The Early Asimov. Volume 2

'Be specific, Tan Porus,' drawled someone. 'Your tricks are all very well for a Centaurian blockhead, but we remain unimpressed.'

The fiery little Rigellian emitted a gurgle of anger. He shook one tiny fist in the direction of the last speaker.

'I'll be more specific, Inar Tubal, you hairy space bug.' Prudence and anger waged a visible battle within him. 'There is more to a Humanoid than you think - certainly far more than you mental cripples can understand. Just to show you what you don't know, you desiccated group of fossils, I'll undertake to show you a bit of psycho-technology that'll knock the guts right out of you. Panic, morons, panic! Worldwide panic!'

There was an awful silence. 'Did you say world-wide panic?' stuttered Frian Obel, his green skin turning gray. 'Panic?'

'Yes, you parrot. Give me six months and fifty assistants and I'll show you a world of Humanoids in panic.'

Obel attempted vainly to answer. His mouth worked in a heroic attempt to remain serious - and failed. As though by signal, the entire board dropped its dignity and leaned back in a single burst of laughter.

'I remember,' gasped Inar Tubal of Sirius, his round face streaked with tears of pure joy, 'a student of mine who once claimed to have discovered a stimulus that would induce worldwide panic. When I checked his results, I came across an exponent with a misplaced decimal point. He was only ten orders of magnitude out of the way. How many decimal points have you misplaced, Colleague Porus?'

'What of Kraut's Law, Porus, which says you can't panic more than five Humanoids at a time? Shall we pass a resolution repealing it? And maybe the atomic theory as well, while we're about it?' and Semper Gor of Capella cackled gleefully.

Porus climbed onto the table and snatched Obel's gavel. 'The next one who laughs is getting this over his empty head.' There was sudden silence.

'I'm taking fifty assistants,' shouted -the green-eyed Rigel-lian, 'and Joselin Arn is taking me to Sol. I want five of you to come with me - Inar Tubal, Semper Gor and any three others

—…so that I can watch their stupid faces when I've done what I said I would.' He hefted the gavel, threateningly. 'Well?'

Frian Obel gazed at the ceiling placidly. 'All right, Porus. Tubal, Gor, Helvin, Prat and Winson can go with you. At the end of the specified time, we'll witness world-wide panic which will be very gratifying - or we'll watch you eat your words, and how much more gratifying that would be.' And with that, he chuckled very quietly to himself.

Tan Porus stared thoughtfully out the window. Terrapolis, capital city of Earth, sprawled beneath him to the very edge of the horizon. Its muted roar reached even to the half-mile height at which he stood.

There was something over that city, invisible and intangible but none the less real. Its presence was only too evident to the small psychologist. The choking cloak of dank fear that spread over the metropolis beneath was one of his own weaving - a horrible cloak of dark uncertainty, that clutched with clammy fingers at the hearts of Mankind and stopped short - just short

—…of actual panic.

The roar of the city had voices in it, and the voices were tiny ones of fear.

The Rigellian turned away in disgust. 'Hey, Haridin,' he roared.

The young Arcturian turned away from the televisor. 'Calling me, boss?'

'What do you think I'm doing? Talking to myself? What's the latest from Asia?'

'Nothing new. The stimuli just aren't strong enough. The yellow men seem to be more stolid of disposition than the white dominants of America and Europe. I've sent out orders not to increase the stimuli, though.'

'No, they mustn't,' agreed Porus. 'We can't risk active panic.' He ruminated in silence. 'Listen, we're about through. Tell them to hit a few of the big cities - they're more susceptible -and quit.'

He turned to the window again. 'Space, what a world - what a world! An entirely new branch of psychology has opened up

—…one we never dreamed of. Mob psychology, Haridin, mob psychology.' He shook his head impressively.

'There's lots of suffering, though, boss,' muttered the younger man. 'This passive panic has completely paralyzed trade and commerce. The business life of the entire planet is stagnant. The poor government is helpless - they don't know what's wrong.'

'They'll find out - when I'm ready. And, as for the suffering

—…well, I don't like it, either, but it's all a means to an end, a damned important end.'

There followed a short silence, and then Porus' lips twitched into a nasty smile. 'Those five nitwits returned from Europe yesterday, didn't they?'

Haridin smiled in turn and nodded vigorously. 'And hopping sore! Your predictions have checked to the fifth decimal place. They're fit to be tied.'

'Good! I'm only sorry I can't see Obel's face right now, after the last message I sent him. And, incidentally' - his voice dropped lower - 'what's the latest on them?'

Haridin raised two fingers. 'Two weeks, and they'll be here.'

'Two weeks… two weeks,' gurgled Porus jubilantly. He rose and made for the door. 'I think I'll find my dear, dear colleagues and pass the time of day.'

The five scientists of the board looked up from their notes and fell into an embarrassed silence as Porus entered.

The latter smiled impishly. 'Notes satisfactory, gentlemen? Found some fifty or sixty fallacies in my fundamental assumptions, no doubt?'

Hybron Prat of Alpha Cepheus rumpled the gray fuzz he called hair. 'I don't trust the unholy tricks this crazy mathematical notation of yours plays.'

The Rigellian emitted a short bark of laughter. 'Invent a better, then. So far, it's done a good job of handling reactions, hasn't it?'

There was an unmusical chorus of throat-clearings but no definite answer.

'Hasn't it?' thundered Porus.

'Well, what if it has,' returned Kim Winson, desperately. 'Where's your panic? All this is well and good. These Human-oids are cosmic freaks, but where's the big show you were going to put on? Until you break Kraut's Law, this entire exhibition of yours isn't worth a pinhead meteor.'

'You're beaten, gentlemen, you're beaten,' crowed the small master psychologist. 'I've proven my point - this passive panic is as impossible according to classic psychology as the active form. You're trying to deny facts and save face now, by harping on a technicality. Go home; go home, gentlemen, and hide under the bed.'

Psychologists are only human. They can analyze the motives that drive them, but they are the slave of those motives just as much as the commonest mortal of all. These galaxy-famous psychologists writhed under the lash of wounded pride and shattered vanity, and their blind stubbor

Inar Tubal stared angrily from red-rimmed eyes. 'Active panic or nothing, Tan Porus. That's what you promised, and that's what we'll have. We want the letter of the bond or, by space and time, we'll balk at any technicality. Active panic or we report failure!'

Porus swelled ominously and, with a tremendous effort, spoke quietly. 'Be reasonable, gentlemen. We haven't the equipment to handle active panic. We've never come up against this superf orm they have here on Earth. What if it gets beyond control?' He shook his head violently.

'Isolate it, then,' snarled Semper Gor. 'Start it up and put it out. Make all the preparations you want, but do it!'

'If you can,' grunted Hybron Prat.

But Tan Porus had his weak point. His brittle temper lay in splintered shards about him. His agile tongue blistered the atmosphere and inundated the sullen psychologist with wave after wave of concentrated profanity.

'Have your way, vacuumheads! Have your way and to outer space with you!' He was breathless with passion. 'We'll set it off right here in Terrapolis as soon as all the men are back home. Only you'd all better get from under!' And with one last parting snarl, he stalked from the room.