For some hours, the association's Altiplano station had been dark and
almost deserted. Only the IMT transit lock beneath one of the
sprawling ranch houses showed in the vague light spreading out of the
big scanning plate in an upper wall section. The plate framed an
unimpressive section of the galaxy, a blurred scattering of stars
condensing toward the right, and, somewhat left of center, a large
misty red globe.
[Illustration: Gone Fishing]
John Emanuel Fredericks, seated by himself in one of the two Tube
operator chairs, ignored the plate. He was stooped slightly forwards,
peering absorbedly through the eyepieces of the operator scanner
before him.
Melvin Simms, Psychologist, strolled in presently through the transit
lock's door, stopped behind Fredericks, remarked mildly, "Good
evening, doctor."
Fredericks started and looked around. "Never heard you arrive, Mel.
Where's Ollie?"
"He and Spalding dropped in at Spalding's place in Vermont. They
should be along in a few minutes."
"Spalding?" Fredericks repeated inquiringly. "Our revered president
intends to observe the results of Ollie's experiment in person?"
"He'll represent the board here," Simms said. "Whereas I, as you may
have guessed, represent the outraged psychology department." He nodded
at the plate. "That the place?"
"That's it. ET Base Eighteen."
"Not very sharp in the Tube, is it?"
"No. Still plenty of interfering radiation. But it's thinned out
enough for contact. Reading 0.19, as of thirty minutes ago."
Fredericks indicated the chair beside him. "Sit down if you want a
better look."
"Thanks." The psychologist settled himself in the chair, leaned
forward and peered into the scanner. After a few seconds he remarked,
"Not the most hospitable-looking place--"
Fredericks grunted. "Any of the ecologists will tell you Eighteen's an
unspoiled beauty. No problems there--except the ones we bring along
ourselves."
Simms grinned faintly. "Well, we're good at doing that, aren't we?
Have you looked around for uh ... for McAllen's subject yet?"
"No. Felt Ollie should be present when we find out what's happened.
Incidentally, how did the meeting go?"
"You weren't tuned in?" Simms asked, surprised.
"No. Too busy setting things up for contact."
"Well"--Simms sat back in his chair--"I may say it was a regular bear
garden for a while, doctor. Psychology expressed itself as being
astounded, indignant, offended. In a word, they were hopping mad. I
kept out of it, though I admit I was startled when McAllen informed me
privately this morning of the five-year project he's been conducting
on the quiet. He was accused of crimes ranging ... oh, from the
clandestine to the inhumane. And, of course, Ollie was giving it back
as good as he got."
"Of course."
"His arguments," Simms went on, pursing his lips reflectively, "were
not without merit. That was recognized. Nobody enjoys the idea of
euthanasia as a security device. Many of us feel--I do--that it's
still preferable to the degree of brain-washing required to produce
significant alterations in a personality type of Chard's class."
"Ollie feels that, too," Fredericks said. "The upshot of the original
situation, as he saw it, was that Barney Chard had been a dead man
from the moment he got on the association's trail. Or a permanently
deformed personality."
Simms shook his head. "Not the last. We wouldn't have considered
attempting personality alteration in his case."
"Euthanasia then," Fredericks said. "Chard was too intelligent to be
thrown off the track, much too unscrupulous to be trusted under any
circumstances. So Ollie reported him dead."
* * * * *
The psychologist was silent for some seconds. "The point might be
this," he said suddenly. "After my talk with McAllen this morning, I
ran an extrapolation on the personality pattern defined for Chard five
years ago on the basis of his background. Results indicate he went
insane and suicided within a year."
"How reliable are those results?" Fredericks inquired absently.
"No more so than any other indication in individual psychology. But
they present a reasonable probability ... and not a very pleasant
one."
Fredericks said, "Oliver wasn't unaware of that as a possible outcome.
One reason he selected Base Eighteen for the experiment was to make
sure he couldn't interfere with the process, once it had begun.
"His feeling, after talking with Chard for some hours, was that Chard
was an overcondensed man. That is Oliver's own term, you understand.
Chard obviously was intelligent, had a very strong survival drive. He
had selected a good personal survival line to follow--good but very
narrow. Actually, of course, he was a frightened man. He had been
running scared all his life. He couldn't stop."
Simms nodded.
"Base Eighteen stopped him. The things he'd been running from simply
no longer existed. Ollie believed Chard would go into a panic when he
realized it. The question was what he'd do then. Survival now had a
very different aspect. The only dangers threatening him were the ones
inherent in the rigid personality structure he had maintained
throughout his adult existence. Would he be intelligent enough to
understand that? And would his survival urge--with every alternative
absolutely barred to him for five years--be strong enough to overcome
those dangers?"
"And there," Simms said dryly, "we have two rather large questions."
He cleared his throat. "The fact remains, however, that Oliver B.
McAllen is a good practical psychologist--as he demonstrated at the
meeting."
"I expected Ollie would score on the motions," Fredericks said. "How
did that part of it come off?"
"Not too badly. The first motion was passed unanimously. A vote of
censure against Dr. McAllen."