Final Weapon Part 6

"There's a man out in the parking lot. I believe he's detailed to keep watch on me. You might try him with one of the headbands. Then, see what he'll do with one on."

"Any special reason?"

Graham twisted his face uneasily. "I can't describe it," he said almost inaudibly. "You'd have to see for yourself."

Bond looked at him speculatively for a moment, then held out his cap and one of the headbands.

"Here, hold these."

He put the other headband on, accepted the first, and walked out of the apartment, followed by Graham, who still carried the cap.

As they came out and started across the parking lot, a man approached them.

Bond looked at him, frowned, then cast a sidelong look at Graham.

"_That what you meant?_" His thought carried an undercurrent of incredulity.

Graham nodded wordlessly, and Bond looked toward the approaching man again. Once more, his face wrinkled distastefully, then he spoke aloud.

"Oh, Ross. Want you to try some thing." He held out the headband he was carrying in his left hand.

Ross came up, accepted the device, and looked at it curiously. "You mean this is the thing he's been working on?" He jerked a thumb at Graham.

"Saw his wife come out a while ago. Guess she had one of 'em on. She went right back in again."

Bond nodded. "This is it," he said. "Let's see how it works for you."

Ross shrugged. "Try anything once, I guess." He adjusted the band to his head, then stood, looking at the two men.

"_Notice anything?_" Bond looked at him sharply.

Again, Ross shrugged. "Nothing special," he said with a slight grunt.

"Seems as though this guy's pretty nervous."

"_You don't have to say anything, just think it. And see if you can communicate with Graham._"

"Huh?" Ross had been looking directly at Bond. He frowned.

"_You mean, this thing--_" He paused, looking for a moment at Graham, then took the headband off. "Thing doesn't feel good," he complained. He held the device out to Bond, who accepted it.

"But it works? You could communicate both ways with it?"

"Oh, sure." Ross nodded grudgingly. "I got you, all right. But I couldn't get a thing out of this guy." He wagged his head toward Graham.

"Except he was jittery about something."

"I see. Thanks." Bond accepted the headband. "We're going to take these to Research," he added. "Let the technicians there find out how good they are." He turned away and led Graham to his helicopter.

As Graham settled in the seat, he turned to the sector leader. "He just couldn't use it properly," he remarked. "Maybe only certain people _can_ use them."

Bond nodded as he started the motor. "Or maybe only certain people can't." He busied himself in getting the machine up through the landing slot, then turned as they climbed into the night sky.

"Maybe you've got to be able to understand and like people before you can establish full contact with them. Maybe ... Maybe a lot of things."

He was silent for a moment. "You know, this thing might become far more valuable than you thought, Graham."

Howard Morely looked up from a memo as the clerk tapped on the door.

"Come in."

The man opened the door and stepped inside.

"Sector Leader Bond is here, sir. He has some gentlemen with him."

"And what does he want?"

"He said it was about that new communicator, sir."

"Oh." Morely turned his attention back to the memo. "Have them wait." He waved a hand in dismissal and went on with his reading.

The beautification program was progressing well. Twenty miles of the old main highway through the valley had been completely cleared and planted.

Crews were working on another stretch. The foreman of the wrecking crew down at the point, in Sector Nine, reported that the last bit of sc.r.a.p had been removed from the old bridge support. Underwater crews had salvaged the cables and almost all of the metal from the fallen bridge itself, and the sc.r.a.p was on the beach, ready for delivery to the reclamation mills in District One.

Morely smiled sourly. Harwood would have a storage problem on his hands in a day or so. The delay in delivery could be explained and justified.

Morely had seen to that. Now, all the material was ready and could be delivered in one lot.

Harwood would have to raise his production quota in his community mills to use up the excess material, and that would slow down the clean-up in District One. The Old Man couldn't help but notice, and he'd see who was efficient in his region. The district leader pushed the memo sheets aside and placed his hands behind his head.

Slowly, he pivoted his chair, to look at the entertainment screen. He started to energize it, then drew his hand back.

So that crackpot, Graham, had finally come up with something definite.

Morely smiled again. It had almost seemed as though the man had been stalling for a while. But the pressure and the veiled threats had been productive--again.

To be sure, the agents covering that project had reported that the device seemed to be merely another fairly good means of communication--nothing of any tremendous importance. But results had been obtained, and a communicator which was reasonably free from interception and which required relatively low power might be of some value to the community. He might be able to get a commendation out of it, at least.

And even if it were unsuitable for defense, there'd be a new product for one of the luxury products plants in the district, and the district would get royalties from the manufacturer. Too, it would keep people busy and make 'em spend more of their credits.

He grimaced at his vague reflection in the screen before him, and spoke aloud.

"That's the way to get things done. Make 'em know who's in charge. And let 'em know that no nonsense will be tolerated. Breathe down their necks a little. They'll produce." He cleared his throat and spun around, to punch the b.u.t.ton on his desk.

The door opened and the clerk stood, respectfully awaiting orders.

"Send in Bond and the people with him."

The clerk stepped back, turning his head.