The Penal Cluster Part 10

The men fought both physically and mentally. They struggled for possession of the stun gun, at the same time hurling emotion-charged shafts of mental energy at each other's brains.

The struggle lasted less than a minute. Somehow, Sager managed to get one hand on the gun, twisting it. Houston, trying to keep it out of Sager's hand, jerked it up between them.

It coughed once, sending a beam of supersonic energy into the bodies of both men.

The effect was the same as if they had both been crowned with baseball bats.

Little pinpoints of light against a sea of darkness.

_I'm cold_, Houston thought. _And I'm sick._

He couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or closed--and he didn't much care.

He tried to move his arms and legs, found he couldn't, and gave it up.

He blinked.

_My eyes must be open_, he thought, _if I can blink_.

Well, then, if his eyes were open, why couldn't he see anything? All he could see were the little pinpoints of light against a background of utter blackness.

_Like stars_, he thought.

_Stars? STARS!_

With a sudden rush, total awareness came back to him, and he realized with awful clarity where he was.

He was chained, spread-eagled, on an asteroid in the Penal Cl.u.s.ter, nearly a hundred million miles from Earth.

It was easy to piece together what had happened. He dimly remembered that he had started to wake up once before. It was a vague, confused recollection, but he knew what had taken place.

The PD Police, coming in response to his call, had found all four men unconscious from the effects of the stun beam. Naturally, all of them had been taken into custody; the PD Police had to find out which one of the men was the Controller and which the controlled. That could easily be tested by waiting until they began to wake up; the resulting mental disturbances would easily identify the telepath.

Houston could imagine the consternation that must have resulted when the PD men found that all three suspects--_and_ their brother officer--were Controllers.

And now here he was--tried, convicted, and sentenced while he was unconscious--doomed to spend the rest of his life chained to a rock floating in s.p.a.ce.

A sudden chill of terror came over him. Why wasn't he asleep? Why wasn't he under hibernene?

_It's their way of being funny_, came a bitter thought. _We're supposed to be under hibernene, but we're left to die, instead._

For a moment, Houston did not realize that the thought was not his own, so well did it reflect his own bitterness. It was bad enough to have to live out one's life under the influence of the hibernation drug, but it was infinitely worse to be conscious. Under hibernene, he would have known nothing; his sleeping mind in his comatose body would never have realized what had happened to him. But this way, he would remain fully awake while his body used up the air too fast and his stomach became twisted with hunger pangs which no amount of intravenous feeding could quell. Oh, he'd live, all right--for a few months--but it would be absolute h.e.l.l while he lasted. Insanity and catatonia would come long before death.

_That's a nasty thought; I wish you hadn't brought it up._

That wasn't his own thought! There was someone else out here!

_h.e.l.l, yes, my friend; we're all out here._

"Where are you?" Houston asked aloud, just to hear his own voice. He knew the other couldn't hear the words which echoed so hollowly inside the bubble of the s.p.a.cesuit helmet, but the thought behind them would carry.

"You mean with relation to yourself?" came the answer. "I don't know. I can see several rocks around me, but I can't tell which one you're on."

Houston could tell now that the other person was talking aloud, too. So great was the illusion carried to his own brain that it almost seemed as though he could hear the voice with his ears.

"Then there are others around us?" Houston asked.

"Sure. There were three of us: a Hawaiian named Jerry Matsukuo; a girl from Bombay, Sonali Siddhartha; and myself, Juan Pedro de Cadiz. Jerry and Sonali are taking a little nap. You're the first of your group to wake up."

"My group?"

"Certainly, my friend. There are five of you; the other four must still be unconscious."

Four? That would be La.s.ser, Sager, Pederson, and--_and Dorrine!_

Juan Pedro de Cadiz picked up the whole thought-process easily.

"The girl--I'm sorry," he said. "But the other three--of us all, I think, they deserve this."

"Juan!" came another thought-voice. "Have our newcomers awakened?"

"Just one of them, my sweet," replied the Spaniard. "Sonali, may I present Mr. David Houston. Mr. Houston, the lovely Sonali Siddhartha."

"Juano has a habit of jumping to conclusions, David," said the girl.

"He's never even seen me, and I'm sure that after three weeks of being locked in this prison whatever beauty I may have had has disappeared."

"Your thoughts are beautiful, Sonali," said Juan Pedro, "and with us, that is all that counts."

"It is written," said a third voice, "that he who disturbs the slumber of his betters will wake somebody up. You people are giving me dreams, with your ceaseless mental chatter."

"Ah!" the Spaniard said. "Mr. Matsukuo, may I--"

"I heard, Romeo, I heard," said the Hawaiian. "An ex-cop, eh? I wonder if I like you? I'll take a few thousand years to think it over; in the meantime, you may treat me as a friend."

"I'll try to live down my reputation," said Houston.

It was an odd feeling. Physically, he was alone. Around him, he could see nothing but the blackness of s.p.a.ce and the glitter of the stars. He knew that the sun must be s.h.i.+ning on the back of his own personal asteroid, but he couldn't see it. As far as his body was concerned, there was nothing else in the universe but a chunk of pitted rock and a set of chains.

But mentally, he felt snug and warm, safe in the security of good friends. He felt--

"David! David! Help me! Oh, David, David, David!"

It was Dorrine, coming up from her slumber. Like a cras.h.i.+ng blare of static across the neural band, her wakening mind burst into sudden telepathic activity.