Craye D'Courtney as the first step in taking over his cartel. You

want my help... Mr. Reich, this is ridiculous! If you keep on thinking like

this, I'll have to commit you. You know the law."

"Clever-up, Tate. You're going to help me break the law."

"No, Mr. Reich. I'm not in a position to help you."

"You say that? A 1st Class Esper? And I'm supposed to believe it? I'm supposed

to believe you're incapable of outwitting any man, any group, the whole world?"

Tate smiled. "Sugar for the fly," he said. "A characteristic device of---"

"Peep me," Reich interrupted. "It'll save time. Read what's in my mind. Your

gift. My resources. An unbeatable combination. My God! It's lucky for the world

I'm willing to stop at one murder. Together we could rape the universe."

"No," Tate said with decision. "This won't do. I'll have to commit you, Mr.

Reich."

"Wait. Want to find out what I'm offering you? Read me deeper. How much am I

willing to pay? What's my top limit?"

Tate closed his eyes. His mannequin face tightened painfully. Then his eyes

opened in surprise. "You can't be serious," he exclaimed.

"I am," Reich grunted. "And what's more, you know it's an offer in good faith,

don't you?"

Tate nodded slowly.

"And you're aware that Monarch plus D'Courtney can make the offer good."

"I almost believe you."

"You can believe me. I've been financing your League of Esper Patriots for five

years. If you've peeped me deep enough yon know why. I hate the damned Esper

Guild as much as you do. Guild ethics are bad for business... lousy for making

money. Your League is the organization that can break the Esper Guild some

day..."

"I've got all that," Tate said sharply.

"With Monarch and D'Courtney in my pocket I can do better than help your faction

break the Guild. I can make you President of a new Esper Guild for life. That's

an unconditional guarantee. You can't do it alone, but you can do it with me."

Tate closed his eyes and murmured: "There hasn't been a successful premeditated

murder in 79 years. Espers make it impossible to conceal intent before murder.

Or, if Espers have been evaded before the murder, they make it impossible to

conceal the guilt afterwards."

"Esper evidence isn't admitted in court."

"True, but once an Esper discovers guilt he can always uncover objective

evidence to support his peeping. Lincoln Powell, the Prefect of the Police

Psychotic Division, is deadly." Tate opened his eyes. "D'you want to forget this

conversation?"

"No," Reich growled. "Look it over with me first. Why have murders failed?

Because mind-readers patrol the world. What can stop a mind-reader? Another one.

But no killer ever had the sense to hire a good peeper to run interference for

him; or if he had the sense, he couldn't make the deal. I've made the deal."

"Have you?"

"I'm going to fight a war," Reich continued. "I'm going to fight one sharp

skirmish with society. Let's look at it as a problem in strategy and tactics. My

problem's simply the problem of any army. Audacity, bravery, and confidence

aren't enough. An army needs Intelligence. A war is won with Intelligence. I

need you for my G-2."

"Agreed."

"I'll do the fighting. You'll provide the Intelligence. I'll have to know where

D'Courtney will be, where I can strike, when I can strike. I'll take care of the

killing myself, but you'll have to tell me when and where the opportunity will

be."

"Understood."

"I'll have to invade first... cut through the defensive network surrounding

D'Courtney. That means reconnaissance from you. You'll have to check the

normals, spot the peepers, warn me and block their mind-reading if I can't avoid

them. I'll have to retreat after the killing through another network of normals

and peepers. You'll have to help me fight a rear-guard action. You'll have to

remain on the scene after the murder. You'll find out whom the police suspect

and why. If I know suspicion is directed against myself, I can divert it. If I

know it's directed against someone else, I can clinch it. I can fight this war

and win this war with your Intelligence. Is that the truth? Peep me."

After a long pause, Tate said: "It's the truth. We can do it."

"Will you do it?"

Tate hesitated, then nodded with finality. "Yes. I'll do it."

Reich took a deep breath. "Right. Now here's the course I'm plotting. I think I

can set up the killing with an old game called `Sardine.' It will give me the

opportunity to get at D'Courtney, and I've figured out a trick to kill him; I

know how to fire an antique explosive gun without bullets."

"Wait," Tate interrupted sharply. "How are you going to keep all this intent