[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.