Philip E High by Reality Forbidden

Author:Reality Forbidden [Forbidden, Reality]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-01-01T15:12:24.390000+00:00

Chapter XV

IN THE CITY, Osterly sat in front of a row of caller-screens, sweating. Somehow suddenly there was so much to do; authority, executive authority, had been thrust upon him from nowhere. He was not cut out for it; he had always liked to plod along, taking his time. Now, without warning, several different responsibilities had been thrust upon him at once forcing him to make snap decisions which he instinctively distrusted-no time to think things out, snap shots, blind thrusts into the darkness dependent only on a faith he did not possess.

I'm out of my class, he thought sadly. This high-pressure stuff is not for me. Come to think of it, I'm not even a real Intelligence man, at heart I'm a small town policeman, maybe in plain clothes, but policeman nonetheless. Cod, one day you were doing your job and minding your own business, the next, how many things?

They were interrogating Immunes, teams of experts with carefully prepared questions checking, cross-examining-he was waiting for a report about that.

The lab boys had beamed Chicago; they had beamed New York; they had cooked up some sort of contrivance to boost power and had pushed the subjective warning around the curvature of the Earth straight into United London.

Nearer home, Jose Gavant, in electronics, had cooked up a helmet which, it was hoped, would make a human being immune to subjective attack. Would it work and if so would it be suitable for children, infants and the aged? How many could be manufactured in a given time? Osterly chewed the stem of his unlit pipe and scowled.

He had not even the relief of Keisler's company. Keisler was supervising teams of instructors-themselves crash-trained-who would, in due course, educate the public in the techniques of subjective defense. Already the top brass of the military, key men in Intelligence and certain members of the government had been through it. He had been through it himself but the whole thing had a touch of fantasy. If a subjective lion attacked you, you willed into existence a subjective gun to kill it.

Osterly saw and had experienced in the test the practical proof of such a method but he was still dubious. When the real test came would he, would anyone, remember what to do? He had only just remembered in time himself; the lion had seemed so damned real and, by God, the Immies wouldn't make it that simple, not by any means.

One of the screens lit and he flicked the switch. "Yes?"

"Harris, communications, here, sir. We're getting a message, straight radio, which we believe is coming from Chicago Citadel. Hold on; well run it up; it's jerky but apparently genuine-now-"

Words appeared on the screen: CALLING TORONTO-YOUR -ADVICE PUT TO TEST-IMMIES REACTED VIOLENTLY-HEAVY FIGHTING-THANKS-WISH US LUCK-CHICAGO CITADEL.

Osterly began to fill his pipe slowly. It had worked, in one city at least; the message had got through, been acted on; why hadn't someone thought of it before? The answer was, of course, everyone had been too busy trying to survive and the Immies had been singularly skillful in manipulation.

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