Second Sight Read online

  SECOND SIGHT

  (Note: The following excerpts from Amy Ballantine's journal have neveractually been written down at any time before. Her account ofimpressions and events has been kept in organized fashion in her mindfor at least nine years (even she is not certain when she started), butit must be understood that certain inaccuracies in transcription couldnot possibly have been avoided in the excerpting attempted here. _TheEditor_.)

  * * * * *

  _Tuesday, 16 May._ Lambertson got back from Boston about two thisafternoon. He was tired; I don't think I've ever seen Lambertson sotired. It was more than just exhaustion, too. Maybe anger? Frustration?I couldn't be sure. It seemed more like _defeat_ than anything else, andhe went straight from the 'copter to his office without even stoppingoff at the lab at all.

  It's good to have him back, though! Not that I haven't had a nice enoughrest. With Lambertson gone, Dakin took over the reins for the week, butDakin doesn't really count, poor man. It's such a temptation to twisthim up and get him all confused that I didn't do any real _work_ allweek. With Lambertson back I'll have to get down to the grind again, butI'm still glad he's here. I never thought I'd miss him so, for such ashort time away.

  But I wish he'd gotten a rest, if he ever rests! And I wish I knew whyhe went to Boston in the first place. Certainly he didn't _want_ to go.I wanted to read him and find out, but I don't think I'm supposed toknow yet. Lambertson didn't want to talk. He didn't even tell me he wasback, even though he knew I'd catch him five miles down the road. (I cando that now, with Lambertson. Distance doesn't seem to make so muchdifference any more if I just ignore it.)

  So all I got was bits and snatches on the surface of his mind. Somethingabout me, and Dr. Custer; and a nasty little man called Aarons orBarrons or something. I've heard of him somewhere, but I can't pin itdown right now. I'll have to dig that out later, I guess.

  But if he saw Dr. Custer, _why doesn't he tell me about it_?

  * * * * *

  _Wednesday, 17 May._ It was _Aarons_ that he saw in Boston, and now I'msure that something's going wrong. I know that man. I remember him froma long time ago, back when I was still at Bairdsley, long before I camehere to the Study Center. He was the consulting psychiatrist, and Idon't think I could ever forget him, even if I tried!

  That's why I'm sure something very unpleasant is going on.

  Lambertson saw Dr. Custer, too, but the directors sent him to Bostonbecause Aarons wanted to talk to him. I wasn't supposed to know anythingabout it, but Lambertson came down to dinner last night. He wouldn'teven look at me, the skunk. I fixed _him_. I told him I was going topeek, and then I read him in a flash, before he could shift his mind toBoston traffic or something. (He knows I can't stand traffic.)

  I only picked up a little, but it was enough. There was something veryunpleasant that Aarons had said that I couldn't quite get. They were inhis office. Lambertson had said, "I don't think she's ready for it, andI'd never try to talk her into it, at this point. Why can't you peopleget it through your heads that she's a _child_, and a human being, notsome kind of laboratory animal? That's been the trouble all along.Everybody has been so eager to _grab_, and nobody has given her awretched thing in return."

  Aarons was smooth. Very sad and reproachful. I got a clear picture ofhim--short, balding, mean little eyes in a smug, self-righteous littleface. "Michael, after all she's twenty-three years old. She's certainlyout of diapers by now."

  "But she's only had two years of training aimed at teaching _her_anything."

  "Well, there's no reason that _that_ should stop, is there? Bereasonable, Michael. We certainly agree that you've done a wonderful jobwith the girl, and naturally you're sensitive about others working withher. But when you consider that public taxes are footing the bill--"

  "I'm sensitive about others exploiting her, that's all. I tell you, Iwon't push her. And I wouldn't let her come up here, even if she agreedto do it. She shouldn't be tampered with for another year or two atleast." Lambertson was angry and bitter. Now, three days later, he wasstill angry.

  "And you're certain that your concern is entirely--professional?"(Whatever Aarons meant, it wasn't nice. Lambertson caught it, and oh,my! Chart slapping down on the table, door slamming, swearing--frommild, patient Lambertson, can you imagine? And then later, no moreanger, just disgust and defeat. That was what hit me when he came backyesterday. He couldn't hide it, no matter how he tried.)

  Well, no wonder he was tired. I remember Aarons all right. He wasn't sointerested in me, back in those days. _Wild one_, he called me. _Wehaven't the time or the people to handle anything like this in a publicinstitution. We have to handle her the way we'd handle any otherdefective. She may be a_ plus_-defective instead of a_ minus_-defective,but she's as crippled as if she were deaf and blind._

  Good old Aarons. That was years ago, when I was barely thirteen. BeforeDr. Custer got interested and started ophthalmoscoping me and testingme, before I'd ever heard of Lambertson or the Study Center. For thatmatter, before anybody had done anything but feed me and treat me likesome kind of peculiar animal or something.

  Well, I'm glad it was Lambertson that went to Boston and not me, forAarons' sake. And if Aarons tries to come down here to work with me,he's going to be wasting his time, because I'll lead him all aroundRobin Hood's Barn and get him so confused he'll wish he'd stayed home.But I can't help but wonder, just the same. _Am_ I a cripple like Aaronssaid? Does being psi-high mean that? _I_ don't think so, but what doesLambertson think? Sometimes when I try to read Lambertson I'm the onethat gets confused. I wish I could tell what he _really_ thinks.

  * * * * *

  _Wednesday night._ I asked Lambertson tonight what Dr. Custer had said."He wants to see you next week," he told me. "But Amy, he didn't makeany promises. He wasn't even hopeful."

  "But his letter! He said the studies showed that there wasn't anyanatomical defect."

  Lambertson leaned back and lit his pipe, shaking his head at me. He'saged ten years this past week. Everybody thinks so. He's lost weight,and he looks as if he hasn't slept at all. "Custer's afraid that itisn't a question of anatomy, Amy."

  "But what is it, then, for heaven's sake?"

  "He doesn't know. He says it's not very scientific, but it may just bethat what you don't use, you lose."

  "Oh, but that's silly." I chewed my lip.

  "Granted."

  "But he thinks that there's a chance?"

  "Of course there's a chance. And you know he'll do everything he can.It's just that neither of us wants you to get your hopes up."

  It wasn't much, but it was something. Lambertson looked so beat. Ididn't have the heart to ask him what Aarons wanted, even though I knowhe'd like to get it off his chest. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

  I spent the day with Charlie Dakin in the lab, and did a little work fora change. I've been disgustingly lazy, and poor Charlie thinks it's allhis fault. Charlie reads like twenty-point type ninety per cent of thetime, and I'm afraid he knows it. I can tell just exactly when he stopspaying attention to business and starts paying attention to _me_, andthen all of a sudden he realizes I'm reading him, and it flusters himfor the rest of the day. I wonder why? Does he really think I'm shocked?Or surprised? Or _insulted_? Poor Charlie!

  I guess I must be good enough looking. I can read it from almost everyfellow that comes near me. I wonder why? I mean, why me and not Marjorieover in the Main Office? She's a sweet girl, but she never gets a secondlook from the guys. There must be some fine differential point I'mmissing somewhere, but I don't think I'll ever understand it.

  I'm not going to press Lambertson, but I _hope_ he opens up tomorrow.He's got me scared silly by now. He has a lot of authority aro
und here,but other people are paying the bills, and when he's frightened aboutsomething, it can't help but frighten me.

  * * * * *

  _Thursday, 18 May._ We went back to reaction testing in the lab withLambertson today. That study is almost finished, as much as anything Iwork on is ever finished, which isn't very much. This test had twogoals: to clock my stimulus-response pattern in comparison to normals,and to find out just exactly _when_ I pick up any given thought-signalfrom the person I'm