Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from "The Counterfeit Man; More Science Fiction Stories by Alan E. Nourse" published in 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. 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 around 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 reading. It isn't a matter of developing speed. I'malready so fast to respond that it doesn't mean too much from anybodyelse's standpoint, and I certainly don't need any training there. Butwhere along the line do I pick up a thought impulse? Do I catch it atits inception? Do I pick up the thought formulation, or just the finalcrystalized pattern? Lambertson thinks I'm with it right from the start, and that some training in those lines would be worth my time. Of course, we didn't find out, not even with the ingenious littlerandom-firing device that Dakin designed for the study. With thisgadget, neither Lambertson nor I know what impulse the box is going tothrow at him. He just throws a switch and it starts coming. He catchesit, reacts, I catch it from him and react, and we compare reactiontimes. This afternoon it had us driving up a hill, and sent a ten-tontruck rolling down on us out of control. I had my flasher on two secondsbefore Lambertson did, of course, but our reaction times arestandardized, so when we corrected for my extra speed, we knew that Imust have caught the impulse about 0. 07 seconds after he did. Crude, of course, not nearly fast enough, and we can't reproduce on astable basis. Lambertson says that's as close as we can get withoutcortical probes. And that's where I put my foot down. I may have a goldmine in this head of mine, but nobody is going to put burr-holes throughmy skull in order to tap it. Not for a while yet. That's unfair, of course, because it sounds as if Lambertson were tryingto force me into something, and he isn't. I've read him about that, andI know he wouldn't allow it. _Let's learn everything else we can learnwithout it first_, he says. _Later, if you want to go along with it, maybe. But right now you're not competent to decide for yourself. _ He may be right, but why not? Why does he keep acting as if I'm a child?_Am_ I, really? With everything (and I mean _everything_) coming into mymind for the past twenty-three years, haven't I learned enough to makedecisions for myself? Lambertson says of course everything has beencoming in, it's just that I don't know what to do with it all. Butsomewhere along the line I have to reach a maturation point of somekind. It scares me, sometimes, because I can't find an answer to it and theanswer might be perfectly horrible. I don't know where it may end. What's worse, I don't know what point it has reached _right now_. Howmuch difference is there between my mind and Lambertson's? I'm psi-high, and he isn't--granted. But is there more to it than that? People likeAarons think so. They think it's a difference between _human_ functionand something else. And that scares me because it _just isn't true_. I'm as human as anybodyelse. But somehow it seems that I'm the one who has to prove it. Iwonder if I ever will. That's why Dr. Custer has to help me. Everythinghangs on that. I'm to go up to Boston next week, for final studies andtesting. If Dr. Custer can do something, what a difference that will make! Maybethen I could get out of this whole frightening mess, put it behind meand forget about it. With just the psi alone, I don't think I ever can. * * * * * _Friday, 19 May. _ Today Lambertson broke down and told me what it wasthat Aarons had been proposing. It was worse than I thought it would be. The man had hit on the one thing I'd been afraid of for so long. "He wants you to work against normals, " Lambertson said. "He's swallowedthe latency hypothesis whole. He thinks that everybody must have alatent psi potential, and that all that is needed to drag it into theopen is a powerful stimulus from someone with full-blown psi powers. " "Well?" I said. "Do you think so?" "Who knows?" Lambertson slammed his pencil down on the desk angrily. "No, I don't think so, but what does that mean? Not a thing. Itcertainly doesn't mean I'm right. Nobody knows the answer, not me, norAarons, nor anybody. And Aarons wants to use you to find out. " I nodded slowly. "I see. So I'm to be used as a sort of refinedelectrical stimulator, " I said. "Well, I guess you know what you cantell Aarons. " He was silent, and I couldn't read him. Then he looked up. "Amy, I'm notsure we can tell him that. " I stared at him. "You mean you think he could _force_ me?" "He says you're a public charge, that as long as you have to besupported and cared for, they have the right to use your faculties. He'sright on the first point. You _are_ a public charge. You have to besheltered and protected. If you wandered so much as a mile outside thesewalls you'd never survive, and you know it. " I sat stunned. "But Dr. Custer--" "Dr. Custer is trying to help. But he hasn't succeeded so far. If hecan, then it will be a different story. But I can't stall much longer, Amy. Aarons has a powerful argument. You're psi-high. You're the firstfull-fledged, wide-open, free-wheeling psi-high that's ever appeared inhuman history. The _first_. Others in the past have shown potential, maybe, but nothing they could ever learn to control. You've got control, you're fully developed. You're _here_, and you're _the only one thereis_. " "So I happened to be unlucky, " I snapped. "My genes got mixed up. " "That's not true, and you know it, " Lambertson said. "We know yourchromosomes better than your face. They're the same as anyone else's. There's no gene difference, none at all. When you're gone, you'll be_gone_, and there's no reason to think that your children will have anymore psi potential than Charlie Dakin has. " Something was building up in me then that I couldn't control any longer. "You think I should go along with Aarons, " I said dully. He hesitated. "I'm afraid you're going to have to, sooner or later. Aarons has some latents up in Boston. He's certain that they're latents. He's talked to the directors down here. He's convinced them that youcould work with his people, draw them out. You could open the door to awhole new world for human beings. " I lost my temper then. It wasn't just Aarons, or Lambertson, or Dakin, or any of the others. It was _all_ of them, dozens of them, compoundedyear upon year upon year. "Now listen to me for a minute, " I said. "Haveany of you ever considered what _I_ wanted in this thing? _Ever?_ Haveany of you given that one single thought, just once, one time when youwere so sick of thinking great thoughts for humanity that you letanother thought leak through? Have you ever thought about what kind of ashuffle I've had since all this started? Well, you'd better think aboutit. _Right now. _" "Amy, you know I don't want to push you. " "Listen to me, Lambertson. My folks got rid of me fast when they foundout about me. Did you know that? They hated me because I _scared_ them!It didn't hurt me too much, because I thought I knew _why_ they hatedme, I could understand it, and I went off to Bairdsley without evencrying. They were going to come see me every week, but do you know howoften they managed to make it? _Not once_ after I was off their hands. And then at Bairdsley Aarons examined me and decided that I was acripple. He didn't know anything about me then, but he thought psi was a_defect_. And that was as far as it went. I did what Aarons wanted me todo at Bairdsley. Never what _I_ wanted, just what _they_ wanted, yearsand years of what _they_ wanted. And then you came along, and I came tothe Study Center and did what _you_ wanted. " It hurt him, and I knew it. I guess that was what I wanted, to hurt himand to hurt everybody. He was shaking his head, staring at me. "Amy, befair. I've tried, you know how hard I've tried. " "Tried what? To train me? Yes, but why? To give me better use of my psifaculties? Yes, but why? Did you do it for _me_? Is that really why youdid it? Or was that just another phoney front, like all the rest ofthem, in order to use me, to make me a little more valuable to havearound?" He slapped my face so hard it jolted me. I could feel the awful pain andhurt in his mind as he stared at me, and I sensed the stinging in hispalm that matched the burning in my cheek. And then something fell awayin his mind, and I saw something I had never seen before. He loved me, that man. Incredible, isn't it? He _loved_ me. Me, whocouldn't call him anything but Lambertson, who couldn't imagine callinghim Michael, to say nothing of Mike--just Lambertson, who did this, orLambertson who thought that. But he could never tell me. He had decided that. I was too helpless. Ineeded him too much. I needed love, but not the kind of love Lambertsonwanted to give, so that kind of love had to be hidden, concealed, _suppressed_. I needed the deepest imaginable understanding, but it hadto be utterly unselfish understanding, anything else would be takingadvantage of me, so a barrier had to be built--a barrier that I shouldnever penetrate and that he should never be tempted to break down. Lambertson had done that. For me. It was all there, suddenly, sooverwhelming it made me gasp from the impact. I wanted to throw my armsaround him; instead I sat down in the chair, shaking my head helplessly. I hated myself then. I had hated myself before, but never like this. "If I could only go somewhere, " I said. "Someplace where nobody knew me, where I could just live by myself for a while, and shut the doors, andshut out the thoughts, and _pretend_ for a while, just pretend that I'mperfectly normal. " "I wish you could, " Lambertson said. "But you can't. You know that. Notunless Custer can really help. " We sat there for a while. Then I said, "Let Aarons come down. Let himbring anybody he wants with him. I'll do what he wants. Until I seeCuster. " That hurt, too, but it was different. It hurt both of us together, notseparately any more. And somehow it didn't hurt so much that way. * * * * * _Monday, 22 May. _ Aarons drove down from Boston this morning with a girlnamed Mary Bolton, and we went to work. I think I'm beginning to understand how a dog can tell when someonewants to kick him and doesn't quite dare. I could feel the back of myneck prickle when that man walked into the conference room. I was hopinghe might have changed since the last time I saw him. He hadn't, but Ihad. I wasn't afraid of him any more, just awfully tired of him afterhe'd been here about ten minutes. But that girl! I wonder what sort of story he'd told her? She couldn'thave been more than sixteen, and she was terrorized. At first I thoughtit was _Aarons_ she was afraid of, but that wasn't so. It was _me_. It took us all morning just to get around that. The poor girl couldhardly make herself talk. She was shaking all over when they arrived. Wetook a walk around the grounds, alone, and I read her bit by bit--afeeler here, a planted suggestion there, just getting her used to theidea and trying to reassure her. After a while she was smiling. Shethought the lagoon was lovely, and by the time we got back to the mainbuilding she was laughing, talking about herself, beginning to relax. Then I gave her a full blast, quickly, only a moment or two. _Don't beafraid--I hate him, yes, but I won't hurt you for anything. Let me comein, don't fight me. We've got to work as a team. _ It shook her. She turned white and almost passed out for a moment. Thenshe nodded, slowly. "I see, " she said. "It feels as if it's way inside, _deep_ inside. " "That's right. It won't hurt. I promise. " She nodded again. "Let's go back, now. I think I'm ready to try. " We went to work. I was as blind as she was, at first. There was nothing there, at first, not even a flicker of brightness. Then, probing deeper, somethingresponded, only a hint, a suggestion of something powerful, deep andhidden--but where? What was her strength? Where was she weak? I couldn'ttell. We started on dice, crude, of course, but as good a tool as any. Diceare no good for measuring anything, but that was why I was there. I wasthe measuring instrument. The dice were only reactors. Sensitive enough, two balsam cubes, tossed from a box with only gravity to work against. Ishowed her first, picked up her mind as the dice popped out, led herthrough it. _Take one at a time, the red one first. Work on it, see? Nowwe try both. Once more--watch it! All right, now. _ She sat frozen in the chair. She was trying; the sweat stood out on herforehead. Aarons sat tense, smoking, his fingers twitching as he watchedthe red and green cubes bounce on the white backdrop. Lambertson watchedtoo, but his eyes were on the girl, not on the cubes. It was hard work. Bit by bit she began to grab; whatever I had felt inher mind seemed to leap up. I probed her, amplifying it, trying to drawit out. It was like wading through knee-deep mud--sticky, sluggish, resisting. I could feel her excitement growing, and bit by bit Ireleased my grip, easing her out, baiting her. "All right, " I said. "That's enough. " She turned to me, wide-eyed. "I--I did it. " Aarons was on his feet, breathing heavily. "It worked?" "It worked. Not very well, but it's there. All she needs is time, andhelp, and patience. " "But it worked! Lambertson! Do you know what that means? It means I wasright! It means others can have it, just like she has it!" He rubbed hishands together. "We can arrange a full-time lab for it, and work onthree or four latents simultaneously. It's a wide-open door, Michael!Can't you see what it means?" Lambertson nodded, and gave me a long look. "Yes, I think I do. " "I'll start arrangements tomorrow. " "Not tomorrow. You'll have to wait until next week. " "Why?" "Because Amy would prefer to wait, that's why. " Aarons looked at him, and then at me, peevishly. Finally he shrugged. "If you insist. " "We'll talk about it next week, " I said. I was so tired I could hardlylook up at him. I stood up, and smiled at my girl. Poor kid, I thought. So excited and eager about it now. And not one idea in the world of whatshe was walking into. Certainly Aarons would never be able to tell her. * * * * * Later, when they were gone, Lambertson and I walked down toward thelagoon. It was a lovely cool evening; the ducks were down at the water'sedge. Every year there was a mother duck herding a line of ducklingsdown the shore and into the water. They never seemed to go where shewanted them to, and she would fuss and chatter, waddling back time andagain to prod the reluctant ones out into the pool. We stood by the water's edge in silence for a long time. Then Lambertsonkissed me. It was the first time he had ever done that. "We could go away, " I whispered in his ear. "We could run out on Aaronsand the Study Center and everyone, just go away somewhere. " He shook his head slowly. "Amy, don't. " "We could! I'll see Dr. Custer, and he'll tell me he can help, I _know_he will. I won't _need_ the Study Center any more, or any other place, or anybody but you. " He didn't answer, and I knew there wasn't anything he could answer. Notthen. * * * * * _Friday, 26 May. _ Yesterday we went to Boston to see Dr. Custer, and nowit looks as if it's all over. Now even I can't pretend that there'sanything more to be done. Next week Aarons will come down, and I'll go to work with him just theway he has it planned. He thinks we have three years of work ahead of usbefore anything can be published, before he can really be sure we havebrought a latent into full use of his psi potential. Maybe so, I don'tknow. Maybe in three years I'll find some way to make myself care oneway or the other. But I'll do it, anyway, because there's nothing elseto do. There was no anatomical defect--Dr. Custer was right about that. Theeyes are perfect, beautiful gray eyes, he says, and the optic nerves andauditory nerves are perfectly functional. The defect isn't there. It'sdeeper. Too deep ever to change it. _What you no longer use, you lose_, was what he said, apologizingbecause he couldn't explain it any better. It's like a price tag, perhaps. Long ago, before I knew anything at all, the psi was so strongit started compensating, bringing in more and more from _other_minds--such a wealth of rich, clear, interpreted visual and auditoryimpressions that there was never any need for my own. And because ofthat, certain hookups never got hooked up. That's only a theory, ofcourse, but there isn't any other way to explain it. But am I wrong to hate it? More than anything else in the world I wantto _see_ Lambertson, _see_ him smile and light his pipe, _hear_ himlaugh. I want to know what color _really_ is, what music _really_ soundslike unfiltered through somebody else's ears. I want to see a sunset, just once. Just once I want to see that motherduck take her ducklings down to the water. But I never will. Instead, Isee and hear things nobody else can, and the fact that I am stone blindand stone deaf shouldn't make any difference. After all, I've alwaysbeen that way. Maybe next week I'll ask Aarons what he thinks about it. It should beinteresting to hear what he says.