*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69280 ***

                             SIMPLE PSIMAN

                            By F. L. WALLACE

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                     Startling Stories Fall 1954.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


He slipped on the jacket and scanned around the corner of the hall
outside before he got to the door.

"I psi," whispered the pin in his lapel.

Egan Rains let go of the knob and felt for the emblem. It was
inconspicuous, smaller than his thumbnail, the disc of the moon against
a dark blue background. The markings delineated a face on the moon, and
two radiating antennae.

Rains frowned and rolled it in his fingers. He thought he'd stripped
himself of unnecessary identification. No harm done since no one
in India had seen it on him, or heard it--yet. He looked at the
emblem regretfully, turned it over. The back was inscribed: American
Association of Psi Astronomers. It had sentimental value but he'd have
to get rid of it.

He went to the disposer slot and dropped it into the wall. The insignia
came whizzing back and struck the opposite wall. Muttering that foreign
devices never worked the way they should, he dug it out. He examined
it cursorily and noticed a tiny nick in the surface. That was all. The
material was harder than the tough blades of the disposer. His respect
for the techniques which made the pin mounted.

Someone walked by in the hall. Had the noise it made when it struck
been heard? He let his mind reach out delicately.

"I pthi," grumbled the pin.

Now it was lisping--and it was louder. The blow must have damaged the
speech crystals inside. Hurriedly he shut off his thoughts and the
insignia responded with silence.

Primarily, it was a recognition device enabling people of the same
talent, psimen, to identify each other. It served a purpose in America
where there were so few, but in India, where mentalist activity was far
greater, it was a handicap. It would be gabbling all the time.

Rains crumpled a sheet of paper around the little mechanism and tossed
it gently into the chute. The disposer ground noisily and, as he half
expected, the pin came hurtling back. He pried it out of the wall
again. This time it was slightly bent.

"The disposer is for the convenience of guests. It's set to return all
jewelry accidentally dropped into it."

Rains jumped and looked around wildly. He was certain there wasn't
anyone in the room, and he hadn't observed a service screen. He still
couldn't see either. But there was an eye staring at him from the wall.

"Shortages," explained the eye somberly, noting his bewilderment. "Our
country doesn't yet produce all the material we need. Lacking full size
tubes, the management of the hotel ordered smaller ones. They serve the
purpose."

Only slightly larger than life, the eye blinked at him. It filled the
entire screen. "If you must get rid of jewelry I suggest a pawnshop.
It's more economical."

Rains glanced back with casual cageyness. How much had the other seen,
or overheard? Probably nothing. He'd have noticed the eye. "Sorry. I
was throwing an odd cuff link away."

"It was odd," conceded the eye. "A little harder and it wouldn't have
come back." The eye blurred. "Can't have the disposer damaged, so we
draw the line. If it's as hard as a diamond it passes through."

It was a convenient line and a profitable one, Rains noted absently as
he went closer to observe the inconspicuous screen. Was it so tiny
that it could have been on without his noticing?

"People don't throw away diamonds the way they used to," the eye
complained.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rains let him talk. This was something on which he had to reassure
himself. And there was only one way to do it. The fellow was in a
service department, somewhere in the distance. But Rains was certain he
could reach him.

"I spy," said the pin, triggered by telepathy. "I spy."

The second trip to the disposer had damaged the crystals grievously. It
had a vocabulary of two words and they never changed--but now they had.
An outsider would get the wrong impression if he heard the distorted
message. Rains clamped his fingers tighter on the emblem. But even that
relatively slight pressure forced the speech crystals closer. "I spy,"
cried the pin. It seemed thunderous.

It took prolonged mental effort for Rains to remember that what he had
to do was stop probing. The voice of the insignia was obligingly silent
when he disengaged his mind.

The eye glared at him suspiciously. "You say something?"

"Not a thing."

"Didn't think so, unless you can talk without moving your lips." The
eye disappeared and was followed on the screen by an unidentified lump
of flesh, possibly a nose. Then the eye reappeared. Perhaps it was the
other eye. "May have been tourist kids outside my window playing your
favorite American game."

Rains nodded in relief. The voice had seemed loud to him but not to
the other. His hands had smothered the reverberation. His nerves were
merely on edge. "They love baseball," he said politely.

"Not baseball," said the eye. "I believe it had another name once, Hide
and Seek. Now it's called I Spy." The eye blinked rapidly. "Well, so
long."

When he was alone, Rains thought swiftly. His brief mental contact with
the eye's mind convinced him he hadn't been observed in any suspicious
act. That went to the credit side.

He felt the emblem. It was definitely not an asset. He thrust it
determinedly into his pocket. He couldn't endanger his chances of
finding the one man in India who meant so much to civilization and
astronomy.

He rode down and went out of the hotel and onto the street.
Momentarily, he wished he could go back. But the pin drove him past the
long AFUA line.

In 1976 India was contradictory. In the last few decades it had
achieved industrialization not much below Western standards. But it was
densely populated and living patterns were not always equal to those
of Europe and America. Rapid technical advances created new jobs and
wiped them out again over night. A highly trained craftsman in the
morning was often an unemployed vagabond by noon. Until he was taught
new skills and could be reabsorbed back into the labor force he was an
Applicant For Unofficial Aid. His dignity was such that he was never a
beggar. Anyway, begging was forbidden by law.

Rains had no way of turning off his hearing. The best he could do was
to walk swiftly and try to ignore the pleas. A few left their position
in the AFUA line and trailed after him, but eventually they gave up and
returned to the hotel to await other tourists.

It wasn't difficult for Rains to adopt the mannerisms of a sightseer.
This was the vast motherland from which European languages and
nations themselves had come in the remote past; complex, bewildering,
containing the old while striving for the new. Cows in the streets
imperiled jet cars and pedestrians. On the pinnacles of skyscrapers,
holy men lay down on beds of nails while television cameras carried the
picture to faithful followers in remote villages. Beside hydroponic
gardens, fakirs mystified the curious with the ancient rope trick.

If his mission hadn't interfered, Rains would have liked to study
these mentalists for his own satisfaction. He was a psiman himself, a
powerful one, though of an elementary variety. He was a telepath, a man
of one talent with no other ability--a simple psiman.

       *       *       *       *       *

The emblem weighed as heavily in his pocket as it did in his mind. So
far he hadn't found a quiet street on which to drop it. With so many
people thronging the city, every city in India, it wasn't going to
be easy. Nevertheless he wandered on, turning and twisting through
boulevards and alleys until he came to the ideal place.

He slipped his hand in his pocket, jingling coins, and came out with
the little talisman. He angled toward the curb and let it fall from
his fingers. He relaxed mentally as soon as he was rid of it. Sweepers
would brush it up and though it might attract another telepath's
attention it couldn't be traced back to him.

He swerved to miss a cow that ambled down the street and smiled
amiably. India was a romantic place, but it didn't conform to the
highest standards of civilization.

A hand plucked at his elbow. "Pardon."

Rains turned. He recognized one of the men from the AFUA line. He'd
been wrong; not all of them had become discouraged and gone back. Rains
appraised him quickly, a squat fellow, not very tall, but he made up in
width what he lacked in height. He wore a loin or ghandi cloth and a
remarkably ugly turban. It was the usual attire for this part of India.
His limbs, though not long, were of enormous muscular girth.

"I don't give alms," said Rains, tearing his gaze from the
fascinatingly horrible turban. Passers by were staring at the man too.

The native's eyes held the impervious look of the unemployed. "I didn't
ask, sir. You lost something." He held out his hand and the emblem was
in it.

Rains snatched it in dismay. The native's face seemed innocent enough.
Hesitating for only an instant, Rains made a quick mental stab,
feigning a coughing spasm while he did so. "I psi, pthi, spy," bleated
the pin. He jangled coins loudly and coughed harder.

Quickly he withdrew his mind. The Hindu didn't suspect a thing, though
his eyes widened at Rains' impromptu performance. It didn't matter;
he'd ascertained the other wasn't a telepath. Rains flipped a few coins
toward him, said thanks and walked away.

He glanced back. The native was still trailing behind, evidently not
satisfied with the reward. As long as the fellow was behind him, Rains
didn't want to drop the emblem again. And he couldn't keep it.

Another idea came up. From the hotel he'd seen a stream winding
through the city. It was yellow and muddy, an even better place for
the disposal of the tricky little item. He angled off until he saw the
river ahead, and noted that the native was still behind. He didn't want
to go through that again!

His mind whirred smoothly as he stopped and bought gum. Chewing was
not to his taste, but surmounting his dislike he peeled back the
wrapper and thrust the stick in his mouth. He saved the wrapper and
folded it over the emblem. As he crossed the bridge he tossed it, foil
and all, into the river. Let it yammer away, sinking deeper in the mud
or encysted in a crocodile's belly. Now it couldn't betray him.

But, in a way, it had. In his effort to get rid of the incriminating
article he'd overlooked other things. There was a mind laying heavily
against his. He struggled away, but for every retreat the intruder
advanced.

It wasn't actually entering his thoughts. It stayed outside, gradually
surrounding him. When had the invasion begun? He couldn't say with
precision, but it couldn't have been long ago. It was a heavy mind,
penetrating, not too acute. But it was endowed with brute strength and
it was suggesting thoughts he didn't want to have.

For instance, he felt an intense desire to seek a shady spot beside a
cool stream and lie down. Pleasantly textured grass would ease his skin
and flies would buzz harmoniously near, tickling sensuously as they
stung. Warm and moist. Fluid.

Rains was sweating. He had to shake off this insidious attack.

       *       *       *       *       *

First, he had to locate the source. Not the AFUA beggar. He was near,
but Rains had already ascertained he wasn't a telepath. The street was
now crowded with men and beasts. That was the trouble; there was no
easy way to pick out his assailant.

Which one? Rains glanced around. The white bearded ascetic next to him?
He was the holy hermit, telepathic type. But so were dozens of others,
most of them with luxuriant white beards. Rains probed, but got no
results.

In America he'd fenced off combined telepathic assaults of the best
of his fellows. He'd expected more competition in India, but this was
beyond his expectation. The defense he'd prepared seemed weak for what
it had to ward off.

An olive-skinned, dark-eyed girl went by with a gliding graceful walk.
With a little help from his imagination he could conjecture every
curve. It was sufficiently distracting. Me plus thee equals whee, he
thought swiftly. But this is hardly a Euclidean proposition, though I
would like our parallel paths to meet.

Was he too hopeful, or did the surrounding thoughts retreat somewhat?
The girl turned and retraced her steps. Me plus thee equals three, her
reply came back firmly. What do you have in mind?

She wasn't thinking along the right lines. There was a mental wedding
scene uncomfortably close. He went on, ignoring her opportunistic
suggestion.

I should have known, she thought frozenly when he didn't respond.
You're looking for another kind of girl. She took herself out of the
picture.

It was dangerous to spread his thoughts around. Something less personal
was in order. Nonsense was reputed to work. He searched and found some,
repeating it silently. I was thinking of a plan to dye my whiskers
green, and always wear so large a fan they never could be seen.

An ascetic, there seemed to be hundreds around, walked by. I was
thinking of a plan--continued Rains, his effort intense--to dye my
whiskers green....

The ascetic bellowed as a cow butted his side and began munching his
beard. A green beard! The Hindu squirmed and twisted loose, backing
away from the cow. The cow lollopped out her tongue and tucked a
whisp of beard into her mouth, chewing away as if on grass, which it
resembled. Purposefully she advanced.

The old Hindu scrambled away, clutching the remains of his beard. It
was now green, but it had been white. Rains could swear he had been
looking at it during the instant of change. The cow lurched after the
old man. She broke into a trot and the trot stretched into a gallop
and the two of them disappeared down the street.

All around there were men with green beards. It wasn't natural. They
stared at each other and then their eyes glided down. Muttering in
foreign tongues they stalked away. Rains could understand their
consternation. What had caused their beards to change? Did it have
anything to do with the rhyme?

But there was something more important. The mind that had been trying
to invade his had gone away. He thought back. The mental influence had
vanished with the cow.

An animal telepath? In India it wasn't totally unexpected. It was
the reason he was here. And the thoughts were those a cow would
have--internal evidence couldn't be ignored. It was frightening that
the cow was a stronger telepath than he, but it was also a source of
relief. At least the animal hadn't filched any secrets from him.

He had another conclusion to allay his anxiety. The girl he'd mentally
whistled at had been able to intercept his thoughts. Learning that he
wasn't interested in what she wanted, she had politely if frigidly
withdrawn. Mental courtesy? Well, why not?

Even in India there weren't many telepaths, say one in five or ten
thousand. But considering the density of population, that was a
lot. They had to evolve a code of mental conduct or life would be
intolerable. No one violated another's thoughts except for good reason.
If he watched himself, Rains thought, he'd have no cause for alarm. No
one would snatch his plans from his mind.

Rains walked on, wondering who or what had changed the white beards
to green. A powerful mind at work, but not the cow; he was certain of
this. Nor the girl.

       *       *       *       *       *

Rains fished discreetly about. Not the least hint. But the nonsense
rhyme had influenced someone, and that person was now lost to him.

If he'd had the time, Rains would have liked to find and study the
unusual man who'd saved him with that green beard trick. An unorthodox
talent, limited but interesting. After the menace that hung far out
in space was ended, he would come back and search out his unseen
benefactor.

Regretfully Rains cancelled these interesting thoughts, and looked
around for his indefatigable AFUA follower. The man was gone,
despairing at last of wheedling more alms. Or perhaps he'd been
frightened by the strange occurrence on the street.

Rains wandered back to the hotel. Upon approaching it he stopped. The
AFUA line had grown longer, curling around the block, ending almost
where it began. It wouldn't help to go to the back entrance, because
the line was there too.

Rains lowered his head and plunged on toward the front entrance. A hand
touched his elbow. "Guide?" inquired a voice. Someone asking for work,
not money, was unusual.

The voice was faintly familiar. Rains swung around. It was the man
who'd handed back the emblem. For this Rains owed him nothing. And yet
he did. Because of this he'd been forced to find a better means of
disposing of it.

He did need a guide, but he hadn't intended to hire one until he got to
Benares, far to the north, where he hoped his search would end. The man
he had to find was completely unknown, and Rains had only faint clues
to go on, so he'd have to rely on his telepathic power to uncover more
information.

Rains beckoned and the man stepped out of the AFUA line, no recognition
in his eyes. "Let's see your license," Rains said. The man fumbled in
his turban and produced it.

Rains read silently, "Experience one year." Too bad. His mission
couldn't be trusted to a beginner. "I'll think about it," he said,
handing back the card. "If you don't find anything else, be here
tomorrow. I may come out." Tomorrow he'd be on his way to Benares.

The native folded the license into his turban and went back. He was
now at the very end of the line because he'd left his place to follow
Rains. He'd get little tossed to him today, and the coins Rains had
given him wouldn't buy much. Rains could sense despair.

Rains beckoned him back. "Do you have any other skills that might be
useful?" he asked. "What did you do before you became a guide?"

The eyes brightened, then faded in quick defeat. "Nothing you'd want,"
he mumbled. "For ten years I was a dyeman."

Rains thought back to the scene of the mental ambush. Beards. Green
beards. The dyeman had been near at the time.

"Dyeman?" he repeated, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice.
Even if it actually had taken place as he thought, it was only a minor
talent. But there was always empathy between psipeople, even though
their abilities might be unrelated. He could expect closer cooperation
from this man than from any other guide he might hire.

"I may be able to use you," he said. "Come in. We'll talk." He'd
discovered a new field for Rhine investigation. They'd mention it in
history books, after they described how he saved the world.

       *       *       *       *       *

Gowru Chandit accepted the drink gratefully. Rains leaned back and
said, "Is this what you're trying to say? You first noticed your
ability when the dye didn't arrive at the textile factory. You had a
quota to meet. In panic you ran the cloth through anyway, and it came
out the color you wanted."

Gowru nodded.

"Can you tell me how you do it?"

The Hindu looped his hand near his head and shrugged.

Rains nodded. Any other answer would have been surprising. "What did
they say at the factory when you told them?"

Gowru grinned slyly. "Alas, I'm a poor man. I didn't tell them."

Rains could follow the man's thoughts as long as they were composed
in English. Alloted chemicals, Gowru smuggled everything out of the
plant that wasn't used and sold it to other firms. It should have been
profitable. "Why aren't you still with them?" Actually he knew the
answer. A new process had displaced the dyeman.

"I soon became foreman of the entire plant. I alone had charge of all
coloring. I was wildly prosperous, what with one thing and another. It
was my downfall."

"I don't understand." He did, but it was best to lead the man on, to
explore all possibilities.

"I drank," said Gowru. "I had money for it and I drank too much."

"And lost your ability?"

"It was not so simple," said Gowru. "No, my ability became stronger
than ever." He meditated briefly. "Picture me, the master dyeman
who alone colors all the material that passes through the plant. So
skillful am I, so beautiful the colors that the poorest cloth becomes
transfigured and commands premium prices.

"I arrive at work one morning and I am sick. I go into my secret mixing
room and lose my breakfast there. My head throbs. I raise it and look
at the chart. So much green, so much red and yellow, so much everything.

"The chemicals are there and I put them into the suitcase which the
management graciously allows me to take in and out of the factory. The
pipes which fill the various vats flow through this room. As I have
always done, I concentrate on the wanted colors, associating them with
the proper vats. But my head hurts, you understand. Alternately, it
grows large and small in defiance of the laws of physics."

Gowru Chandit paused to shake his head sorrowfully in remembrance of
that day. "I concentrate until all the vats are filled and then, as
usual, go to sleep. All day the automatic machinery hums. Yards pass
through the vats, bolt after bolt is dyed, dried and wound, and nobody
looks because this operation is automatic.

"Then, the manager comes to inspect production and rub his hands at the
profits that will accrue to him. He unwinds a sample, looks at it and
screams." Gowru stared mournfully at Rains. "Retroactive to that scream
I am fired."

"But why?"

Gowru loosened a fold of his turban and spread it out so the pattern
was visible. "I was projecting. Did you ever see such a headache
reproduced in full color? Not merely a headache, but also a hangover."

Rains moved the drink hastily away. He wanted to speak, but it might
be dangerous to open his mouth. The crisis passed. "Put it away!"
But Gowru had already refolded it so that the pattern was no longer
discernible. The cloth was an unpleasant souvenir.

       *       *       *       *       *

Egan Rains was silent, studying the Hindu. The man was honest and
loyal, that much he could tell. But though he spoke English well, he
didn't think extensively in it and most of his thoughts were hidden in
a language Rains couldn't translate, mentally or otherwise. "Can you
teleport?" he asked.

"A mind carrier?" said Gowru. "No, I'm only a dyeman. I can do nothing
else."

He expected that; there weren't many who had multiple powers. "Do you
know anyone who can?"

"I have a friend who plays ping pong with it."

That was telekinetics, not teleportation, but it might be what he was
after. So far as the Rhine Institute knew, people with either ability
existed only in India. "How good is your friend?" he asked.

"At ping pong, very good. At tennis, poor. The ball is too heavy; he
can't move it fast enough."

Then that was a false lead. The person he wanted had to be much more
adept and powerful. Rains would have to look farther and Gowru would
have to help him. "Gowru, I'm an astronomer," he began.

The Hindu raised his eyebrows to express interest. "I've always had a
soft spot in my head for astronomy," he declared.

Evidently the idiom did change from country to country. "My colleagues
and I at Palomar have discovered a new comet," he went on. "It is a
strange comet, bigger than most, almost a tiny planet. The composition
is stranger still, mostly oxygen and water."

Gowru nodded sagely. "And you want me to color the water. That I can
do, any hue you want. But if there is much air and you want me to color
that too, you will have to be satisfied with a light tint, a pale blue
or green or pink."

"The color doesn't matter," said Rains gravely, and poured himself
another drink. "In seventeen years that comet is due to strike Earth."

The Hindu bowed his head. "I've had a feeling of doom since you
mentioned the comet," he said simply.

"Wrong," said Rains. "No doom. In seventeen years we'll have rockets
that can meet it out in space. We'll load hydrogen bombs into rockets
and blow the comet into fine crystals. But the orbit of the particles
will still intersect that of Earth, and it will fall as rain."

Gowru searched his memory for a foreign concept. "Forty days and forty
nights?"

"I don't know how long," said Rains wearily. "But whatever happens, the
water level of the oceans will rise--from fifty to three hundred feet
is the present estimate. After we study it longer we'll know exactly.
The land area will shrink, but that alone isn't disastrous. Forewarned,
not many lives would be lost. Most people will have time to move to
higher ground.

"However, there's another aspect. Air is also present in the comet and
will be added to our atmosphere. The earth will grow warmer and the
higher latitudes will become habitable. Perhaps we'll gain almost as
much living space as we lose."

"Then let's rejoice," said Gowru, reaching for the bottle. "It's not
every comet which is so considerate."

Rains replenished his own glass. "It's not an occasion for rejoicing.
We've calculated that, with the additional atmosphere and moisture,
astronomy will become extinct. Cloud covered, the planet will be much
like Venus. No one will be able to see the stars." He didn't mention
that a few of the highest mountains would still rise above the clouds.
He didn't because those mountains were in India and that country would
then have a monopoly on the science.

Gowru wrinkled his face in pleasure at the whisky and then assumed
a properly doleful expression. "I see. In seventeen years you'll be
unemployed." He added consolingly. "Maybe they'll give you a pension."

Rains' vision was growing a little fuzzy, but his intellectual goals
had not changed. "It's not the pension," he said irritably. "I intend
to save astronomy."

"It's not reasonable to be so obstinate when the heavens decree
otherwise," declared Gowru. "You should cultivate an interest in other
things. Girls are a nice hobby."

Rains muttered something about girls and Gowru interrupted.

"Good. We can start with girls and there's no telling where we'll end.
I'm a guide and I can help in such matters. How many do you want?"

"I've only a normal--"

       *       *       *       *       *

Again Gowru interrupted. "I was afraid of that--only a normal interest
in girls. You should moderate your desires. I can't help you with so
many." He shook his head sadly. "Let's get back to astronomy."

"I expect to," said Rains coldly. "As I was saying, at Palomar we have
the giant telescope--"

"The big inch," said Gowru fondly.

"You're thinking of something else," said Rains. "In addition to the
big telescope we have a secret instrument not duplicated nor imagined
elsewhere--a psiscope." Thoughtfully he poured the remaining whisky
into his glass.

"Don't ask me how it works. It's designed for use by people of psi
powers, of which I'm one. It's incredibly powerful and accurate. With
it we've learned things that other astronomers won't know for several
years. The data on the comet is one example."

He raised the glass and let the liquid trickle down his throat. "We've
also learned things that astronomers with conventional instruments will
never find out--that there are teleports in India."

Gowru struggled with himself, and decided to hoard the whisky in his
glass. He sipped delicately at it. "I could have told you that and I
don't have a psiscope. But how did you find out?"

"Imagine the comet swinging nearer the sun. Under the terrific
radiation, the frozen ball of water melts and the atmosphere expands.
In our psiscope, clearly illuminated, is an object no one else can see
at that distance. It is a peculiar object, man made, and found only
in one place on Earth." He paused. "At present we don't have a rocket
capable of going to the moon. And yet this object was transported much
farther. Therefore, it had to be teleported there."

"Logical," agreed Gowru. "What was this object?"

"I can tell you the city from which it came; you'll have to know
anyway--Benares. But my colleagues and I have decided we can't tell
anyone what it was we saw on the comet."

"Benares," mused the Hindu. "I know the city well. I was there last
year looking for work."

"With your help," said Rains, "we intend to contact this teleport."

"Who's we?"

"My colleagues and I at Palomar."

"And also your government?"

"Our government doesn't enter into this. We couldn't convince them if
we tried since they don't believe in psi powers. No, this is solely
our problem. We're financed in part by the Rhine Institute and we have
other funds which were diverted for the purpose."

Gowru sighed. No matter which way he tilted it, there wasn't another
drop in his glass. "What are you going to do with this teleport after
you find him?"

"Persuade him to come to the United States. We'll get him out of India
some way." The country wouldn't take kindly to an attempt to smuggle
out one of their mentalists, but it could be done.

"What good will that do?" questioned Gowru. "Even the most experienced
teleport can't change the path of the comet. It's too big to move."

"He won't have to move it," said Rains. "We've positive proof that he
did transport a--uh--large object to the comet. He did it once and he
can do it again, except this time it will be a hydrogen bomb."

"I thought so," said the Hindu disgustedly. "I don't want any part of
it. Where will you get that hydrogen bomb except from your government?
Let them develop their own teleports, or approach our country through
proper diplomatic channels."

"You're not thinking," said Rains. "With a teleport working for us we
don't ask the army for a hydrogen bomb. One minute they have it safely
hidden, and the next instant it's inside the comet. Let the military
boys worry about how it got away and where it went.

"You see, the comet's been captured by the sun and moves in a very
eccentric orbit just inside Jupiter. If we vaporize it now, it will
lose most of its mass to those two bodies. There'll be little left to
fall on Earth." He nodded approvingly to himself. The plan would be
effective, if he found the teleport.

       *       *       *       *       *

Gowru's eyes expanded, enlarged by his own inner fires. "Let's drink to
it," he said, extending his glass.

Rains sighed. As a secret agent he needed an analytically clear mind
at all times. But he also had to have someone who understood India
better than any American could, someone who would work with him
wholeheartedly. It wouldn't pay to offend such a person. He opened a
bottle, and later, still another....

The train wound through the provinces and cities en route--Bangalore,
Jubbulpore, Jetadore, finally arriving at Benares. They could have gone
more conveniently by air, every sensible Indian did, but presumably it
was worth something to maintain the pose of tourist and guide.

From the window of his hotel Rains could see the Ganges, a muddy,
sluggish river still, but an improvement over what it had been thirty
years before. More sanitary too; burial customs could not be completely
changed in a generation, but the three phoenix barges anchored off
shore automatically disposed of the bodies to the satisfaction of all
but the most fanatic.

Southward were the spires of a rather shabby building he could
identify from photographs, the Rhine Institute of the Ganges. Its
value was dubious, of missionary rather than research caliber. In
the heart of the mentalist country, it had little prestige and not
much more patronage. It was questionable who spied most on the
other, the American staff or the supposed native converts. Each side
took precautions, but there were startlingly few devices which were
effective against an accomplished telepath.

Still, mechanical devices partly reduced the advantages of the
Indians. Chewing gum parked in the right places often concealed
ingenious mechanisms, and even the birds which were regularly fed at
the Institute sometimes swallowed grain-sized instruments which were
carried impartially to all the public buildings of the city.

This didn't concern Rains. The Rhine Institute of the Ganges could
solve its own problems or fail to do so. But somewhere in Benares there
was a teleport. Where?

The regular reports--coded, scrambled, shielded, unshielded,
unscrambled, decoded--had mentioned great mentalist activity, but
hadn't been able to pin it down. Fakirs and holy men abounded; there
were at least a dozen telepaths in the city better than Rains, not to
mention clairvoyants.

Communication from the Institute had always been erratic,
understandable in view of the hazards. Rains had not seen a report from
this branch in three months. Perhaps in the interim they had uncovered
more information. He would have to find out. "Gowru," he asked, "are
there many fogs in Benares?"

The Hindu wrinkled his face in thought. "I've been here when there
were. Not now though; wrong time of the year."

That was not good. Rains didn't want to expose himself, but he had to
get in touch with the director of the Institute.

"If you want a fog, I'll get you one," said Gowru.

Rains glanced up. The Hindu was a queer fellow. Rains had dismissed the
talk of coloring the comet's atmosphere as drunken boasting, but what
if it wasn't?

"Can you actually create fog?" he asked doubtfully.

"Sure. Want a sample?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Perhaps he should, but too many fogs at this time would be suspicious.
He shook his head, "If you say you can deliver, I believe you. The only
question is, can you cover most of the city?"

"The whole northern part of India," Gowru assured him.

"That much won't be necessary. How long can you hold it?"

"Depends on the wind," said his guide, extending his thumb and
forefinger and rubbing them together delicately. "Air's slippery stuff.
It fades. I'll have to concentrate."

Rains sighed. He'd learned that when Gowru concentrated he had to be
diluted. He set out a bottle....

Rains walked along the bank of the Ganges and glanced at his watch. An
hour to sunset. The fog was due at any moment. The Institute was a few
blocks away, but he had memorized a map of the area and would be able
to get there no matter what happened.

He adjusted his tie in a mirror. No one behind him, but he didn't think
they'd be that crude about it here. He practised shutting off his
thoughts. His defense was adequate in America, but he wasn't sure how
effective it would be against a first rate Indian mentalist.

He went into a curio shop and picked up a small bronze statue of a
four-armed god. He was about to pay for it when the woman behind the
counter shrieked. He glanced up at her. She was merely a few feet away,
but he could scarcely see her through the thick black smoke that curled
through the room.

"Fire!" screamed the woman and ran out.

He hurried to the door and then thought of the statue in his hands. It
wouldn't do to get involved in a petty theft charge. He ran back to the
counter and laid the money down. On second thought he left the statue
there too and stumbled out of the shop.

The street was jammed. Storekeepers stood on the curb and shouted, and
out of the buildings thick smoke came pouring. Rains sniffed. It looked
like smoke but had no smell. He thought he knew what it was. This was
the fog Gowru had said he would create.

It was a good fog but it was placed wrong--inside buildings instead of
filling the free air overhead. It had the opposite effect from what
he wanted. He had expected to approach the Institute through dim and
shrouded streets. As it was, he had to elbow people into the gutter in
order to move. Fire sirens wailed in a dozen directions and spotting
copters took to the air and started circling around.

"Gowru!" he thought sharply, but either the distance was too great or
his thoughts were swallowed up by the multitude around him. Contact was
impossible.

He'd have to do the best he could; confusion might cover him. A fire
truck skidded to a stop beside him and frantic firemen coupled the
hoses and went to work. Drenched and swearing Rains fought his way down
the street.

As abruptly as it began, the smoke stopped. At least the drunken Gowru
had had enough sense to look out the window. Or maybe the sirens had
brought him around. Rains shuddered; he could almost see the contents
of the bottle diminishing as Gowru apprised himself of the mistake.

He was a block or so from the Institute and the streets were still
crowded. Some people had re-entered the stores as soon as the
smoke-like stuff stopped pouring out. Others, more fearful, remained
outside.

They didn't remain outside long. Overhead, in the sunset sky,
an ominous cloud formed. It descended rapidly upon the city.
Apprehensively, Rains watched the copters disappear into the dense
cloud, and then decided against worrying about them. Radar equipped,
they could trace their way through anything.

       *       *       *       *       *

Shopkeepers gazed at the sky, shuddered, and hurried inside. They
closed windows and doors and bolted them. The reason escaped him until
he observed firemen clambering into trucks which roared away as fast as
they had come. They wore masks, all of them. It was gas they feared.

The fool was compounding the mistake. A quiet, ordinary fog which
gathered inconspicuously in the hollows and low places and gradually
engulfed the city was what he wanted. This sort of thing was hardly
what he had specified.

There was no help for it, and as long as he had the streets to himself
he might as well go ahead. Before he reached the Institute the fog fell
on him with an almost physical impact. Streetlights winked on briefly
and were snuffed out as the fog descended lower, still burning but not
discernible at street level.

He shuffled slowly along, touching buildings. This kept him from
getting completely lost. There was no one following him physically, he
was sure of that. They could still keep track of him mentally and he
wouldn't be aware of it, but he doubted that anyone was interested in
him at a time like this. They'd be too concerned with the fog.

The dyeman was good--too good.

He stopped at a doorway, pressing his face close to the glass to read
the sign on it. It was the Institute, but he didn't intend to enter.

He stepped back from the door and squeezed behind a statue. He was as
close to the director as he could expect to get without being observed
by the spies on the staff. Telepathically he located the director's
office and whispered, also telepathically. There was no reply.

It took him a minute to determine why--the director was asleep.
It was better that way. The man wouldn't know he had come, taken
the information and left. He stirred around in the sleeping mind,
delicately so as not to awaken him. Then he had the information.

Gommaf was the man he wanted. Rains grinned to himself. Gommaf was the
teleport, or knew who the teleport was--he couldn't be sure which. That
was all he needed.

He wriggled out from behind the statue and walked quickly away. The fog
wasn't as intense as it had been, though it slowed him considerably.
Gowru must be getting tired. Streetlights were burning faintly overhead.

The fog changed color as he went along, an indiscreet slip. There was
a slight brown tinge to it that wasn't altogether pleasant. He walked
faster and his stomach felt upset.

Gowru was playing with the fog; that was the only interpretation Rains
could place on it. Colors shifted through the spectrum. He wished the
Hindu would stop it. A queasy, dirty violet didn't inspire confidence
in his own digestive system.

In the midst of all that violet, a low-flying biliously pink cloud
came toward him. He turned his head and gulped, but it didn't help
appreciably. In the direction he now faced there was a vile green fog
shape. It looked something like an appendix, but it was much larger.

He was wrong. Gowru Chandit was not playing--this was for keeps. A
valuable man, no doubt of it, but he drank too fast and couldn't
control his reactions.

As he looked, the appendix shape writhed slowly and glowed. Other fog
forms began materializing convulsively around him, not all of them
bearing morphological resemblance to human organs, but not necessarily
of more pleasing appearance because of that. And the colors--Rains
closed his eyes but the damnable fluorescence seemed to penetrate.

The river was nearby, for which he was thankful. He staggered to it,
lay down on the embankment, and retched feebly. The Ganges below
became less sanitary for a time. There were certain disadvantages to
psi powers, he reflected. This was the first time he had reacted to
another's nausea.

Later, he made it back to his quarters.

       *       *       *       *       *

The boat slid swiftly and smoothly past the cremation barges anchored
in the river. The design of the barges was distinctive, two long
cylindrical pontoons connected fore and aft by beams which curved above
the surface of the water. In the middle of each pontoon was a squat
affair resembling a searchlight, each of which was focused inward
toward the open space at the center of the barge. Upstream was a long
line of small wooden rafts. One at a time they were allowed to float
between the pontoons. The searchlights flashed and the beams crossed in
the center. The raft burst into flame, water boiled for an instant, and
the corpse was utterly consumed. The barge was ready for the next body.

Rains glanced at the mechanism. No matter where he saw it, he'd always
be able to identify it. One of them was much newer than the others.
This was significant.

Gowru was scowling, so Rains refrained from mentioning the barges.
There were many religions in India, now more than ever, and each had
its own burial customs. Some rituals were offensive to other sects and
he saw no need to antagonize his guide over such a trivial matter.

They were both silent as the boat pulled up to the civic center pier.
Government offices and allied functions were situated together in an
annex outside the city proper; a sensible solution in a city as ancient
as Benares, but one which Rains did not particularly like. There were
just too many policemen and security officers around. He shrugged. That
was probably the least of his problems.

They mingled with the crowd, sightseers and officeworkers, that
rushed off the ship. In a few minutes they were in the center of the
government city. Police everywhere, but Rains didn't let that bother
him. Presently they came to an impressive building and he stood on the
sidewalk and pretended to admire it.

There were heavily barred windows and guards at the entrance. "Here it
is," he said softly. "We could walk in."

"This is just Gojmaf," grunted Gowru. "Mere journeymen. You want the
Guild of Master Mystics Mentalists and Fakirs--Gommaf."

Rains sighed; he'd not been as fortunate as he'd thought in contacting
the sleeping director's mind. He'd not gotten the name of the teleport,
but the organization to which that person probably belonged.

The Gommaf building was on another street and wasn't easily located,
but they found it. They sat at a sidewalk cafe and inspected it from
a distance. It was not a pretentious structure and there were neither
bars nor guards.

The absence of visible security measures was disturbing. It suggested
several possibilities: that there was nothing of value inside, that
Gommaf had complete confidence in the ordinary police patrol, or that
they relied on other means of protection. The last seemed likely.

It was a local organization and Rains had never heard of it. That was
not strange. There was much about India that had never reached the
Western world. There were records inside, the records of a teleport,
and he had to get to them.

He couldn't just walk in; somewhere there was a master telepath on
duty. Rains had confidence in his own ability, but he saw no point in
overmatching himself. "What do you know about Gommaf?" he asked.

His guide looked at the tea with less than delight. "It's fairly new,"
he said slowly, searching his memory. "Organized about ten years
ago, I believe. There was competition at first. Some of the mystics,
mentalists and fakirs thought they were outside the orbit of ordinary
trade unionism. They formed a rival organization and tried to eliminate
Gommaf's chief organizer, a man called Handas Bvandeghat. They found
him one morning while he was practising yoga, and of course he refused
to interrupt his spiritual contemplation. They riddled him with machine
gun bullets."

Rains nodded. "But they couldn't kill the idea. Handas Bvandeghat
became a martyr and the organization went on in spite of, or because
of, his death." It was a familiar story.

"Who said he died? Handas Bvandeghat is president of Gommaf."

"But they machine gunned him!"

"Sure, they shot him. But he's a fakir, still makes a living letting
people drive spikes through his body. What's a few bullets to him?"
Gowru swallowed the tea and made a face. "Of course, there were some
physical consequences. Even today Bvandeghat has trouble keeping food
on his stomach." Gowru wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Holes," he added.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not such a familiar story after all, but it did emphasize the
difficulties. An organization headed by such a character would be
tough. The telepath to spot intruders, which had previously been merely
a possibility, became a certainty. An approach to the front entrance
was inadvisable.

But the comet was still hurtling through space and the only man who
could avert the collision was the teleport. Rains had to contact him.
He produced a map and consulted with his guide. After some discussion
they evolved a plan.

"If we come through the rear it's your opinion the telepath won't
detect us?" Gowru murmured, obviously doubtful.

"It's worth trying," said Rains, folding the map. "Behind the Gommaf
building is an electric fence and behind that is open country, mostly
swamp. Normally the swamp is considered impassable, but there is a
way through it. The telepath has to concentrate mentally just as you
do visually. He'll be expecting trouble from the front. I sneak in
from the rear, examine the records, and get out again before it occurs
to him that I've been there. After that I still have to contact the
teleport, but once I know who he is, that's easy."

"Why not rent a copter and set it down in the middle of the swamp? It
will save a lot of walking."

"It would, but it would also inform Gommaf that we're up to something.
No, we'll just have to walk." Rains stuffed the map into his pocket.
"Are there any shrines on the road to the city?"

Gowru Chandit shrugged. "There are shrines anywhere in India except
straight up."

Rains nodded with great satisfaction. There'd be one there too when the
hydrogen bomb exploded inside the comet. A bright flaring shrine to
astronomy.

The road was paved but dusty. There were other tourists walking toward
the city so Egan Rains and Gowru were by no means conspicuous. At some
distance from the civic center they stopped at a wayside temple. They
entered and examined the strange but not notable architecture, the
intricate but not always esthetically pleasing carved walls. When they
were not observed they slipped through a side door and hurried to the
rear where they plunged into the light underbrush. In half an hour they
were at the edge of an open plain. No one followed them.

After some discussion they decided to skirt the plain, and started out,
keeping well within the shadow of the trees which separated plain from
adjacent swampland. They circled back toward the civic center, toward
the narrow spot of firm ground that reached nearly to the electric
fence behind Gommaf. In the middle of the afternoon they rested and ate
some of the food they had brought with them.

"Psst!" said Gowru, waving his great hand.

Rains swallowed. "I don't hear anything."

Again the Hindu flapped his hand for silence. After listening
intently, he crawled away into the underbrush. Presently he came back.
"Soldiers," he whispered.

Rains was worried. Did that mean Gommaf knew what he was up to? And if
so, why did they send out soldiers? He could swear no one had tapped
his mind. "How many?" he asked in a low voice.

"Thousands."

Allowing for exaggeration, there were still too many. He picked up the
sandwiches, shoving one in his mouth and the rest into his pocket.
"Let's go," he said.

"Where?"

He pointed in the direction they'd been heading.

Gowru shook his head. "They're coming from there too."

That made it difficult. He looked questioningly at the swamp, but his
guide frowned. "Snakes," he said laconically. "Tigers, crocodiles."

That left the plain, but out there they'd be spotted instantly, and
picked up soon after. He couldn't afford to be questioned by anyone. He
could hear the soldiers. They were getting closer.

       *       *       *       *       *

The plain. They had to cross it and yet they couldn't. Unless--He
turned to Gowru. "A fog," he said triumphantly. "All we need is another
fog."

His guide smiled with sorrowful dignity. "It takes whisky to make a
good fog. If you had listened to me you would have brought a supply
along. But alas, you are the reformer type, and because of that we are
now caught." His head sunk forward in defeat.

His chin touched his chest and at that his head snapped back and it was
easy to see that he was not defeated. "Without whisky I can't make a
fog," he admitted. "Do you know how many molecules are involved in even
a medium-sized fog?"

Rains didn't, but thought he ought to look impressed.

"A surface now, even a relatively large surface, contains a
comprehensible number of molecules," said Gowru. "My mind isn't sharp
when I'm sober, but I can handle that many."

"I don't see how--" But darkness interrupted his thoughts. "What is
that?" asked Rains.

"I put a surface around us. It has the shape of a tank."

It was surprisingly sensible. There were two groups of soldiers
approaching along the edge of the swamp, and they were in the middle.
It was logical to assume that one group of soldiers would consider the
so-called tank as belonging to the other.

His eyes were adjusting to the changed light: he could see dimly
through the outline that surrounded them. A hundred yards away a
soldier appeared through the trees, saw the tank and stopped. Rains
didn't like the way he fingered the rifle.

"Can you move this thing?" he asked nervously.

"Why not?"

"Good. Let's get away from here."

It weighed little more than nothing--as insubstantial as air. It was
air, bound together on a molecular level by forces originating in the
Hindu's mind. It moved out on the plain as fast as they could walk.

"Halt!" a voice rang out from the edge of the swamp.

"Let them try to stop us," whispered Gowru cheerfully.

Again the voice commanded, but Gowru paid no attention. A rifle shot
sounded behind them and a bullet whizzed uncomfortably close. "Maybe
we'd better stop," suggested Rains.

"A Chandit never surrenders," said his guide stubbornly. Abruptly the
darkness around them deepened. Another rifle shot rang out. The bullet
struck the tank shape, and glanced away.

Air did that, or more correctly, the psi forces of his guide's mind. He
had grossly underestimated the man. "How did you do that?"

"Increased the thickness of the surface by a few molecules," said Gowru
cheerfully. "Handy, if you know how."

It was handy, but there were also disadvantages. No light at all
entered and they couldn't see where they were going.

Rains thought swiftly. Perhaps he could use the soldiers to guide
him. His mind reached out, and was bent backward. Ten inches of steel
couldn't stop his thoughts, but a few molecules of air did. The man had
limited ability, but was exceedingly powerful within those limitations.
He explained the difficulty to Gowru, who stopped and scratched his
head.

"If I made a tiny hole--"

"That's all I need," said Rains, and his mind was through it as it
formed. He skipped from thought to thought, lightly so as not to leave
an awareness of his mental presence. The two groups of soldiers had
joined and started after them, cautiously and at a safe distance.

Unwittingly he and Gowru had stumbled into army maneuvers. And it
wasn't going to be easy to get out of them. Naturally, the soldiers
were curious. And the tank--He looked into the lieutenant's mind.

He shivered. There weren't supposed to be tanks in this area. And Gowru
was not an army man; his idea of a tank was different from that of
Indian designers. He had created a fearsome image, the more frightening
because it didn't correspond to any known make, friendly or foreign.
This was something the Army was going to investigate, with everything
they had.

He explained it briefly to his guide.

"Hmmm," said Gowru. "Maybe I should change the shape to something
they're familiar with?"

He'd thought of that. "It's too late. They'd know something mental was
involved and would call in Gommaf. Could you hold them off?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Gowru shrugged. Rains thought he probably could, though he might not be
aware of it yet. But though they'd be safe from the mental onslaught of
Gommaf, there was a catch. Sooner or later they'd have to have food and
water, the screen would come down and then they'd be at the mercy of
the Indian mentalists.

There had to be another way and he thought he saw it. "How long can you
keep this up?"

"For days," sat Gowru. "Once it's in existence I merely have to touch
it now and then to keep it up."

"Good. Make a small hole so you can see where you're going and start
out across the plain." It was late afternoon and would soon be dark....

"There's an army camp ahead," said Gowru.

"National guard?"

"Multi-national guard. This is India."

Rains sighed. There was no use asking what was on either side and
behind them--more troops. Planes droned overhead. Mobile searchlights
were trained on them. Fortunately, there were no big guns in this area.
Perhaps Gowru could build up the image to withstand even the direct hit
of a large caliber shell, but the concussion wouldn't be pleasant. "If
there's an army camp there must be a trench," Rains said. "Do you see
any?"

Gowru Chandit looked. "There's a trench."

"Angle the tank so we'll pass directly over it." He paused. "Can you
project this image?"

"Keep it in existence and control where it goes though we're no longer
inside? Yes, I can do that."

"Fine. And can you make a hole in the bottom as the tank shape passes
over the trench?"

"I can."

"That's what I thought. My idea is that we drop into the trench and the
tank continues on. It goes into the forest beyond the camp and as soon
as all the troops have followed, you destroy the image."

"Instantly?"

"If you can."

Gowru breathed gustily. "I can create it instantly, but the reverse is
not true. It has to fade away, and that takes time."

Rains didn't want that, since it would reveal the nature of the tank.
"Is there any other way to dispose of it?"

"I think so," said Gowru. "I can project it into the forest and let it
rise later with a trail of fire. I can imitate a rocket."

A rocket tank would give them something to think about. "Excellent. But
remember to drop out of sight in the trench. The troops on foot will be
concerned with the tank. They won't notice us in the darkness."

Gowru nodded and they went on. Presently he spoke. "Here we are."

They dropped. The trench was deep and it was near a swamp. They fell
into half a foot of water. Overhead, the troops marched away.

[Illustration: They fell into half a foot of water, while overhead,
troops were marching.]

Gowru straightened and looked out. He climbed up and extended his hand,
pulling Rains to the top.

As they stood there, a trail of fire rose over the forest, the tank
image bursting upward and disappearing. It was too soon. The troops
wouldn't find anything though they'd scour around. They'd have to
return. Rains was aching to empty his shoes of cold water.

Together they started out, slinking through the deserted camp. They
hurried, but they didn't have much leeway. Soldiers began straggling
back. There was no time to look for a trail through the swamp, if there
was a trail.

They crashed through a dense fringe of vines and fell into the swamp.
They had been wet, now they became drenched. Mud clung to them,
sticky, foul-smelling slime. Rains could imagine snakes and unspeakable
vermin crawling away from them or toward them as they crashed onward.
Branches slashed at them, mud sucked them down. Gasping, they
floundered away.

Anyone could follow their trail. But no one was likely to associate
such bedraggled men with the phenomenon that had lately puzzled the
best minds of the Indian army....

       *       *       *       *       *

Rains was awakened by a rhythmical thud nearby. He jumped up and looked
around and then relaxed. It was Gowru pounding clothing on a flat rock
in a pool of brackish water. He had pulverized a native plant and added
it to the water, producing a reasonable imitation of soap.

Rains wrinkled his nose in disgust. The stench still clung to his body
in spite of attempts to wash it off last night before falling asleep.
Silently, Gowru gave him some of the soap plant, and he found another
pool to bathe in. He emerged feeling much cleaner.

The Hindu had spread the clothing to dry in the clearing. Rains lay
down and let the warm sun soak into his bones, pondering. They had no
food and couldn't expect to find much in the swamp. And after last
night there'd be soldiers around, combing the area, looking for an
explanation of the mysterious tank. Now he couldn't expect to enter
the Gommaf building undetected from the rear. They'd have to get back
to the road that led to the city and from there return to the hotel.
Afterwards, they'd have to plan anew. But for the moment, raw survival
was paramount.

The clothing soon dried. Dressed, the Hindu looked presentable, but
that was because his garments were exceedingly simple. The Western
synthetic fabric didn't launder well. Sadly, Rains looked at his
reflection in the water. He was rumpled.

They started in the direction they imagined the road lay, staying
within the cover at the edge of the swamp. On the plain there were
light tanks and armored vehicles, battalions of soldiers, planes
circling overhead.

Weary and hungry they struggled for hours through the swamp. At last
the wilderness ended. They crouched in the underbrush where the trees
stopped and gazed at a building, the front of which faced the road they
sought. It was a queer structure, a small-scale skyscraper with chrome
plated carvings.

If they could get to the building and then to the highway, they should
be safe. To get to the building was hardest. A few hundred yards away
platoons of soldiers wheeled in formation. They'd be spotted if they
tried to cross the open space.

He sighed. The soldiers might go away, but he couldn't plan on it.
What would work--another tank on the plain? It would attract them,
all right, but it would also be a signal to mobilize the entire army
and put it on guard duty in this area. A sovereign nation didn't want
strange tanks inside its borders.

He located the officer in charge of the drill. The sun was hot and
the soldiers were perspiring. The lieutenant was not a full-fledged
sadist, but he was studying to be one and didn't need much urging. The
cadence of command rose sharply. The men turned and began marching out
on the open plain.

Rains jabbed Gowru and, crouching low, they began to run toward the
building. The distance was greater than he had estimated; he was hungry
and short of breath and his mind wandered. He couldn't concentrate and
his control of the officer slipped away.

"About face!" screeched the lieutenant, and a half-hundred men were
staring at the fugitives.

It was too late to reach the road, but in the building lay temporary
safety. Rains dived over the low wall and Gowru followed. He ran across
the garden and, reaching a window, tore it open and climbed inside,
pulling the Hindu up after him.

As he turned to help, he stared in amazement at the soldiers. The
officer was blowing his whistle and shouting into the field radio, but
his men, who had darted after the fugitives, had stopped at the wall.
Gowru nodded and grinned. "Temple," he grunted.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of course. With so many nationalities and divergent beliefs, the
government had granted immunity from search to those religions, sects
and cults that demanded it. The place was safer than he thought. He
grabbed the Hindu's arm. "Down," he said.

Gowru grabbed his arm. "Up," he said. "We've got to see what they're
doing." It was logical. Rains reversed his direction.

On his way up the dimly lit tower, Rains collided with someone. From
the quality of her robe and jewels and the paint on her face, he placed
her as a high priestess of some sort. She smirked at him and beckoned
mysteriously; then swayed down the hall, apparently expecting him to
follow. Strange behaviour in a temple sanctuary. He shook his head and
went on after Gowru.

The Hindu had settled in a luxurious room at the top of the tower and
was looking out the window. The temple was surrounded. Not a soldier
had entered the grounds, but a solid cordon of armed men hemmed them
in. And dust in the distance down the road foretold of more to come.
The army wanted them for questioning. How they proposed to get them out
of the temple Rains didn't know, but the situation seemed as hopeless
as it could get.

With an effort he made his mind slippery and broke contact. A master
mentalist was at work. He resisted the impulse to leave the temple and
surrender. Tentatively he let his thoughts reach out. No, this was
merely a journeyman--the masters were on their way.

He turned in panic to Gowru, who was opening cabinets. Row after row of
expensive liquor glittered within. There was little resemblance to a
monk's bare cell; the place was more nearly a sybarite's palace. It was
a peculiar religion.

Gowru tilted back his head and gurgled. "Want a fog?" he asked. "I've
got the raw materials."

A fog wasn't satisfactory. They could elude the soldiers and slip away
in the confusion, but they couldn't hope to escape the mentalists.
On the other hand, yesterday the tank surface had repelled his own
thoughts. It should work.

"Can you put an impenetrable surface around us?"

"Won't work," said Gowru, wiping his lips. "It has to be a closed
surface, and if it's strong enough to stop anything it's also strong
enough to shear through any material in the way. Up here we'd topple to
the ground as soon as a gust of wind came along."

That was an aspect of the shield he hadn't guessed at. He fought
frantically for control of his mind. "Then put it around the whole
temple, grounds and all. Exclude the soldiers."

Gowru nodded. "I can do that. Within reasonable limits size doesn't
mean much, it's the principle that counts. I'll make it a big spherical
shield."

Instantly the room became gray, as light from the outside diminished;
but most important, the mental tension lessened. Rains looked out. It
was difficult to see through the shield, but he could make out dim
shapes. The journeyman mentalist tried to get through.

The shield was good, but a new force arrived; the masters were here and
added their mental force to that of the journeyman. Rains reeled under
the impact. "Make it more intense!" he shouted. "Give it all you've
got!"

Gowru grabbed at another bottle and gave it everything. The grayness
became blackness and the intruding thoughts of the mentalists, masters
and journeyman, disappeared altogether.

He relaxed. Temporarily, they were safe. He felt giddy and his stomach
squirmed around. There was no reason for this last effect--none that he
could think of....

Rains counted the bottles. It was not an accurate way to determine the
passage of time, but there was no electricity and none of the clocks
were running. He snapped on the flashlight. How many bottles equalled
one day?

He was getting hungry. He'd managed to scrounge some food in the
darkness, aided by the flashlight, but it hadn't been enough. On his
forays his contacts with the other humans in the temple had been
disconcerting. Giggles in the distance and then squeals, but he'd never
been able to come upon the source. He didn't blame them for being so
wary; the darkness and isolation must seem like something supernatural.

       *       *       *       *       *

Water was getting low too; only trickles came from the faucet. The
shield had severed all contact with the outside world, including
plumbing connections, and only a tank and a pressure system inside the
temple had kept them going this long.

He'd have to risk a look, perhaps the vigilance outside had been
relaxed. He shook the guide. Gowru grunted and stretched out his hand.
Rains shoved a half empty bottle in it; he had to conserve. The supply
of liquor was getting low, at least in this room. "Can you put a hole
in the shield, a small one?"

Gowru raised the bottle and later set it down. "Nope. Takes too much
thinking. How about a transparent area?"

"That will do."

Gowru staggered to the window, leaned on the sill and stared out. He
stared longer than Rains expected him to. "So that's what happened to
it," he muttered. He groped for a chair and sat down, shaking with
laughter.

It couldn't be that funny, decided Rains, going to the window. He
peered out and it was dark. Gowru had neglected to clear an area to see
through. No, there were dots of light outside--it was night, that's all.

That was not all. Very near, as astronomical distances go, and headed
toward them, was a comet. Not a comet, _the_ comet.

Rains sat down before he grew dizzy. What was the comet doing so close,
unless they were out in space? He opened his eyes and looked again.
That's where they were. Unless he was mistaken, that was Mars over
there.

He tried to fit the facts together. It made sense, but offered no hope.
He had proof that the shield was adjustable--stronger or weaker. As
it was made progressively stronger, it shut out light, bullets, and
thoughts. Could it be made strong enough to shut out gravity?

He looked outside. It could.

Gowru had exerted himself and the shield had sliced through earth,
water and sewer connections. Centrifugal force and the motion of the
solar system through space accounted for their present position. The
temple had whizzed away from the face of Earth before the astonished
eyes of the Indian Army.

Gowru was still laughing. He clapped Rains heartily on the back. "So
that's where it went," he said.

"Where what went?" asked Rains. They were doomed to be flung into outer
space and nothing could save them.

"The Benares cremation barge. It floated to the comet."

Float was hardly the word for the intricate process that had taken
place. Rains could see the comet, and he had known all along that the
barge was on it.

"What do you know about the cremation barge?" he asked.

Gowru fondled the bottle. "One day I was swimming in the Ganges and an
alligator--"

"There are no alligators in India."

Gowru Chandit gestured in defeat. "If you must know, I didn't have a
job and each night I swam out to the barge to sleep. I slept late one
morning and the crew found me and tossed me off. I had to swim in."

"But you always swam in anyway."

"Makes no difference," said Gowru. "So, when they left that night,
I projected a shield around the barge. Come to think of it, it was
probably like the one I've got around the temple. Anyway, in the
morning the barge had disappeared and no one, including me, knew where
it went--until now. The city had to buy another one to replace it."

Rains looked at him dazedly. That's what he'd seen in the
psiscope--the barge--and it was for this reason he'd come to Benares.
But it wasn't a teleport that was responsible; it was his own guide,
Gowru Chandit. Gowru hadn't known because he hadn't told him.

       *       *       *       *       *

There were other aspects. "After the shield is created it dies down?"

"It does, unless I renew it."

The barge had drifted away from Earth like the temple, and then the
shield had disintegrated in such a way as to leave the barge subject to
the gravitational field of the comet which had then captured it.

"Can you alter the shield at will so that one side is affected by
gravity and the other not?"

Gowru Chandit, dyeman extraordinary, saw what the question was aimed
at. He scratched his head. "Can I, by varying the strength of the
field, take us to Mars? I think I can."

An astronomer's dream! While his colleagues were merely looking at it,
Rains would be on Mars! It would take cunning work by the Hindu, but
if Gowru said he could do it, Rains couldn't disbelieve. There was one
drawback though, and that reflected on his face.

"There's no water and little air on Mars," said Rains. "We'll reach it,
but we'll die soon after."

"Hmmm," said Gowru. Coming from anyone else it would not have been a
profound comment. He got unsteadily to his feet and paced around the
room, gathering bottles as he went. He squinted out the window. "The
very fabric of space," he muttered. He seemed to be looking at the
comet.

He beckoned to Rains. "Come here." He had enough liquor inside and he
really didn't need what he held in his hands, except perhaps he liked
the feel of bottles. "Look," he said, and pointed. Rains looked.

There was the comet, streaming away from the sun, headed in the
direction of Mars, though it would miss by several million miles. He'd
seen it before.

But, somewhere in space it struck something. There was nothing there,
but it broke into tiny fragments and slanted toward Mars. There was no
doubt that Mars was going to capture most of the mass, and would soon
have an abundance of water and oxygen.

But there was nothing for the comet to strike! Except--Except what?
"The very fabric of space," Gowru had muttered, and that proved merely
that he was a poor semanticist. The _structure_ of space. That's what
he worked with, not molecules, though he didn't know it. Gowru had
projected a space warp inclined chutelike toward Mars, and when the
comet came along it had collided with a plane surface anchored to the
entire universe.

Water, air, and a new planet to explore, with Gowru Chandit as his
companion. But there was still one last defect. He groaned aloud.

"Is there something else to complain about?" asked Gowru.

Rains gestured savagely to indicate the whole temple. "I'm a man of
science," he said bitterly. "I resent being marooned with religious
fanatics."

"Don't worry. They're women."

That made it worse. Monks, or the Indian equivalent, he could ignore.
But could he do the same with grim and dour females intent on saving
his soul?

Just the same, they were going to be on Mars with him and in
self-defence he'd have to learn their religion, the better to refute
it. "What are the fine points of their theology?" he asked.

"Very old," muttered Gowru. "Priestesses are selected for temperamental
qualifications. Rites are ancient Hindu, maybe older than that."

"Rites?" he queried. "Sacrifices?"

"It's no sacrifice," yawned the other. "They're a local fertility cult."

Rains' mind swung back to the priestess he had encountered on first
entering the temple, the only one he'd seen. The hall had been dimly
lighted, but she'd been young and very seductive. If the others were
like her--Any scientist worth his salt believed in fertility, one way
or another.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 69280 ***