Alfred Bester. The Demolished Man
1
money is racked ready for pillage, rapine, loot. Who's that? Who's inside the
vault? Oh God! The Man With No Face! Looking. Looming. Silent. Horrible.
Run... Run...
flower face and figure of passion. There's time if I run. But that isn't the
Guard before the gate. Oh Christ! The Man With No Face. Looking. Looming.
Silent. Don't scream. Stop screaming...
music soars and the lights burn. But there's no one out there in the
amphitheater. A great shadowed pit... empty except for one spectator. Silent.
Staring. Looming. The Man With No Face.
eyes focused at random on in the room, simulating a calm he could not feel.
The walls of green jade, the nightlight in the porcelain mandarin whose head
nodded interminably if you touched him, the multi-clock that radiated the time
of three planets and six satellites, the bed itself, a crystal pool flowing
with carbonated glycerine at ninety-nine point nine Fahrenheit.
sleeping suit, a shade with the face of a horse and the bearing of an
undertaker.
like a relative. I don't pay enough for the privilege."
practicing the smile. "Make your enemies by choice," he muttered, "not by
accident." He stared at the reflection: the heavy shoulders, narrow flanks,
long corded legs... the sleek head with wide eyes, chiseled nose, small
sensitive mouth scarred by implacability.
places with God. Why the screaming?"
time panorama of the solar system with an unconscious skill that would have
baffled his ancestors. The dials read:
A.D. 2301
rattled off the time and season for any meridian on any body in the solar
system. Here in New York it was a bitter morning after a bitter night of
dreaming. He would give himself a few minutes of analysis with the Esper
psychiatrist he retained. The screaming had to stop.
Telepaths, Mind Readers, Brain Peepers. You'd think a mind-reading doctor
could stop the screaming. You'd think an Esper M.D. would earn his money and
peep inside your head and stop the screaming. Those damned mindreaders are
supposed to be the greatest advance since Homo sapiens evolved. E for
Evolution. Bastards! E for Exploitation!"
floor, ke-tat-ke-tat-ke-tat-ke-tat, indifferent to the slumber of his house
staff, unaware that this early morning skeletal clack awakened twelve hearts
to hatred and dread. He thrust open the door of his analyst's suite, entered
and at once lay down on the couch.
As Reich's staff analyst he slept the "nurse's sleep" in which he remained en
rapport with his patient and could only be awakened by his needs. That one
scream had been enough for Breen. Now he was seated alongside the couch,
elegant in embroidered gown (his job paid twenty thousand credits a year) and
sharply alert (his employer was generous but demanding).
Yes, nightmares again. I was trying to rob a bank. Then I was trying to catch
a train. Then someone was singing. Me, I think. I'm trying to give you the
pictures best I can. I don't think I'm leaving anything out..." There was a
long pause. Finally Reich blurted: "Well? You peep anything?"
the best you can do is make idiotic statements..."
syndrome?"
stopped himself, realizing the inutility of ranting while the deft mind of the
peeper searched underneath his overturning words. "You're wrong anyway," he
said sulkily. "I don't know who it is. It's a Man With No Face. That's all."
see them. We'll try a little free association. Without words, please. Just
think. Robbery...
counterfeiting - cash - bullion - dort..."
Let's continue. Pneumatique..."
it. Continue, please."
underground - compressed air - ultra sonic speed---`We transport You Into
transports,' slogan of the---What the devil is the name of that company? Can't
remember. Where'd the notion come from anyway?"
understand. Amphitheater...
Martian Pampas..."
ninety-seven nightmares about The Man With No Face. He's been your constant
enemy, frustrator, and inspirer of terror in dreams that contain three common
denominators... Finance, Transportation, and Mars. Over and over again... The
Man With No Face, and Finance, Transportation, and Mars."
terrifying figure. Why else would you attempt to escape by rejecting his
face?"
the company that coined the slogan `We Transport You Into---' "
"Your clues don't help. I can't make any identification."
You know who he is. You hate him and fear him, but you know who he is."
without help."
hired a 2nd Class Esper in order to protect yourself in such an emergency. Now
you're paying the price of your caution. If you want the screaming to stop,
you'll have to consult one of the 1st Class men... Say, Augustus Tate or Gart
or Samuel @kins..."
door, Breen called: "By the way... `We Transport You Into Transports' is the
slogan of the D'Courtney Cartel. How does that tie in with the alteration of
`bort' to `dort'? Think it over."
Breen and then lurched down the corridor toward his own suite. A wave of
savage hatred burst over him. "He's right. It's D'Courtney who's giving me
the screams. Not because I'm afraid of him. I'm afraid of myself. Known all
along. Known it deep down inside. Known that once I faced it I'd have to kill
that D'Courtney bastard. It's no face because it's the face of murder."
descended to the street where a Monarch Jumper picked him up and carried him
in one graceful hop to the giant tower that housed the hundreds of floors and
thousands of employees of Monarch's New York Office. Monarch Tower was the
central nervous system of an incredibly vast corporation, a pyramid of
transportation, communication, heavy industry, manufacture, sales
distribution, research, exploration, importation. Monarch Utilities &
Resources, Inc. bought and sold, traded and gave, made and destroyed. Its
pattern of subsidiaries and holding companies was so complex that it demanded
the full-time services of a 2nd Class Esper Accountant to trace the
labyrinthine flow of its finances.
staff, bearing the litter of the morning's work.
hastily but without rancor. They were accustomed to his rages. Reich seated
himself behind his desk, trembling with a fury that was already goring
D'Courtney. Finally he muttered: "I'll give the bastard one more chance."
Code Book, restricted to the executive heads of the firms listed quadruple
A-1-* by Lloyds. He found most of the material he required in the middle pages
of the book:
QQBA ........ PARTNERSHIP
RRCB ........ BOTH OUR
SSDC ........ BOTH YOUR
TTED ........ MERGER
UUFE ........ INTERESTS
VVGF ........ INFORMATION
WWHG ........ ACCEPT OFFER
XXJH ........ GENERALLY KNOWN
YYJI ........ SUGGEST
ZZXJ ........ CONFIDENTIAL
AALK ........ EQUAL
BBML ........ CONTRACT
to the image of the interoffice operator: "Get me Code."
of tape. A bleached man in a faded shirt glanced at the screen, then leaped to
attention.
choice. "Take a week at Spaceland. Monarch expense."
Code Book. "Send YYJI TTED RRCB UUFE AALK QQBA. Get the answer to me like
rockets. Right?"
and crystals on his desk, picked up a crystal and dropped it into the
play-back. His chief secretary's voice said: "Monarch Gross off two points one
one three four per cent. D'Courtney Gross up two point one one three oh per
cent..."
the play-back and arose in an agony of impatience. It would take hours for the
reply to come. His whole life hung on D'Courtney's reply. He left his office
and began to roam through the floors and departments of Monarch Tower,
pretending the remorseless personal supervision he usually exercised. His
Esper secretary unobtrusively accompanied him like a trained dog.
job applicants... clerks, craftsmen, specialists, middle bracket executives,
top echelon experts. All of the preliminary elimination was done with
standardized tests and interviews, and never to the satisfaction of Monarch's
Esper Personnel Chief who was stalking through the floor in an icy rage when
Reich entered. The fact that Reich's secretary had sent an advance telepathic
announcement of the visit made no difference to him.
interview," the Chief was snapping to an assistant. "Six per hour, forty-eight
per day. Unless my percentage of final rejections drops below thirty-five, I
am wasting my time; which means you are wasting Monarch's time. I am not
employed by Monarch to screen out the obviously unsuitable. That is your work.
See to it." He turned to Reich and nodded pedantically. "Good morning, Mr.
Reich."
Sensory Perception is not a miracle but a skill subject to wage-hour
limitations. And what is your decision on Blonn, Mr. Reich?"
efficiency I am wasted. The Blonn memo has been on Mr. Reich's desk for three
days."
thousand (100,000) 3rd Class Espers in the Esper Guild. An Esper 3 can peep
the conscious level of a mind---can discover what a subject is thinking at the
moment of thought. A 3rd is the lowest class of telepath. Most of Monarch's
security positions are held by 3rds. We employ over five hundred..."
are approximately ten thousand 2nd Class Espers in the Guild," the Personnel
Chief continued frostily. "They are experts like myself who can penetrate
beneath the conscious level of the mind to the preconscious. Most 2nds are in
the professional class... physicians, lawyers, engineers, educators,
economists, architects and so on."
Monarch employs over one hundred 2nds at present."
1sts are capable of deep peeping, through the conscious and preconscious
layers down to the unconscious... the lowest levels of the mind. Primordial
basic desires and so forth. These, of course, hold premium positions.
Education, specialized medical service... analysts like Tate, Gart, @kins,
Moselle... criminologists like Lincoln Powell of the Psychotic Division...
Political Analysts, State Negotiators, Special Cabinet Advisors, and so on.
Thus far Monarch Utilities has never had occasion to hire a 1st."
Briefly..."
set up a special Esper Personnel Department, headed by a 1st like Blonn, to
devote itself exclusively to interviewing telepaths."
Mr. Reich. I am a 2nd Class Esper. I can telepath normal applicants rapidly
and efficiently, but I cannot handle other Espers with the same speed and
economy. All Espers are accustomed to using mind-blocks of varying
effectiveness depending on their rating. It would take me one hour per 3rd for
an efficient screening interview. It would take me three hours per 2nd. I
could not possibly peep through the mind-block of a 1st. We must hire a 1st
like Blonn for this work. The cost will be enormous, of course, but the
necessity is urgent."
It's waving a red flag. He's sore enough now."
sir, we are not hiring the best Espers. The D'Courtney Cartel has been taking
the cream of the Espers away from us. Over and over again, through lack of
proper facilities, we have been mouse-trapped by D'Courtney into bidding for
inferior people while D'Courtney has quietly appropriated the best."
this Blonn to start mouse-trapping D'Courtney. You'd better start, too."
information was waiting for him. Monarch Utilities & Resources was losing the
gut-fight with the D'Courtney Cartel. It was losing the fight in every
sector-city---Advertising, Engineering, Research, Public Relations. There was
no escaping the certainty of defeat. Reich knew his back was to the wall.
no use," he muttered. "I know I'll have to kill him. He won't accept merger.
Why should he? He's licked me and he knows it. I'll have to kill him and I'll
need help. Peeper help."
equipped with game tables and a bar dispenser. It appeared to be and was used
as a recreation center. It was, in fact, headquarters of Monarch's powerful
espionage division. The Recreation Director, a bearded scholar named West,
looked up from a chess problem, then rose to attention.
routine check. Paternalism, you know. How's amusement these days?"
entirely too much gambling going on." West stalled in a fussy voice until two
bona fide Monarch clerks innocently finished their drinks and departed. Then
he relaxed and slumped into his chair. "All clear, Ben. Shoot."
Pattern could be transmitted by phone, Ben. I'd like to know what you're
thinking at."
protection from mind readers. What's your attitude on crime, Ellery?"
success... Why don't you clever-up? Why do you let the Guild do your
thinking?"
die in the Guild. We have the right to elect Guild officers, and that's all.
The Guild runs our professional lives. It trains us, grades us, sets ethical
standards, and sees that we stick to them. It protects us by protecting the
layman, the same as medical associations. We have the equivalent of the
Hippocratic Oath. It's called the Esper Pledge. God help any of us if we break
it... as I judge you're suggesting I should."
your while to break the peeper pledge. Maybe I'm thinking in terms of money
... more than you or any 2nd Class peeper ever sees in a lifetime."
have broken with the Guild before. They've been ostracized. So what?
Clever-up, Ellery."
smart. It's like this..." West considered. "Before surgery really got started,
there used to be a handicapped group called deaf-mutes."
couldn't communicate with anybody but deaf-mutes. Understand? They had to live
in their own community or they couldn't live at all. A man goes crazy if he
can't talk to friends."
for weekly hand-outs. If the victim refused to pay, they'd ostracize him. The
victim always paid. It was a choice of paying or living in solitary until he
went mad."
we'd go mad. So leave me alone. If you're nursing something dirty, I don't
want to know."
snatched up a gold paper-weight and hurled it into the crystal screen. Before
the shattered fragments finished flying, he was in the corridor and on his way
out of the building.
where he wanted to go. Reich arrived in his apartment and was met by his
peeper house-supervisor who at once announced early luncheon and dialed the
meal to Reich's unspoken demands. Feeling slightly less violent, Reich stalked
into bis study and turned to bis safe, a shimmer of light in the corner.
single-cycle beat. Each second when the safe phase and the temporal phase
coincided, the rack pulsed with a brilliant glow. The safe could only be
opened by the pore-pattern of Reich's left index finger which was
irreproducible.
honey-comb rack appeared. Holding his finger in place, he reached up and took
down a small black notebook and a large red envelope. He removed his index
finger and the safe pulsed out of phase again.
ANARCHISTS... ARSONISTS... BRIBERY (PROVEN)... BRIBERY (POTENTIAL)... Under
(POTENTIAL) he found the names of fifty-seven prominent people. One of them
was Augustus Tate, Esper Medical Doctor 1. He nodded with satisfaction.
sheets of closely written pages in a handwriting that was centuries old. It
was a message from the founder of Monarch Utilities and the Reich clan. Four
of the pages were lettered: PLAN A, PLAN B, PLAN C, PLAN D. The fifth was
headed INTRODUCTION. Reich read the ancient spidery cursive slowly:
To those who come after me: The test of intellect is the refusal to belabor
the obvious. If you have opened this letter we understand one another. I have
prepared four general murder plans which may help you. I bequeath them to you
as part of your Reich inheritance. They are outlines. The details must be
filled in by yourself as your time, your environment, and necessity require.
Caution: The essence of murder never changes. In every era it remains the
conflict of the killer against society with the victim as the prize. And the
ABC of conflict with society remains constant. Be audacious, be brave, be
confident and you will not fail. Against these assets society can have no
defense.
- Geoffry Reich
first of his line who had had the fore-thought to prepare for every possible
emergency. The plans were out-dated but they kindled imagination; and ideas
began forming and crystallizing to be considered, discarded, and instantly
replaced. One phrase caught his attention:
Leave most to your instinct. Intellect may fail you, but the killer instinct
is invincible.
chatter and tape began to stutter out of the recorder. Reich strode to the
desk and examined it. The message was short and deadly:
right, D'Courtney. If you won't let it be merger, then I'll make it murder."
2
high fee considering that a patient rarely required more than an hour of the
doctor's devastating time; but it placed his income at Cr. 8,000 a day or well
over Cr. 2 million a year. Few people knew what proportion of that income was
paid into the Esper Guild for the education of other Telepaths and the
furthering of the Guild's Eugenic plan to bring Extra Sensory Perception to
everyone in the world.
Consequently, he belonged to "The League of Esper Patriots," an extreme
right-wing political group within the Guild, dedicated to the preservation of
the autocracy and incomes of the upper grade Espers. It was this membership
that placed him in Ben Reich's BRIBERY (POTENTIAL) category. Reich marched
into Tate's exquisite consultation room, glanced once at Tate's tiny frame---a
figure slightly out of proportion but carefully realigned by tailors. Reich
sat down and grunted: "Peep me quick."
him with a glittering eye and spoke in quick bursts: "You're Ben Reich of
Monarch. Ten billion credit firm. Think I should know you. I do. You're
involved in a death struggle with the D'Courtney Cartel. Right? You're
savagely hostile toward D'Courtney. Right? Offered merger this morning. Coded
message: YYJI TTED RRCB UUFE AALK QQBA. Offer refused. Right? In desperation
you have resolved to---" Tate broke off abruptly.
You want my help... Mr. Reich, this is ridiculous! If you keep on thinking
like this, I'll have to commit you. You know the law."
supposed to believe you're incapable of outwitting any man, any group, the
whole world?"
Your gift. My resources. An unbeatable combination. My God! It's lucky for the
world I'm willing to stop at one murder. Together we could rape the universe."
Reich."
I willing to pay? What's my top limit?"
opened in surprise. "You can't be serious," he exclaimed.
faith, don't you?"
five years. If you've peeped me deep enough yon know why. I hate the damned
Esper Guild as much as you do. Guild ethics are bad for business... lousy for
making money. Your League is the organization that can break the Esper Guild
some day..."
faction break the Guild. I can make you President of a new Esper Guild for
life. That's an unconditional guarantee. You can't do it alone, but you can do
it with me."
premeditated murder in 79 years. Espers make it impossible to conceal intent
before murder. Or, if Espers have been evaded before the murder, they make it
impossible to conceal the guilt afterwards."
evidence to support his peeping. Lincoln Powell, the Prefect of the Police
Psychotic Division, is deadly." Tate opened his eyes. "D'you want to forget
this conversation?"
Because mind-readers patrol the world. What can stop a mind-reader? Another
one. But no killer ever had the sense to hire a good peeper to run
interference for him; or if he had the sense, he couldn't make the deal. I've
made the deal."
skirmish with society. Let's look at it as a problem in strategy and tactics.
My problem's simply the problem of any army. Audacity, bravery, and confidence
aren't enough. An army needs Intelligence. A war is won with Intelligence. I
need you for my G-2."
where D'Courtney will be, where I can strike, when I can strike. I'll take
care of the killing myself, but you'll have to tell me when and where the
opportunity will be."
D'Courtney. That means reconnaissance from you. You'll have to check the
normals, spot the peepers, warn me and block their mind-reading if I can't
avoid them. I'll have to retreat after the killing through another network of
normals and peepers. You'll have to help me fight a rear-guard action. You'll
have to remain on the scene after the murder. You'll find out whom the police
suspect and why. If I know suspicion is directed against myself, I can divert
it. If I know it's directed against someone else, I can clinch it. I can fight
this war and win this war with your Intelligence. Is that the truth? Peep me."
think I can set up the killing with an old game called `Sardine.' It will give
me the opportunity to get at D'Courtney, and I've figured out a trick to kill
him; I know how to fire an antique explosive gun without bullets."
intent concealed from stray peepers? I can only screen you when I'm with you.
I won't be with you all the time."
Lane I can swindle into helping me."
me. Suppose D'Courtney is protected? Do you expect to shoot it out with bis
body-guards?"
developed visual knock-out drops for Monarch. We intended using it for strike
riots. I'll use it on D'Courtney's guards."
intelligence, but I need one piece of information first. When D'Courtney comes
to town he's usually the guest of Maria Beaumont."
this trip. Everything depends on that."
There's to be a social gathering tonight at Lincoln Powell's house,
D'Courtney's physician will probably be there. He's on Terra for a week's
visit. I'll start the reconnaissance through him."
this bargain with you? Make no mistake. I'm no Jerry Church."
ten years ago for that little junket of his with you."
Church. Need anything special for Powell's party? Women? Clothes? Jewels?
Money? Just call on Monarch."
not offer to shake hands.
you get that? How did you---"
and naturally you would not dare to consult another after this conference."
keeps us on a parity basis. Balance of power, you understand. Mutual
dependence ensures mutual faith. Criminal but peeper... that's me."
house. It was not a question of conspicuous consumption, but rather a problem
of privacy. Although thought transmission was too faint to penetrate masonry,
the average plastic apartment unit was too flimsy to block this transmission.
Life in any such multiple dwelling was life in an inferno of naked emotion for
an Esper.
Hudson Ramp overlooking the North River. There were only four rooms; upstairs
a bedroom and study, downstairs a living room and kitchen. There was no
servant in the house. Like most upper-grade Espers, Powell required large
quantities of solitude. He preferred to do for himself. He was in the kitchen,
checking over the refreshment-dials in preparation for the party, whistling a
plaintive, crooked tune.
wide mouth seemed perpetually on the verge of laughter, but at the moment he
wore an expression of sad disappointment. He was lecturing himself on the
follies and stupidities of his worst vice. The essence of the Esper is his
responsiveness. His personality always takes color from his surroundings. The
trouble with Powell was an enlarged sense of humor, and his response was
invariably exaggerated. He had attacks of what he called "Dishonest Abe"
moods. Someone would ask Lincoln Powell an innocent question, and Dishonest
Abe would answer. His fervent imagination would cook up the wildest tall-story
and he would deliver it with straight-faced sincerity. He could not suppress
the liar in him.
routine blackmail case, and simply because he'd mispronounced a name, Powell
had been inspired to fabricate a dramatic account involving a make-believe
crime, a daring midnight raid, and the heroism of an imaginary Lieutenant
Kopenick. Now the Commissioner wanted to award Lieutenant Kopenick a medal.
early for company) and then directed Open in C-sharp at the TP lock-sensor. It
responded to the thought pattern, as a tuning fork will vibrate to the right
note, and the front door slid open.
thought; a dark girl exteriorly, but frost white in pattern. Almost a nun in
white, despite the swarthy texture of externals; but the mind is the reality.
You are what you think.
tasting mint every time we meet."
turned away quickly. The tears within her scalded him.
love you, Lincoln. I love you. Image of my father: Symbol of security: Of
warmth: Of protecting passion: Do not reject me always... always...
forever..."
between us."
elation."