PSI FOR PSURVIVAL

 

Seranimu wanted to be a Mental Giant—in fact it was the only way he could impress his nagging wife. Then he spotted that ad on a pack of Earth-made matches: Clip the coupon—first easy lesson free. He clipped the coupon—and the psychic chain reaction was on! 

 

by MANLY BANNISTER

 

SERANIMU fingered the book of matches and reflected upon its advertising message. Naturally, the matches bore advertising. They had come from Earth. 

Everybody in the galaxy made matches, but only the Earthmen made matches like these. Frail paper things, you could strike them under water. If you brought the match out quickly enough, it would continue to burn. Remarkable people, the Earthmen, and the artifacts of their culture were remarkable. 

The message, though, was even more remarkable than the matches. It was printed neatly, briefly, in the cramped space, in Morforese, the principal idiom of Zingu, Seranimu's home world in the Galactic Federation. 

You can become a Mental Giant! Study at home for only 7 shrilr a month. Study, Learn the powers of Mind. Free sample Lesson; No cost, No obligation. Fill out coupon inside and return to Home Study Mind Power, Inc. Earth. (Send Cover Only—Not Matches!) 

Earth, a fabled place, thought Seranimu. If the galaxy weren't so overpopulated that everyone's place of residence was irrevocably fixed, he would change his to the planet Earth. There, better things were made in better ways, of better materials, by better workmen. Was it not all true, just as it said in the Earth-men's ads? Of course it was. Just look at the refrigerator in his own kitchen—a Frigitemp from Earth. It was far and away superior to that fright Korisu had had reprofaxed in from Bolangus. Seranimu sneered. 

But that was Korisu. A trifle blunt, mentally. Could Korisu become a mental giant? Not likely. He would not be interested. Korisu was an ideal example of the devitalized culture of the Federation. He was happy on Zingu ... happier than he should be, at any rate, even with such a lovely, personable wife as Anisel. 

Well, let Korisu be happy, poor fellow. He had not read and studied like Seranimu. He knew nothing about what life might be like if there were not so many people in the galaxy. 

Seranimu looked back at the matches in his hand. Free Yourself From the Shackles of Boredom, it said there. Well, he would. With a firm hand, he filled in the coupon, slipped it into an envelope and addressed it to the Earth corporation. 

Stepping across the room to the self-powered, apartment model reprofax, he dropped the envelope into the slot for email and twisted a dial. There, it was gone. At this instant, within or without the province of Einsteinian simultaneity of events in the space-time continuum, the envelope and its contents were materializing on the planet Earth, three thousand light-years away. There would be an extra charge on his reprofax bill at the end of the month, in view of the long distance transmission. 

Reprofax was basic to galactic culture. It provided instantaneous communication between far-flung worlds; even allowed personal travel, if a man could afford it. Local transportation, however, was cheaply had by reprofax, and all Seranimu had to do was stand on the platform on the other side to be whisked to his job in the government offices of Morfors, or to the market, or the theater, or wherever it was, locally, he desired to go. 

"There," said Seranimu. "I have taken the first step toward becoming a Mental Giant!" 

"Becoming a what?" asked Pimo, Seranimu's pretty wife, stepping in from the kitchen. 

"A Mental Giant," said Seranimu, unconsciously capitalizing the words in imitation of the matchbook ad. "I have answered an ad of the Earthmen. They teach you, like school, but at home." 

"If Earthmen are behind it," sniffed Pimo, "it costs money. What do they teach you at home?" 

"How to become a mental giant," repeated Seranimu. Furthermore, they do it very cheaply—only seven shrilr a month." 

"Seven shrilr! My God and Zingu, Seranimu, are you made of money?" 

"It does not become a lady to curse," said Seranimu firmly. He gazed fondly into Pimo's dark, tip-tilted eyes from his eight-foot height. "Wouldn't you like to have a mental giant for a husband?" 

"I certainly would," she agreed, "except I already have you, lover." 

"And soon," replied Seranimu, "you shall also have the other!" 

 

A CULTURE, roughly speaking, is an agglomeration of social groups, each with its own little ax to grind. Galactic culture fitted the definition, but all the axes were the same size, shape, and degree of temper. And the edges of all were dull. Earth, that remarkable planet, was the only exception. It was not a member of the Federation. It retained freedom and independence for its people. If anything big came to pass, you knew it had originated on Earth. 

To Seranimu, galactic culture, outside of Earth, represented a vast, wriggling blob of protoplasm, rather than a civilization. There was nothing attractive in being jammed nose-to-tail as they were in cramped living quarters, in swarming so thickly in their city streets that you brushed your way through traffic. There was nothing inspiring in being chained to a government job, a mere occupation designed to keep you out of mischief and nothing else. 

Take Seranimu's job, for instance. He was a looker. That is, his job consisted purely and simply of looking. Every day, from eight to four-thirty, Seranimu looked, with that detached interest of a government employee out of love with his job. Once a week, he turned over to his superiors a written report on his looking. That is all there was to it. The theory behind the job was simple. If a man looked long enough and hard enough, you never could tell what he might see. And why did he look, day after day, year in and year out? Well, the government had a corps of experts who did nothing but look into that, and so far, they had come up with neither the head nor the tail of it. Seranimu suspected that they never would. 

Now, he thought, things would be different. Becoming a mental giant opened up a totally new kind of life, that might lead to...what? 

The free sample lesson, when it came, was a little disappointing. But what could you expect for nothing? 

"What is that, now?" asked Pimo, over his shoulder. She had responded as soon as he to the buzz of the reprofax and the lighted screen announcing, Incoming Transmission. 

"It is my free lesson from Home Study Mind Power," said Seranimu. 

"I know that, silly. I can read the return address on the envelope. Open it and see what's inside." 

Seranimu opened it and shook assorted papers into his broad palm. 

"A half a gram of iron filings, a magnet and a booklet of instructions," he said, irritated with Pimo. "Also, an application for enrollment and an easy payment plan prospectus. What more do you want?" 

"Seven shrilr a month should buy more than that, Seranimu!" 

"I haven't paid any seven shrilr! I haven't even decided to take the course." 

"Seven shrilr a month for how many months?" harped Pimo. 

"It doesn't say." 

"You had better find out," Pimo warned darkly. "You know about the Earthmen!" 

"We Zinguans can still learn from them," Seranimu returned loftily. 

"Such as how to become a mental giant," encouraged Pimo, baiting him. 

"Exactly. What I shall do depends on the outcome of the experiment outlined here. So please stop bothering me." 

"What are you supposed to do with that—if you don't mind my saying so—junk?" asked Pimo. 

"Sprinkle the iron filings on a sheet of clean paper,' " read Seranimu. " 'Hold the magnet under the paper and watch the filings arrange themselves along the lines of magnetic force as the paper is shaken lightly.' " 

"That's kid stuff," scoffed Pimo. "Why don't you do it?" 

"Because it says here that the magnet loses its magnetism going through the reprofax. I have to remagnetize it first." 

He followed directions, re-magnetized the magnet and held it under the paper, on which he had sprinkled the filings. 

"There," he said. "Isn't that pretty? Elementary, of course, but it illustrates quite well how a force can control matter." 

"I hope," sniffed Pimo, "you aren't going to pay seven shrilr a month for that!" 

"Certainly not. There is more. It says, 'As soon as the filings are arranged along the lines of magnetic flux, remove the magnet, straight downward.' There, I've removed the magnet. See how the filings stay in place?" 

"Shake the paper," sneered Pimo, "and they will not stay long." 

"That is just what I shall do. First, though, I have to look at the pattern and memorize it." 

He did so, looking with the accomplished verve of a professional. When he had the location of every last particle firmly in mind, he shook the paper. 

 

"IT SAYS to lay the paper on a table." He frowned. "They should know we don't have tables on Zingu." 

He moved over to his "desk," which was a cleared space in a corner, with slots in the floor for paper, pencil and other bits of bookkeeping paraphernalia. He laid the paper carefully down and squatted beside it. Pimo watched without audible comment, but her expression needed no words. 

"So what do you do now, you mental giant, you?" 

"Now," said Seranimu with a trace of annoyance, "I rearrange the particles with the power of mind into exactly the same pattern the magnet produced." 

He read the instructions twice, carefully. Then he fixed his glance on the particles and concentrated. His head felt unaccustomedly queer. With a barely audible rustle, the particles moved, hurrying so many microscopic black bugs, and arranged themselves exactly—or nearly so—as they had been. 

"You did that very well, lover," Pimo observed with satisfaction. "Now that you have had your trouble's worth, forget the whole business." 

"Forget it? Why, this is marvelous! You saw what I did! I didn't touch it or anything!" 

"Yes," said Pimo. "I saw. It was interesting, but not seven shrilr a month interesting, if you understand me. I need a new dress, and our percolator hasn't worked right in ages, and—" 

"Telekinesis," Seranimu interrupted gravely, "is worth seven shrilr a month. It is worth going without a new dress and living with a malfunctioning percolator." 

"I go without! I live with!" complained Pimo bitterly. 

"This is only a free sample lesson," he said severely. "This they teach me for nothing. How much more for seven shrilr a month? Use your imagination! Listen to what it says here. 'If you do not at first succeed in making the particles move, do not worry. Further lessons in this course contain valuable information that will make the feat easy for you.' They don't expect me to do it right off, like I did. Wait till I tell them. I'll write..." 

"Seven shrilr," murmured Pimo sadly. "Seven shrilr a month!" 

Home Study Mind Power, Inc., Earth, in the person of Mr. Flanagan, Seranimu's correspondence instructor, seemed unimpressed by the claim of success. Flanagan replied, writing with a note of weariness, urging Seranimu to study, to become adept, to let no amount of failure dismay him. He sounded, Seranimu thought, as if he had not even read the letter Seranimu wrote. He had noticed the seven shrilr, though. The reply also brought Lesson Two. 

Months went by, and seven shrilr with each of them. Lesson followed lesson. Telepathy was the one that bothered Seranimu. Not that it was hard. It was very easy, but the course warned against using it. A good way to keep your friends, said the text, is not to practice this ability on them. In spite of the warning, Seranimu dared to read Pimo's mind. After that, he kept his mindreading to himself, feeling somewhat injured. Pimo's opinion of his investigations was bad enough when tempered with verbal expression. 

There were lessons in precognition, dowsing, crystal gazing, transmutation of elements, levitation and teleportation. Some were complex, tricky subjects, and had several lessons devoted to them. 

Seranimu not only studied, he learned. His studies opened up a whole new plane of existence. Flanagan of Home Study Mind Power, Inc., Earth, remained .unimpressed, showered him with exhortations to study, learn, become adept in spite of all apparent failure. 

 

SERANIMU'S friend Korisu lived across the hall in the communal pletsch that was home to thousands of their kind. Sometimes, Seranimu asked himself what he saw in Korisu. The man kept his eyes shut and his mind absolutely closed. Of course, he played a good hand of prej, and Anisel, Korisu's wife, was no mean antagonist in the game, either. Moreover, Seranimu thought Anisel quite pretty. He enjoyed having her in their prej games. 

They played this time in Seranimu's apartment. Korisu dealt out the plastic disks while Pimo marked up the preceding hand on the scare sheet. 

"I think," said Korisu with typical stolidity, "that you often let yourself be carried away by the Earthmen's advertising, Seranimu. You have let those people work on your mind until you think you are doing the things they claim they can teach you. Rot, I say." 

"Have it your way," shrugged Seranimu. "I tried to prove it to you. I teleported a book in your own apartment, and you just laughed. You said either I had hypnotized you, or your eyes showed you the impossible and therefore lied." 

"I would rather believe my good sense than my eyes any day," murmured Korisu. The prej halted their clicking round. Seranimu leaned forward, scooped his from the floor. 

"You have a closed mind," he said. "You will not believe the Earthmen have developed psi powers any more than you will believe that Earth-made refrigerators are better than that piece of junk you bought on Bolangus. You would rather lie with a broken leg than admit a physician might heal it for you." 

"I know about broken legs," said Korisu serenely. "The treatment for them is accomplished fact. You forget, Seranimu, that I am a temperament analyzer. I know my job well. Even without resort to laboratory paraphernalia, I can analyze your temperament without difficulty. You are a self-centered dreamer with overtones of exhibitionism." 

"Thank you," said Seranimu, coldly polite. "Consider your fee my next loss at prej." 

"Korisul" said Aniself. "If Seranimu believes, it is his business. Remember that you are a guest." 

"Thank you, Anisel," said Seranimu gratefully. "When you tire of that stupid oaf for a husband, you may come live with Pimo and me." 

Pimo, sitting tailor-fashion beside him, pinched him. 

Later, when Korisu and Anisel had gone, Seranimu said to Pimo, "Korisu is an idiot. That is all I can say for him." 

"I know you are accomplished, lover," said Pimo graciously. "Why seek admiration outside our family circle?" 

Seranimu felt that Pimo had put a double meaning there, but he ignored it. 

"Korisu is my friend," he said crossly. "I should like to convince him." 

"Friend," sniffed Pimo. "Well, all right as a friend, I suppose. But don't take too much for granted, lover. He was in the other day, while you were gone. He suggested analyzing my temperament." 

"Korisu thinks of nothing but his job." 

"And your job is looking. Do you spend your free time looking at Korisu's wife? I should hope not. Anisel would slap you to sleep." 

"You misjudge Korisu. He has zeal." 

"Not to mention a few other things, more apparent to a woman's eyes. Still, I would not shatter your illusions about the fellow. I can take care of myself." 

"You doubtless have dishes waiting in the kitchen," Seranimu said coldly. "Go attend to them. I have some writing to do before going to bed." 

Invoking husbandly prerogative was the best Seranimu could do to defend himself. He had slipped, he admitted, in bragging to Korisu. The lessons had warned him. How about Korisu, now? He sighed. Women sometimes imagine men are chasing them. Again, didn't Korisu often act a little odd around Pimo, making with a sort of simpering attitude, having a little of bowing and scraping in it? He tried to wash his mind of the implication. 

 

"DON'T COMPLAIN to me," said Pimo, when Seranimu protested that not even Flanagan, of Home Study Mind Power, Inc., Earth, paid any attention to his claims of success. 

"It would seem," grumbled Seranimu, "that my own instructor thinks I'm lying to him. He just writes back, recommending more study, more hard wdrk. He never pats me on the back, saying, 'You have done very well, Seranimu.' I like recognition for my work." 

"Aren't you getting your seven shrilr a month worth?" asked Pimo drily. 

Exasperated, Seranimu teleported a vase of flowers across the room and smashed it against the wall. 

"Shame!" said Pimo, picking up the pieces. "Not satisfied with your accomplishments, you must have recognition, too. Well, why don't you show this Flanagan you can do as you say?" 

Seranimu gave her a contemptuous look. "I should have to go to Earth to do that. Three thousand light-years, woman! Have you any idea what it would cost to reprofax a man of my bulk that far?" 

"You are a mental giant," said Pimo. "Why depend on reprofax? Teleport yourself!" 

The import of her words dazed Seranimu. He staggered. Why hadn't he thought of that? He knew why he hadn't. The very thought made sweat break out all over him in stinging little globules. Teleport himself three thousand light-years? Hit exactly a tiny grain of sand at the other end of the trajectory? He shuddered. The possibility was fraught with error. 

"Well, it's your problem," said Pimo airily. "All I did was suggest. Do as you please, but don't bother me with your gripes. As you are fond of noting, I have dishes to do—why can't I get a government stipend as a dishwasher?" 

"Woman's place is in the home," rebuked Seranimu. "You may thank God it has not yet been turned into a government job!" 

"If it were," said Pimo slyly, "it would undoubtedly be departmented, with a rate of pay for each department. In some departments, Seranimu, I could get rich off you!" 

She went out, slamming the door. 

As little as any man wants to admit it, his wife occasionally has an idea almost as good as one he could think up himself. Seranimu wrote to Flanagan, baring his abused state of mind and concluding, Furthermore, Mr. Flanagan, since you do not believe I tell the truth, I shall visit you on Earth three days from now and prove it. Shame on you. You should have more faith in me. Respectfully, Seranimu; Morfors, Zingu. 

He sealed the letter and reprofaxed it. 

First, he had to wangle a leave from his job. He had vacation time coming. That disposed of, he went about the other preparations. Three days later, he kissed Pimo goodby, settled himself and tried to concentrate. He could not at all seem to get into the proper frame of mind, until he realized what it was that worried him. 

He got up from his squat, crossed the hall and knocked at Korisu's door. 

Anisel answered, smiling at him. She's very pretty, thought Seranimu, daring to think so as he looked at her. Doubtless, she secretly admires me. 

He said, fawning, "Is Korisu at home?" 

"Yes," she said, with a trace of what seemed like reluctant assent. Was she disappointed, then, that he came when Korisu was at home? 

Seranimu expanded with a fine humor. "A time for the beast," he said, "a time later for beauty." He beamed and winked at her. 

Anisel laughed, appreciating the compliment. 

"I heard that," said Korisu, coming to the door. "By what right do you comment on my wife's beauty?" He turned, to Anisel. "Go into the kitchen and do your dishes dear." 

It came as a shock to Seranimu to realize that Anisel soiled her pretty hands in dishwater, just like Pimo. What a brute Korisu must be to make her do it! 

He said, as soon as the door closed behind Anisel, "I am going away for a brief time, Korisu." 

"Good!" grunted Korisu. "We shall be spared the look of your ugly face." He laughed to show he didn't mean it. "Vacation Center, eh?" 

"That government stewpot?" Seranimu frowned. "Much farther, Korisu. I won't say how far. I want to tell you I am leaving Pimo here. I am asking you to stay out of my apartment while I am gone, and refrain from trying to analyze Pimo's temperament." 

"I wouldn't think of it," said Korisu innocently. 

Seranimu broke the rules and took a peep into Korisu's mind. What he saw there convinced him Korisu was a liar of the worst. 

"I know a few things," Seranimu said darkly. "I just thought a warning proper, that is all." 

 

SERANIMU looked dazedly at his surroundings. The intense concentration required for teleportation had left him groggy. The place was definitely alien. Was it Earth? Spacious lawns, tree-dotted, shrubbed and flowered, undulated gently to the horizon. Low buildings, set here and there among clumps of trees, had an aspect of serene relaxation. He had certainly left Zingu, no doubt about it. Overpopulated Zingu was nowhere like this. 

He looked at the building before him, his sight clearing. Over the door was a sign. Home Study Mind Power, Inc. He started, surprised. Why, he had done it! With a little finer direction, he might have landed in Flanagan's own office! 

So this was Earth—where people did as they pleased, where there was room to move about... Seranimu let his glance roam again across the grand width of open area. If only it were like this on Zingu! 

He turned his attention back to the building, realizing that the sign on it was in Morforese. Smaller letters informed him that this was the Zinguan Division of Home Study Mind Power. To reach the Bolangus Division, follow the arrow. 

Other arrows pointed in other directions, with other names beside them. The building gleamed in the light of a mellow sun. Fleecy clouds drifted above it. The air was warm and sweet with the unaccustomed smell of growing things. 

Seranimu squared his shoulers and went inside. 

"Hello," said a busty young woman at a desk just within the door. "You must be Seranimu." 

She spoke passable Mor forese with a peculiar, lilting accent which he thought charming and quite in keeping with her doll-like size. His eight-foot height towered over her in the foyer. She had to bend her head far back to look up and smile at him. 

"Mr Flanagan is expecting you. Since you did not come reprofax transmission from through on the last regular Zingu, we decided you must be coming by special. I'll tell Mr. Flanagan you're here." 

She went away, adjusting her already meticulous coiffure with darting motions of hands that seemed to Seranimu unbelievably tiny. 

Of course, he had known that Earthmen seldom reach a stature much above six feet, but this girl was even smaller. Seranimu found it simply difficult to adjust immediately to a world of "little people." 

Flanagan turned out to be short, balding, paunchy, anachronistically inclined to the wearing of spectacles. His attitude was cold. 

"You may go, Clarissa," he said, waving a hand at his doll-like secretary. 

He spoke idiomatic Morforese with an excellent inflection. Clarissa smiled daintily at Seranimu and withdrew. Seranimu smiled politely at the closed door in return. Cute, he thought, but not up to Pimo ...or Anisel. Not enough body. 

"Sit down," said Flanagan, not looking directly at him. "That is..." 

He seemed embarrassed. There wasn't a chair in the office that would have held Seranimu's bulk or weight. Seranimu smiled and seated himself cross-legged on the floor. The building shook as he settled himself. 

Flanagan, behind his desk, took off his glasses and polished them nervously. 

"If it is a question of asking for your money back," he said, "I am prepared to give you a draft at once. Clarissa is drawing it up now. It will take care of the amount you have paid for tuition, plus the expense you have been out on reprofax." 

What was Flanagan thinking about? Seranimu dared break the rules for a momentary peep into the Earthman's mind, but without result. Failure jolted Seranimu. Did his psi powers fail him here on Earth, among these psi conscious Earth-folk? 

"I want to show you how well I can do the lessons," he said aggressively, "and I didn't come by reprofax. I teleported myself." 

"Naturally," sneered Flanagan. "You didn't come by star-ship, of course. There's limiting velocity, and all that. I know reprofax is expensive, but we are prepared to reimburse—" 

"Perhaps you did not hear," said Seranimu. "I teleported myself, as in Lesson Twenty-Six!" 

Flanagan stabbed at him with his glittering spectacles. 

"If you came here to pull my leg, Seranimu, forget it! I was not born yesterday." He fumbled en his desk, picked up a memo. "It says here you came in by reprofax, special transmission from Zingu, at two-fifty-two. p.m. I guess the Reprofax Company knows who its customers are!" 

Seranimu shook his head. Was his mind slipping! Or was Flanagan simply crazy? 

"We've had people like you around here before," Flanagan continued flatly. "You come in, raise a fuss, then holler for your money back. Well, I'm saving you some trouble. You can have your money back." 

"I don't want my money back!" cried Seranimu, beginning to feel angry. 

"Listen here, fellow! If you think you can sue us for fraud and make it stick, you're in for a surprise!" Flanagan leaned back in his swivel chair, scowling severely. "We operate our institution on an eighty-six point seven percent refund basis to take care of you smart cookies who complain. We make our profit off the dumb clucks who can't see through our hocus-pocus." 

Did Flanagan admit that Home Study Mind Power was only a fraud? That he, himself, was a cheap crook, selling what he thought was a valueless course of instruction in nothing? 

 

"I CAN SHOW you I am a Mental Giant!" shouted Seranimu. 

The building quaked. Flanagan, a pained expression on his face, put both hands over his ears. 

"Stop shouting, and don't be a fool! Home Study Mind Power has never made a mental giant out of anybody! I tell you it's all fraud—but you'd be hard put to prove it in a court of law. Don't think you can sue! You'd better take the money we offer you and be satisfied." 

"I'll show you!" Seranimu bit off. 

If he could levitate Flanagan from his chair, up near the ceiling someplace, maybe that would convince him. He concentrated. Flanagan tapped the desktop with his glasses. 

"Are you ill or something?" 

"No," growled Seranimu. "I'm not ill!" 

"Then what are you grunting about?" 

"I didn't know I was," Seranimu retorted sourly. He was annoyed. Things were different on this planet Earth than on Zingu. He said, "My wife, Pima, knows what I can do. I will teleport her here and let her convince you!" 

He realized vaguely that Flanagan had stood up suddenly, but the queer, rushing sensation in his mind immediately overwhelmed him. He had the confidence gained from teleporting himself to Earth. He found Zingu, sensed himself over Morfors. He narrowed his field of concentration...his own apartment...his own living room... The close rapport of home engulfed him. He felt a living presence. He grasped and snatched. 

Slowly, he opened his eyes. A figure towered over him in Flanagan's office. Not Pimo--Korisu! 

"Seranimu!" roared the new arrival. "Where am I?" 

Seranimu jumped up. "Not where are you—where were you? What were you doing in my living room?" 

Korisu glanced once at Seranimu's working feature s, blanched, stepped backward. 

"Now, look, old friend—" 

"My living room!" thundered Seranimu. "I warned you!" 

All the rage and frustration that had been building in him from Flanagan's cold, mad reception burst forth upon the bewildered person of Korisu. Seranimu lunged at him. They grappled, swaying back and forth. They plunged to the floor and the building shook as if in the grip of an earthquake. Earth people were shouting around then scampering madly back and forth. Furniture smashed and splintered as they rolled upon it. They clawed and thumped each other. They grunted, wheezed and swore. Korisu clamped his hands on Seranimu's throat. Seranimu was surprised. He was the injured husband, with right on his side. Should he not be the one to best Korisu? As it was, strength was leaving him rapidly, and it was all he could do to keep on belting his neighbor in the face. 

So this was the way it ended, he thought. A roaring in the ears, shadows sweeping in, bursting lights in a darkness of pain. Well, what was there to live for, anyway? Better dead in fact than the living death of 

...Lesson Fifteen, he thought. I am going down the long road because Korisu is a better man than I. Lesson Fifteen. I am dying all right, I can feel it so plain. Lesson Fifteen. Devil take...Lesson Fifteen. How to Overcome...Physical Opposition . .with Mental Power . . . 

Seranimu went limp, twitching a little. His mind gathered, coordinated and hurled its energy. At once, he could breathe again. Korisu's clutching fingers fell away from his throat. Korisu himself fell back thunderously upon the floor. Seranimu got up, rubbing his neck. 

There were a number of the little Earth people in the room, men and women, dodging about to avoid his weaving passage, gibbering in their own language. 

"Did you kill him, Seranimu?" cried Flanagan worriedly. 

"I didn't hurt him... much," rasped Seranimu. "I'm sorry now that I..." 

Flanagan seemed relieved. He straightened and looked severe "A fine mess you've made of the place," he glowered. He turned to the other Earth people. "Get out of here, all of you. I'll handle this." He turned back to Seranimu and shook a finger up at him. "You'll pay for this damage, all right! I'm going to sue. It will cost you a pretty penny, too. Just look at what you've done! Every bit of furniture smashed—probably the roof and the foundations are damaged, too. Oh, you'll pay for this, fellow! Now take your friend and get out of here. You will hear from our lawyers!" 

 

"I WAS SORRY I acted hastily almost immediately," explained Seranimu later to Pimo, in the privacy of their apartment on Zingu. He nursed a bruised neck. "Especially, after Korisu fastened his grip on my neck and I couldn't shake him loose. How was I to know Anisel had sent him over to borrow some sugar?" 

Pimo sighed. "It is a good thing you made up with him for it. I'm sorry now I said about him what I did that time. I only said it because I was jealous of the attention you were paying Anisel." 

Seranimu hugged her to him in a fit of remorse. If he hadn't lost control of himself, he might have convinced Flanagan. As it was, he had let jealousy override his judgment. Stupid, fool jealousy—for what reason? Because Korisu sometimes thought of Pimo in the same, innocently admiring way he himself often thought of Anisel. He heaved deeply. 

"Now there is this letter from Flanagan's lawyers. Do you see what they charge me with? Felonious destruction of property, that's what! To the tune of three thousand, two hundred and seventeen shrilr!" 

Pimo began to cry. "We'll lose everything— the TV, the reprofax, the few rags of clothes I have... even that no-good percolator!" 

Seranimu squeezed her tightly in his arms and comforted her. A light of battle glinted in his eyes. 

"I—I was so proud of you!" she wept. "Really I was! I—I thought something would come of it, if you—if you—" 

She broke down, burying her face against his broad chest. 

"We cannot avoid the law," he said heavily. "We'll have to pay up and face ruin, unless..." 

"Unless what, lover?" Pimo straightened, dashed tears from her eyes. 

"Unless we go someplace where the law cannot reach!" 

"You mean..." There were stars in Pimo's eyes. 

He nodded, his lips set firmly together in an odd little half-smile of triumph. 

"Another world!" breathed Pimo, awestruck. 

"A free world—an uninhabited world," said Seranimu. "There are many such in the galaxy. The starships turn up two or three every decade and unload reprofax machines for transmitting whole populations to them. But they travel so slowly—less than the speed of light. Moving people to the new worlds they discover doesn't begin to take the pressure off our population. We'll find our own world!" 

The fragile idea beckoned like a gleaming star, bursting with the light and promise of an expanding nova... 

 

IT WAS THEIR dreamworld, all right. Just what both of them had always wanted. They stood in the sunset in a grassy glade, beside a purling stream. Out of sight, a waterfall made music on the still, evening air. Trees arched filmy branches over their heads. The sky was blue and rose, golden and aqua. Not a creature of intelligence roamed the whole, broad surface of this unknown world. Only animals, birds, flowers, brawling creeks and broad rivers, oceans and inlets... 

They went back to Zingu to pack their things. 

"The TV," said Pimo. "We must take that." 

"We won't need it," said Seranimu. "We'll never be bored again. Anyway, all TV programs are local rebroadcasts. We could never receive any. But the reprofax, by all means. It contains its own power, and it will let us keep in touch. We can have Korisu and Anisel over from time to time for a hand of prej. Korisu, poor fellow! What a beating he gave me!" 

"And what a beating I will give you again," threatened Korisu from the doorway, "if you don't take Anisel and me with you, wherever you are going. I've been standing here, listening to you plot. I have overheard you before, too." 

"Korisu!" cried Seranimu. "I thought you would rather stick here in the mud..." 

Korisu wagged his head. "I have had my eyes opened somewhat, friend Seranimu, thanks to you. You beat something into my head, too. And I beg you now, for myself and Anisel, take us along. We have been talking it over ..." 

It was a strain on Seranimu's psychic strength to teleport the four of them, including their possessions, to the new world far away across the galaxy. But he was glad for the extra effort. Korisu and Anisel would be a great help building a home in that distant place. 

The idyll began in the glade among the trees, where he and Pima had stood within sound of the musical waterfall. They had got tents and pitched them, and their belongings were all neatly stowed away, and they had little to think or talk about save the wonderful peace and freedom of their new way of life. 

The reprofax, too bulky to occupy either of the tents, stood to one side, under the trees. 

"We have been here two weeks," said Seranimu one evening. "I think we should have some news from home—see if our disappearance has caused any kind of a stir." 

He turned on the reprofax and readied himself to dial for their home facsimile newspapers from Morfors. The machine warmed slowly. As Seranimu started to reach for the dials, the machine began to buzz and the screen flooded with light, announcing, Incoming Transmission. 

He stepped back, astonished, calling to Korisu and the others. Who could be transmitting to them on this unknown world? And why? They could only wait and see. The machine could not even be turned off with a transmission coming through. 

The reprofax hummed louder with a sudden surge of power. A man stepped off the platform and came toward them. 

 

"GOOD EVENING, Seranimu," said Flanagan of Home Study Mind Power, Inc., Earth. 

Before Seranimu could gather his startled wits, a horde of Earthmen poured out of the machine, one after another, and scattered around the clearing. 

Seranimu gulped. "This is arrest!" 

Flanagan beamed, humming under his breath, as he strolled past them with a nod. He peered this way and that among the trees, looked up at the sky, and shouted directions in his own language to the other Earthmen. He smiled at Seranimu and his companions. 

"Any native population here?" 

"Only—only animals," stammered Seranimu. 

"Wonderful!" beamed Flanagan. He was a totally different fellow from the Flanagan Seranimu had met upon Earth. Physically the same, yes; but how changed! "Simply wonderful! This will lighten the pressure on Zingu by a great deal." 

Seranimu and the others just stared. Flanagan stopped pacing. "I'm afraid," he said, "I owe you an apology, as well as an explanation. What you have done, Seranimu, is the end result of your training with Home Study Mind Power. We planned it this way all along. You know how slow the starships are at turning up new worlds to take care of our extra people. Well, it has been Mind Power's aim to speed the process; to train qualifiable psi experts in teleportation—" 

"You didn't say that the last time I saw you!" cried Seranimu. 

Flanagan smiled, waved one hand in a deprecatory gesture. "Forget it, Seranimu, and forgive me, if you can. That was an act I put on, to guarantee success on your part. Don't you understand? I couldn't have treated you otherwise without grave danger to your psi abilities. It took us a long time to work out the correct psychological approach with successful students."

He sat down on the grass. Seranimu followed his example gratefully. He felt as if his knees wouldn't have supported him much longer. 

"You see," Flanagan went on, "we of Earth undertook Home Study Mind Power with the purpose in mind to develop psi faculties to the point where teleportation would become a feasible method of transporting masses of population to new, uncrowded homes. We had nothing definite to go on ... just a long history of claims to psi events. If teleportation was possible at all, we thought, we could turn up the talent by establishing a school and offering a correspondence course. The ability predicated the desire to take such a course, you see. Anybody who had such a latent talent, believing he could learn through an established course of instruction, would bring it out in himself to a usable degree. 

"At the same time, we heaped encouragement on those who showed promise, much to our later embarrassment. We didn't understand at first that the psi faculty is a survival characteristic. Ordinarily, the psi faculty shows itself only at times of stress in the individual's career, and is seldom recognized for what it is. Under conditions of recognition and encouragement, the psi faculty simply folds up. You don't need it to survive under such conditions." 

"I don't understand," said Seranimu. "Pimo encouraged me." 

"Not at first," she broke in. "I made you work to show me." 

Flanagan laughed. "That is exactly what I made you do. Subconsciously, you succeeded in order to survive in the affections of your wife. Then you went all out to survive in my esteem. I made you fail by closing my mind to your probe, by nullifying your effort when you tried to levitate me—" 

Seranimu flushed. "You knew about that!" 

"Of course," said Flanagan serenely. "I am a psi expert of sorts, myself. But you moved too fast for me when you teleported your friend all the way from Zingu. You had me in a sweat when you did that. It was fortunate I could turn your act to my own ends. By threatening to sue you for damages, I put you again under the pressure of survival. You came through admirably, in just the way I intended you should. This is the first planet that has been opened up psi-consciously for Zingu. Your government will appreciate—" 

Seranimu winced at the word "government. That means...?" 

"No more government job for you, Seranimu," smiled Flanagan. "Now that you have come through the worst, your psi faculty is set permanently. That's the way it always is. There are others worlds for you to find, after we have started this one on the road to settlement. Korisu will have his work cut out for him here, too. We will send in men and materials —a complete civilization—by reprofax." 

"Suppose we hadn't brought the reprofax?" breathed Seranimu. "I could have decided against it, as I did against the TV, and then you would never have found us." 

Flanagan chuckled, deep in his chest. "I can't teleport, nor do a lot of the things you can do, Seranimu. But there is one thing I'm no slouch at—a talent that accounts for my position with Home Study Mind Power, and which guaranteed that you would take the repro-fax with you!" 

"What is that?" 

Flanagan favored him with a teasing smile. 

"Remember 'Lesson Fifteen'?" 

Seranimu remembered. 

"You put that idea in my mind when I was fighting Korisu?" 

Flanagan nodded, grinning. "My field, Seranimu, is telepathic command!" 

 

THE END