Alfred Bester - The Demolished Man

He removed all blocks. The thundering plunging depths of his mind cascaded over her in a warm, frightening torrent... terrifying, yet magnetic and desirable; but... "Snow. Mint. Tulips. Taffeta," she said wearily. "Go meet your guests, Mr. Powell. I'll make your canapes. It's all I'm good for."

He kissed her once, then turned toward the living room and opened the front door. Instantly, a fountain of brilliance sparkled into the house, followed by the guests. The Esper party began.

Frankly Canapes? Why

Ellery Thanks delicious. Yes.

I Mary, they're Tate,

don't I'm

think treating

We you'll Canapes? D'Courtney.

brought be I

Galen working expect

along for him

to Monarch in

help him celebrate, much town

He's longer, very

just The shortly.

taken his Guild Exam

If is and

you're just been

interested about classed

Powell, we're ready 2nd.

to

run rule

you Monarch's

for espionage

Guild Canapes? unethical.

President.

Canapes?

Why yes.

Thank

Canapes? you,

Mary...

"@kins! Chervil! Tate! Have a heart! Will you people take a look at the pattern (?) we've been weaving..." The TP chatter stopped. The guests considered for a moment, then burst into laughter.

"This reminds me of my days in the kindergarten. A little mercy for your host, please. I'll jump my tracks, if we keep on weaving this mish-mash. Lets have some order. I don't even ask for beauty."

"Just name the pattern, Linc."

"What'll you have?"

"Basket-weave? Math curves? Music? Architectural design?"

"Anything. Anything. Just so long as you don't make my brains itch."

Sorry, Lincoln. We weren't party-minded Enough

Tate

thought

Esper

but

Alan

Men

I'm

Seaver

remaining

Not that a Pres was ever elected still unmarried

at coming can

liberty but ruin

To be generous, I feel Al's a man to loa the

reveal don't Guild's

anything TP entire

about him eugenic

D'Courtney if arriving according to plan

yet

There was another burst of laughter when Mary Noyes was left hanging with that unreticulated "yet." The door-bell chimed again, and a Solar Equity Advocate 2 entered with his girl. She was a demure little thing, surprisingly attractive outwardly, and new to the company. Her TP pattern was naive and not deeply responsive. Obviously a 3rd.

"Grettings. Greetings. Abject apologies for the delay. Orange blossoms

& wedding rings are the excuse. I proposed on the way over." "And I'm afraid I accepted," the girl said, smiling. "Don't talk," the lawyer shot at her. "This isn't a 3rd Class brawl, I

told you not to use words."

"I forgot," she blurted again, and then heated the room with her fright and shame. Powell stepped forward and took the girl's trembling hand.

"Ignore him, he's a 2nd-come-lately snob. I'm Lincoln Powell, your host. I Sherlock for the cops. If your fianc? beats you, I'll help him regret it. Come and meet your fellow freaks..." He conducted her around the room. "This is Gus Tate, a quack-one. Next to him, Sam & Sally @kins. Sam's another of the same. She's a baby-sitter-two. They're just in from Venus. Here on a visit..."

"H-How---I mean, how do you do?"

"That fat man sitting on the floor is Wally Chervil, architect-two. The blonde sitting in his (lap)? is June, his wife. June's an editor-two. That's their son, Galen, talking to Ellery West. Gally's a tech-undergrad-three..."

Young Galen Chervil indignantly started to point out that he'd just been classed 2nd and hadn't needed to use words in over a year. Powell cut him off and below the girl's perceptive threshold explained the reason for the deliberate mistake.

"Oh," said Galen. "Yep, brother and sister 3rds, that's us. And am I

glad you're here. These deep peepers were beginning to scare me." "Oh, I don't know. I was scared at first, but I'm not any more." "And this is your hostess, Mary Noyes." "Hello, Canapes?" "Thank you. They look delicious, Mrs. Powell." "Now how about a game?" Powell interposed quickly. "Rebus, anyone?" Outside, huddled in the shadow of the limestone arch, Jerry Church

pressed against the garden door of Powel's house, listening with all his soul. He was cold, silent, immobile, and starved. He was resentful, hating, contemptuous, and starved. He was an Esper 2 and starved. The bend sinister of ostracism was the source of his hunger.

Through the thin maple panel filtered the multiple TP pattern of the party; a weaving, ever-changing, exhilarating design. And Church, Esper 2, living on a sub-marginal diet of words for the past ten years, was starved for his own people---for the Esper world he had lost.

"The reason I mentioned D'Courtney is that I've just come across a case that might be similar."

That was Augustus Tate, sucking up to @kins.

"Oh really? Very interesting. I'd like to compare notes. Matter of fact, I made the trip to Terra because D'Courtney is coming here. Too bad D'Courtney won't---well, be available." @kins was obviously being discreet and it smelled as though Tate was after something. Maybe not, Church speculated, but there was some elegant block and counter-blocking going on, like duellists fencing with complicated electrical circuits.

"Look here, peeper, I think you've been pretty snotty to that poor girl."

"Listen to him shoot off his mind," Church muttered. "Powell, that holy louse who had me kicked out, preaching down his big nose at the lawyer."

"Poor girl? You mean dumb girl, Powell. My God! How gauche can you get?"

"She's only a 3rd. Be fair."

"She gives me a pain."

"Do you think it's decent... marrying a girl when you feel that way about her?"

"Don't be a romantic ass, Powell. We've got to marry peepers. I might as well settle for a pretty face."

The Rebus game was going on in the living room. The Noyes girl was busy building a camouflaged image with an old poem:

The

vast,

sea

and

is

out

Glimmering

calm

in

the

stand,

tonight, tranquil bay England

The

Come

to

the window

of

tide

sweet

is

the night

cliffs

is

air.

Only

the

full

from

the

gone;

the

long

line

is

moon

of spray

and

lies

Gleams

fair

light

Upon the straights;---on the French coast the

What the devil was that? An eye in a glass? Eh? Oh. Not a glass. A stein. Eye in a stein. Einstein. Easy.

"What d'you think of Powell for the job, Ellery?" That was Chervil with his phoney smile and his big fat pontifical belly.

"For Guild President?"

"Yes."

"Damned efficient man. Romantic but efficient. The perfect candidate if only he'd get married."

"That's the romance in him. He's having trouble locating a girl."

"Don't all you deep peepers? Thank God I'm not a 1st."

And then a smash of glass crashing in the kitchen and Preacher Powell again, lecturing that little snot, Gus Tate.

"Never mind the glass, Gus. I had to drop it to cover for you. You're radiating anxiety like a nova."

"The devil I am, Powell."

"The devil you're not. What's all this about Ben Reich?"

The little man was really on guard. You could feel his mental shell hardening.

"Ben Reich? What brought him up?"

"You did, Gus. It's been moiling in your mind all evening. I couldn't help reading it."

"Not me, Powell. You must be tuning another TP."

Image of a horse laughing.

"Powell, I swear I'm not---"

"Are you mixed up with Reich, Gus?"

"No." But you could feel the blocks bang down into place.