Astounding Science Fiction, British Edition — page 13: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

HIDE! HIDE! WITCH! 11 managed it, and without revealing the reasons for it. He paused and caught his breath in the hallway at the top of the first flight of stairs, and then resumed his upward climb. They could talk all they pleased about how hale and hearty he was at seventy, but two flights of stairs— Twelve years. That would make Joe about twenty now. The last three years had been at Hoxworth. And Joe had been as colorless in college as in high school. Billings had tried, many times, to draw him out, make him flare into life. He had shown infinite patience; he had strived to radiate sympathy and understanding. Joe Carter had re- mained polite, friendly, appreciative— and closed. Billings had tried to show community of spirit, transcending the fifty years gap in their ages—and Joe had remained respectful, considerate, and aware of the honor of personal friendship from such a famous man. If Joe had known who wheedled a scholarship for him, he had never shown the knowledge. Tonight Billings would try a differ- ent method. Tonight he would sink to the common level of the mean in spirit. He would demand acknowledgment and some repayment for his benefac- tion. He hesitated in front of the wooden paneled door, almost withdrew back down the stairs in preference to por- traying himself in such a petty light; and then before he could make up his mind to give it up, he knocked. The door opened, almost immedi- ately, as if Joe had been waiting for ‘the knock. The boy’s face was with- drawn and expressionless, as usual. Yet Billings felt there was a greater wariness than usual. ““Come in, doctor,’ Joe said. “‘I heard you coming up the stairs. I’ve just made some coffee.” Two chairs were placed at the piti- ful little table; two heavy china cups wreathed vapor. A battered coffeepot sat on a gas plate. The housekeeping was light, indeed. The two of them sat down in chairs, straight hard chairs and picked up the mugs of coffee. “V’m in trouble, Joe,” Billings be- gan. “I need your help.’”’ Somehow he felt that an immediate opening, with- out preliminary fencing, would be more appreciated. And on this basis, he proceeded into the story of the newest order he had just received that afternoon from Rogan. He made no effort, either, to draw Joe out, to get the boy to acknowledge his talent of telepathy. Billings took it for granted, and became aware as he progressed, that Joe was making no effort to . deny it. That, at least, was hopeful. He switched suddenly to a frontal ap- proach, although he knew that young men usually resented it when an older man, particularly a successful one, did it. “Have you given any thought, Joe, to what you intend to do with your life? Any way you can turn your gift into constructive use?”’ “A great deal, of course,” Joe answered without hesitation. ‘In that, at least, I’m no different from the average fellow. You want me to work with you on this synthetic brain, don’t you, doctor? You think I may have some understanding you lack? Is that it?” “Yes, Joe.” “It could destroy the human race, you know,” Joe said quietly. Billings was brought up short. He felt a sudden chill, not entirely due to the bleak and heaitless room in which they sat. | CoOMmicdooksnico im