What Thin Partitions by Mark Clifton Read Free Book Online Page B

it.
    He tried to glare at me, but his eyes were pleading instead.
    "General Sanfordwaithe said you'd understand.” He intended to make it matter of fact in a sturdy, confident voice, but there was the undertone of a wail. It was time I lent a hand.
    "You're West Point, aren't you?” I asked kindly.
    He straightened still more. I hadn't believed it possible.
    "Yes, sir!” He wanted to keep the gratitude out of his voice, but it was there. And for the first time, he had spoken the habitual term of respect to me.
    "Well, what do you have here, Lieutenant Murphy?” I nodded toward the Swami who had been wavering between a proud, free stance and that of a drooping supplicant.
    "According to my orders, sir,” he said formally, “you have requested the Pentagon furnish you with one half dozen, six, maletype poltergeists. I am delivering the first of them to you, sir."
    Sara's mouth, hanging wide open, reminded me to close my own.
    So the Pentagon was calling my bluff. Well, maybe they did have something at that. I'd see.
    "Float me over that ash tray there on the desk,” I said casually to the Swami.
    He looked at me as if I'd insulted him, and I could anticipate some reply to the effect that he was not applying for domestic service. But the humble supplicant rather than the proud and fierce hill man won. He started to pick up the ash tray from Sara's desk.
    "No, no!” I exclaimed. “I didn't ask you to hand it to me. I want you to TK it over to me. What's the matter? Can't you even TK a simple ash tray?"
    The lieutenant's eyes were getting bigger and bigger.
    "Didn't your Poltergeist Section test this guy's aptitudes for telekinesis before you brought him from Washington all the way out here to Los Angeles?” I snapped at him.
    The lieutenant's lips thinned to a bloodless line.
    "I am certain he must have qualified adequately,” he said stiffly, and this time left off the “sir."
    "Well, I don't know,” I answered doubtfully. “If he hasn't even enough telekinetic ability to float me an ash tray across the room-"
    The Swami recovered himself first. He put the tips of his long fingers together in the shape of a swaybacked steeple, and rolled his eyes upward.
    "I am an instrument of infinite wisdom,” he intoned. “Not a parlor magician."
    "You mean that with all your infinite wisdom you can't do it,” I accused flatly.
    "The vibrations are not favorable—” he rolled the words sonorously.
    "All right,” I agreed. “We'll go somewhere else, where they're better!"
    "The vibrations throughout all this crass, materialistic Western world—” he intoned.
    "All right,” I interrupted, “we'll go to India, then. Sara, call up and book tickets to Calcutta on the first possible plane!” Sara's mouth had been gradually closing, but it unhinged again.
    "Perhaps not even India,” the Swami murmured, hastily. “Perhaps Tibet."
    "Now you know we can't get admission into Tibet while the Communists control it,” I argued seriously. “But how about Nepal? That's a fair compromise. The Maharajadhiraja's friendly now. I'll settle for Nepal."
    The Swami couldn't keep the triumphant glitter out of his eyes. He had me.
    "I'm afraid it would have to be Tibet,” he said positively. “Nowhere else in all this troubled world are the vibrations-"
    "Oh go on back to Flatbush!” I interrupted disgustedly. “You know as well as I that you've never been outside New York before in your life. Your accent's as phony as the pear-shaped tones of a Midwestern garden club president. Can't even TK a simple ash tray!"
    I turned to the amazed lieutenant.
    "Will you come into my office?” I asked him.
    He looked over at the Swami, in doubt.
    "He can wait out here,” I said. “He won't run away. There isn't any subway, and he wouldn't know what to do. Anyway, if he did get lost, your Army Intelligence could find him. Give G-2 something to work on. Right through this door, lieutenant."
    "Yes, sir,” he said meekly, and preceded me into my