Then everything is obscured by a furious blowback of disintegrating particles as the whole wall vaporizes. The little girl makes a slow-motion half turn and a moment later the calm surface of the icy water in the tank is convulsed and boiling. And the heat in the room, which has crested at a hundred twelve, (even with all eight air conditioners, it is as hot as a summer noontime in Death Valley), begins to go back.

There’s one for the sweeper.

2

From Bradford Hyuck

To Patrick Hockstetter

Date October 2

Re Telemetry, latest C. McGee Test (No. 4)

Pat-I’ve watched the films four times now and still can’t believe it isn’t some sort of special effects trick. Some unsolicited advice: When you get before the Senate subcommittee that’s going to deal with the Lot Six appropriations and renewal plans, have your ducks in a row and do more than cover your ass-armor-plate it! Human nature being what it is, those guys are going to look at those films and have a hard job believing it isn’t a flat-out shuckand-jive.

To business: The readouts are being delivered by special messenger, and this memo should beat them by no more than two or three hours. You can read them over for yourself, but I’ll briefly sum up our findings. Our conclusions can be summed up in two words: We’re stumped. She was wired up this time like an astronaut going into space. You will note: 1) Blood pressure within normal parameters for a child of eight, and there’s hardly a jog when that wall goes up like the Hiroshima bomb. 2) Abnormally high alpha wave readings; what we’d call her “imagination circuitry” is well engaged. You may or may not agree with Clapper and me that the waves are rather more even, suggesting a certain “controlled imaginative dexterity” (Clapper’s rather fulsome phrase, not mine). Could indicate she’s getting in control of it and can manipulate the ability with greater precision. Practice, as they say, makes perfect. Or it may mean nothing at all. 3) All metabolic telemetry is within normal parameters-nothing strange or out of place. It’s as if she was reading a good book or writing a class theme instead of creating what you say must have been upwards of 30,000 degrees of spot heat. To my mind the most fascinating (and frustrating!) information of all is the Beal-Searles CAT test. Next to no caloric burn! In case you’ve forgotten your physics-occupational hazard with you shrinks-a calorie is nothing but a unit of heat; the amount of heat necessary to raise a gram of water one degree centigrade, to be exact. She burned maybe 25 calories during that little exhibition, what we would burn doing half a dozen sit-ups or walking twice around the building. But calories measure heat, damn it, heat, and what she’s producing is heat… or is she? Is it coming from her or through her? And if it’s the latter, where is it coming from? Figure that one out and you’ve got the Nobel Prize in your hip pocket! I’ll tell you this: if our test series is as limited as you say it is, I’m positive we’ll never find out. Last word: Are you sure you want to continue these tests? Lately I just have to think about that kid and I start to get very antsy. I start thinking about things like pulsars and neutrinos and black holes and Christ knows what else. There are forces loose in this universe that we don’t even know about yet, and some we can observe only at a remove of millions of light-years… and breathe a sigh of relief because of it. The last time I looked at that film I began to think of the girl as a crack-a chink, if you like-in the very smelter of creation. I know how that sounds, but I feel I would be remiss not to say it. God forgive me for saying this, with three lovely girls of my own, but I personally will breathe a sigh of relief when she’s been neutralized.

If she can produce 30,000 degrees of spot heat without even trying, have you ever thought what might happen if she really set her mind to it?

Brad

3

“I want to see my father,” Charlie said when Hockstetter came in. She looked pale and wan. She had changed from her jumper into an old nightgown, and her hair was loose on her shoulders.

“Charlie-“he began, but anything he had been meaning to follow with was suddenly gone. He was deeply troubled by Brad Hyuck’s memo and by the supporting telemetry readouts. The fact that Brad had trusted those final two paragraphs to print said much, and suggested more.

Hockstetter himself was scared. In authorizing the changeover of chapel to testing room, Cap had also authorized the installation of more Kelvinator air conditioner around Charlie’s apartment-not eight but twenty. Only six had been installed so far, but after Test No.4, Hockstetter didn’t care if they were installed or not. He thought they could set up two hundred of the damned things and'not impede her power. It was no longer a question of whether or not she could kill herself; it was a question of whether or not she could destroy the entire Shop installation if she wanted to-and maybe all of eastern Virginia in the bargain. Hockstetter now thought that if she wanted to do those things, she could. And the last stop on that line of reasoning was even scarier: only John Rainbird had an effective checkrein on her now. And Rainbird was nuts.

“I want to see my father,” she repeated.

Her father was at the funeral of poor Herman Pynchot. He attended with Cap, at the latter’s request. Even Pynchot’s death, as unrelated to anything going on here as it was, seemed to have cast its own evil pall over Hockstetter’s mind.

“Well, I think that can be arranged,” Hockstetter said cautiously, “if you can show us a little more-““I’ve shown you enough,” she said. “I want to see my daddy.” Her lower lip trembled; her eyes had taken on a sheen of tears. “Your orderly;” Hockstetter said, “that Indian fellow, said you didn’t want to go for a ride on your horse this morning after the test. He seemed worried about you.”

“It’s not my horse,” Charlie said. Her voice was husky. “Nothing here is mine. Nothing except my daddy and I… want… to… see him!” Her voice rose to an angry, tearful shout.

“Don’t get excited, Charlie,” Hockstetter said, suddenly frightened. Was it suddenly getting hotter in here, or was it just his imagination? “Just… just don’t get excited.”

Rainbird. This should have been Rainbird’s job, god-dammit.

“Listen to me, Charlie.” He smiled a wide, friendly smile. “How would you like to go to Six Flags over Georgia? It’s just about the neatest amusement park in the whole South, except maybe for Disney World. We’d rent the whole park for a day, just for you. You could ride the Ferris wheel, go in the haunted mansion, the merry-go-round-”

“I don’t want to go to any amusement park, I just want to see my daddy. And I’m going to. I hope you hear me, because I’m going to!”

It was hotter.

“You’re sweating,” Charlie said.

He thought of the cinderblock wall, exploding so fast you could see the flames only in slow motion. He thought of the steel tray flipping over twice as it flew across the room, spraying burning chunks of wood. If she flicked that power out at him, he would be a pile of ashes and fused bone almost before he knew what was happening to him.

Oh God please-“Charlie, getting mad at me won’t accomplish anyth-““Yes,” she said with perfect truth. “Yes it will. And I’m mad at you, Dr. Hockstetter. I’m really mad at you.” “Charlie, please-”

“I want to see him,” she said again. “Now go away. You tell them I want to see my father and then they can test me some more if they want. I don’t mind. But if I don’t see him, I’ll make something happen. Tell them that.”