password andcountersign had to be resorted to. He'd been in conspiratorial work ofother kinds, and knew that there was a sound psychological basis formost of what seemed, at first glance, to be mere melodramaticclaptrap.
He and Yetsko passed on through a door across the room, into anothersound-proofed room. The work of soundproofing and partitioning the oldstockroom had been done in the last semester of his first year atMineola High, by members of the graduating class of building-tradesstudents, who had then gone their several ways convinced that they hadbeen working on a set of music-class practice rooms. The Board ofEducation had never even found out about it. In this second room, aLiterate teacher, one of the Lancedale faction, had a reading class oftwenty-five or thirty. A girl was on her feet, with a book in herhand, reading from it:
"We are not sure of sorrow; And joy was never sure; Today will die tomorrow; Time stoops to no man's lure; And love, grown faint and fretful With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure."
Then she handed the book--it was the only copy--to the boy sitting infront of her, and he rose to read the next verse. Prestonby, catchingthe teacher's eye, nodded and smiled. This was a third-year class, ofcourse, but from h-a-t spells hat to Swinburne in three years was goodwork.
There were three other classes, a total of little over a hundredstudents. There was no trouble; they were there for one purposeonly--to learn. He spoke with one of the teachers, whose class wasbusy with a written exercise; he talked for a while to another whoseonly duty at the moment was to answer questions and furnish help to asmall class who were reading silently from a variety of smuggled-involumes.
"Only a hundred and twenty, out of five thousand," Yetsko said to him,as they were dropping down in the elevator by which they had come."Think you'll ever really get anything done with them?"
"I won't. Maybe they won't," he replied. "But the ones they'll teachwill. They're just a cadre; it'll take fifty years before the effectsare really felt. But some day--"
The shops--a good half of the school was trades-training--were noisyand busy. Here Prestonby kept his hand on his gas-projector, andYetsko had his rubber hose ready, either to strike or to discard infavor of his pistol. The instructors were similarly on the alert andready for trouble--he had seen penitentiaries where the guards took iteasier. Carpentry and building trades. Machine shop. Welding. 'Copterand TV repair shops--he made a minor and relatively honest graftthere, from the sale of rebuilt equipment. Even an atomic-equipmentshop, though there was nothing in the place that would excite a Geigermore than the instructor's luminous-dial watch.
Domestic Science--Home Decorating, Home Handicrafts, Use of HomeAppliances, Beautician School, Charm School. He and Yetsko sampled theproducts of the Cooking School, intended for the cafeteria, and foundthem edible if uninspired.
Business--classes in recording letters, using Illiteratebusiness-machines, preparing Illiterate cards for same, filingrecordings--always with the counsel, "When in doubt, consult aLiterate."
General Arts--Spanish and French, from elaborate record players, theprogeny of the old Twentieth Century Linguaphone. English, withrecorded-speech composition, enunciation training, semantics, and whatPrestonby called English Illiterature. The class he visited wasdrowsing through one of the less colorful sections of "Gone With TheWind." World History, with half the students frankly asleep through anaudio-visual on the Feudal System, with planted hints on how nice arevival of same would be, and identifying the clergy of the MiddleAges with the Fraternities of Literates. American History, with theclass wide awake, since Custer's Massacre was obviously only momentsaway.
"Wantta bet one of those little cherubs doesn't try to scalp anotherbefore the day's out?" Yetsko whispered.
Prestonby shook his head. "No bet. Remember that film on the SpanishInquisition, that we had to discontinue?"
It was then that the light on the classroom screen, which had beenflickering green and white, suddenly began flashing Prestonby'swanted-at-office signal.
* * * * *
Prestonby found Frank Cardon looking out of the screen in his privateoffice. The round, ordinarily cheerful, face was serious, but theinnocent blue eyes were as unreadable as ever. He was wearing one ofthe new Mexican _charro_-style jackets, black laced with silver.
"I can't see all your office, Ralph," he said as Prestonby approached."Are you alone?"
"Doug Yetsko's all," Prestonby said, and, as Cardon hesitated, added:"Don't be silly, Frank; he's my bodyguard. What could I be in that hewouldn't know all about?"
Cardon nodded. "Well, we're in a jam up to here." A handwave conveyedthe impression that the sea of troubles had risen to his chin. Hespoke at some length, describing the fight between Chester Pelton andStephen S. Bayne, the Literate strike at Pelton's Purchasers'Paradise, Pelton's heart attack, and the circumstances of Claire'sopening the safe. "So you see," he finished. "Maybe Latterman tried tokill Pelton, maybe he just tried to do what he did. I can't takechances either way."
Prestonby thought furiously. "You say Claire's alone at the store withher father?"
"And a couple of store cops, sterling characters with the hearts oflions and the brains of goldfish," Cardon replied. "And RussLatterman, and maybe four or five Conservative goons he's managed toinfiltrate into the store."
Prestonby was still thinking, aloud, now. "Maybe they did mean to killPelton; in that case, they'll try again. Or maybe they only wanted toexpose Claire's literacy. It's hard to say what else they'd try--maybekidnap her, to truth-drug her and use her as a guest-artist on aConservative telecast. I'm going over to the store, now."
"That's a good idea, Ralph. If you hadn't thought of it, I was goingto suggest it. Land on the central stage, ask for Sergeant Coccozelloof the store police, and give my name. Even aside from everythingelse, it'd be a good idea to have somebody there who can read anddares admit it, till a new crew of Literates can get there. You werespeaking about the possibility of kidnaping; how about the boy? Ray?"
Prestonby nodded. "I'll have him come here to my office, and staythere till I get back; I'll have Yetsko stay with him." He turned towhere the big man in black leather stood guard at the door. "Doug, goget Ray Pelton and bring him here. Check with Miss Collins for wherehe'd be, now." He turned back to the screen. "Anything else, Frank?"
"Isn't that enough?" the brewer-Literate demanded. "I'll call you atthe store, after a while. 'Bye."
The screen darkened as Cardon broke the connection. Prestonby got tohis feet, went to his desk, and picked up a pipe, digging out theashes from the bowl with an ice pick that one of the teachers hadtaken from a sixteen-year-old would-be murderer. He checked his tabletgun, made sure that there was an extra loaded clip in the holster, andgot two more spare clips from the arms locker. Then, to make sure, hecalled Pelton's store, talking for a while to the police sergeantCardon had mentioned. By the time he was finished, the door opened andYetsko ushered Ray Pelton in.
"What's happened?" the boy asked. "Doug told me that the Senator ...my father ... had another heart attack."
"Yes, Ray. I don't believe he's in any great danger. He's at thestore, resting in his office." He went on to tell the boy what hadhappened, exactly and in full detail. He was only fifteen, butalready he had completed the four-year reading course and he couldthink a great deal more logically than seventy per cent of the peoplewho were legally entitled to vote. Ray listened seriously, and provedPrestonby's confidence justified by nodding.
"Frame-up," he said succinctly. "Stinks like a glue factory of aput-up job. Something's going to happen to Russ Latterman, one ofthese days."
"I think you'd better let Frank Cardon take care of him, Ray,"Prestonby advised. "I think there are more angles to this than he toldme. Now, I'm going over to the store. Somebody's got to stay withClaire. I want you to stay here, in this room. If anybody sends youany message supposed to be from me, just ignore it. It'll be a trap.If I want to get in touch with you, I'l
l call you, with vision-image."
"Mean somebody might try to kidnap me, or Claire, to force the Senatorto withdraw, or something?" Ray asked, his eyes widening.
"You catch on quickly, Ray," Prestonby commended him. "Doug, you staywith Ray till I get back. Don't let him out of your sight for aninstant. At noon, have Miss Collins get lunches for both of you sentup; if I'm not back by fifteen-hundred, take him to his home, and staywith him there."
* * * * *
]
For half an hour, Frank Cardon made a flying tour ofRadical-Socialist borough headquarters. Even at the Manhattanheadquarters, which he visited immediately after his talk withPrestonby, the news had already gotten out. The atmosphere ofoptimistic triumph which had undoubtedly followed Mongery's telecastand his report on the Trotter Poll, had evaporated. The Literateclerical help was gathered in a tight knot, obviously a littleworried, and just as obviously enjoying the reaction. In smaller andconstantly changing groups, the volunteers, the paid helpers, thedirt-squirters, the goon gangs, gathered, talking in worried orfrightened or angry voices. When Cardon entered and was recognized,there was a concerted movement toward him. His two regular bodyguards,both on leave from the Literate storm troops, moved quickly to rangethemselves on either side of him. With a gesture, he halted theothers.
"Hold it!" he called. "I know what you're worried about. I was therewhen it happened, and saw everything."
He paused, to let them assimilate that, and continued: "Now get this, allof you! Our boss, and--_if he lives_--our next senator, was the victim ofa deliberate murder attempt, by Literate First Class Bayne, who threw outhis supply of nitrocaine bulbs and then goaded him into a heart attackwhich, except for his daughter, would have been fatal. Claire Peltondeserves the deepest gratitude of every Radical-Socialist in the state.She's a smart girl, and she saved the life of her father and our leader.
"But--she is _not_ a Literate!" he cried loudly. "All she did wassomething any of you could have done--something I've done, myself, sothat I won't be locked out of my own safe and have to wait for aLiterate to come and open, it for me. She simply kept her eye on theLiterates who were opening the safe, and learned the combination fromthe positions to which they turned the dial. And you believe, on thestrength of that, that she's a Literate? The next thing, you'll bebelieving that professional liar of a Slade Gardner. And you callyourselves politicians!" He fairly gargled obscenities.
Looking around, he caught sight of a pair who seemed something lessthan impressed with his account of it. Joe West, thick-armed,hairy-chested, blue-jowled; Horace Yingling, thin and gangling. Theyweren't Radical-Socialist party people; they were from the PoliticalAction Committee of the Consolidated Illiterates Organization, andtheir slogan was simpler and more to the point than ChesterPelton's--the only good Literate is a dead Literate. He tensed himselfand challenged them directly.
"Joe; Horace. How about you? Satisfied the Pelton girl isn't aLiterate, now?"
Yingling looked at West, and West looked back at him questioningly.Evidently the _suavitor in modo_ was Yingling's province, and the_fortior in re_ was West's.
"Yeh, sure, Mr. Cardon," Yingling said dubiously. "Now that youexplain it, we see how it was."
* * * * *
It was worse than that in some of the other boroughs. One fanatic,imagining that Cardon himself was a crypto-Literate, drew a gun.Cardon's guards disarmed him and beat him senseless. At anotherheadquarters, some character was circulating about declaring that notonly Claire Pelton but her younger brother, Ray, as well, wereLiterates. Cardon's two men hustled him out of the building, and,after about twenty minutes, returned alone. Cardon hoped that the bodywould not be found until after the polls closed, the next day.
Finally, leaving his guards with the 'copter at a public landingstage, he made his way, by devious routes, to William R. Lancedale'soffice, and found Lancedale at his desk, seeming not to have movedsince he had showed his agent out earlier in the day.
"Well, we're in a nice puddle of something-or-other," Cardon greetedhim. "On top of that Gardner telecast, this morning--"
"Guthrie Parham's taking care of that, and everything's going to bedone to ridicule Gardner," Lancedale told him. "And even this businessat the store can be turned to some advantage. Before we're through, wemay gain more votes than we lose for Pelton. And we had an informalmeeting--Joyner for Retail Merchandising, Starke for GrievanceSettlements, and four or five others including myself, to make up aquorum. We had Bayne in, and heard his story of it, and we got areport from one of our stoolies in the store. Bayne thought he wasdue for a commendation; instead, he got an eat-out. Of course, it wasa fact that Pelton'd hit him, and we can't have Literates punchedaround, regardless of provocation. So we voted to fine Pelton tenmillion for beating Bayne up, and to award him ten million for lossesresulting from unauthorized withdrawal of Literate services. Weordered a new crew of Literates to the store, and we exiled Bayne toBrooklyn, to something called Stillman's Used Copter and Junk Bazaar.For the next few months, the only thing he'll find that's round andpinchable will be second-hand tires. But don't be too hard on him; Ithink he did us a favor."
"You mean, starting a rift between Pelton and the ConsolidatedIlliterates' Organization, which we can widen after the election?"
"No. I hadn't thought of it that way, Frank," Lancedale smiled. "It'san idea worth keeping in mind, and we'll exploit it, later. What I wasthinking about was the more immediate problem of the election--"
The buzzer on Lancedale's desk interrupted, and a voice came out ofthe commo box:
"Message, urgent and private, sir. Source named as Sforza."
Cardon recognized the name. Maybe the Independent-Conservatives havetroubles, too, he thought hopefully. Then Lancedale's video screenbecame the frame for an almost unbelievably commonplace set offeatures.
"Sforza, sir," the man in the screen said. "Sorry I'm late, but I wasable to get out of the building only a few minutes ago, and I had tomake sure I wasn't wearing a tail. I have two new facts. First, theConservatives have been bringing storm troops in from outside, fromPhiladelphia, and from Wilkes-Scranton, and from Buffalo. They arebeing concentrated in lower Manhattan, in plain clothes, with onlyconcealed weapons, and carrying their hoods folded up under theircoats. Second, I overheard a few snatches of conversation between twoof the Conservative storm troop leaders, as follows: '... Start it inChina ... thirteen-thirty,' and '... Important to make it appeareither spontaneous or planned for business motives.'"
"Try to get us more information, as quickly as possible," Lancedaledirected. "Obviously, we should know, by about thirteen hundred,what's being planned."
"Right, sir." Lancedale's spy at Independent-Conservative headquartersnodded and vanished from the screen.
"What does it sound like to you, Frank?" Lancedale asked.
"China is obviously a code-designation for some place in downtownManhattan, where the Conservative goon gangs are being concentrated.The only thing I can say is that it probably is not Chinatown. They'deither say 'Chinatown' and not 'China,' or they would use somecode-designation that wasn't so close to the actual name," Cardonconsidered. "What they're going to start, at thirteen-thirty, which isonly two hours and a half from now, is probably some kind of a riot."
"A riot which could arise from business motives," Lancedale added."That sounds like the docks, or the wholesale district, or the garmentdistrict, or something like that." He passed his hand rapidly over thephotoelectric eye of the commo box. "Get me Major Slater," he said;and, a little later, "Major, get a platoon out to Long Island, toChester Pelton's home; have the place searched for possible boobytraps, and maintain guard there till further notice. You'll have notrouble with the servants, they're all in our pay. That platoon mustnot, repeat not, wear uniform or appear to have any connection withthe Fraternities. Put another platoon in Pelton's store. Concealedweapons, and plain clothes. They should carry their leather helmets inshopping bags, and ro
am about in the store, ostensibly shopping. And afull company, uniformed and armed with heavy weapons, alerted andready for immediate 'copter movement." He went on to explain about theintelligence report and the conclusions drawn from it. The guardsofficer repeated back his instructions, and Lancedale broke theconnection.
"Now, Frank," he said, "I told you that this revelation of ClairePelton's Literacy can be turned to our advantage. There's to be a fullCouncil meeting at thirteen hundred. Here's what I estimate Joyner andGraves will try to do, and here's what I'm going to do to counterit--"
* * * * *
A couple of men in the maroon uniform of Pelton's store police werewaiting as Prestonby's 'copter landed on the top stage; one of themtouched his cap-visor with his gas-billy in salute and said: "LiteratePrestonby? Miss Pelton is expecting you; she's in her father's office.This way, if you please, sir."
He had hoped to find her alone, but when he entered the office, he sawfive or six of
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