The Right Time Page 3

from one of the other chapters wasshowing off by heaving at a two hundred and fifty gram weight. He wasseated in the classic position, his elbows on the table, his fingerssupporting his temples, and was concentrating fiercely on the weight.

  He wasn't really up to it. I could see sweat starting from his brow asI watched him over the heads of the others at the table. Suddenly hedropped back, exhausted.

  "Not tonight, Josephine!" he gasped. The man at his right, anotherstranger, chuckled, reached over to touch the weight with his fingertips and then TK'd it cleanly off the Formica. It was nice work, for amiddleweight.

  I looked in at a couple other workouts before wandering over to whereEvaleen sat by herself in a corner. She was concentrating on a seriesof pith balls the size of peas that weighed from a tenth of a gram up.She was either so absorbed in what she was doing, or pretended to be,that she gave no sign of hearing me come up behind her. One of theballs before her struggled off the table top, and I could hear herbreath hiss with the effort. Cheating a little, I felt for her liftsand gave her some help. One after another the balls floated up andsank back. She was utterly charmed--or pretended to be.

  "Great going, Evaleen," I said, but she swore at me in Gaelic, anaffectation, because she comes from Minnesota.

  "You'd slip up behind me and help, eh?" she said hollowly.

  "Get a touch, Evaleen," I suggested. "Have you tried it?"

  "No," she said sullenly. She's good at that. Her dark hair is streakedwith gray. She lets it hang down straight and whacks it off with hedgeshears or something when it bothers her. Her face is lined andwrinkled far ahead of its time, and I swear, from the color of herteeth, that she chews betel nut. Somehow or other these PC witcheshave to act the part.

  "Go ahead," I insisted. "Touch the first ball with the tip of yourfinger, Evaleen." I showed her what I meant by leaning over hershoulder. "That's right. _Now_ lift!"

  The pith ball rose smoothly several inches, and she held the lift forten seconds or so.

  "You were helping," she accused me in her best graveyard tones.

  "Never," I said, truthfully. "Don't feel that it's cheating to gettactile help. I just saw a two hundred fifty gram middleweight overthere at the other table run his fingers down a weight before helifted. We all do it. It helps the grip."

  "_You_ never do," she accused me.

  "On the big ones, Evaleen, sure I do. I'm a little sneaky about it,but I usually get a touch. Try a bigger ball."

  * * * * *

  I looked around the gym while my encouragement helped her. No one waspaying us any special attention, and I saw none of the better knowntelepaths in the room. That didn't mean too much, for any number ofthe TP's in the Manhattan Chapter had good range.

  Evaleen was getting good lifts on the one-gram ball when I slipped herthe question: "You said it was dynamite," I said, and closed my mindto the thought.

  Her lift broke. "I'm worried about the old goat in the penthouse,Lefty," she said in a low tone. It didn't make any difference. Shemight as well have shouted if a TP were peeping her. I took up for herwith the pith balls and had them hopping up and down discreetly, justas though she were still working at her lifts with my coaching.

  "You been life-lining again?" I hazarded, largely because of whatPheola had said about Maragon's having a heart attack.

  "Yes, and he's going to be sick--I feel it very strongly."

  "Die?"

  "He'll outlive me," she said, more glumly than ever. I knew she couldnot predict past the span of her own life.

  "And how long is that?" I needled.

  "You can count my time in years, but not enough of them," she said,irritated that I had asked her about her own span. I knew I shouldn'thave said it. She had read her own future and found it wanting. "Butdeath hovers close in it," she went on. "You know I don't get clearpictures, Lefty, just a feeling. Death is very, very close. And youare in it."

  "And who else?" I pressed her.

  "No one I ever met," she said, telling me another limitation of herpowers.

  "Perhaps I can cure that, Evaleen," I said, letting the last balldrop. More loudly I added: "You get better every day. You couldqualify for the second degree if you can do as well under standardizedconditions."

  "Yes," she agreed. "We've talked enough. You will act on it?"

  "Oddly," I said, "I already have. You confirm what another PC says.I'll have you meet her."

  "You will not," she said. "I can't stand PC's!"

  "Now try that big one," I said, pointing to a small brass weight oftwo grams on the table.

  She touched it and it lifted. She cried out in pleasure. "That's mybest!"

  "You were never that mad when you were lifting, I guess," I said. "Bigemotions make big lifts. Fall in love--you'll do better still."

  "First decent argument for getting tangled with one of you men I'veheard yet," she lied. Wild as her looks were, she'd been a favoritearound the Chapter for years.

  I patted her on the shoulder and went back to the table where the bigweights were being lifted and showed off for a couple minutes. Theinevitable hour of shop talk and demonstrations followed as soon asthe out-of-towners found out who I was. They don't meet a Thirty-thirdevery day, and face it, I'm a TK bruiser.

  * * * * *

  After enjoying some slaps on the back, I took my shower, changed backinto my clothes and went to find Pheola.

  She had just finished her shower and had gotten dressed as far as herslip when she let me in.

  "What an awful man!" she greeted me.

  "Norty?"

  "Yes! He doesn't believe in me a _bit_!"

  "I don't either," I grinned. "Remember, you're the fake who says we'regetting married."

  "We are, too!" she said, sulking. "He made me tell him a thousandthings," she added, going over to her couch where three dresses weredraped. "What should I wear?"

  "The blue one," I said. "Blue-eyed blondes should wear blue." I wasstretching a point. "What did he make you PC?"

  "All about the weather," she said, somewhat muffled as she slipped thedress over her head. I helped her with a zipper and a catch. "Aboutthirty cities, Lefty. He made me tell him the temperature and thebarometric pressure every hour for about a month! I never did anythinglike that before."

  "Um-m-m," I said, as she fooled around getting her hair in some sortof shape with a clip. It was straight hair, and not much could be donewith it. "Were you right, though?"

  "Yes," she said, convinced. "I was very sure. Lefty, I _want_ to doit, for you!"

  "Sure," I said. "Let's go."

  The Lodge has good food, but you get tired of hanging around with abunch of Psi's, so we went on the town and found a good spot fordinner. What with rubber-necking at the big city, it was some afterten o'clock before we got back to the Chapter House and rode up to herapartment.

  Pheola was bubbling happily about our evening. As she keyed open herdoor, I pushed her into her place and came in with her.

  "For a couple who are going to get married," I said, grinning at her,"it's time we made a little love, Pheola."

  She squinted myopically at me, not sure if I were serious. "I thoughtyou weren't going...." she started.

  "I'm not," I assured her. "I'm talking about our special kind of love.Know what I mean?"

  She shook her head doubtfully as I took her wrap and hung it in thecloset.

  "Let's face a couple facts," I said, as I led her to the sofa and wesat down. She squeezed up close to me, so that our knees weretouching. "I believe in you. I've told you that I have seen youpredict the future. More than that, I have felt you cure me. Butprecognition is hard to prove, and if we are going to get you into theLodge, I think we had better stick to Maragon's advice and work onyour healing powers. It's Maragon you'll have to convince. He's thelast word."

  "I know," she said, wriggling her skinny knees against me. "And itscares me."

  * * * * *

 
"Maybe it should," I said, trying to draw away a bit. "Your life won'tbe your own once your have been admitted to one of the degrees. Butlife in a Psi society has its compensations.

  "Now, look at it this way," I went on. "Whether you meant to or not,you have staked your reputation as a PC on a prediction that our GrandMaster will suffer a heart attack."

  "He