inferior.
“They are still a long way off,” he said. “Shall I send the flitter out to them, captain?”
“No,” said Kleenahn. “I like to see them march.”
Survival Demands!
There was a new girl at the desk, a pert young blonde with full lips and calculating eyes. They narrowed a little as I stated my name and errand.
“Captain Tolsen?” Her pause was as artificial as the routine checking of the cards. “I’m sorry, commander, but I’m afraid that he’s on the restricted list.”
“I know that.” Surely the girl would have been briefed? “If you will look again,” I said gently, “you will find that I am on the list of permitted visitors.” Then, as she hesitated, “Contact Professor Malkin and inform him that I am here!”
She didn’t like it, I could tell that. She considered herself too young, too beautiful for any man, let alone a grizzled old space commander, to have used that tone with her. But it had been a long journey to the Institute, my leg ached and I was short on patience. So I snapped at her as I would to a crewman and, like a crewman, she obeyed.
Malkin was pleased to see me. He crossed the reception hall, hand outstretched, his old, crinkled eyes beaming with pleasure. It was good to see that pleasure, good to feel the firm grasp of his hand.
“John! It’s good to see you.” He tilted his head toward the desk. “Trouble?”
“Bad liaison,” I said. “She didn’t know that I’m permitted to visit Tolsen.”
“I’ll fix that.” He walked toward the desk and didn’t trouble to lower his voice. “Commander Hamilton is permitted to visit Captain Tolsen whenever he wishes. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then mark it on your cards.” He re-joined me. “A new broom,” he explained. “Mary went off to get married and we’ve been saddled with this would-be tridi star. She thinks it smart to be awkward, but shell settle down.”
Knowing Malkin I could believe it. He ran the Institute as I ran one of my ships. We walked down white corridors, past green-tinted rooms, striding on the soft foam plastic of the floor, the air-conditioned atmosphere tinged with the scent of pine.
It was a quiet, restful place, a modem counterpart of a medieval monastery, though here men did not seek the salvation of their souls and the world by means of prayer. Instead they tried, by seeking understanding of the workings of the mind, to find a means of salvation of the human race.
Malkin talked as he always did, saying the same things that I had heard before but which both of us knew it was essential that I should never forget.
“A lot of people have the wrong impression of our work here,” he said. “Our title is probably the cause of that. The Institute for the Study of Mental Aberration means only one thing to the majority; we care for the insane.”
“The trick being to define insanity.”
“As soon as any man or woman stops thinking as the majority thinks they should think, then that person is regarded as insane.” Malkin sounded bitter. “So much for the tolerance of the human race.” He paused before a door, slid open a panel, gestured for me to look inside.
It was a small room, the floor, walls, ceiling, even the furniture all thickly covered with green-tinted plastic foam. A woman sat on the low bed. She wore a loose smock which hid the lines of her body. Her hands rested limply in her lap. Her head was tilted back a little and her eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at something no one but herself could see.
“A dreamer,” whispered Malkin. “A visionary, a woman divorced from reality — and one of the finest examples of prescience I have ever met. Insane? Or merely talented with unusual mental powers?”
He closed the panel, led the way down the corridor.
“There are others,” he continued. “So many others. All, in a greater or lesser degree, possessed of extrasensory powers. Precognition, levitation, telepathy, every
“They are still a long way off,” he said. “Shall I send the flitter out to them, captain?”
“No,” said Kleenahn. “I like to see them march.”
Survival Demands!
There was a new girl at the desk, a pert young blonde with full lips and calculating eyes. They narrowed a little as I stated my name and errand.
“Captain Tolsen?” Her pause was as artificial as the routine checking of the cards. “I’m sorry, commander, but I’m afraid that he’s on the restricted list.”
“I know that.” Surely the girl would have been briefed? “If you will look again,” I said gently, “you will find that I am on the list of permitted visitors.” Then, as she hesitated, “Contact Professor Malkin and inform him that I am here!”
She didn’t like it, I could tell that. She considered herself too young, too beautiful for any man, let alone a grizzled old space commander, to have used that tone with her. But it had been a long journey to the Institute, my leg ached and I was short on patience. So I snapped at her as I would to a crewman and, like a crewman, she obeyed.
Malkin was pleased to see me. He crossed the reception hall, hand outstretched, his old, crinkled eyes beaming with pleasure. It was good to see that pleasure, good to feel the firm grasp of his hand.
“John! It’s good to see you.” He tilted his head toward the desk. “Trouble?”
“Bad liaison,” I said. “She didn’t know that I’m permitted to visit Tolsen.”
“I’ll fix that.” He walked toward the desk and didn’t trouble to lower his voice. “Commander Hamilton is permitted to visit Captain Tolsen whenever he wishes. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then mark it on your cards.” He re-joined me. “A new broom,” he explained. “Mary went off to get married and we’ve been saddled with this would-be tridi star. She thinks it smart to be awkward, but shell settle down.”
Knowing Malkin I could believe it. He ran the Institute as I ran one of my ships. We walked down white corridors, past green-tinted rooms, striding on the soft foam plastic of the floor, the air-conditioned atmosphere tinged with the scent of pine.
It was a quiet, restful place, a modem counterpart of a medieval monastery, though here men did not seek the salvation of their souls and the world by means of prayer. Instead they tried, by seeking understanding of the workings of the mind, to find a means of salvation of the human race.
Malkin talked as he always did, saying the same things that I had heard before but which both of us knew it was essential that I should never forget.
“A lot of people have the wrong impression of our work here,” he said. “Our title is probably the cause of that. The Institute for the Study of Mental Aberration means only one thing to the majority; we care for the insane.”
“The trick being to define insanity.”
“As soon as any man or woman stops thinking as the majority thinks they should think, then that person is regarded as insane.” Malkin sounded bitter. “So much for the tolerance of the human race.” He paused before a door, slid open a panel, gestured for me to look inside.
It was a small room, the floor, walls, ceiling, even the furniture all thickly covered with green-tinted plastic foam. A woman sat on the low bed. She wore a loose smock which hid the lines of her body. Her hands rested limply in her lap. Her head was tilted back a little and her eyes, wide and unblinking, stared at something no one but herself could see.
“A dreamer,” whispered Malkin. “A visionary, a woman divorced from reality — and one of the finest examples of prescience I have ever met. Insane? Or merely talented with unusual mental powers?”
He closed the panel, led the way down the corridor.
“There are others,” he continued. “So many others. All, in a greater or lesser degree, possessed of extrasensory powers. Precognition, levitation, telepathy, every
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