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The Stars My Destination ( Tiger! Tiger! ) :: Bester Alfred
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«Isn't, Sgt. Logan. 'Isn't any' would be better. I beg your pardon. Teaching becomes a habit and I'm having trouble controlling my thinking today. The war news is so bad. We'll get to Elevation when we start memorizing the stages on top of skyscrapers, Sgt. Logan.»
The man with the rebuilt skull digested that, then asked: «We hear you when you think, is a matter you?»
«Exactly.»
«But you don't hear us?»
«Never. I'm a one-way telepath.»
«We all hear you, or just I, is all?»
«That depends, Sgt. Logan. When I'm concentrating, just the one I'm thinking at, when I'm at loose ends, anybody and everybody. . . poor souls. Excuse me.» Robin turned and called: «Don't hesitate before jaunting, Chief Harris. That starts doubting, and doubting ends jaunting. Just step up and bang off.»
«I worry sometimes, m'am,» a chief petty officer with a tightly bandaged head answered. He was obviously stalling at the edge of the jaunte stage.
«Worry? About what?»
«Maybe there's gonna be somebody standing where I arrive. Then there'll be a hell of a real bang, m'am. Excuse me.»
«Now I've explained that a hundred times. Experts have gauged every jaunte stage in the world to accommodate peak traffic. That's why private jaunte stages are small, and the Times Square stage is two hundred yards wide. It's all been worked out mathematically and there isn't one chance in ten million of a simultaneous arrival. That's less than your chance of being killed in a jet accident.»
The bandaged C.P.O. nodded dubiously and stepped up on the raised stage. It was of white concrete, round, and decorated on its face with vivid black and white patterns as an aid to memory. In the center was an illuminated plaque which gave its name and jaunte co-ordinates of latitude, longitude, and elevation.
At the moment when the bandaged man was gathering courage for his primer jaunte, the stage began to flicker with a sudden flurry of arrivals and departures. Figures appeared momentarily as they jaunted in, hesitated while they checked their surroundings and set new co-ordinates, and then disappeared as they jaunted off. At each disappearance there was a faint «Pop» as displaced air rushed into the space formerly occupied by a body.
«Wait, class,» Robin called. «There's a rush on. Everybody off the stage, please.»
Laborers in heavy work clothes, still spattered with snow, were on their way south to their homes after a shift in the north woods. Fifty white clad dairy clerks were headed west toward St. Louis.
«Isn't, Sgt. Logan. 'Isn't any' would be better. I beg your pardon. Teaching becomes a habit and I'm having trouble controlling my thinking today. The war news is so bad. We'll get to Elevation when we start memorizing the stages on top of skyscrapers, Sgt. Logan.»
The man with the rebuilt skull digested that, then asked: «We hear you when you think, is a matter you?»
«Exactly.»
«But you don't hear us?»
«Never. I'm a one-way telepath.»
«We all hear you, or just I, is all?»
«That depends, Sgt. Logan. When I'm concentrating, just the one I'm thinking at, when I'm at loose ends, anybody and everybody. . . poor souls. Excuse me.» Robin turned and called: «Don't hesitate before jaunting, Chief Harris. That starts doubting, and doubting ends jaunting. Just step up and bang off.»
«I worry sometimes, m'am,» a chief petty officer with a tightly bandaged head answered. He was obviously stalling at the edge of the jaunte stage.
«Worry? About what?»
«Maybe there's gonna be somebody standing where I arrive. Then there'll be a hell of a real bang, m'am. Excuse me.»
«Now I've explained that a hundred times. Experts have gauged every jaunte stage in the world to accommodate peak traffic. That's why private jaunte stages are small, and the Times Square stage is two hundred yards wide. It's all been worked out mathematically and there isn't one chance in ten million of a simultaneous arrival. That's less than your chance of being killed in a jet accident.»
The bandaged C.P.O. nodded dubiously and stepped up on the raised stage. It was of white concrete, round, and decorated on its face with vivid black and white patterns as an aid to memory. In the center was an illuminated plaque which gave its name and jaunte co-ordinates of latitude, longitude, and elevation.
At the moment when the bandaged man was gathering courage for his primer jaunte, the stage began to flicker with a sudden flurry of arrivals and departures. Figures appeared momentarily as they jaunted in, hesitated while they checked their surroundings and set new co-ordinates, and then disappeared as they jaunted off. At each disappearance there was a faint «Pop» as displaced air rushed into the space formerly occupied by a body.
«Wait, class,» Robin called. «There's a rush on. Everybody off the stage, please.»
Laborers in heavy work clothes, still spattered with snow, were on their way south to their homes after a shift in the north woods. Fifty white clad dairy clerks were headed west toward St. Louis.