He smiled again; I wanted to wipe that smile away with a set of knuckles
but I knew that all I'd get would be a broken hand against Thorndyke's
stone-hard flesh. "Now, Mr. Cornell," he said with that clinical
smoothness, "let's not get the old standard attitude."
"Nearly everybody who contracts Mekstrom's Disease," he said to the
judge, "takes on a persecution complex as soon as he finds out that he
has it. Some of them have even accused me of fomenting some big
fantastic plot against them. Please, Mr. Cornell," he went on facing me,
"we'll give you the best of treatment that Medical Science knows."
"Yeah," I grunted.
His Honor rapped on the gavel once more. "Officer Gruenwald," he
snapped, "you will accompany the prisoner and Dr. Thorndyke to the
Medical Center and having done that you will return to report to me that
you have accomplished your mission."
Then the judge glared around, rapped once more, and cried, "Case
Finished. Next Case!"
I felt almost as sorry for the next guy coming in as I felt for myself.
His Honor was going to be one tough baby for some days to come. As they
escorted me out, a janitor came in and began to swab the floor where I'd
been standing. He was using something nicely corrosive that made the
icy, judicial eyes water, all of which discomfort was likely to be added
to the next law-breaker's sorry lot.
* * * * *
I was in fine company. Thorndyke was a telepath and Officer Gruenwald
was perceptive. They went as a team and gave me about as much chance to
escape as if I'd been a horned toad sealed in a cornerstone. Gruenwald,
of course, treated me as though my breath was deadly, my touch foul, and
my presence evil. In Gruenwald's eyes, the only difference between me
and Medusa the Gorgon was that looking at me did not turn him to stone.
He kept at least one eye on me almost constantly.
I could almost perceive Thorndyke's amusement. With the best of social
amenities, he could hardly have spent a full waking day in the company
of either a telepath or a perceptive without giving away the fact that
he was Mekstrom. But with me to watch over, Officer Gruenwald's mental
attention was not to be turned aside to take an impolite dig at his
companion. Even if he had, Thorndyke would have been there quickly to
turn his attention aside.
I've read the early books that contain predictions of how we are
supposed to operate. The old boys seemed to have the quaint notion that
a telepath should be able at once to know everything that goes on
everywhere, and a perceptive should be aware of everything material
about him. There should be no privacy. There was to be no defense
against the mental peeping Tom.
It ain't necessarily so. If Gruenwald had taken a dig at Thorndyke's
hide, the doctor would have speared the policeman with a cold, indignant
eye and called him for it. Of course, there was no good reason for
Gruenwald to take a dig at Thorndyke and so he didn't.
So I went along with the status quo and tried to think of some way to
break it up.
An hour later I was still thinking, and the bleeding on my finger had
stopped. Mekstrom Flesh had covered the raw spot with a thin, stone-hard
plate that could not be separated visually from the rest of my skin.
"As a perceptive," observed Dr. Thorndyke in a professional tone,
"you'll notice the patch of infection growing on Mr. Cornell's finger.
The rate of growth seems normal; I'll have to check it accurately once I
get him to the clinic. In fifty or sixty hours, Mr. Cornell's finger
will be solid to the first joint. In ninety days his arm will have
become as solid as the arm of a marble statue."