 Chapter 8 of Pursuit by Lester Del Ray. This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Hawks leaned forward cautiously as the gray sedan moved up Tenth Avenue. His finger found the gun in Dan's coat pocket, and he pulled it out stealthily. He knew that the only answer for him was suicide. He had to destroy himself since no one else could. He propped it up, pointed it at his head, and his thumb pressed back on the trigger, further and further, until he felt sure that the smallest change would set it off. Then he waited for a rough spot in the street, or a sudden stop at a light that would do the trick before he could stop it. The car lurched, and the gun suddenly vanished, leaving his hand empty. His responses were too quick and his mind wasn't waiting once it knew that there was danger. He slumped back on the rear seat, trying to think. Drugs were out. He knew his system would throw them off. But he couldn't remove himself. He lifted his wrist to his teeth and bit down savagely, if he could sever an artery. Pain shot through him and he stared down at the blood. Then the blood was gone, and the wound was closing before his eyes until only smooth flesh remained. His mind could juggle the cells back into their original form. It would have to be sudden, complete death, and no death was that sudden. For a fraction of a second there'd be life left, and during that split second the damage would be repaired, or he would be shifted from danger. There was no way out unless he could pull himself to another planet or throw himself back into the dim past. But that would take voluntary control, and he knew now that hours of effort had shown him how impossible that was. He hadn't been able to lift a crumb of bread from the table deliberately in his original test after he had treated himself. He was faced with a problem that had to be solved, and there was no possible solution that he could find. No man could face that dilemma forever without going insane. Hawks shuddered, trying to picture what would happen if he went mad, and the wild talents began operating at every whim of his crazed mind. Ellen shouted suddenly, grabbing for the wheel. Hawks felt himself tense, and began lifting from the seat of the car. But there was no visible danger, and Dan was slowing to a halt at the curb. Hawks' body dropped back slowly. Dan! Ellen was whispering hoarsely. Dan, we can't! If we take him back they'll find him, and they'll know what he can do. They'll kill him. Eventually they'll kill him. Hawks started to protest, but Dan's words cut him short. You're right, sis. They'll wait their time until he won't know when to expect it, and then they'll drop an H-bomb on him, if they have to. It's faster than any nerve impulse. He swung back to face Hawks, reaching for the door of the car. Get out, Will, and get as far away as you can. I'm not going to drive you to your death. They'll get you eventually, but I won't be the one to make it easier for them. Hawks jerked. The old fear came back suddenly. You can't escape. They'll find you. Run. Go! He screamed as the golden haze flickered again. He could wipe out the earth, but he couldn't survive then. He could move back in time, but it would only mean other dangers. No man could stay awake forever, and he was used to civilize living. The haze hesitated while the sense of danger mounted. Then it was gone, as if the beast in his head had found no answer. Suddenly the gray sedan lifted again, to a height of fifty feet above the tallest building. It shot forward, hesitated, and came down softly on a deserted side road in Central Park. His mind felt as if it were going to split. Dan and Ellen stared at him, speechless. You can't survive alone. No power is enough by itself. They'll get you. You are your own death sentence. Run. Don't run. Hawks put his hand to his splitting skull, trying to force words through the agonies of pain, while slow understanding began to reach him. Dan, the scientists! Get me there! Then his mind seemed to clamp down on itself, and he was unconscious. He could protect himself from almost anything, except his own brain. He was conscious of no pain, but only of irritation. There was a needle in his arm, and he removed it. He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself in the center of a group of men, while a white-coated doctor stood staring at an empty hand that must have held a hypodermic. Ellen cried out suddenly and ran to him, cradling his head in her hands. He found her arm with his own hand, and stroked it slowly. You found the answer, he asked. Then he nodded, while the weight that had lain on him for so long began to lift. His voice was suddenly positive. You found it! One of the men pushed forward, but Dan shook his head and came over to stand beside the cot where Hawks lay. No, Will, they didn't find it. You did. You found what we should have known. Your unconscious mind may be a wild beast, but it isn't insane. When it was shocked into realizing that it couldn't save you by itself, it looked for help from your consciousness, and then it knocked you out, knocked itself out, until we could work on you. I guessed it, Hawks said slowly, but in that case a psychotic with his id out in the driver's seat should become normal when they lock him up. Or wait, maybe his unconscious is a bit insane. Maybe, but you still have to communicate with the unconscious part of the brain to make it understand that it has to surrender, and all the psychiatrists have been driving themselves crazy trying to solve that. Touche, an old man said, there was a faint sound of amusement from some of the others. But this sci-factor is the means of communication. You told us that yourself, while you were undergoing our hastily improvised hypnotic education of your brain, it always has been. The minute a girl bothered with poltergeists finds she is the cause of them, they stop. It's a faint, weak channel between the consciousness and the unconsciousness, or sub-consciousness, if you prefer, and yours was widened by the treatment, even if it wasn't ready to work yet. We simply used your own technique to improve the relationship. All you ever needed was a longer, harder treatment than you and Meinzer had given yourselves. You just stopped too soon. Hawks dropped back comfortably into the cot. He reached out for a glass of water, lifted it to his lips, and put it back, without using his hands. He thought of his clothes and they were suddenly on him, over the single white garment he had been wearing. Another thought took that away to leave him normally dressed. Whether they were entirely correct or not in their theories, the sci-factor was no longer wild. He had it under full control. He sat up just as three men entered the crowded room. One wore the uniform of a four-star general, but the familiar faces of the two civilians told Hawks at once that they were more important than any general could be. He was about to become officially the national arsenal, and replacement for all the armies, navies, and air-cores they had ever dreamed of having. He'd also become their bridge into space, their means of solving the secrets of the planets, and probably their chief historical tool since nothing could ever be secret from him. It was going to be a busy life for him and for others like him who would now be carefully selected and treated. He grinned faintly as he realized that they didn't know yet just how important he was. He wasn't going to be a national resource. He'd be a world resource. This power was too great for any local political use, and no man who had it along with the full correlation of his conscious and subconscious mind could ever see it any other way. But right now he had other pressing business. He grinned at Ellen. You don't mind a small wedding, do you? He asked. She shook her head and began to smile. He reached for her hand. This sigh factor was going to be a handy thing to have around with its complete control of space and time. I'm taking a two-week honeymoon before we talk business," he told the approaching three men. But don't go away. We'll be back in ten minutes. Honolulu looked lovely in the moonlight and June was a perfect month for a wedding. The End of Pursuit by Lester Del Rey