Roger Zelazny - Doorsways in the Sand

"By keeping you inconspicuous-"

"With a donkey following me around? Who briefed you, anyway?"

"I am aware of my prominence in this guise. I was about to explain that my task was to provide for your mental silence. As a telepath, I am capable of dampening your thought noises. It has not really been necessary, however, in that alcohol deadens them considerably. Still, I am here to shield you against premature betrayal of your position to another telepath."

"What other telepath?"

"To be more honest than may be necessary, I do not know. It was decided at some level other than my own that there might be a telepath involved in this case. I was sent here both to keep you silent and to block any unfriendly telepath trying to reach you. Also, I was to attempt to determine the identity and whereabouts of that individual."

"Well? What happened?"

"Nothing. You were drunk and no one tried to reach you."

"So the guess was wrong."

"Possibly. Possibly not."

I resumed eating. Between mouthfuls, I asked, "What is your level or rank, or whatever? The same as Charv's and Ragma's? Or are you higher up?"

"Neither," the donkey replied. "I am in budget analysis and cost accounting. I was drafted as the only available telepath capable of assuming this role."

"Are you under any restrictions as to what you can tell me?"

"I was told to exercise my judgment and common sense."

"Strange. Nothing else about this business seems particularly rational. They must not have had time to brief you fully."

"True. There was quite a rush about it. I had to allow for travel time and the substitution."

"What substitution?"

"The real donkey is tied up out back."

"Uh-huh."

"I am reading your thoughts, and I am not about to give you any answers Ragma refused you."

"Okay. If your common sense and good judgment tell you to withhold information that may be vital to my safety, then by all means be sensible." I swallowed the final forkful. "What's that message you mentioned?"

The donkey looked away.

"You had expressed some willingness to cooperate in the investigation, had you not?"

"I had-earlier," I said.

"You would not agree to go offworld to be examined by a telepathic analyst, however."

"That is correct."

"We were wondering whether you might be willing to allow me to attempt it-here, now."

I took a sip of coffee.

"Have you had much training along these lines?"

"Just about every telepath knows something of the theory involved, and of course I possess a lifetime of experience with telepathy-"

"You are a cost accountant," I said. "Don't try to impress the natives."

"All right. I am not trained for it. I think I can do it, though. So do the others, or I would not have been approached to try."

"Who are the others?"

"Well ... Oh hell! Charv and Ragma."

"I've a feeling they are not proceeding according to the manual in this. Correct?"

"Field agents in their line of work possess a great deal of discretionary authority. They have to."

I sighed and lit a cigarette.

"How old is the organization which employs you?" I said. When I detected hesitation, I added, "Surely there is no harm in telling me that."

"I guess not. Several thousand-years, by your measure."

"I see. In other words, it is one of the biggest, oldest bureacracies around."

"I see in your mind what you are getting at, but-"

"Let me shape it anyway. As a student of business administration, I know that there is a law of evolution for organizations as stringent and inevitable as anything in life. The longer one exists, the more it grinds out restrictions that slow its own functions. It reaches entropy in a state of total narcissism. Only the people sufficiently far out in the field get anything done, and every time they do they are breaking half a dozen rules in the process."

"I will grant you that that view is not without some merit. But in our case-"

"Your proposal violates some rule. I know it. I do not have to read your mind to know that you are uneasy about this whole affair because of it. Isn't that right?"

"I am not permitted to discuss policies and internal operating procedures."

"Naturally," I said, "but I had to say it. Now tell me about this analysis business. How do you go about it?"

"It would be similar to the simple word association test with which you are familiar. The difference is that I will do it from the inside. I will not have to guess at your reactions. I will know them at a primary level."

"This seems to indicate that you cannot look directly into my subconscious."

"That is correct. I am not that good. Ordinarily, I can only read your surface thoughts. When I hit something this way, though, I should be able to keep pressing the feeling and follow it on down to where its roots are twisted."

"I see. Then it does require considerable cooperation on my part?"

"Oh yes. It would take a real pro to push in against your will."

"I guess I am fortunate there are none of them available."

"I wish there were. I am certain that I am not going to enjoy it."

I finished my coffee and poured another cup.

"What do you say to our doing it this afternoon?" Sibia asked.

"What's wrong with right now?"

"I would rather wait for your nervous system to return to normal. There are still some secondary effects from the beverages you consumed. They make scanning you more difficult."

"Does that always hold?"

"By and large."

"Interesting."

I sipped more coffee.

"You are doing it again!"

"What?"

"Those numbers, over and over."

"Sorry. Hard to keep them out."

"That is not the reason!"

I stood. I stretched.

"Excuse me. I require the use of the facility again."

Sibla moved to block my way, but I moved faster.

"You are not thinking of leaving, are you? Is that what you are masking?"

"I never said that."

"You do not have to. I can feel it. You will be making a mistake if you do."

I headed for the door, and Sibla turned quickly to follow.

"I will not permit you to go-not after the indignities I have suffered to get at that miserable knot of ganglia!"

"That's a nice way to talk!" I said. "Especially when you want a favor."

I dashed up the hall and into the john. Sibla clattered after.

"We are doing you the favor! Only you are too stupid to realize it!"

" ‘Uninformed' is the word-and that's your fault!"

I slammed the door, locked it.

"Wait! Listen! If you go, you could be in real trouble!"

I laughed. "I'm sorry. You came on too strong."

I turned to the window, flung it wide.

"Then go, you ignorant ape! Throw away your chance at civilization!"

"What are you talking about?"

Silence.

Then: "Nothing. I am sorry. But you must realize that it is important."

"I already know that. What I want to know is ‘Why?' "

"I cannot tell you."

"Then go to hell," I said.

"I knew you were not worth it," Sibla replied. "From what I have seen of your race, you are nothing but a band of barbarians and degenerates."

I swung up onto the sill, crouched a moment while I estimated the distance.

"Nobody likes a smartass either," I said, and then I jumped.

Dennis Wexroth didn't say a damn thing. If he had, I might have killed him just then. He stood there with his palms pressed against the wall behind him, a deepening redness about his right eyesocket where it would eventually puff up and go purple. The receiver of his uprooted telephone hung over the edge of the wastebasket where I had buried it.

In my hand was a fancy piece of parchment which told me that ydissaC mahgninnuC kcirederF had received a .ygoloporhtnA ni etarotcoD fo yhposolipP