"_Of course, Idiot. Why do you think I called? Do you really believe
these things would be suitable for routine communication? Could they
supplement our normal system?_"
"_Certainly, sir. They should be very effective._"
"_Have you offered them to Consolidated yet?_"
"_Yes, sir. They've accepted them. They're beginning to tool up for
production._"
Morely winced. He had given the order, to be sure--and before creditable
witnesses. Bond had been right in taking immediate action, and his speed
would have been commendable in most cases. But this time, Morely
regretted his subordinate's efficiency. It was possible the devices
might have a practical use after all. Possibly he had been hasty in
releasing them to the open market. He shrugged away his thoughts. After
all, an administrator had to make quick decisions. He returned to his
unusual conversation.
"_Set up a line in research and make up sufficient of those
communicators to outfit the executive personnel of this district._"
"_Yes, sir._"
"_And give me delivery as soon as you possibly can. How soon will that
be?_"
"_We can do it in five days, sir._"
"_Make it three. That's all._"
Morely took off his headband. It wasn't as good as a communicator
sphere, but it would be good enough. He looked at the request from
Communications. Possibly, he would be able to cut Kirk down still more.
He scrawled a "disapproved" on the sheet and initialed it. He started to
toss the sheet to the corner of his desk, then hesitated.
Drawing the request back to him, he added: "Two subjects on same
request. Resubmit as separate requests." He tossed the sheet to the desk
corner, for the clerk to pick up. Let Kirk make up new requests, then
worry about why his new construction request was still disapproved. He
could always be advised to resubmit later, if the headbands didn't work
out.
* * * * *
Miles away, Bond turned to an engineer.
"Tool up and start producing these communicators as fast as you can make
'em, Morris. I'll tell you when to stop. The Old Man just ordered a
batch of 'em, and this is one order I want to comply with, and fast!"
He walked toward the small production office. Let's see, he had to
produce enough for all the exec personnel in the district. Have to start
finding out just how many of those guys there were.
"Make delivery as soon as possible, huh? Cut my estimate by two days?
I'll have 'em out over night, if I have to start driving people to do
it."
* * * * *
Morely looked up as the communicator beeped. He reached to the control
panel and touched the switch. The face of his deputy appeared in the
sphere.
"The section chiefs and field leaders are in the conference room, sir."
"Very good." Morely pushed back his chair. "I'll be right in."
He stepped through the door and crossed the outer office to the
conference room. As he entered, there was a rustle of motion. The
section chiefs and field leaders stood at attention around the table,
waiting. At each place at the table was a blank notepad. The district
leader went immediately to the head of the table and sat down.
"Gentlemen," he began, "I'll make this short. I've called you in to try
out a new device which I intend to use to help solve the ever-present
problem of communication." He looked toward Ward Kirk, who had glanced
up in surprise.
"From time to time," he continued, "requests for more and more
communicator lines have been coming in to my office. Since no one else
seemed to be able to do anything about it, I decided it was time for me
to step in. After all, we can't expand our cables indefinitely. We
haven't unlimited funds at our disposal and there are other projects
demanding attention. Important projects.
"A new electronic development has come to my attention, and it promises
to relieve the load on our communicators. Each of you will be issued one
of these devices, which I believe are called 'mental communicators,' or
something of the sort. And you will draw sufficient of them to outfit
those of your people who have occasion to use communication to any large
degree. You will use them for all routine communications." He nodded to
his deputy, who stepped to the door and beckoned.
Two men came in, carrying cartons, which they distributed around the
room. Morely waited until one of the cartons was in the hands of each of
the men before him, then he reached up to touch the headband he was
wearing.
"This is the device I'm speaking of," he said. "Each of you will wear
one of these at all times while you are on duty. You will find, after a
little practice, that you will be able to call any associate who is
similarly equipped. And you will use them in place of the conventional
communications whenever possible." He cleared his throat raspingly.
"Sufficient of these devices have been produced to outfit all the key
people of this district. I shall leave it to you to distribute them to
your subordinates, and to instruct those subordinates in their use. And
I shall expect the load on our communicator cables to be appreciably
diminished." He looked to one side of the room.
"Bond."
"Yes, sir."
"You will instruct those present in the use of this new communicator."
Morely rose and left the room.
* * * * *
As the district leader disappeared through the door, Harold Bond walked
to the front of the room. In his hands, he held one of the headbands and
a power pack.
"Gentlemen," he said, "this is a form of communicator. I don't pretend
to understand precisely how it operates, though I watched its
development and set up a production line for it. All I know is that it
works. And I know how to use it--to some extent.
"The district leader remarked that one could learn to use it with a
little practice, and he's right. Basically, anyone can use it as soon as
he puts it on for the first time. But it's like so many other tools. The
more you use it, the more proficient you get with it. And I suspect it
has capabilities I haven't found yet." He shrugged.
"Operation is simple in the extreme. Since the first model, refinements
have been added, and it's unnecessary now for an operator to make any
adjustments, other than intensity."
He picked up the power pack.
"This is the power pack, which is plugged into the headband, thus." He
paused as he connected the two plugs.
"If you gentlemen will perform the operations as I do, this will take
only a short time."
There was a crackling in the room as cartons were opened. Power packs
and headbands rattled against the table for a moment, then Bond
continued.
"Having plugged in the power pack, you turn this small knob very
slightly in a clockwise direction, then place the headband on your head.
The knob is the switch and intensity control, and it's quite sensitive.
Most people need very little intensity. If you have difficulty with
communication, raise the intensity a little at a time, till thoughts
come through clearly." He paused, as the men before him adjusted the
headbands to their heads.
"The power pack," he continued, "may be placed in a pocket." He reached
down. "Personally, I carry mine in my shirt, since I find that
convenient."
He looked around the room. Men were turning to stare at their neighbors.
Bond could detect a current of uncertainty, then a sensation of pleased
surprise. Snatches of thought drifted to him. He ignored them for the
moment. Time enough to become acquainted with people later. He placed a
hand over his mouth, so everyone could see he was not speaking.
"_Can everyone receive me?_"
There was a wave of affirmation, and Bond nodded.
"_Simple, isn't it? Are there any questions?_"
A jumble of thoughts made him waver. Most of them could have been
phrased, "How does this thing work? What does it do? Am I dreaming?"
Bond smiled in real amusement. He held up a hand.
"_I felt the same way_," he thought reassuringly. "_Sometimes. I still
do. All I can tell you is what you've already found out for yourselves.
It works. I'm told it's a sort of telepathic amplifier and radiator. But
as I told you, I don't understand its principles. As to practice? I'm
still meeting interesting people. So will you._" He took off the
headband.
"_If anyone has any further questions on operation, I'll try to answer
them_," he thought quickly. He glanced around the room. Three men were
looking at him blankly. He took careful note of them, and mentally shook
hands with himself. They were the ones he'd thought would blank out. He
spoke aloud.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen," he apologized. "I forgot I might be out of
communication. I'm not completely used to this mentacom, myself." He
looked toward the deputy leader.
"Do you have anything to add, sir?"
The deputy shook his head. "No," he said thoughtfully. "I think the
demonstration was adequate. He cast a quizzical look at Bond, then
looked around the room.
"You gentlemen will find a supply of these devices in the outer office.
You may draw one for each person you wish outfitted. If any of you have
further questions, I would suggest you get in touch with Community
Research. They understand this thing." He waved toward the door. "This
meeting is adjourned."
He watched as the men filed from the room, then turned on Bond.
* * * * *
"What was that business after you took off your headband?" he demanded.
"I received you perfectly, and so did practically everyone here. Why the
apology?"
Bond grimaced. "We found out something peculiar while we were making
preliminary tests on this device, sir," he explained. "Some people
don't seem to be able to pick up clear thoughts with it, unless another
person uses the mentacom to drive in to them. Most of us can pick up
thoughts from anyone we look at, whether they have a band on or not.
Definite, surface thoughts, that is."
"And?" The deputy's expression was still questioning. He reached up to
point at the band he was still wearing. "I'm getting some mighty
peculiar secondary thoughts right now," he added.
"And the people who can't use the device fully have other peculiarities,
sir. I'd rather not go into detail. You can find out the whole story for
yourself with a very short bit of experimentation, and you have a
subject right at hand. If I simply told you, you probably wouldn't
believe me anyway."
The deputy nodded slowly. "For the moment," he said, "I'll take your
words--and your thoughts--as true. Now, one more question: Can a person,
using one of these things, successfully lie to another person who wears
one?"
"No, sir." Bond was positive. "It's impossible."
"I got that impression. Thanks." The deputy turned and walked out of the
door. Bond looked after him, a slight smile growing on his lips.
"Old Man wanted 'em," he told himself. "He's got 'em."
* * * * *
The Fiscal chief glanced through the letter in his hands, then canted
his head a little and read again. He lowered it to his desk, then sat
for a moment, to stare into space. Finally, he looked down once more.
Central Coördination Agency
Office of the Comptroller