"It's a matter of hours, I'm afraid. Do you wish to watch?"
"I can imagine nothing more gruesome, my dear Shekt. I'll be in the State House till tomorrow. Will you tell me the result?"
Shekt seemed relieved. "Yes, certainly."
"Good...And think over what I said about your Synapsifier. Your new royal road to knowledge."
Ennius left, less at ease than when he had arrived; his knowledge no greater, his fears much increased.
5. The Involuntary Volunteer
Once alone, Dr. Shekt, quietly and cautiously, touched the summoner, and a young technician entered hurriedly, white robe sparkling, long brown hair carefully bound back.
Dr. Shekt said, "Has Pola told you-"
"Yes, Dr. Shekt. I've observed him through the visiplate, and he must undoubtedly be a legitimate volunteer. He's certainly not a subject sent in the usual manner."
"Ought I refer to the Council, do you suppose?"
"I don't know what to advise. The Council wouldn't approve of any ordinary communication. Any beam can be tapped, you know." Then, eagerly, "Suppose I get rid of him. I can tell him we need men under thirty. The subject is easily thirty-five."
"No, no. I'd better see him." Shekt's mind was a cold whirl. So far things had been most judiciously handled. Just enough information to lend a spurious frankness, but no more. And now an actual volunteer-and immediately after Ennius's visit. Was there a connection? Shekt himself had but the vaguest knowledge of the giant misty forces that were now beginning to wrestle back and forth across the blasted face of Earth. But, in a way, he knew enough. Enough to feel himself at the mercy of them, and certainly more than any of the Ancients suspected he knew.
Yet what could he do, since his life was doubly in danger?
Ten minutes later Dr. Shekt was peering helplessly at the gnarled farmer standing before him, cap in hand, head half averted, as though attempting to avoid a too-close scrutiny. His age, thought Shekt, was certainly under forty, but the hard life of the soil was no flatterer of men. The man's cheeks were reddened beneath the leathery brown, and there were distinct traces of perspiration at the hairline and the temples, though the room was cool. The man's hands were fumbling at each other.
"Now, my dear sir," said Shekt kindly, "I understand you refuse to give your name."
Arbin's was a blind stubbornness. "I was told no questions would be asked if you had a volunteer."
"Hmm. Well, is there anything at all you would like to say? Or do you just want to be treated immediately?"
"Me? Here, now?" in sudden panic. "It's not myself that's the volunteer. I didn't say anything to give that impression."
"No? You mean someone else is the volunteer?"
"Certainly. What would I want-"
"I understand. Is the subject, this other man, with you?"
"In a way," said Arbin cautiously.
"All right. Now, look, just tell us whatever you wish. Everything you say will be held in strict confidence, and we'll help you in whatever way we can. Agreed?"
The farmer ducked his head, as a sort of rudimentary gesture of respect. "Thank you. It's like this, sir. We have a man about the farm, a distant-uh-relative. He helps, you understand-"
Arbin swallowed with difficulty, and Shekt nodded gravely.
Arbin continued. "He's a very willing worker and a very good worker-we had a son, you see, but he died-and my good woman and myself, you see, need the help-she's not well-we could not get along without him, scarcely." He felt that somehow the story was a complete mess.
But the gaunt scientist nodded at him. " And this relative of yours is the one you wish treated?"
"Why, yes, I thought I had said that-but you'll pardon me if this takes me some time. You see, the poor fellow is not-exactly-right in his head." He hurried on, furiously. "He is not sick, you understand. He is not wrong so that he has to be put away. He's just slow. He doesn't talk, you see."
"He can't talk?" Shekt seemed startled.
"Oh-he can. It's just that he doesn't like to. He doesn't talk well."
The physicist looked dubious. " And you want the Synapsifier to improve his mentality, eh?"
Slowly, Arbin nodded. "If he knew a bit more, sir, why, he could do some of the work my wife can't, you see."
"He might die. Do you understand that?"
Arbin looked at him helplessly, and his fingers writhed furiously.
Shekt said, "I'd need his consent."
The farmer shook his head slowly, stubbornly. "He won't understand." Then, urgently, almost beneath his breath, "Why, look, sir, I'm sure you'll understand me. You don't look like a man who doesn't know what a hard life is. This man is getting old. It's not a question of the Sixty, you see, but what if, in the next Census, they think he's a half-wit and -and take him away? We don't like to lose him, and that's why we bring him here.
"The reason I'm trying to be secret-like is that maybe-maybe"-and Arbin's eyes swiveled involuntarily at the walls, as if to penetrate them by sheer will and detect the listeners that might be behind-"well, maybe the Ancients won't like what I'm doing. Maybe trying to save an afflicted man can be judged as against the Customs, but life is hard, sir...And it would be useful to you. You have asked for volunteers."
"I know. Where is your relative?"
Arbin took the chance. "Out in my biwheel, if no one's found him. He wouldn't be able to take care of himself if anyone has-"
"Well, we'll hope he's safe. You and I will go out right now and bring the car around to our basement garage. I'll see to it that no one knows of his presence but ourselves and my helpers. And I assure you that you won't be in trouble with the Brotherhood."