Knock Twice Scrapbook

By Mind Alone
Larry Niven, first published in If: Worlds of Science Fiction, June, 1966.

part 7

So we edged the car out from among the other cars and took off down the twisting concrete road that leads a mile down to the base of the mountains. We all had our cars, because none of us but Pat would have known where to teleport to. It was a silent drive until we got the cigarettes. They seemed to loosen us up, to get us talking.

“Yeah, a strange party,’ I agreed. “Carol, do you think Pat’s teleporting made her sick?”

“Of course. But I don’t know why it should.”

“Maybe it didn’t. Maybe it’s just our native egotism, our—hubris—that makes us think the whole world revolves around our new power.”

“Ubris?”

“Hubris. The pride that challenges the gods.”

“Oh.” She couldn’t have cared less. “Why would Pat have to go all the way to the beach for cigarettes?”

I knew what she meant. “Pat’s just honest.”

“Suppose she’d teleported inside a shop, made a list of what she took, then paid off the bill Monday. What’s wrong with that?”

“It could give her a reputation.”

“A reputation for honesty.”

“Couldn’t it make a storekeeper nervous, knowing there were people around who could get into his shop any time they wanted?”

“Mmmm.”

We drove with the windows open. It was hot down here on the flatlands. The sun was setting in red glory behind endless groves of citrus trees. Above the low music from the radio, Carol said thoughtfully, “Art, why not steal?”

“I thought one of us would get there eventually.”

“I mean it. The penalty for theft is imprisonment, right? How do you imprison a teleport?”

“You don’t. You can’t.”

“Well?”

“How about a public opinion? And where would you like to have dinner?”

“The Four-In-Hand, I guess.”

“Would you proclaim it far and wide that you’re an untouchable thief and don’t give a damn who knows it? How many friends would you have left?”

“Oh.”

“But that wouldn’t work on everybody. Fact is, the law doesn’t take teleportation into account. When it does, they’ll change the penalty to ‘shoot on sight’.”

Carol giggled. “I guess so. You’ve nipped a brilliant crime career in the bud.”

“You mean I’ve made an honest woman of you.”

“Have it your way.”

“I’ve been trying.”

“What happened to her, Art?”

The fear in her voice made me look over. Carol was scared, deep down scared, and all the bantering and philosophical discussions wouldn’t hide it. I said, “there must be laws we don’t know about yet. Pat ran into one.”

“How? What did she do we didn’t?”

In this Sunday series of posts I will be “re-publishing” pulp science fiction short stories that have long since gone out of print. When possible I will seek out author’s and estates for permission.