C. L Cottrell is a career Army officer at present manning the perimeter in Korea—a place which even the Koreans find moderately unattractive, and one where he works under conditions hardly conducive to writing science fiction. Or anything else. All the more marvel, then, that from the rocks of the Korean mountains and the duckboards-and-drillfields of an Army base he should have drawn Inspiration to write a moving and sympathetic story of a little girl, eternally lost, in-

 

 

DANGER! CHILD AT LARGE

 

by C. L. Cottrell

 

 

I

 

Jill stood back in the shadows as the cars sped swiftly by. She could hear the sound of sirens in the distance between the noise of the cars that zipped by on the road. Each car had lots of people in it, and the cars seemed to be in an awful hurry. She wondered for just a moment where they all were going.

 

It was almost nighttime and Jill was getting tired and hungry. She had played and explored in and around the woods, and the game no longer interested her. She knew the road led to a town ahead, for she had heard Dr. Prann speak of it many times. She thought that she remembered having been there once, too. And there she would find people and food and sleep. Besides, it was no longer any fun to be away from the school. She felt somehow that she ought to go back, but she wasn’t quite sure which way to go. Right now she thought it might be better if she got to the town and got something to eat.

 

She started to walk along the edge of the highway facing the traffic. It was still coming, only there were not so many cars now. And the policemen on the noisy motorcycles did not come along so very often. Lots of the cars and trucks were stopped along the road as if they were waiting for something. She walked suspiciously off the edge of the road in the shelter of the trees, occasionally cocking an eye at the sun to see if it had gone below the trees yet. It was almost down. She did not want the people along the road to see her or speak to her. Not now, anyway.

 

It was fun walking under the trees, thought Jill. Only it was slow. And it was getting darker. She didn’t like the dark. Above the trees it was lighter.

 

She floated to a level just above the trees, until she came to the edge of the town. She halted, silent, easing back into the branches of a large tree, the air like a pillow under her feet. There were lots of trucks on the road ahead. And they were not moving. Lots of men and women and children were close to them. And there were other men standing silently in little groups. Some were spread out in a kind of loose chain. And all of them had guns.

 

Jill was afraid of guns. They made loud noises, and could hurt you. She wanted to go into the town and get something to eat, but she was afraid of the men with the guns. And there was no way to go into the town without the men seeing her, and she just had to get into town. There was no way except . . . except . . .

 

... so she got into town.

 

Jill was thrilled by all the lights in the town. She had never before seen such a variety of colors and flashing lights. It was awfully quiet, though. She seemed to sense, rather than consciously realize, the absence of the normal noises of a community. She walked along the street and looked for people. But there didn’t seem to be anyone at all. She saw a dog and ran toward it, but it slunk away out of sight, suspicious and afraid. Turning her head, she caught sight of a store window and squealed with delight, her moment of loneliness vanishing in her new discovery. Dolls! And toys! Just look at them!

 

She pressed her face to the window and stared at them longingly, feasting her eyes on the biggest and most beautiful doll she had ever seen. Suddenly she wanted that doll. She was going to get it.

 

Jill went to the door and tried the latch. It must be stuck, she thought, as she clenched her little fist around it. She squeezed the handle hard, but it would not give under the pressure of her grip. She went away from the door, disappointed and almost in tears. Once again she looked at the doll in the window and a little wave of anger swept in on her. She was going to have that doll!

 

She tried the door again, gave it a wrench with her hand, and thought it had better come open, or...

 

The door jerked open and almost jerked her inside with it. She quickly ran inside and stopped short. Oh! Oh! There were so many toys! Even guns, like the men on the outside had. And teddy bears and games, and— everything.

 

She walked among them in wonder, her hunger and sleepiness completely forgotten in this wonderful discovery. She hugged one of the teddy bears to her; it squeaked, and she laughed. Then she climbed into a little red wagon, and made it go fast down the lane between the toys until it bumped into a rocking horse and upset it. She flung a toy airplane in the air, where it soared to the ceiling and down across the glass counter, sweeping off small stuffed animals with its wing.

 

“I can fly, too,” she cried, “only better.“

 

Jill began to feel the hunger again and she thought she better go to one of the stores where there are things to eat, and she would eat.

 

She left the store with three dolls under her arms, forgetting the big beautiful doll from the window.

 

Jill walked down the street alone, looking for a store that had something to eat in it, vaguely wondering why everything was so quiet and why there were no people. She was a little bit afraid. She walked on, looking apprehensively around her.

 

She was only eight years old.

 

* * * *

 

II

 

Gordon began to get suspicious for the second time after the little group had pulled up in front of the cordon guard, at the edge of the town. There was nothing special or noticeable this time either, except the way the major in charge examined the passes of each of the men a little too carefully. The major then said, “Pass on, sir,” to the colonel. The two vehicles proceeded on into the deserted town. The twilight was beginning to deepen when the two vehicles stopped just inside the town, across the bridge. Colonel Battin, in command, got out. He signaled for everyone else to get out of the two vehicles.

 

When everyone was gathered in front of him, he said: “Lieutenant Jory and his two men will take the truck and trailer to where the bomb was dropped.” Addressing the lieutenant he said, “Load it carefully on the trailer and get it out of the town as fast as possible. I’ll take the command car and cruise around town. There might be some looters that we haven’t heard. Don’t wait for me. As soon as you have the bomb on the trailer, head directly for the desert. You know what you have to do there. And take it easy. You’ll have a dangerous bundle behind you. And remember, don’t give the cordon commander permission to let anyone into town until you hear from me personally! Keep your radio receiver on at all times. And if you see or hear anything unusual, let me know immediately.” The colonel looked at Gordon. “Mr. Gordon, you will accompany Lieutenant Jory.” And back at the group: “That’s all.”

 

And that was the third suspicious event. Gordon wondered why the colonel was going to search the town for possible looters instead of letting a subordinate do a job like that. Why also should he take two civilian “experts” with him and only two airmen, neither of them an air police? And further, just really who were the two men, Prann and Forbes? He made a mental note to look up their professional backgrounds as soon as he got back.

 

Gordon hopped in the truck in the back alongside a corporal. The corporal grinned at him, offered a cigarette, and said, “Expert?”

 

Gordon declined the smoke. “Not on dropped bombs. Nor on anything else for that matter, I guess,” he replied.

 

“Do I get two more guesses?” the corporal asked.

 

“I don’t like mysteries either,” said Gordon. “I’m a newsman.”

 

“The colonel didn’t seem too happy about having you along.”

 

“I noticed that too. Another mystery.”

 

“Considering how relatively unimportant this job is, I guess it is.”

 

Gordon said, “Unimportant? Do you consider removing a radioactive dust bomb unimportant?”

 

“I said relatively unimportant.” The corporal threw his partly smoked butt in the street after mashing it out on file sole of his shoe. “It’s a bit out of the ordinary for a full colonel who is the commanding officer to do a job like this. I was kind of wondering why. At first I thought maybe he wanted the personal publicity. But after seeing how he treated you, it can’t be that.”

 

The colonel had been openly hostile to Gordon. He had said to Gordon after the latter had presented the press pass issued to him personally by the governor, expressly to cover the story, “You’re not welcome, Mr. Gordon. I want you to know that from the start. You will take orders from me directly, and any violation of my orders on your part will be dealt with by the federal government—state governor be damned!”

 

It had been emphatic enough for Gordon. But he couldn’t see that the assignment was important enough for him to want to violate any orders. And suspicious act number one had come after he had said to the colonel, “In a matter of as little importance as this, Colonel?” And the colonel had glared at him, shoved his cigar in his mouth and walked away.

 

Was it, Gordon had wondered, really a matter of little importance? A delayed-action bomb containing a short half-life radioactive dust had been dropped accidentally on the town. In a matter of six hours the town had been completely evacuated, and a National Guard cordon had been stretched around the perimeter of the town to prevent the return of people prematurely, and to prevent possible looting—if someone was crazy enough to want to loot a town that was likely to have radioactive dust blown over it at any time. Besides, the bomb had been dropped in the afternoon and the Air Forces had promised to have it out by midnight.

 

True, it could be a touchy matter for the military. They were responsible for the bomb dropping on the town; they must suffer the embarrassment of the incident. Maybe the colonel was on edge because the plane that had dropped the bomb had been from a squadron he commanded. The publicity wouldn’t do his command much good.

 

The truck sped on up the street, around corners, and past all traffic lights regardless of color. There was no other traffic. There were very few cars or other vehicles in town. Occasionally here and there one would be parked with a flat tire, or standing with the hood open, or with a door open as an owner had abandoned it for surer and faster methods of transportation out of the town.

 

But outside the town, the cars, buses and trucks were lined up along the road by the hundreds. People were waiting impatiently for the Air Force to remove the cause of their discomfort and inconvenience. Dogs and cats were chasing noisily around the vehicles, adding to the confusion. Occasionally a child could be seen squatting behind a car while embarrassed parents stood by. An icecream truck stood near with the driver looking longingly at the crowds, then back at his empty truck. A peanut vendor was selling his last bag of peanuts, and a bakery truck driver was counting his money, whistling. Not all were unhappy.

 

The truck pulled up to the intersection of two streets and stopped. Gordon looked out and saw the bomb. It lay half in the entrance of a filling station. The oversized parachute, still attached, fluttered feebly in the breeze. He saw a guard surreptitiously reach out with one foot and step on a still smoking butt. The lieutenant chose to overlook the infraction of regulations. “Relax, Sergeant. We’ve come to remove your charge,” he said to the guard.

 

The sergeant saluted, grinned, and said, “Kinda lonesome here in the city, Lieutenant. Never knew a city could be so dead.”

 

“Put your rifle in the truck, Sergeant, and give us a hand.”

 

The lieutenant and the sergeant uncoupled the trailer from the truck while the corporal swung the winch in position. Gordon stepped up to help but the officer motioned him away. He stood idly watching while the corporal backed the truck into position and lowered the chain hoist to a point just above the bomb. Then he fastened heavy straps around the body of the bomb, in front and in back, and lowered the hook until it could be slid under the chain connecting the straps. In the meantime the officer and the sergeant had moved the bomb carrier in a position so that the hoist could be raised and the bomb swung around and lowered carefully onto the carrier. While the sergeant and the corporal guided the bomb onto its cradle, the lieutenant operated the hoist by hand. When the bomb finally rested in its cradle, the corporal fastened it with other straps to the floating bed of the trailer. The sergeant rolled the flapping parachute into as compact a ball as he could, stuffed it in a canvas bag and threw the bag in the back of the truck. The officer then swung the truck around until the hitch of the carrier and the hinge on the truck were properly lined up. Then the corporal dropped in the pin and fastened the safety chain in place. The entire operation hadn’t taken longer than twenty minutes.

 

When everything was secure, the lieutenant motioned to Gordon to get in the truck. When Gordon was seated, the officer said, “I don’t know what all the fuss was about. The bomb wasn’t armed.”

 

“And that hokum they gave us,” said the corporal, “about the tamper-proof mechanism. That’s used only during actual combat maneuvers! And there are no maneuvers going on around here.”

 

“Isn’t it possible,” asked Gordon, “for the commanding officer of the air base to be ignorant of those two facts?”

 

“Could be,” said the sergeant. “He’d have to find out for sure from the squadron armament officer.”

 

The lieutenant said, “The bombs are armed by the pilot just before they are dropped.” He hesitated. “It wouldn’t have done any good to arm this bomb anyway. The bomb is empty.”

 

“What do you mean?” asked Gordon, puzzled by what was being said.

 

“The thing doesn’t weigh enough to have a charge,” said the officer.

 

Was that what the colonel was afraid he’d find out? wondered Gordon. If so, why hadn’t the colonel taken him along with him instead of letting him go alone to learn of the deception? Was the colonel aware that it was a deception? And what could he possibly be trying to cover by such a deception?

 

“Before you go, Lieutenant,” said the sergeant who had been on guard at the bomb, “I think I should tell you that I think I saw looters.”

 

“What?” said the lieutenant loudly.

 

“Yes, sir. At least there were some strange noises. And I thought I saw one of them. I guess there must have been more than one.”

 

“You guess why, Sergeant?”

 

“I saw a kid, Lieutenant.”

 

“A kid?”

 

“Yes, sir. Just a kid. Couldn’t have been more than eight or ten years old, I’d say. Couldn’t tell for sure, but I think it was a girl.”

 

“Now what would a little girl be doing in a deserted town?” scoffed the corporal.

 

“Where did you see this child?” asked the officer.

 

“ ‘Bout four blocks down the road, walking the other way. Was getting dark. It was pretty hard to make out details.” The sergeant pointed down the street toward the west. “The sun was right in my eyes.”

 

The lieutenant thought a moment, then reached over and picked up the microphone and squeezed the transmitter button. “Colonel Battin.”

 

The colonel answered from the speaker almost immediately. “Jory?”

 

“Lieutenant Jory here, sir. The sergeant on guard here says he thinks he heard some looters. Or at least a looter.”

 

“Where?”

 

The officer named the general location then added, “The sergeant says he thought he saw a little girl.”

 

From the speaker a surprised and startled, “Put him on!”

 

The sergeant took the microphone. He repeated what he had told the lieutenant. Then he handed the microphone back to the officer at the request of the colonel.

 

“Lieutenant Jory, take the bomb out to the desert. And remember, don’t let the major in charge of the cordon let anyone in or out of this town unless he hears from me directly.”

 

“Yes, sir. That’s all, sir? Out.” He hung up the mike and said, “All right, you heard what the colonel said. Let’s go.”

 

Gordon hesitated, then said, “Lieutenant, I’m not going with you.”

 

The lieutenant looked closely at Gordon, then decided that he had no right to give orders to a civilian. He said, “I can’t stop you. The colonel won’t like it—but it’s your neck.”

 

Gordon got out of the truck, and the officer drove off. He watched the vehicle drive out of sight with its carrier trailer almost flowing behind it, gyro stabilized for smooth riding.

 

* * * *

 

III

 

Jill saw the candy in the store window. It looked so pretty and good! There were nuts and lollipops, and peppermint sticks and marshmallows. And those chocolates, how good they looked!

 

Determination invaded her mind. She was going to have the candies—all of them. Or as many as she could carry. She tucked the dolls under her arms, reached up and squeezed the latch with her hand. The door was too big and too heavy for her to open with the dolls under her arms. She thought a moment and decided that she had one doll too many, so she put one down on the sidewalk. Then she managed to open the latch. The door squeaked ever so slightly as it swung open. Jill went in and saw that this store, like all the other stores she had seen, had no people in it. Therefore she would have to help herself.

 

She walked to the window and reached in for some of the candy from the displays. Some of the chocolate melted in her hand. She wiped the hand on her dress, feeling a little guilty. Dr. Prann wouldn’t like that. Her mouth was so full that saliva dribbled from the corners of her mouth and down her chin. In a few minutes she had eaten more candy than she really wanted, and eating it was becoming an increasingly difficult chore. Soon she stopped altogether. But she had foresight enough to think of tomorrow, so she stuffed all she could into her little dress pocket. She hesitated, then decided that that would not be enough. She got a paper bag from the counter as she had seen some of the store people do one time and filled it with the nicest looking of the candies in the trays behind the counter. She would eat them later when she got hungry.

 

Right now she was getting sleepy. She was tired from walking and flying all day. She guessed that she ought to lie down and get some sleep, but there was no bed. It occurred to her that there might be one in the back of the store. She rounded the counter once again and walked through the doorway behind it. There was a long shelf there with boxes of candy on it, and several more shelves, one above the other, on which many boxes of candy were neatly wrapped. She looked around the little room but saw no bed, not even a couch. Disappointed, she walked toward the store entrance. Outside, she retrieved her other doll but found that she still could not carry all the dolls and the candy too. So she kept the prettiest and biggest of the dolls as well as the bag of candy and left the other doll lying on the sidewalk.

 

Jill walked down the street until she caught a glimpse of a store that had some beds right in the window. She crossed the street to try the door. It wouldn’t open, even when she put the candy and the dolls down and tried with both hands. She tried even harder this time, but the door still wouldn’t open. She began to get angry at it. Rage mounted within her quickly as she failed again. She muttered a child’s invective at the door and at her futility at not being able to open it. She stood back to use all the power she had. The sigh power, Dr. Prann called it, though she didn’t know why.

 

Jill gathered the forces in her mind that she had learned to recognize, and let them build up. Then she let them loose.

 

“Oh, oh!” she said to herself, and she felt a little abashed. She had done it a little too much; Dr. Prann wouldn’t like that if he saw it. The door did not simply break off and fly away as she had really intended it should, but it splintered and flung itself inward with such a force that parts of the walls and the ceiling went with it, breaking the big windows at the same time. The remains left a path of broken furniture clear up to the wall into which it smashed. A bell started ringing loudly and Jill jumped, scared by the sudden sound.

 

She looked around, half expecting to find Dr. Prann there to reprimand her. No one was near. Dr. Prann would be angry when he found out she used so much sigh power. He was always cautioning her to control her thoughts and the power.

 

Oh, well, she thought. She had the door open. But the bed was in the window. She wouldn’t dream of sleeping in a bed in a window—even if there were no people around. Suddenly she saw other beds in the store. She went through the tattered doorway and into the large room. She gave a gurgle of delight. There were many bedrooms! All along the walls were little bedrooms! Delightedly she ran from one to the other, oh-ohing at the prettiness of the beds and the covers and how nice everything looked. Finally she came to the last one and decided that that was the one she wanted to sleep in. It was the prettiest. And she was so tired.

 

Jill placed her bag of candy carefully on the bureau and took off her shoes. Then she placed a doll on each side of her after pulling the spread down, and crawled under the blanket. She was a little disappointed because there were no sheets, and she felt a little guilty about getting in bed with her clothes on.

 

But Jill fell asleep, neither the bell nor her child’s problem, bothering her at all.

 

Gordon was walking in the direction where the sergeant had last seen the child. The night had definitely settled on the town, and there were few lights on. The street lights had come on automatically—some of them—and a few lights had been left on by the fleeing townspeople. He walked slowly, carefully down the street, staying for some reason close to the buildings. He thought he heard the sound of a car in the distance but he couldn’t be sure. But he did hear the hooting of a train horn far away, and the sound brought with it the odor of smoke. He sniffed and the odor disappeared. His imagination, he thought. An imagination could work full blast here.

 

Somewhere in one of the buildings he heard a telephone ringing. The ringing became fainter as Gordon got farther down the street, then abruptly stopped. He heard an air conditioner start up. He smelled the odor of burned potatoes that someone must have left cooking on some stove during the excitement of leaving. Passing by an alley, sudden screams pierced the quiet and Gordon jumped, frightened, then cursed himself aloud as he recognized the screeching of a pair of cats giving vent to their passion.

 

There was a sound coming from one of the buildings down the street. He stopped and listened, trying to identify it. Then he cautiously went toward it. It was a voice. Like a shadow he slid toward the store it came from. He tried the door; it was unlocked. There was no one in sight. He eased the door open and slipped inside. He shut the door quietly and looked around, then said aloud, gruffly, “Oh, hell!”

 

There was a radio on a counter and a news commentator was talking. Someone had left it going in his haste to leave.

 

“... and that’s the latest international news up to this minute. Locally, a recovery party has gone into the evacuated town of Silverton, as reported earlier, to get the bomb that was dropped on that town this afternoon. An Air Force bomber accidentally dropped the bomb while on a routine training mission, and the authorities from the nearby Air Base claim that the bomb dropped was a practice bomb containing radioactive dust. It is a scatter-type bomb which is equipped with a delayed-action fuse set to explode the bomb sometime by midnight. The bomb is said to contain a non-tamper device and an anti-disturbance unit also. These circuits are supposedly foolproof, and it has been wondered just how the Air Forces plans to remove the bomb from the community. At any rate, if the bomb cannot be taken away by the removal team, the team will be forced to abandon the bomb and leave the town. The bomb on exploding will scatter the short half-life dust in all directions, and if there is any wind, it will be carried to other parts of the town. The active life period of the dust is only about six hours, and the townspeople may return to their normal pursuits by morning at the latest. The evacuation of the town was orderly and rapid, aided by the nearby Air Base vehicles and the State National Guard. The National Guard has been given the task of guarding the town. All railroad service to the town has been temporarily discontinued. The hospital, fortunately, lies well outside the town, and evacuation of the patients and staff was not necessary.”

 

There was more, but Gordon did not pay any attention to it. He had stepped outside the building and was standing on the walk thinking of the puzzling situation when he heard the roar of a car. He looked up. The command car was pulling up to the curb alongside him. Its brilliant spotlight blazed upon his face.

 

A door from the vehicle burst open and he heard the colonel shout, “Gordon! What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay with Lieutenant Jory!”

 

“I came along for a story, Colonel. Chasing down looters makes a better story than the removal of a harmless bomb.”

 

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. His voice became nasty. “Gordon, you are under my direct command while you are in this town. When we get this mess straightened out here, I am personally going to see that you are punished. Consider yourself under arrest. And don’t leave this group for any reason!”

 

So, Gordon thought? The Colonel did know the bomb was a plant.

 

Stiffly and furiously, the officer got back in the car. The back door opened and Gordon climbed in silently. He sat down beside the two civilians. They said nothing to him, just turned their heads away as though embarrassed. The car jerked from the curb and drove slowly up the street.

 

Turning to one of the two civilians, the colonel asked, “How much farther do you think?”

 

“It’s really difficult to say,” the tall man said. He was Dr. Prann, Gordon remembered from a brief introduction at the beginning of the trip. “It’s non-directional.”

 

“What’s non-directional?” asked Gordon determined to get something out of this even if he had to bully everyone to get it.

 

No one answered him. Presently the other civilian— Forbes—said, “Stop!”

 

The car stopped. Forbes got out and ran to a store, then stood listening and looking in the distance. He turned and picked up something. A doll. The colonel, Prann, and Gordon hopped out of the vehicle and ran to Forbes. They stopped and listened as Forbes had done, and heard the distant clanging of an alarm bell. The colonel flashed a light and he and Forbes examined the doll. Gordon could see smudges on the outside of the doll but could not recognize what they were until Forbes said: “Chocolate!”

 

Gordon noticed that they were outside a candy store, its door wide open.

 

“She must be near here somewhere,” the colonel said. He started to go in the store.

 

“Careful!” shouted Prann. “Let me go—I know her better!” But the colonel was already inside, Forbes on his heels.

 

Gordon turned to Prann who was standing there as if trying to make up his mind what to do. “Dr. Prann, what’s going on here? What did the colonel mean by ‘she’?”

 

“I—I—You’ll have to ask Dr. Forbes,” the man said, stumbling through the words.

 

The colonel and Forbes returned with the doll. The colonel said to Prann, “She’s been in there. Candy spilled on the floor, and some taken. There’s chocolate smeared on the doll. And it looks like finger marks made by small hands.”

 

Gordon made the connection immediately. He said, “Afraid of a little girl raiding the town, Colonel?”

 

The officer glared at Gordon. “You don’t know what we are talking about, Gordon. Mind your own business.” He turned to Prann. “Any ideas?”

 

Dr. Prann shook his head. Then, hesitantly, he said, “Maybe. She’s asleep now, but there’s a residual memory of what appears to be a bedroom. Only it is incomplete with one wall out. There are a number of similar rooms.”

 

“A hotel, perhaps?” said the colonel.

 

“Not likely,” said Prann. “Not with three-walled rooms.”

 

“How about a furniture store?” suggested Forbes.

 

“That alarm—” started Colonel Battin.

 

* * * *

 

IV

 

Jill slept poorly. The strange surroundings made her restless. She dreamed and tossed and turned, aware that she was not in her own bed for the first time in a long time. Only utter fatigue made her sleep at all. She dreamed of walking down a crooked path. There were trees and high bushes on each side, and the noises of strange animals came from the bushes. She became afraid. Suddenly it was black night. The terror in her mounted as the animal noises became loud and threatening, and the noises kept pace with her frantic and futile running. Abruptly the light returned; she came to a clearing and stopped short. There, in the center of the clearing, was a fire-breathing dragon, smoke rippling from its mouth. She tried to scream but no sound came from her throat. She tried to run back up the dark path, but she couldn’t make her legs move. She tried to gather her sigh forces but they would not gather. The fire-breathing dragon kept coming closer and closer. Then—

 

Jill woke up.

 

She sat up wildly in bed clutching her dolls to her, for a moment even more terrified by her waking surroundings than by the dream. She looked up and there was a monster coming toward her. The smoke was coming from its mouth, and it took a claw and threw a bit of it at her. It opened its mouth to devour her.

 

This time her gathered sigh forces worked. The creature disappeared. Suddenly Jill realized she had been having a dream. She wondered briefly what the monster had been doing out of a dream, and if Dr. Prann would be mad if he knew she had sent the dragon away through distance, and wondered if the creature would come out of distance in a juicy, drippy ball the way Stinky had done a long time ago. It had made Dr. Prann make the awfullest face, and he told her never to send anything through distance again unless he told her she could. Jill thought about it a little more, then hid her head in the pillow. Maybe she shouldn’t have done it

 

The terror began to come back as the dream returned, only this time she was in a frightfully crowded room with all kinds of people around her. And there was one who kept looking at her. She discovered that it was a funny looking man, and she knew the way he kept following her that he was after her. Slowly she gathered the sigh forces. This time the monster would not be able to return. She waited for it to reappear. She woke up a minute later waiting, expecting, waiting.

 

And there it was coming at her from around the side of the wall.

 

The loud clanging of the burglar alarm led them to the store. The demolished front of the store made it easy to discover the place even in the bad light. The command car was parked some distance from the store, and the men walked silently toward the entrance. Gordon wondered, more and more, just what the real story behind all this was.

 

In front of the store, the colonel said to Dr. Forbes, “Let me go in first. Maybe I can talk to her.”

 

“Better not, Colonel,” objected Prann. “Dr. Forbes better go. He knows her.”

 

How, wondered Gordon, could Dr. Forbes know her?

 

The colonel paid no attention to Dr. Prann. He lit a fresh cigar, inhaled deeply, then cautiously entered the building.

 

Gordon tried to see inside the damaged store. He wondered if the little girl had anything to do with the damage —then immediately dismissed the thought as ridiculous.

 

“How about it?” said Forbes impatiently to Prann after a few minutes waiting.

 

Prann stood white-faced. Then he stiffened and leaned weakly against the vehicle, with Gordon, Forbes and the driver looking at him strangely.

 

“What is it, Prann?” said Forbes in a voice filled with tension.

 

Before the man could answer, something plopped out of the darkness on the concrete near them. All the men looked down. The driver was the first to recognize the mixture of blood and flesh and torn blue uniform. He dropped to his knees, livid.

 

“It’s the colonel!” he managed to stammer. Then he was noisily sick.

 

Gordon and Forbes stared at Prann. The scientist still leaned weakly against the vehicle, his eyes fastened on the destroyed mass before them.

 

“What happened, Prann!” whispered Forbes. “For God’s sake, tell us!”

 

“It’s Colonel Battin,” Prann said wearily. He managed to straighten himself up. He took his eyes away from the shapeless, bleeding thing on the concrete and said, “She woke up. She was terrified from a dream. She didn’t know the colonel, and in the half-dark—” He went no further with his explanation.

 

“What’s going in here, Forbes? What is all this?” Gordon asked harshly, grabbing Forbes by the arm.

 

The driver was spreading his coat over the remains of the colonel. The night air was chilly, but the men were perspiring.

 

“It’s Prann,” Dr. Forbes said. “He’s telepathic.”

 

Gordon took his hand off the man’s arm, staring at Prann. “Telepathic? But—” Prann walked over to Forbes. “She was half asleep when she did it. She thinks now it was a dream. She’s asleep again. What do you think?”

 

“Let’s try our original plan,” said Forbes. “We’ll both go in. You keep a few steps behind me and try to conceal yourself. Watch her reaction. If you get a chance; do something—anything to get her attention.”

 

Prann nodded, not at all confidently. Both men knew the little girl well. There should be no trouble. Still, thought Prann, these were unusual conditions in unusual surroundings. There was no telling really just how the child would react.

 

Forbes went to the staff car for a package from the back seat. He put it under his arm and walked slowly toward the building. Prann followed a few paces behind. Gordon followed behind Prann.

 

Inside the building, Gordon could see Prann picking his way through wrecked furniture that littered the central lane of the big room. A swath of destruction had flung all sorts of furniture into the side displays. Lamps and mirrors had been broken, but not all of them. Some of the lamps were still burning, providing a weak illumination. Gordon stood for a moment, astounded. So much destruction! He wondered what had caused it all. Prann stopped. Gordon came up beside him, looking ahead. He saw Forbes picking his way through the debris carefully so as to avoid any noise. Near the end of the room he stopped, then backed away carefully to remove the contents of the package under his arm.

 

“What’s he doing?” Gordon leaned over and whispered in Prann’s ear.

 

“Hush,” said Prann. Whispering close to Gordon’s ear, he said, “It’s a clown costume—like one that I used on a TV program the little girl likes. Forbes thinks it will ease her mind when she sees it. Then he can talk some sense in her.”

 

Forbes finished donning the costume and began to walk slowly toward the last model bedroom.

 

“The child must be in there,” whispered Prann to Gordon. “Come on.”

 

Gordon followed Prann to a concealed place behind a tall china closet that had been just out of the path of destruction. It hid both the men adequately. They could see Forbes approaching the little girl lying in a rumpled bed. He had a clown mask on his face, wrinkled and distorted from being tied up in the package.

 

Near the edge of the bed, Forbes began to whisper, “Jill, Jill—”

 

Prann gave a grunt and moaned, cursing softly to himself. Gordon snapped his head around to look at him. Prann’s eyes were opaque. His face turned very white; he looked as if he were going to be ill again.

 

Something had happened.

 

Gordon poked his head around the corner of the china closet again, and stopped breathing. Jill was standing upright in the bed. A look of utter fright twisted her little features. She had her two dolls locked under her arms. Forbes, in his clown costume, was standing stiff and unnatural with his arms held high. The mask dropped off his face. Then he turned slightly and Gordon got a look at his face. It was strangely contorted, veins standing out all over it, trying to burst. His eyes bulged. Something came from his nostrils—smoke! Then—with a horrifyingly perverse ludicrousness—smoke came from his ears, and his body twisted completely around and fell.

 

A second later Gordon was certain Forbes was dead. The body burned, sending up volumes of smoke and vapor. In a moment there were only charred remains, hardly recognizable as those of a human being.

 

Gordon’s gaze turned from the remains of Forbes to the little girl. Then he screamed. He realized with deadly sureness that the sound was giving away his position— that he too might be blasted by whatever had destroyed Forbes. But at the moment he didn’t care. When he could look up again, he saw that the little girl had fainted. Prann rushed from behind the china closet and was lifting the little girl in his arms.

 

“Gordon!” Prann shouted.

 

Gordon wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and then walked weakly toward Prann. He was careful not to look at the corpse. But he forgot to hold his breath, and when he got close to it he first retched and then ran past as quickly as his rubbery legs would let him. He stared at Prann, unable to speak.

 

“Gordon! For God’s sake, go get something to put her to sleep. If we can keep her unconscious—”

 

Prann did not finish. Gordon thought dazedly of knocking her out with a blow on the head. But he was still weak; it was hard to think; probably Prann didn’t mean that. He stumbled out toward the staff car. He leaned against it for support and pointed toward the store entrance, the two airmen looking at him strangely.

 

“Prann wants something to put her to sleep,” he managed to say.

 

The two airmen looked at each other, then the driver started toward the building. But before he was halfway there Prann appeared, running and white-faced.

 

“Gone!” he shouted. “She’s gone—and she’s frightened!”

 

“Where did she go?” one of the men demanded.

 

“How in the hell do I know? But that’s not the worst of it. She’s afraid—afraid of the dark.”

 

Gordon shook his head, bewildered.

 

“She’s afraid of the dark,” repeated Prann, sweat running down his face. “She might do anything!”

 

As if to confirm the man’s words, a low building halfway down the block started rumbling. Then it began to explode —in slow motion, as if a giant fist inside it were opening up, forcing the roof and the walls outward. There was a tearing sound of wood and metal, mingling with the bass groan of tortured brick. The walls forced their way in four directions, piling against the adjacent buildings, and filling the street in front. The roof tried to collapse—but it couldn’t. Instead, it flew upward with unnatural violence, sending beams and plaster and tile in every direction but downward.

 

Prann and Gordon ducked behind the car; the two airmen dived inside it. In moments the last brick had fallen, and Prann and Gordon stepped from behind the vehicle to look toward the demolished building. The light was poor. Sparks flashed from severed power lines climbing toward a pole. A fire hydrant that had been in front of the building was sheared off and spouting a geyser of water. Gordon could hear the hiss of escaping water.

 

Unwisely, one of the men in the vehicle snapped on the spotlight. He swung it toward where the building had stood. Then—everyone held his breath. There was complete silence.

 

The light beam held in its brilliance the figure of the little girl. She was silent, and her little features too far away to distinguish details. But Prann could imagine her little face contorted with fear and childish hostility. She stood outlined in the brilliant light a moment, statuesque, —until the light melted! The airmen cursed and jumped. The lamp inside burst and the incandescent stump glowed, lighting up the area and splattered molten metal. It faded slowly to a cherry red, dulled—then was covered by darkness.

 

Someone moaned and cursed. Once again the odor of burning flesh made Gordon ill.

 

“My whole damned arm!” one of the men sobbed.

 

“For God’s sake, help me!” screamed the other voice. Then the cry was choked off.

 

Gordon stood near Prann. He could hear the scientist breathing loudly, mumbling helplessly to himself.

 

One of the airmen stumbled weakly back to the command car and lifted the microphone off its hook, one of his arms dangling uselessly.

 

“Help!” he spoke into the mike faintly. “Help!”

 

The loudspeaker in the vehicle came to life. It said, “Colonel Battin? Colonel Battin? What’s wrong?”

 

“The colonel’s dead. Everything’s crazy. Come here, won’t you? Please!” the airman said.

 

“Who is this? Where are you? What’s happened?” the loudspeaker boomed.

 

“Come to us! We’re dying!” shouted the airman excitedly. Then he dropped the microphone and slumped, panting.

 

Gordon looked on helplessly; there was nothing he could do. He heard a crackle of fire and saw new flames starting in the building down the block. The girl had disappeared. Smoke was coming from somewhere else across the street. Gordon turned back and saw Prann dragging the unconscious airman to the command car. Prann pushed the man into the back seat, slammed the door, leaned over to the man in the front seat and said: “Can you drive this thing out of here? Can you make it to the cordon? There’s first aid there.”

 

Gordon started around the side of the vehicle to the driver’s side. He said, “I’ll take them.”

 

Prann shouted, “No! I want you to come with me.” He leaned over to the airman who was struggling to get into the driver’s seat, and said once again, “Can you?”

 

The airman muttered thickly, “My arm. . . .”

 

“Try!” shouted Prann. To Gordon he said: “It’s my problem now. I’m going to get her. Will you come?” Without waiting for an answer he started off into the night.

 

Gordon hesitated a moment, then started following Prann. He caught up with the man and fell in step beside him. For a few minutes they picked their way through the wreckage of the building that filled the street. Smoke obscured their vision and made their eyes sting. Both men coughed. They walked in water up to their ankles as they passed the wrecked fire hydrant. Gordon wondered about the broken power lines, hoping they would not encounter any of the open lines. He wanted to tell Prann they should keep out of the water, but the man was moving forward with determined purpose. When they had cleared the debris, Gordon asked, “Where is she?”

 

Prann did not answer. He was deep in thought.

 

* * * *

 

V

 

They walked through the streets until they came to a low brick building giving off from within the soft glow of fluorescent lights from nearly every window. Prann stopped and Gordon stopped with him. There was a bench in front of the building facing a small fountain that was not spouting water. Prann and Gordon sat down together.

 

“I’m glad you came along, Gordon,” said Prann. His face looked years older than it had minutes before. “This will blow the lid off the whole project. Print the story. Then the people will find out what we’re doing—what we’ve been doing,” he corrected himself. “How can you explain wrecked buildings in different parts of the town in terms of one delayed action dust bomb? And the deaths of the colonel, and Dr. Forbes—and how they died? Maybe others,” he added, remembering the airmen in the car who was burned by the molten metal of the spotlight. “Tell them everything, Gordon. Then maybe no one else will ever attempt to accelerate a process that God is trying to do slowly.”

 

Prann sighed and pointed to the building across the grass. “She’s in there, I think.”

 

“How do you know?” asked Gordon.

 

“I’m a telepath,” said Prann simply.

 

Gordon wanted to ask Prann a thousand wild, irrelevant questions—what it was like to read the minds of men. And if he could catch the rudimentary thoughts of dogs and rats and fish and spiders. And, thinking of Dr. Forbes and Colonel Battin, what it was like to have his mind linked with the mind of a man dying a violent death. ...

 

“She could be in a book store, but I don’t think so,” said Prann thoughtfully. “The arrangement of the books as I can see them through her mind makes me sure it’s that building. The library.”

 

“What in God’s name are you going to do?” asked Gordon.

 

“In God’s name, I don’t know,” said Prann. “It was our original plan to drug her if necessary until we could do something—talk her out of it, who knows?” he said bitterly. “What can you do with a child like that?”

 

Prann stopped for want of adequate words. Then he went on.

 

“Gordon, you don’t know what it is to go into the mind of a child. It’s bad enough to read an adult. But a child is much worse. Their minds sometimes have cold, uncontrollable furies that . . .” Again he stopped. “But not always. I’ve grown to love Jill.” There was tenderness in his words. He was silent a bit.

 

“Gordon, I think I love Jill as much as if she were my own child. I have known her since she was two years old. I’ve lived with her and taught her. Listened to her sing and cry, laugh and scold. And I’ve watched her psi powers grow. God knows, I should have stopped them. But I was fascinated by them—and her.”

 

“What is she?” asked Gordon.

 

“Jill is a freak,” said Prann. “A psionic freak.”

 

Gordon nodded. “I know. Telepathy. Psychokinesis. Clairvoyance. That sort of thing.”

 

“They are the glamorous ones,” Prann agreed. “The well-known ones. There are dozens of others, some so subtle they are almost undetectable. And there are others so strong and violent. . . .”

 

He paused, his face that of a hanged man.

 

“Normally a psionic will have only one talent. Sometimes even that does not amount to much—maybe a tele-path can read ten per cent of the time, or only in times of stress. Or a PK can operate under only certain conditions, or influence only a few grams of matter a few inches. But, occasionally, there comes one who is—different, stronger. One, let’s say, who can read minds whenever he chooses, or a PK who can influence a dozen pounds of matter, or a teleport who can send himself a distance of a hundred yards. No one knows what the limits can really be. Each generation seems to bring forth some additional power in psionics. And there are a few people who have two talents, duo-talented, we call them. Their talents are always related, such as psychokinesis and teleportation. Or precognition and clairvoyance. They are invariably people whose talents are greater and stronger. It is believed that the power of one talent reinforces the other. But the one common thing to all duo-talented people is—was, I should say—that talents are not maturated until the person is an adult. All except Jill. She is a child psionic, and the only one I know.”

 

“Oh, I begin to see,” said Gordon. “Being a child, you are having trouble trying to channel the talents she has.”

 

“It’s not as simple as that,” said Prann dully. “Jill is multi-talented. The only one born as far as we know. She is a PK and a teleport as well as a levitant. She is also a pyrophoric, a rare and a powerful talent. And her four talents give her a power whose limitations we can only guess at.”

 

Gordon’s mind was whirling, trying to square what Prann had just said with what had happened to Forbes and the colonel and the disintegration of the building and the melting of the spotlight. If that represented only a part of the power Jill had—then indeed, what were her limitations?

 

“Where do you fit in?” Gordon asked Prann.

 

“When Jill’s parents discovered that she was abnormal, they had to commit her to an institution. Then the government became interested in her talents. And since she was just a child, her case gave, rise to complications.” He shrugged.

 

“You can’t reason with a child as you can with an adult. A child psychologist was needed. I was chosen for the project because of—my talents. As I told you, I am a tele-path. And it has been extremely difficult the last few years to keep the child from tearing the Institution apart, or burning it up. Dr. Forbes was the psineuro-psychiatrist assigned to study Jill—for studying her was our project, with emphasis on developing and accelerating her talents.”

 

“Was,” he repeated thoughtfully, and was silent for a second. Then he went on.

 

“Other than her talents, she is a normal, healthy child, with a child’s usual passions and tantrums and inhumaneness. If you have any children, you know what devilment they are capable of. Only ... Jill can get away with anything she wants to. How can you punish a child who can disappear? Or can burn the clothes off you—and laugh while doing it? We had no choice between the reward and punishment methods of guiding her behavior. It had to be reward—but Jill soon tired of rewards. And when we attempted punishments, they excited her. Most of the time she was a sweet kid—but when she wasn’t, she was a hellish little monster.”

 

“What has all that to do with all this?” asked Gordon.

 

“Jill became bored. She got fed up with it all. She could not associate with other children. And so, this afternoon she TP’d herself out of the Institute and headed toward this town. There was no way we could stop her. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

 

“Then—that was a fake bomb?”

 

Prann nodded.

 

“I begin to see,” said Gordon. “You couldn’t very well evacuate the townspeople because a little girl was headed this way.”

 

“Hardly,” said Prann, with a grim smile. “But knowing the facts that we know, it was imperative that the town be evacuated.”

 

“What are you going to do now?” asked Gordon.

 

“Jill has to be stopped,” Prann said, hesitating. “By this if necessary.” And he pulled a revolver out of his pocket.

 

“I don’t want to use it,” he said. “But what else can I do? She’s dangerous. You’ve seen that! Children just don’t know what adult love is, can’t comprehend it,” he added desperately.

 

* * * *

 

Gordon stared at him in the semi-darkness looking for signs of madness. He saw none. He looked at the revolver ami said, “You don’t mean it?”

 

Prann shook his head helplessly. “If there is some other way—if God could show me some other way...”

 

He let the words trail off unfinished. “What she could do if she got loose in the world with this power? What couldn’t she do! She is a child! It’s her life against many, and her talents are just beginning!”

 

Gordon thought he understood. He had three children of his own. What damage and disaster could they do if they were multi-talented and were loosened on the world? He shuddered to think about it. But he loved them—as only a parent can love a child. And he knew without thinking about it twice that he would die for any of them, if it were a matter of their lives or his. He abruptly shut out that line of thought.

 

“It’s her life or many,” repeated Prann. “The governor knows that there may be only one solution.”

 

“What happened to the colonel?” asked Gordon. He understood that Jill was a pyrophoric; that meant she had burned Forbes and had melted the spotlight on the command car. But he was puzzled about how Forbes had died.

 

Prann said, “She TP’d him out of her sight. She can’t teleport any living thing other than herself—not and have it stay alive. Something happens to their organic structure.”

 

This was all a disjointed mass of information to Gordon —he did not, could not comprehend it. A little girl with such unbelievable powers!

 

“I’ve seen these things that happened tonight. I guess I have to believe them,” Gordon said. “But to lay them to the strange powers of a little girl is a lot to ask a man to digest. There must be some way she can be controlled!”

 

Prann was silent for a time, as if taking time to formulate an explanation for Gordon.

 

“Gordon, there is only one out—and we have to catch her first. And that will be nearly impossible at our present rate. She is learning and strengthening her powers by the hour. Gordon, relax your mind a moment, will you?”

 

There was an abrupt transition. Gordon was startled momentarily. Then he realized he was receiving the thoughts of Prann. More than thoughts—sensations, a living something. ...

 

* * * *

 

VI

 

He was actually seeing things with the help of Prann’s mind.

 

The scientist was using his telepathic powers to show him what had happened; through it, Gordon was living a piece of someone else’s life—someone who (Gordon caught himself)—someone who was hardly human!

 

First, there was a grayness.

 

No—a blackness. Only it wasn’t a blackness; it was colorless, a complete absence of light.

 

Then—images began clarifying themselves in Gordon’s mind—then there was an awareness, and the beginnings of impatience. There was heat. And pressure. And stirrings and bumps from outside. Outside of what? Gordon couldn’t tell; and the mindless, hardly-human lump he was inhabiting, it didn’t think in those terms. It only knew that there was something outside.

 

And it—the lump—wanted to be outside.

 

There was no passage of time, only a seemingly endless series of movements and sounds, that led alternately to fright, and to a rudimentary curiosity. And then—to fury!

 

The desire to get outside built up and built up, and—

 

Something blasted the senses.

 

The warmth and the pressure were gone. There was a cold, violent brightness that lashed the senses unmercifully, and strange sensations beat and mingled. But it was outside—

 

The strange yet briefly familiar tenor of thoughts broke off suddenly, and Gordon was looking at Prann.

 

“That was the prenatal mind of Jill,” Prann said. “Jill wanted to be born.”

 

Like smoothly meshing gears, facts slipped together in Gordon’s mind. Prann was a projectionist. A wonderful talent, that gave its possessor the ability to project into the minds of others not only his own thoughts, feelings and experiences, but also the thoughts and experiences of others. It was this method, Gordon knew, that Prann must have used on the governor and Colonel Battin in order to persuade them to evacuate the town. No other type of reasoning could have cut so quickly through the red tape. The method was thorough. It taught—by vicarious experience—in an incredibly short time.

 

Gordon felt a new respect for the man. But there must be more. There had to be more.

 

“What do you mean, Jill wanted to be born?” Gordon said in a low voice.

 

“That was the birth of Jill—and the birth of a talent. Jill’s talents begin before her birth, Gordon. She wanted to be born, so she was. She used psychokinesis to make herself be born.”

 

Gordon was silent, trying to comprehend a foetus with such inherent power that it could make itself be born. The concept was too stunning.

 

“I got this from her memory banks, of course, after we got her at the Institute,” Prann continued. “It was a vital factor in properly evaluating the strength of her talents.”

 

“But premature babies happen often!”

 

“True,” said Prann grimly. “But the cause of premature births is usually physical, not psionic. I say usually, because there are some cases where prematures were born without apparent physical cause. It is possible that there were PK forces at work in those cases. We don’t know.”

 

“How about the doctor who delivered Jill?”

 

“There was no delivering doctor. When he got there it was all over.”

 

Prann stirred restlessly. “Her PK talent,” he said, “grew to such proportions in the next two years that her parents had to give her up. Then—her other talents began to appear. We knew we had something unique on our hands. Then—”

 

There was a pause again, and the sense of something shifting.

 

Once again Gordon felt his mind inhabiting another body—Prann’s body, this time. Prann, sleeping.

 

The sleeping Prann was shaken awake by a man—a hospital orderly. Hospital? Oh, yes. The place where the child had been taken.

 

“Dr. Prann. Dr. Prann!” The orderly cried frantically. “She’s gone!”

 

Prann jumped up and reached for his bathrobe. “Again? When?”

 

“In the last fifteen minutes!”

 

“Where?”

 

“We don’t know, doctor!”

 

Prann walked out (Gordon’s mind still inhabited his body) into the summer night after throwing on his robe. He knew just about where to look.

 

“Jill. Oh, Jilly,” he called softly.

 

Out near the willow trees beside the garage he saw a wisp of white in the moonlight. It was Jill in her nightgown. Slowly he walked toward her. She had her arms wrapped around her, for the night was late and the air had cooled; she was standing there barefooted, gazing at something in fascination.

 

“Jill, what are you doing out here in the night? Want to catch a cold?”

 

Without looking at Prann she said, “I cold. What?” She pointed.

 

“Fireflies, Jill. Now let’s go back inside where it is warm and you can go back to bed.”

 

“Fi-fies? Oh, ‘em’s nice!”

 

She was all little girl, and enchanted. The fireflies were weaving a mosaic of yellow around the hanging branches and around Jill. A full moon was halfway above the horizon, beaming through the streaming thin branches of the tree. There was a gentle breeze that made Jill’s nightgown flutter around her feet.

 

“Let’s go back, Jill,” he whispered.

 

“Me ‘ikes fi-fies.”

 

“Everyone likes fireflies, Jill. But it is night and you should be in bed asleep. Come with me now.”

 

Jill pouted and she turned away from the fireflies. She bent her head reluctantly and let herself be led by the hand—back to the building, into the long hallway, up the stairs, to her room.

 

Transition.

 

* * * *

 

The two of them relived another earlier day:

 

Jill sat in concentration, one hand propping up her chin. It was hot, and Jill’s hair was tied behind her head in a tight pony tail. Part of a jar of jam was spread out across the little back patio that led into the kitchen. She was watching the air around it in concentration.

 

Prann walked up silently behind her and gave the end of the pony tail a little playful jerk.

 

“What’s my Jilly doing?”

 

“Watchin’ fi-fies!”

 

“Silly Jilly! They are not fireflies. They’re plain, ordinary house flies. Fireflies come out only at night.”

 

Jill screwed her little face up in concentration. Then she said doubtfully, “ ‘Em’s don’t ‘ook ‘ike houses.”

 

Prann couldn’t help laughing. “Fireflies light up. You saw them light up last night, out by the willow tree. These flies don’t light up. See?”

 

She chuckled. “Me makes ‘em ‘ite up!”

 

“Jill, you can’t make house flies light up. Only fireflies light up. That’s the way they’re made.”

 

“Me makes ‘em ‘ite up,” she repeated stubbornly, and chuckled again.

 

And Prann watched a tiny dark spot in the air suddenly glow into flame and drop. Then another. And another. And he heard Jill laugh: “Now ‘em’s fi-fies!”

 

“Jill! What are you doing?”

 

“Me makin’ fi-fies,” she said cheerfully. “ ‘Ook!”

 

Little bursts of flame sparkled in the air. They dropped toward the patio, never quite reaching it, turning to almost invisible puffs of ash before they hit the concrete.

 

It took a long time before Prann comprehended what Jill was doing. Then he just stood astounded, and a strange fear trickled into his mind, a chill of apprehension.

 

It was the birth of a talent.

 

* * * *

 

VII

 

Again they were seated on the bench outside the library.

 

Gordon leaned back, almost toppling. He stared at Prann wordlessly: He had been inside that man. He had seen through Prann’s eyes, he had remembered what Prann remembered, he had done what Prann did; he had been Prann.

 

It was a fantastic, frightening experience—

 

But Prann had no patience for the strain on Gordon. Prann’s eyes were the eyes of a man who sees neither hope nor future. He closed them; his face looked as if carved of stone.

 

“There was more. It didn’t stop with flies,” he said wearily.

 

“In a month we had her melting five-pound lead balls— then ten. You know what she can do with that talent now.”

 

Gordon did. He recalled vividly the burning spotlight and the smell of burning flesh. He shuddered.

 

“Then,” said Prann—and paused.

 

Gordon felt Prann’s mind slipping again into his own....

 

“Can you move the heavy ball, Jill, through distance?”

 

That was Forbes speaking. It was another day. Through Prann’s eyes, Gordon saw Forbes pick the lead ball off the table and roll it toward Jill. It disappeared.

 

“Where is it, Jill?”

 

“Godge.”

 

“How do you know it is in the garage?”

 

Jill looked disdainfully at Forbes. Clearly, it was a ridiculous, grown-up question. Forbes laughed and said, “Never mind, Jill. Can you bring it back?”

 

It was back. It rolled a little, and Stinky reached for it playfully.

 

“ ‘Tinky!” said Jill, “get off ‘at hebby ball!”

 

Stinky stayed put, his tail swishing back and forth slowly, and his paws making playful motions toward the lead ball.

 

Forbes bent down, stroked the kitten, and the creature rolled on its back to claw harmlessly at Forbes’ hand.

 

Prann said, “Maybe Stinky wants to go through distance too, Jill.” They had not yet let Jill teleport any living creature.

 

“Me don’t fink so,” said Jill uncertainly.

 

“I think he does,” said Forbes encouragingly. “Look how he likes to play with the heavy ball.”

 

Forbes rolled the ball a little, and the kitten attacked it with playful ferocity.

 

Then it disappeared.

 

Forbes and Prann looked at each other. Forbes said, “I think Stinky wants to come back, Jilly.”

 

“Aw wight,” said Jill, beginning to be bored.

 

Stinky returned—different. Jill looked and turned her little nose up. “ ‘Tinky’s real ‘tinky now,” she said.

 

There was an odor of a freshly eviscerated animal, and fresh blood. Forbes and Prann looked down at the shambles that had been a cat.

 

“What happened to it?” said Prann.

 

Forbes rolled the mess over with the toe of his shoe. “It looks like it’s—inside out,” he said, and stared at Prann.

 

Both men turned to Jill. Abrupt tears were welling from her eyes.

 

“ ‘Tinky don’t move,” she said.

 

“I—I think Stinky’s dead, Jill,” Forbes said softly, placing his hand on her head.

 

“I’m sorry, Jill,” Prann said.

 

There was a moment of silence. Then Jill asked, “What’s ‘dead,’ Docker Pann?”

 

“It’s...like going to sleep and never waking up. You stop breathing and thinking and ... doing things. And you go to Heaven,” Prann added.

 

“Will me go to hebben when me gets dead?” asked Jill.

 

“I’m sure you will, Jilly,” said Prann. And his voice didn’t sound quite right.

 

“Will ‘Tinky go to hebben?”

 

“Yes, Jilly, Stinky will go to Heaven. Stinky will go to Kitten Heaven.”

 

Jill began to cry.

 

Again Gordon was looking at the lights in the library windows.

 

Prann started to talk.

 

“We tried to explain to her what death was. It was impossible, of course. A child can’t comprehend death. A child’s mind is an incomplete thing. It must learn in order to comprehend. It must have experience. That was the first time she had seen death, other than the flies she burned, and then there was no thought of death. She did not know she had killed the kitten. She couldn’t know she was killing Forbes and Battin, tonight. She was using the only methods of defense she knew when that happened, Gordon. Children live in a private kind of a world. It is partly fantasy. Small things like losing a toy are of great importance to them. Things like death and birth and life have no significance for them. A child will cry bitterly if a doll is broken, but will look at you uncomprehendingly if you tell it its dog has died.”

 

“As you might suspect, the story doesn’t end there. Let me show you one more thing.”

 

Again Gordon felt the overlapping effect of strange thoughts entering his mind. . . .

 

This time there was a strong sense of impending danger! Prann sat upright in his bed, wide awake in an instant, ready for any action that might be necessary, every faculty alert.

 

There was silence in the room—a strange silence, for there were the usual night noises; outside the distant and near chirping of crickets, the bleeping of tree toads, and the hushed threnody of a million, million insects. Prann did not listen to these sounds. He listened between them, for something foreign, not belonging. He strained for long seconds. There was nothing. Then—

 

His mind reached out toward the thoughts of Jill, expecting to find her mind filled with child-sleep thoughts, fantasmal dreams, or dormant, idle, slow-flowing thoughts. There were none of the these; no dream thoughts, erratic, unfinished, melting out of one sequence and dissolving into another. Prann gripped the sides of his bed with both hands. He squeezed until his fists turned white, and it took all his effort not to scream.

 

Jill’s thoughts came through hard and crystal clear. She was not asleep.

 

There was a dizzying interplay of lights and darkness, changing, flashing, sweeping across his vision with frantic speed. And there was a fearful sensation that Prann could not at once place, yet it stopped his heart from beating and made his muscles freeze into immobility. He tried frantically to pull his mind away from Jill’s—without success.

 

The crazy pattern of lights and darkness steadied abruptly. Everything stopped—hung motionless. Then Prann let go of the sides of the bed. Giddily he slid to the floor of his room in vast relief, glad of the solidity of the floor beneath him. He stopped trying to detach his mind from Jill’s. Then he recognized the pattern of lights and darkness. He had experienced it himself, as a child. It was one of the fears that was born with him, and that he could never fully conquer.

 

“Jill, Jill,” he muttered to himself, feeling strength and relief flow back into his body. “What are you doing?” It was a pointless question, for he knew now what it was.

 

Jill looked down at the top of the willow tree—now an indistinct form far below her, casting a faint shadow on the ground from the moonlight. Then she looked up at the stars. With uncertainty she looked back at the building— hundreds of feet below—and at the window where her bed was. She felt a little guilty. She knew she should not be doing this, but it was such fun; the night was so hot, and the sky was so empty except for the stars. It was so much fun to go up and up—and try to reach the stars and the big, big moon—and then to stop the sigh force and drop toward the willow tree, tumbling and turning. And the night and the stars were making such silly designs in her eyes; the wind as she dropped made her nightgown twist and flap around her body, and made her skin feel cold.

 

Maybe she should go back to her bed and go to sleep. No. Just once more she would fly like the birds she had seen—and the fireflies. It was wonderful, but it scared her. The first time, she had panicked and sighed herself quickly through distance back into her room. She had not been so scared the next time, and even less scared the time after that. And tonight she loved it, scary or not, and she was going to do it once more before she had to go back to bed.

 

Jill rose steadily up in the sky. This time Prann was prepared for what was going to happen. He hugged the floor of his room as tightly as he could and got a grip on the leg of his bed with both hands. The lights below Jill became smaller. He could feel the chill of the breeze on her skin. He tried to estimate how high she was going, but there was no reference point. Off on the horizon he noted a flashing beacon but couldn’t make anything of its code. Beyond the flashing beacon were the multiple lights of the town, spread out flat and unwinking. Beyond that— blackness.

 

Jill’s eyes turned upward. The town lights and the blackness beyond them disappeared and were replaced by the lights of the stars, blinking, brightening, and fading.

 

Prann wanted to withdraw his mind from Jill’s! But the intensity of the experience would not let him. He gripped the leg of the bed crushingly, expecting what would come soon. It seemed hours before Jill decided to stop rising. When she did, she hung in the sky looking around, curious, marvelling at the ever wonderful night panorama, looking from horizon to horizon. Then she looked down. And—

 

To Prann the fall to a point just above the willow tree was nightmarish. But to Jill it was a delight.

 

Prann’s withdrawal, when at last he could accomplish it, was sudden and violent. Looking around his room, he found that he had pulled off the covers from his bed. He was drenched with perspiration and still shaking.

 

He knew he had missed the birth of a talent by several nights. But he had felt its growth, and it was something he never wanted to do again.

 

He donned his bathrobe and walked to Jill’s room. Quietly he stood beside her bed. She was in a deep sleep already, the corners of her lips turned up in a little smile, and covered to her chin with the sheet.

 

“What has God given me?” whispered Prann to himself. “Lusus naturae psionic”

 

* * * *

 

VIII

 

Gordon’s mind returned to his own body again. Gordon stared incredulously at the man named Prann.

 

“You see?” said Prann conversationally. He might have been pointing out the fact that the sun had, after all, set. “There are no limits for her.”

 

“No limits,” said Gordon.

 

Prann sighed and changed position again. In a voice that was tired and very old he said to empty space: “It happens over and over again.”

 

“What does?” demanded Gordon.

 

Prann shook his head without looking at him.

 

After a moment he said, “You can’t reason with a child.” An infant squalls to get what it wants—how can you reason with an infant? A child uses temper tantrums.

 

“Not Jill, though. Jill doesn’t need temper tantrums. She can get what she wants. She merely takes it.

 

“Jill can PK a glass of milk out of the refrigerator when she wants it. Or candy. Or—what forbidden thing can a child want? Whatever it is, Jill can get it. Or she can teleport herself where she wishes to go. Or levitate whenever she feels the urge. These powers she uses to get her own way, and the things she wants. She uses them whenever she thinks of it, except when I can control her. And that is becoming more and more difficult. Don’t you see, Gordon, where it is leading? What will she do when she realizes her full powers?”

 

Prann was silent for a time.

 

“You are seeing,” he said, “the fantastic rebellion of a psi-trained child. A child who has been brought up in a false environment and who has had false orientation. So far, she is purely on the defensive. There are the startings of many independent thoughts deep in her mind. In time they will surface and she will consider them—and more than likely experiment a little. Gordon, I wish I could take you deep into her mind. But that is impossible without your having been preconditioned—you just wouldn’t be able to take it.”

 

Gordon shook his head. “Prann, it’s all beyond me. I don’t see how a child can be dangerous and not be aware of it. And I think if a child is dangerous, it would stop at hurting those it loves.”

 

“No, no, Gordon! A child can be deadly and not know it. This child Jill is dangerous not only to us and to herself but potentially dangerous to everyone with whom she comes in contact. Especially now, because she’s terrified. Fear makes her impossible to control. It’s like a panicky baby with a rattle made of dynamite caps—only much worse, Gordon, much worse! So much worse that—”

 

He paused.

 

“Gordon,” he said softly, looking away from him, “I want to show you one more thing. Not about Jill. About me.”

 

Gordon’s viewpoint shifted—

 

And the view of the library disappeared abruptly again.

 

Gordon looked out through Prann’s eyes upon a dead, frozen panorama.

 

“Poland,” whispered the faint voice of Prann’s mind next to his own.

 

Poland—where Prann had been born. Prann, with Gordon inside his mind, was walking along a pathway that led through a wide marsh. On each side of the pathway windrows of dead reeds lay thick on the ice-covered surface. The ground underneath was hard and cold. The swamp trees stood low and barren, inert with little wisps of dead summer foliage still clinging obstinately to some of the branches. The trunks and branches were still entwined with parasitic creeping vines, also dead, but still clinging as if ready to continue their strangling action at the first sign of spring.

 

Prann walked along the pathway as it wound through the swamp trees. His mind was alert, listening. From the silent voice of Prann, Gordon knew that this was at the height of the Polish Rebellion thirty-five years ago. Prann was nineteen, just learning of his talent. He was trying it out, barely able to detect the thoughts of others but as yet unpracticed and unreliable. He was leading a group of twelve refugees across the border to safety. Prann was the only man.

 

Looking back through Prann’s eyes, thirty-five years later, Gordon approved the plan. The time for the escape from Poland could hardly be more ideal. It was cold, so the patrols would be lazy. The marsh could be traveled with a minimum of danger. Their footprints would not show in the frozen ground, and the marsh itself was not treacherous.

 

Prann leaned back over his shoulder and whispered to his sister, “Freda, you must be quiet. We are very near the border. There are men ahead.”

 

His sister, who had lately been awed by her brother’s unexplained ability, turned her face toward him and whispered back, “Wolf, please not so fast. The baby is cold.”

 

The others were padding up to them on burlap-wrapped feet, their breaths making little clouds in the air that disappeared almost immediately. They were dressed in men’s clothing. Only Prann’s sister had a child.

 

“There is a border patrol near,” Prann told them. “There must be no sounds, no talking. Don’t even breathe if I tell you not to.”

 

His sister followed, whispering inaudibly to the baby to keep it from crying.

 

They went another two kilometers through the marsh. Then Prann halted short, stopping the others, motioning for them to make no sound.

 

“My God!” he whispered to himself—and, even thirty-five years later and through the filter of another mind, Gordon felt the shock of horror that filled him—”It wasn’t working for a while!”

 

His flickering, immature sense of telepathy had failed him temporarily. Now—suddenly—he detected a group of men coming toward them. It was too late to turn back— and they couldn’t change their course without taking a longer way to the border.

 

“Quick!” he whispered harshly. “Six of you get over there. The rest follow me!”

 

The group split into two parts. The first group left the path and melted into the rushes, suddenly invisible.

 

A fallen trunk of a swamp tree lay half buried in the marsh to the left of the path. Those with Prann dispersed themselves beyond the stump; Prann motioned to his sister to follow him. He settled behind the stump, Freda and the baby close beside him. He wished now it were summer so that there would be dense foliage to hide them—and the sounds of frogs and animals and insects that could cover the accidental sounds that any in the group might make. But there were not. The three border guards came clumping along the pathway from around a bend. Twenty meters away one of the guards started a coughing spell. The three men stopped.

 

That incident saved them—for the moment. For the baby in Freda’s arms began to cry weakly.

 

“Damn!” whispered Prann to his sister. “Give him to me!”

 

Prann pressed the baby close to his breast, the heavy coat he wore muffing the cries to a minimum. It was not enough. The three men had continued down the path toward the hidden group, laughing and talking again together loudly. That would help somewhat—but not enough.

 

And, just abreast of the stump, the three guards decided to stop for a smoke. Prann cursed the gods of fate for their action. His mind radiated a hate which he felt sure the men must be able to feel. He had cupped his hand over the baby’s mouth and pressed tightly so no sound came....

 

No sound at all.

 

The guards passed a bottle among them and cursed their duty and the weather. The bottle was passed again....

 

The baby under Prann’s palm shook and tried to breathe, but could not. Then it was quiet.

 

When at last the men were gone, Prann tried for a solid hour to breathe life back into the little body. But he knew—all the time he knew—his mind went out into where the tiny mind of the baby should be. And there was nothing.

 

Like wraiths, the others came out of the reeds to watch.

 

For a long time, his sister said nothing.

 

Then she whispered, “Wolf, you could do no more.”

 

* * * *

 

IX

 

Prann said, “So you see, Gordon. Nothing happens only once.”

 

But his eyes were calm now—and sure. He got up, glanced briefly at Gordon, and moved toward the library.

 

Gordon stood paralyzed, shaking off the blistering cold of the marsh, the horror of the moment when, with Prann’s mind, he had reached out for Freda’s child—and felt the emptiness there.

 

Then he heard a tinkle of breaking glass.

 

Prann had broken a window; already he was climbing into the library.

 

Gordon broke the spell and hurried after him.

 

Prann stopped to seek out Jill’s mind to discover if she had heard their entry. She had. At once he felt the sudden increase in tension and fear in her mind. It was not going to be easy to make contact with her.

 

He whispered to Gordon, “She knows we are here. She’s terrified and will probably use lots of power.”

 

“Couldn’t you use projection on her,” whispered Gordon, “as you used it on me?”

 

Prann shook his head. “Her mind is like a steel barrier. And she is stronger than I.”

 

Prann led Gordon past the main desk, where books were piled up where the librarians had dropped them, then down a dark hallway. Gordon watched him peer cautiously at each room as they came to it. Then he paused, nodded, and entered a room. Gordon followed. When he came to the corner, he peered around it as Prann had done. There were rows of book shelves. Down the central aisle he could see Prann peeking around one of the shelves. He watched the man carefully remove the revolver from his pocket, grasp it barrel-first in his fist so that the butt made it a bludgeon. Prann wanted to knock the girl unconscious if he could.

 

“Jill,” Prann called softly. “Ji—”

 

Prann did a full somersault in the air before his head hit the ceiling. There was a loud snap like a piece of wood breaking. Something hit Gordon’s shoulder. It was the revolver. Gordon looked at it dumbly then looked back at Prann. The man’s head was a mess of pulp and blood and broken bone from the force with which he had hit the ceiling. There were bits of plaster imbedded in his head; a red and gray ooze smeared the floor. It happened so quickly that it was over before Gordon realized the full impact of it. He stared down at the gray ooze and the numbness of shock began to sweep over him. He looked at the floor and picked up the revolver. It was slippery with blood. He looked up and saw Jill creeping through the far doorway. Her head turned toward him, her eyes staring straight into his eyes.

 

Something happened in his mind. He raised the revolver and took careful aim. Down the barrel he saw Jill’s saucer eyes looking fearfully at him over a slim shoulder. Her eyes opened a little wider. His fingers started squeezing the trigger, then every atom in him screamed:

 

She’s just a child! Just a child! You can’t shoot!

 

The gun fired.

 

The revolver dropped from his seared hand and started burning its way through the floor. There was a scatter of explosions from the bursting shells in the clip—Jill’s terrified mind, frantically striking back, had set them off.

 

The last thing it would ever do on earth.

 

Though the bullets from the exploding gun lashed all about him, Gordon made no attempt to dodge. He hardly knew they were there. He hardly heard the gun go off, hardly knew he had been in danger.

 

He didn’t care.

 

He slumped against a book rack, dazed and numb in mind and body. He bore the stacks over with him and ponderous volumes of Civil War commentaries tumbled down battering his head and arms. He didn’t feel them either; he was past feeling He only saw Jill. He only felt what had happened in his own mind when he pulled that trigger.

 

Eight years old, with dolls. She still had a doll under each arm. Her dress was dirty but still gay; she lay almost as though asleep on the bare narrow floor of the corridor. And her face, mercifully, was out of his sight.

 

After a while, Gordon got up and walked out.

 

He sat on the bench outside the library, waiting—alone in that part of the town except for Prann’s mangled body and the dead girl. That was how the soldiers found him when, cautiously, they began to close in.