Second Variety and Other Stories

  Ross was silent for a moment. "Do you know how he got the hood? Did you scan that?"

  "He received it by mail."

  "Does he -"

  "He has no idea who sent it or where it came from."

  Ross frowned. "Then he can't give us any information about them. The senders."

  "The Hood Makers," Abbud said icily.

  Ross glanced quickly up. "What?"

  "The Hood Makers. Somebody makes them." Abbud's face was hard. "Somebody is making probe screens to keep us out."

  "And you're sure -"

  "Franklin knows nothing! He arrived in the city last night. This morning his mail machine brought the hood. For a time he deliberated. Then he purchased a hat and put it on over the hood. He set out on foot toward his niece's house. We spotted him several minutes later, when he entered range."

  "There seem to be more of them, these days. More hoods being sent out. But you know that." Ross set his jaw. "We've got to locate the senders."

  "It'll take time. They apparently wear hoods constantly." Abbud's face twisted. "We have to get so damn close! Our scanning range is extremely limited. But sooner or later we'll locate one of them. Sooner or later we'll tear a hood off somebody - and find him..."

  "In the last year five thousand hood-wearers have been detected," Ross stated. "Five thousand - and not one of them knows anything. Where the hoods come from or who makes them."

  "When there are more of us, we'll have a better chance," Abbud said grimly. "Right now there are too few of us. But eventually -"

  "You're going to have Franklin probed, aren't you?" Peters said to Ross. "As a matter of course."

  "I suppose so." Ross nodded to Abbud. "You might as well go ahead on him. Have one of your group run the regular total probe and see if there's anything of interest buried down in his non-conscious neural area. Report the results to me in the usual way."

  Abbud reached into his coat. He brought out a tape spool and tossed it down on the desk in front of Ross. "Here you are."

  "What's this?"

  "The total probe on Franklin. All levels - completely searched and recorded."

  Ross stared up at the youth. "You -"

  "We went ahead with it." Abbud moved toward the door. "It's a good job. Cummings did it. We found considerable disloyalty. Mostly ideological rather than overt. You'll probably want to pick him up. When he was twenty-four he found some old books and musical records. He was strongly influenced. The latter part of the tape discusses fully our evaluation of his deviation."

  The door melted and Abbud left.

  Ross and Peters stared after him. Finally Ross took the tape spool and put it with the bent metal hood.

  "I'll be damned," Peters said. "They went ahead with the probe."

  Ross nodded, deep in thought. "Yeah. And I'm not sure I like it."

  The two men glanced at each other - and knew, as they did so, that outside the office Ernest Abbud was scanning their thoughts.

  "Damn it!" Ross said futilely. "Damn it!"

  Walter Franklin breathed rapidly, peering around him. He wiped nervous sweat from his lined face with a trembling hand.

  Down the corridor the echoing clang of Clearance agents sounded, growing louder.

  He had got away from the mob - spared for a while. That was four hours ago. Now the sun had set and evening was settling over greater New York. He had managed to make his way half across the city, almost to the outskirts - and now a public alarm was out for his arrest.

  Why? He had worked for the Free Union Government all his life. He had done nothing disloyal. Nothing, except open the morning mail, find the hood, deliberate about it, and finally put it on. He remembered the small instruction tag:

  GREETINGS!

  This probe screen is sent to you with the

  compliments of the maker and the earnest

  hope that it will be of some value to you.

  Thank you.

  Nothing else. No other information. For a long time he had pondered. Should he wear it? He had never done anything. He had nothing to hide - nothing disloyal to the Union. But the thought fascinated him. If he wore the hood his mind would be his own. Nobody could look into it. His mind would belong to him again, private, secret, to think as he wished, endless thoughts for no one else's consumption but his own.

  Finally he had made up his mind and put on the hood, fitting his old Homburg over it. He had gone outside - and within ten minutes a mob was screaming and yelling around him. And now a general alarm was out for his arrest.

  Franklin wracked his brain desperately. What could he do? They could bring him up before a Clearance Board. No accusation would be brought: it would be up to him to clear himself, to prove he was loyal. Had he ever done anything wrong? Was there something he had done he was forgetting? He had put on the hood. Maybe that was it. There was some sort of an Anti-Immunity bill up in Congress to make wearing of a probe screen a felony, but it hadn't been passed yet -

  The Clearance agents were near, almost on him. He retreated down the corridor of the hotel, glancing desperately around him. A red sign glowed: EXIT. He hurried toward it and down a flight of basement stairs, out onto a dark street. It was bad to be outside, where the mobs were. He had tried to remain indoors as much as possible. But now there was no choice.

  Behind him a voice shrilled loudly. Something cut past him, smoking away a section of the pavement. A Slem-ray. Franklin ran, gasping for breath, around a corner and down a side street. People glanced at him curiously as he rushed past.

  He crossed a busy street and moved with a surging group of theater goers. Had the agents seen him? He peered nervously around. None in sight.

  At the corner he crossed with the lights. He reached the safety zone in the center, watching a sleek Clearance car cruising toward him. Had it seen him go out to the safety zone? He left the zone, heading toward the curb on the far side. The Clearance car shot suddenly forward, gaining speed. Another appeared, coming the other way.

  Franklin reached the curb.

  The first car ground to a halt. Clearance agents piled out, swarming up onto the sidewalk.

  He was trapped. There was no place to hide. Around him tired shoppers and office workers gazed curiously, their faces devoid of sympathy. A few grinned at him in vacant amusement. Franklin peered frantically around. No place, no door, no person -

  A car pulled up in front of him, its doors sliding open. "Get in." A young girl leaned toward him, her pretty face urgent. "Get in, damn it!"

  He got in. The girl slammed the doors and the car picked up speed. A Clearance car swung in ahead of them, its sleek bulk blocking the street. A second Clearance car moved in behind them.

  The girl leaned forward, gripping the controls. Abruptly the car lifted. It left the street, clearing the cars ahead, gaining altitude rapidly. A flash of violet lit up the sky behind them.

  "Get down!" the girl snapped. Franklin sank down in his seat. The car moved in a wide arc, passing beyond the protective columns of a row of buildings. On the ground, the Clearance cars gave up and turned back.

  Franklin settled back, mopping his forehead shakily. "Thanks," he muttered.

  "Don't mention it." The girl increased the car's speed. They were leaving the business section of the city, moving above the residential outskirts. She steered silently, intent on the sky ahead.

  "Who are you?" Franklin asked.

  The girl tossed something back to him. "Put that on."

  A hood. Franklin unfastened it and slipped it awkwardly over his head. "It's in place."

  "Otherwise they'll get us with a teep scan. We have to be careful all the time."

  "Where are we going?"

  The girl turned to him, studying him with calm gray eyes, one hand resting on the wheel. "We're going to the Hood Maker," she said. "The public alarm for you is top priority. If I let you off you won't last an hour."

  "But I don't understand." Franklin shook his head, dazed. "Why do they want me? What have I done?"

/>   "You're being framed." The girl brought the car around in a wide arc, wind whistling shrilly through its struts and fenders. "Framed by the teeps. Things are happening fast. There's no time to lose."

  The little bald-headed man removed his glasses and held out his hand to Franklin, peering near-sightedly. "I'm glad to meet you, Doctor. I've followed your work at the Board with great interest."

  "Who are you?" Franklin demanded.

  The little man grinned self-consciously. "I'm James Cutter. The Hood Maker, as the teeps call me. This is our factory." He waved around the room. "Take a look at it."

  Franklin gazed around him. He was in a warehouse, an ancient wooden building of the last century. Giant worm-scored beams rose up, dry and cracking. The floor was concrete. Old-fashioned fluorescent lights glinted and flickered from the roof. The walls were streaked with water stains and bulging pipes.

  Franklin moved across the room, Cutter beside him. He was bewildered. Everything had happened fast. He seemed to be outside New York, in some dilapidated industrial suburb. Men were working on all sides of him, bent over stampers and molds. The air was hot. An archaic fan whirred. The warehouse echoed and vibrated with a constant din.

  "This -" Franklin murmured. "This is -"

  "This is where we make the hoods. Not very impressive, is it? Later on we hope to move to new quarters. Come along and I'll show you the rest."

  Cutter pushed a side door open and they entered a small laboratory, bottles and retorts everywhere in cluttered confusion. "We do our research in here. Pure and applied. We've learned a few things. Some we may use, some we hope won't be needed. And it keeps our refugees busy."

  "Refugees?"

  Cutter pushed some equipment back and seated himself on a lab table. "Most of the others are here for the same reason as you. Framed by the teeps. Accused of deviation. But we got to them first."

  "But why -"

  "Why were you framed? Because of your position. Director of a Government Department. All these men were prominent - and all were framed by teep probes." Cutter lit a cigarette, leaning back against the water-stained wall. "We exist because of a discovery made ten years ago in a Government lab." He tapped his hood. "This alloy - opaque to probes. Discovered by accident, by one of these men. Teeps came after him instantly, but he escaped. He made a number of hoods and passed them to other workers in his field. That's how we got started."

  "How many are here?"

  Cutter laughed. "Can't tell you that. Enough to turn out hoods and keep them circulating. To people prominent in Government. People holding positions of authority. Scientists, officials, educators -"

  "Why?"

  "Because we want to get them first, before the teeps. We got to you too late. A total probe report had already been made out on you, before the hood was even in the mail.

  "The teeps are gradually getting a stranglehold over the Government. They're picking off the best men, denouncing them and getting them arrested. If a teep says a man is disloyal Clearance has to haul him in. We tried to get a hood to you in time. The report couldn't be passed on to Clearance if you were wearing a hood. But they outsmarted us. They got a mob after you and snatched the hood. As soon as it was off they served the report to Clearance."

  "So that's why they wanted it off."

  "The teeps can't file a framed report on a man whose mind is opaque to probes. Clearance isn't that stupid. The teeps have to get the hoods off. Every man wearing a hood is a man out of bounds. They've managed so far by stirring up mobs - but that's ineffectual. Now they're working on this bill in Congress. Senator Waldo's Anti-Immunity Bill. It would outlaw wearing hoods." Cutter grinned ironically. "If a man is innocent why shouldn't he want his mind probed? The bill makes wearing a probe shield a felony. People who receive hoods will turn them over to Clearance. There won't be a man in ten thousand who'll keep his hood, if it means prison and confiscation of property."

  "I met Waldo, once. I can't believe he understands what his bill would do. If he could be made to see -"

  "Exactly! If he could be made to see. This bill has to be stopped. If it goes through we're licked. And the teeps are in. Somebody has to talk to Waldo and make him see the situation." Cutter's eyes were bright. "You know the man. He'll remember you."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Franklin, we're sending you back again - to meet Waldo. It's our only chance to stop the bill. And it has to be stopped."

  The cruiser roared over the Rockies, brush and tangled forest flashing by below. "There's a level pasture over to the right," Cutter said. "I'll set her down, if I can find it."

  He snapped off the jets. The roar died into silence. They were coasting above the hills.

  "To the right," Franklin said.

  Cutter brought the cruiser down in a sweeping glide. "This will put us within walking distance of Waldo's estate. We'll go the rest of the way on foot." A shuddering growl shook them as the landing fins dug into the ground - and they were at rest.

  Around them tall trees moved faintly with the wind. It was mid-morning. The air was cool and thin. They were high up, still in the mountains, on the Colorado side.

  "What are the chances of our reaching him?" Franklin asked.

  "Not very good."

  Franklin started. "Why? Why not?"

  Cutter pushed the cruiser door back and leaped out onto the ground. "Come on." He helped Franklin out and slammed the door after him. "Waldo is guarded. He's got a wall of robots around him. That's why we've never tried before. If it weren't crucial we wouldn't be trying now."

  They left the pasture, making their way down the hill along a narrow weed-covered path. "What are they doing it for?" Franklin asked. "The teeps. Why do they want to get power?"

  "Human nature, I suppose."

  "Human nature?"

  "The teeps are no different from the Jacobins, the Roundheads, the Nazis, the Bolsheviks. There's always some group that wants to lead mankind - for its own good, of course."

  "Do the teeps believe that?"

  "Most teeps believe they're the natural leaders of mankind. Non-telepathic humans are an inferior species. Teeps are the next step, homo superior. And because they're superior, it's natural they should lead. Make all the decisions for us."

  "And you don't agree," Franklin said.

  "The teeps are different from us - but that doesn't mean they're superior. A telepathic faculty doesn't imply general superiority. The teeps aren't a superior race. They're human beings with a special ability. But that doesn't give them a right to tell us what to do. It's not a new problem."

  "Who should lead mankind, then?" Franklin asked. "Who should be the leaders?"

  "Nobody should lead mankind. It should lead itself." Cutter leaned forward suddenly, body tense.

  "We're almost there. Waldo's estate is directly ahead. Get ready. Everything depends on the next few minutes."

  "A few robot guards." Cutter lowered his binoculars. "But that's not what's worrying me. If Waldo has a teep nearby, he'll detect our hoods."

  "And we can't take them off."

  "No. The whole thing would be out, passed from teep to teep." Cutter moved cautiously forwards. "The robots will stop us and demand identification. We'll have to count on your Director's clip."

  They left the bushes, crossing the open field toward the buildings that made up Senator Waldo's estate. They came onto a dirt road and followed it, neither of them speaking, watching the landscape ahead.

  "Halt!" A robot guard appeared, streaking toward them across the field. "Identify yourselves!"

  Franklin showed his clip. "I'm Director level. We're here to see the Senator. I'm an old friend."

  Automatic relays clicked as the robot studied the identification clip. "From the Director level?"

  "That's right," Franklin said, becoming uneasy.

  "Get out of the way," Cutter said impatiently. "We don't have any time to waste."

  The robot withdrew uncertainly. "Sorry to have stopped you, sir. The Senator i
s inside the main building. Directly ahead."

  "All right." Cutter and Franklin advanced past the robot. Sweat stood out on Cutter's round face. "We made it," he murmured. "Now let's hope there aren't any teeps inside."

  Franklin reached the porch. He stepped slowly up, Cutter behind him. At the door he halted, glancing at the smaller man. "Shall I -"

  "Go ahead." Cutter was tense. "Let's get right inside. It's safer."

  Franklin raised his hand. The door clicked sharply as its lens photographed him and checked his image. Franklin prayed silently. If the Clearance alarm had been sent out this far -

  The door melted.

  "Inside," Cutter said quickly.

  Franklin entered, looking around in the semi-darkness. He blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the hall. Somebody was coming toward him. A shape, a small shape, coming rapidly, lithely. Was it Waldo?

  A lank, sallow-faced youth entered the hall, a fixed smile on his face. "Good morning, Doctor Franklin," he said. He raised his Slem-gun and fired.

  Cutter and Ernest Abbud stared down at the oozing mass that had been Doctor Franklin. Neither of them spoke. Finally Cutter raised his hand, his face drained of color.

  "Was that necessary?"

  Abbud shifted, suddenly conscious of him. "Why not?" He shrugged, the Slem-gun pointed at Cutter's stomach. "He was an old man. He wouldn't have lasted long in the protective-custody camp."

  Cutter took out his package of cigarettes and lit up slowly, his eyes on the youth's face. He had never seen Ernest Abbud before. But he knew who he was. He watched the sallow-faced youth kick idly at the remains on the floor.

  "Then Waldo is a teep," Cutter said.

  "Yes."

  "Franklin was wrong. He does have full understanding of his bill."

  "Of course! The Anti-Immunity Bill is an integral part of our activity." Abbud waved the snout of the Slem-gun. "Remove your hood. I can't scan you - and it makes me uneasy."

  Cutter hesitated. He dropped his cigarette thoughtfully to the floor and crushed it underfoot. "What are you doing here? You usually hang out in New York. This is a long way out here."