Melton said nothing; made only a silent gesture of distaste.
“And so,” Duke Harald finished, “here am I, a somewhat reluctant student at your Esper Institute, while the aliens are up to Khrom knows what! Again I say, I wish there were something faster. Surely your scientists ought to have come up with something new by now! Some wonder drug or other?”
That last was a fishing expedition; a search for confirmation, however slight, of the rumor that had first reached him on distant Arkady. Would Melton rise to the bait?
“Well,” said the Terran slowly, poker-faced, “so far there’s only TPH.”
“TPH? What’s that?”
“Telepathic hormone. But,” Melton’s smile seemed as much for himself as for the Arkadian’s ill-concealed glare of interest, “unfortunately it’s just a myth. No, wait,” as Duke Harald began to voice protest, “I apologize for taking advantage of you; I realize only too well how you must feel. But did you think you were the only one who was ever impatient to acquire esper skill? You should have been born a Terran, then; brought up in the conviction that knowledge of the mind is the highest human knowledge. And yet, we Terrans have our share of laziness. Hence the common dream—so common that we’ve even given it a name!—the fantasied wish-fulfillment of a magic potion that will shortcircuit all this work and study. I’m afraid,” his tones were apologetic, “that our early training is not perhaps so reality-centered as we sometimes like to think.”
So the pattern had repeated itself; the same tale told, with the same disclaimer of its truth! But Melton was speaking again.
“To be blunt,” he was saying with an air of finality, “there really does not seem to be any easy way—any royal road to telepathy.”
Nevertheless Duke Harald’s sense of urgency remained. There was still the problem of the aliens. And, a part of that problem, and yet peculiarly distinct, was his own private plan, now working so slowly towards fruition. As premier duke of Arkady, he had been able to persuade the Council to send him on this quest. But he was not naive enough to think that grudging consent meant an end to opposition. For he had rivals in the Council—Duke Charles, for one. And if those rivals came to realize how near completion were his plans—attainment of the esper skill was all that he now needed—then the noble weather vanes would change their minds, vote for his recall, and bring in a Terran adept. The more fools they, to risk another Altair!
The feeling of impatience was still with him as the hour drew on for another grueling session with his robot therapist. Of all the training at the Institute, these daily sessions seemed least relevant. And yet the adept-masters were without exception firm in their insistence on this aspect of the lengthy course. With slow reluctance Duke Harald made his way to the Hall of Therapy, and to the quiet windowless room where the robot waited.