Timothy Zahn - Distant Friends And Others

Timothy Zahn - Distantriends... and Others (SSC)

CONTENTS

DISTANT FRIENDS

Red Thoughts at Morning

Dark Thoughts at Noon

Black Thoughts at Midnight

OTHER STORIES

The Peaceful Man

The Evidence of Things Not Seen

Guardian Angel

Expanded Charter

Final Solution

Pawn's Gambit

DISTANT FRIENDS

RED THOUGHTS AT MORNING

It had been one of those long, frustrating days, the kind that makes you feel like the dish rag at a greasy

spoon, and I wasn't in any shape for the Headline that jumped out at me as I opened my Des Moines

Register that evening: TELEPATH KILLED IN HIJACKING.

I stood there, just inside my apartment door, rainwater running off my coat onto the rug, and read the first

few paragraphs. Amos Potter, of Eureka, California, had been on a commuter flight from San Francisco

to Los Angeles when three men at the other end of the plane produced guns and a bomb and demanded

to go to Cuba. The pilot had obediently changed course, but had had to set down in Las Vegas for fuel.

Police and FBI men had stormed the plane, killing all three hijackers and wounding four passengers.

Amos hadn't been found until it was all over: he'd been stabbed in the heart with one of the galley's steak

knives and left in one of the lavatories.

Tears welled up in my eyes and I tossed the paper aside. I'd never met Amos, of course; never even

been within two hundred miles of him. But he'd been a sort of elder statesman to the rest of us, the

embodiment of easy dignity and high moral character, and it was largely because of him that we had won

any tolerance at all from the world.

I made my way to my couch and collapsed onto it. Colleen, I called.

Yes, Dale. She must have been expecting my call. I've seen the news, darling.

Why didn't you call and tell me? The news at noon mentioned the hijacking, but I didn't know Amos was

aboard. Or... any of the rest of it.

Maybe I should have called you. Her thoughts wrapped soothingly around my pain, the telepathic

equivalent of taking me in her arms. But I knew you were going to have a rough day, and I didn't want to

dump this on top of you at the same time. Did that go all right?

More or less, I told her. Both sides spent the whole day arguing legal details before the judge. I got to sit

there and listen to them discuss my abilities and ethics as if I wasn't there. When I wasn't being insulted I

was being bored. Hardly seems important now, though, does it?

I know, she agreed soberly. Did you know Amos well?

Not really. I Felt her smile, and couldn't help smiling myself. It was truly the sort of answer a telepath

would give: only when you don't know how complex human beings really are do you lightly state that you

"know" someone. I couldn't reach him in Eureka, of course, but he used to come to Pittsburgh or

Louisville once or twice a year, and I always talked with him for a few hours then.

Me too. I used to feel a bit isolated up here in Regina; you remember how I used to fly to Salt Lake City

a couple of times a year just to talk with him. I'm going to miss him.

Yeah. We all are.

For a few minutes we sat silently, maintaining contact without words, Colleen's presence had a warm,

comforting texture to it, and slowly the tensions of the day began to fade. Finally, I stirred. Have you

discussed arrangements with any of the others yet?

A little. I talked to Gordon in Spokane, and he thought the only fair way was to let all of us draw straws

to see who'd get to go to Eureka and attend the funeral.

No, I shook my head, it should be between those who knew Amos best. That would be Gordy and

Nelson, I guess.

Colleen shifted uncomfortably. Do you think it would be wise to let Nelson go? I mean... you know how

he gets sometimes.

Oh, he'd be all right, I assured her. He was only mildly paranoid to begin with, and living in San Diego's

been good for him. Every time Amos went down to Los Angeles he improved a little; some of Amos's

calmness had to rub off at that distance.

All right. She was willing to concede the point. Do you want me to suggest that to Gordon?

If you would. I thought for a second. With Amos gone, Gordy was out of touch with everyone except

Colleen. I'll call Calvin in Pueblo and have him relay the message to Nelson.

You feel up to that?

I smiled. Yes. Thanks for always being there when I need you, Colleen.

Thank you, she said quietly, and I knew then that she'd received as much comfort from me as she'd

given.

I love you, Colleen.

I love you, Dale. Good-bye.

We broke contact. I'd loved Colleen for nearly three years now, and she'd loved me even longer. And

the knowledge that we would never meet each other was a dull ache permanently lodged in my throat.

What a stinking world.

Sighing, I got to my feet and headed for the kitchen to see about some supper.

I slept poorly that night, and was back at the Des Moines courthouse at nine sharp the next morning for

another day of arguments. In one sense the question before the court was straightforward: the judge had

simply to decide whether or not my testimony as a telepath could be admitted as evidence in a robbery

case. In practice, however, the legal issues and ramifications surrounding the whole concept formed a

jungle that made the Amazon basin look like the pampas. My mood this morning wasn't helping a bit,

either; it was dominated by depression, fatigue, and some unknown beast nagging at the back of my

mind, and all I wanted to do was to crawl back into bed. I wished to heaven I'd never let the D.A. talk

me into this.

Today, for the umpteenth time, Urban, the public defender, wanted to hear about my range. "Think of it

as listening to someone whispering," I told him once more. "Within two or three feet I can't help but hear

someone's thoughts. Farther away, up to about twenty or twenty-five feet, I can choose whether or not

to listen; beyond that, I can't hear at all."

"Except with your fellow telepaths, of course," Urban said briskly, as if I needed reminding.

"The defendant isn't a telepath," I pointed out as patiently as possible.

"Of course not. Now, you referred to this as akin to hearing whispers. We all know how easy it is to

misunderstand whispers sometimes-"

"The analogy referred to range, not accuracy," I interrupted. "If I can hear the thoughts at all I hear them

clearly. Always."

He started to ask something else-and right then, for no particular reason, the crucial question hit me like a

Trident missile.

How the hell do you unexpectedly stab a telepath?

It had to have been unexpected; the lavatory door had been unlocked and the paper hadn't mentioned

any signs of a struggle. But that was impossible; given the circumstances. Amos was most certainly

reading out to his full range. So why hadn't he seen the killer coming?

Urban had finished his question by the time I made up my mind. "Excuse me," I said, pulling out my

handkerchief and pretending to clear my sinuses. I didn't want to just go glassy-eyed on them, after all;

I've learned that sort of thing can be disconcerting to people. But safely hidden behind the handkerchief, I

could make my contact. Calvin? Calvin, are you there? Calvin?

Right here, Dale, came the calm thought. You sound agitated.

I'm getting there, I agreed. Listen, you've got the location log this quarter, right? Can you clear me to Las

Vegas tonight? It's important.

From Des Moines? That was Calvin-no unnecessary questions asked. Any direct flight would bring you

too close to Pueblo, but I could move out of town for a few hours if necessary.

No, it's not worth that. Besides, I doubt there's a direct flight, anyway.

Then if you go via Denver or Salt Lake we should be all right.

Great. I'll make some reservations and get back to you as soon as I know my schedule.

All right. Oh-and you'll have to be out of there by six tomorrow evening. Gordy's flying down to escort

Amos back to Eureka.

Yeah, okay.

Calvin was getting curious. I trust you'll tell me what all this is about sometime.

Sure, but later. I've got to go now.

Talk to you later.

I slid my handkerchief back in my pocket. Already I felt better. "Now, what was that question again, Mr.

Urban?"

I got through the rest of the morning without any real trouble. During lunch break I called a travel agent

and he worked out a pair of connecting flights that would get me into Las Vegas by ten. That was later

than I'd wanted, but my option was to wait until after Gordy had come and gone. This way I'd have at

least most of tomorrow before I had to leave town.

The judge and lawyers weren't happy about my announcement that I was taking a few days off, but they

accepted it with the grace of reasonable men who have no real choice in the matter. By seven-thirty that

evening I was on the first leg of my flight... and by eight we were circling Denver, just a hundred miles

from Calvin's home in Pueblo.

It's a strange sort of sensation, and more than a little scary the first time you experience it. Even a

hundred miles apart. Calvin and I were now close enough that it was no longer possible to block our

surface thoughts from each other: to tune each other out, so to speak. It's the same thing that happens

when a telepath and human are only two or three feet apart, but with the extra complication that it's a true

two-way communication. If the plane now suddenly turned due south and Calvin and I got even closer...

but that wasn't something I wanted to think about.

Of course, as long as you didn't panic, the effortless communication provided by a close approach was a

good opportunity to talk. Calvin and I spent quite some time doing just that, discussing life in general and

ourselves and our fellow telepaths in particular. But he couldn't hide his curiosity about my sudden trip,

just as I couldn't hide my somewhat perverse decision to make him bring up the subject first.

Calvin cracked first. All right, you win, he said at last. You're not going to Vegas just to say good-bye to

Amos-I can tell that much. So?

You're right. I explained as best I could the questions I had about Amos's death-not an easy task, since a

lot of my feelings hadn't really made it to verbal level yet.

He mulled at the problem for a bit after I finished, his thoughts an orderly flow of questions, possibility,

and logic. Interesting, he said. I agree; something here doesn't ring quite true. I don't know, though.

Suppose one of the hijackers recognized Amos, decided to kill him to cover their trail, and threatened to

kill some of the other passengers too unless Amos went quietly? He was nobler than the rest of us put

together, and I could see him giving in under those circumstances.

Maybe, I said slowly. But I still don't like it.

I can tell, Calvin came back dryly. You're broadcasting uneasiness over two states. Look, I doubt that

there's anything sinister going on here, but I agree it ought to be checked out right away. Let me know if I

can help, okay?

You'll be the first I call, I assured him.

Good. Oh, one other thing you may not have heard about yet: the questions been making the rounds

today as to whether or not we should ban commercial air travel by our members.

I thought we settled that issue years ago.

We did, but it's getting another look. If there's going to be a resurgence of hijackings, the margin of

safety's going to be all fouled up, and it may be smart to stick with trains or private planes for a while.

Suppose, for instance, Amos's plane had been diverted to Pueblo or Des Moines instead of Vegas.

We both shuddered. Yeah, I agreed soberly. But I think the risks can be minimized.

Yeah, well, I'm not going to debate it with you now. Just think about it, and we'll all discuss it together in

a week or so.

Okay. I'd better enjoy this trip, I thought glumly-it might be the last I could take for a while.

Fine. Well, you seem pretty tired, so I think we should break now. I'll talk to you later, Dale.

I glanced out the window in mild surprise. Our layover was over, and we were once again airborne.

Beneath the plane the ground was dark; Denver was far behind us. The close approach was over. Good

night, Calvin, I said, and broke contact.

I dozed the rest of the trip, trying to ignore the peculiar looks and even more peculiar thoughts the

stewardess kept sending my way.

Sometime during the middle of the night I decided I hated Las Vegas, and that first impression was

solidified the next morning during my taxi ride to police headquarters. It wasn't just the high proportion of

the criminal element roaming the streets: every city has some of that. Rather, it was the greed, goldlust,

and despair I could sense all around me. This was a frantic town, a city founded on hedonism and life's

more transient gains, and it simultaneously angered and depressed me. It seemed grossly unfair that

Amos Potter, a man who had loved the quiet outdoors and had spent his life helping others, should have

had to die here.

But the police, at least, were courteous and helpful, and I was routed to the proper officer with a

minimum of delay. He was a squat, muscular man with a swarthy complexion and the unlikely but

circumstantially appropriate name of Lieutenant James Bond.

"Honest," he insisted as he gave me a quick handshake. "What can I do for you?"

"My name's Dale Ravenhall," I told him. "I wanted to ask a few questions about the recent death of

Amos Potter."

He recognized my name and drew back almost imperceptibly. "I see. I'm sorry about Mr. Potter. Was

he a good friend of yours?"

"We are, by necessity, a somewhat tight-knit group," I said. "Are you the one who found Amos on the

plane?"

He shook his head. "One of the SWAT team discovered the body." His mind flashed the man's

name-Sergeant Tom Avery-which I filed away for future reference. "I was called in right away to head

that part of the investigation."

"Were there any signs of a struggle? The newspapers didn't mention any."

"No, there weren't, and that's something I don't understand. You people are supposed to read minds at a

pretty good distance, right? So why didn't Mr. Potter lock the door?"

I scowled. "I don't know. That's one of the things that bothers me about this."

"What are the others?"

"The lack of struggle, for one," I said, sensing even as I ticked off my list that he had many of the same

questions. "The use of one of the galley knives for the murder when they had guns. How come they were

clever enough to smuggle those guns aboard in the first place, and yet got themselves killed on their first

stop."

"You missed two important ones," Bond said. "Why did they pick a puddle-jumping commuter plane

from San Francisco, of all places, to hijack to Cuba? And why didn't Mr. Potter contact one of you

people before he died?"

I frowned. That last hadn't occurred to me. "I don't know. I was too far away myself at that time, but

maybe he did talk to one of the others. I can check on that right now, if you'd like."

Bond had never watched a telepath in action and wasn't sure he wanted to start now. But professional

considerations outweighed any squeamishness. "Go ahead; I'd like to know."

From my close-approach contact with Calvin last night I already knew Amos hadn't contacted him

before his death. Gordy was a long shot; I tried briefly to get him, but the distance was a shade too great.

That left only one possibility. Nelson? Are you there, Nelson?

Yes, of course, Dale. What is it?

If Colleen's mental texture was one of warmth and love, and Calvin's one of calmness, Nelson's always

struck me as predominantly nervous. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd say hi.

In the neighborhood?

Las Vegas. Light conversation was often lost on Nelson. Listen, Nelson, I've been trying to track down

some questions about Amos's death.

What sort of questions?

Oh, just some loose ends. Nelson's nervousness was contagious, and I didn't want to prolong the

contact. Besides, Lieutenant Bond was waiting. I wondered if Amos had had a chance to contact you

before the end.

No, he said, almost too quickly. But I might have been out of range.

Where were you?

I flew down to Baja for a couple of days. His tone said it was none of my business where he and his

Piper Comanche had gone. I was flying back when the news came.

Okay, just wanted to check. You doing okay?

Save your sympathy, Dale. I'm fine.

Right. I'll be talking to you later.

Bond nodded when I relayed the conversation. "That was Nelson Follstadt, right? Do you think you can

believe him?"

I bristled. "Of course. Why would he lie?"

He shrugged. "I hear he has some psychological problems."

"Well... yes, he does, but he's improved a lot lately. And he's been away from the other telepath for

nearly ten years, so there's no place to go but up."

"Come again? What other telepath?"

This wasn't really the time for a lecture, but Bond truly didn't understand. And I've always tried to avoid

littering my path with mysterious statements and obscure hints. Oh, well, you've probably heard that

telepaths can't get too close to each other. That's because the contact gets stronger with decreasing

distance, and the two personalities begin to meld into one. At about twenty miles apart-theoretically-the

strain becomes too great and both telepaths go permanently insane."

Neither Bond's face nor his thoughts were very pleasant. "Is that what happened to Nelson Follstadt?"

"Fortunately, no. The telepathic ability grows with age, and it's only as you get into the teens that it

becomes strong enough for any risk of insanity to show up. Nelson just happened to grow up in the same

city with another fledgling telepath, and before they were identified and split up the small effects had

gradually built up into a mild paranoia. But, as I said, Nelson's improving."

"What about the other telepath?"

"He committed suicide six years ago." One of our group's worst failures, I reminded myself bitterly.

"Oh." Bond was silent for a moment, wondering if he should ask his next question. I let him take his time.

"There's one other thing I've been wondering about," he finally said. "I've heard rumors that you people

can... well, force normal humans to do what you want. Is that true? And if so, why didn't Mr. Potter stop

the hijacking?"

"It's true, in about the same way the CIA and certain religious cults can impose their will on people. It

would take almost continuous contact between telepath and subject for several days straight to

accomplish it, though. Amos couldn't possibly have done anything in the time he had."

"Hmm. Okay, I'm surprised the CIA hasn't shanghaied you, though. You sound like you'd be handy to

have around."

"Some of us have been tested by various agencies. There are drugs that are faster and easier to use.

Look, we're getting off the subject. Is there anything else you can tell me about Amos's death or about

the hijacking in general?"

"Sorry." He shook his head. "You've got all the obvious facts; the others will have to wait for the lab

work. If you'll give me your number, I'll get in touch when I know something more."

"I'd appreciate that." I wrote my Des Moines number on a card and, for good measure, added Calvin's.

"I may be moving around in the next few days, but Calvin Wolfe here will be able to relay any messages."

"Fine." He gave me a thoughtful look. "Nelson Follstadt's closer, you know. Don't you trust him?"

"Sure I do. I just-well, Calvin's a closer friend."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for stopping by, Mr. Ravenhall. I'll be in touch."

"Thanks." I shook his hand again and left.

His last question bothered me all the way back to the hotel. Why hadn't I given him Nelson's

number?-Especially since Nelson was closer to Eureka, where I had already more or less decided to go

next. Was there something about that last contact I'd had with him that had bothered me? Certainly,

Nelson had been nervous, but that was normal for him... wasn't it? I was beginning to regret having

broken off the contact so quickly. My chance was now gone for further questioning; if I called back with

the same questions I was likely to stir up Nelson's quiescent paranoia, and I couldn't take that just now.

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly noon. Flopping onto my back on the bed, I closed my eyes. Calvin?

Yo, Calvin?

Hello, Dale. Learned anything interesting?

Yes and no. I've found the cop in charge of the investigation has some of the same questions I do, but he

doesn't have the answers either. Is Gordy still due in here at six, and when is he heading over to Eureka?

Yes, and tomorrow morning.

I need a favor. Would you ask him to delay either leg of his trip by twenty-four hours?

Well... I suppose I could ask him. Why?

I'd like to go up to Eureka myself and look around. No particular reason, I added, anticipating his next

question. I'd heard Amos had suspended his psychotherapy practice and was working on something

special. I'd like to check it out.

I can save you some trouble, if that's all you want. According to Gordy, Amos was trying to build some

kind of electronic gadget for locating new telepaths.

My jaw dropped. You're kidding. I hadn't heard a whisper about that. I didn't even know it was

theoretically possible.

Me neither, to both comments, until Gordy told me last night. Apparently Amos didn't want it spread

around, in case things fell through.

Now that I thought about it, I remembered Amos had earned a master's in electrical engineering before

switching to psychology. How far had he gotten?

Gordy didn't know. He was planning to try to find out when he went up there.

I pondered. Calvin, I'd still like to go to Eureka tonight.

Okay, I'll try to work things out with Gordy. If not, you two'll be in contact range within a few hours and

can hash it over between yourselves.

Thanks. One other thing. I hesitated. Nelson told me he was in Baja when Amos died. Is that true?

Calvin was silent for a moment, and I could sense his surprise. Accusing another telepath, even implicitly,

of lying was serious business. As a matter of fact, I don't know. Nelson is a bit of a maverick sometimes,

and I'm pretty sure he occasionally takes his Comanche out for a short spin without telling anyone. I think

he resents having his movements watched so closely, especially when he doesn't think it necessary.

I grunted. That was just great. Maybe I should give him personal notice that I'm heading to Eureka. I'll

talk to you later, Calvin. Thanks for your help.

Sure. Good hunting.

For a moment I just lay there, thinking. Then I rolled over, snared the phone, and placed a call to the

airport.

I got into Eureka at eight that evening and rented a car for the drive out to Amos's home. I'd never been

there before, but Gordy had given me detailed directions earlier in the day and I found the unpretentious

little ranch house without difficulty. Mrs. Lederman, Amos's long-time housekeeper, was waiting there for

me; with typical foresight, Calvin had phoned to tell her I was coming.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Ravenhall," she said when I had identified myself. "Please excuse the mess;

I haven't felt much like cleaning today."

"It looks fine," I assured her. Her plump, middle-aged face had lost most of the signs of recent crying; the

scars in her psyche would take much longer to heal. I didn't intend to pry, but the texture of her surface

thoughts made it obvious that she had loved Amos deeply. I wondered how he had felt about her, and

the thought inevitably turned my mind toward Colleen.... Wrenching hard, I forced myself back to

business. "Mrs. Lederman, did Amos say or do anything unusual before he left? Anything that might imply

he was worried or suspicious about something?"

She shook her head. "I've been thinking about it ever since Mr. Wolfe called from Colorado this

afternoon and I can't come up with anything. Amos seemed a bit preoccupied when he returned from

Los Angeles about two weeks ago, but that cleared up quickly and he went back to work on his telepath

finder-I expect you've heard of that by now."

"Yes. Who besides you knew he was working on it?"

"Gordy Sears, of course," she said. "I think he was Amos's closest friend. And I believe Mr. Follstadt

knew about it, too."

"Nelson?" That made sense, I suppose. One main use of the gadget would probably be to locate young

telepaths before any accidental psychic damage occurred, and knowing such a thing was in the works

might ease any fears Nelson had about being hurt like that again. "Would you let me see where Amos

worked?"

"If you'd like," she shrugged, and I caught something about a mountain retreat from her mind. "But most

of his electronics work was done at his cabin in the Sierra. It was more peaceful there, he used to tell me;

nobody else thinking nearby."

She led me down the hall to Amos's workroom, and I poked around there for a few minutes without

finding anything interesting. "Can you tell me how to get to his cabin?"

"Well... it was sort of private, but I guess it'd be okay now. But it'd take five or six hours to get there.

You ever driven mountains at night?"

"Enough to know I don't want to try it in an unfamiliar area. I'll head out in the morning. If you'll give me

those directions, I'll go now and get out of your way."

"No need for that," she shook her head. "I've made up the guest room for you."

"Oh. Thanks very much, but I don't think I ought to stay."

"It's no trouble. I'm leaving in a few minutes, anyway, and you'll have the place to yourself. Amos was

always hospitable, Mr. Ravenhall," she added, as I opened my mouth to refuse again. "I know he would

have wanted you to stay here."

What could I say to that?

She gave me a quick guided tour of the premises to show me where everything was, and then left,

locking the front door behind her. I watched her car disappear down the road and then, moved by an

obscure impulse, returned to Amos's workroom.

Off in one corner of the room was a small writing desk almost buried under neat piles of paper and

correspondence. I'd ignored it the last time I came through, but now I went over and gazed down at it. A

proper investigation should include a search of Amos's papers... but I had no right to pry like that.

Besides, if I found something significant, would I even know it? I still didn't really know what I was

looking for. Resolutely, I started to turn away... and as I did, the return address on one of the envelopes

caught my eye. It was that of a Las Vegas casino.

Frowning, I picked up the letter. It was unopened, postmarked the day before Amos's death. Feeling

guilty, I opened it.

The message was very brief:

Dear Mr. Potter,

Timothy Zahn - Distant Friends And Others

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