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," Hawkes 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 unconsciousness is a bit insane.
Maybe. But you still have to communicate with that 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 older man said, and there was a faint sound of
amusement from some of the others. "But this psi 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
consciousness and unconsciousness--or subconsciousness, 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."

* * * * *

Hawkes dropped back comfortably onto 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 psi
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 Hawkes 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-corps 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 the others like him who
wou