Sixth Column (22 page)

the wall. This required an entirely different setting, directional and with fine

discrimination. He turned on the red ray of Dis to guide him in his work,

completed his set-up, and again turned on power.

Quietly and without fuss, atoms of metal rearranged themselves and

appeared as nitrogen, to mix harmlessly with the air. Where there had been a

solid wall was now an opening the size and shape of ,a tall man dressed in

priestly robes. He looked at it, and, as an after thought, he meticulously

traced an ellipse over the head of the representation, an ellipse the size and

shape of his halo. That done, he reset the controls of his staff to that he had

used before, turned on power, and stepped through the opening. It was a

close fit; he had to wriggle through sideways.

Outside it was necessary to step over the piled-up bodies of a dozen or

more PanAsian soldiers. This was not the side of the welded-up entrance; he

guessed that he would have found guards outside each and any of the four

walls, probably floor and ceiling as well.

There were more doors to pass, more bodies to clamber over before he

found himself outside. When he did, he was completely unoriented. "Jeff," he

called, "where am I?"

"Just a second, Chief. You're-No, we can't get a fix on you, but you are

on a line of bearing almost due south of the nearest temple. Are you still near

the palace?"

"Just outside it."

"Then head north-it's about nine squares."

"Which way is north? I'm all turned around. No wait a minute-I just

located the Big Dipper, I'm all right."

"Hurry, Chief."

"I will." He set out at a quick dogtrot, kept it up for a couple of hundred

yards, then dropped into a fast walk. Damn it, he thought, a man gets out of

condition with all this desk work.

Ardmore encountered several Asiatic police, but they were in no

condition to notice him; he had kept the primary effect turned on. There were

no whites about-the curfew was strict with the exception of a pair of startled

street cleaners. It occurred to him that he should induce them to go with him

to the temple, but he decided against it; they were in no more danger than a

hundred fifty million others. There was the temple!-its four walls glowing with

the colors of attributes. He broke into a run and burst inside. The local priest

was almost at his heels, arriving from the other direction.

He greeted the priest heartily, suddenly realizing the strain he had been

under in finding how good it was to speak to a man of his own kind ---a

comrade. The two of them ducked around back of the altar and went down

below to the control and communication room, where the pararadio operator

and his opposite number were almost hysterically glad to see them. They

offered him black coffee, which he accepted gratefully. Then he told the

operator to cut out of Circuit A and establish direct two-way connection with

headquarters with vision converted into the circuit.

Thomas appeared to be about to jump out of the screen. "Whitey!" he

yelled. It was the first time since the Collapse that anyone had called

Ardmore by his nickname. He was not even aware that Thomas knew it. But

he felt warmed by the slip.

"Hi, Jeff," he called to the image, "good to see you. Any reports in yet?"

"Some. They are coming in all the time."

"Shift to relay through the diocese offices; Circuit A is too clumsy. I want

a quick report."

It was forthcoming. Within less than twenty minutes the last diocese had

reported in. Every priest was back in his own temple. "Good," he told

Thomas. "Now I want the proprietor in each temple set for counteraction, and

wake all those monkeys up. They ought to be able to use a directional

concentration down the line each priest returned on, and reach clear back to

the local jailhouse."

"O.K., if you say so, Chief. May I ask why you don't simply let 'em wake

up when the effect wears off?'

"Because," he explained, "if they simply come to before anybody finds

them the effect will be much more mysterious than if they are found

apparently dead. The object of the whole caper was to break the morale of

the Asiatics. This increases the effect."

"Right-as usual, Chief. The word is going out."

"Fine. When that's done, have them check the shielding of their temples,

turn on the fourteen-cycle note, and go to bed-all that aren't on duty. I

imagine we'll have a busy day tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Aren't you coming back here, Chief?"

Ardmore shook his head. "It's an unnecessary risk. I can supervise just

as effectively through television as I could if I were standing right beside you."

"Scheer is all set to fly over and pick you up. 'He could set her down right

on the temple roof."

"Tell him thanks, but to forget it. Now you turn it over to the staff duty

officer and get some sleep."

"Just as you say, Chief."

He had a midnight lunch with the local priest and some conversation,

then let the priest show him to a stateroom down underground.

CHAPTER TEN

Ardmore was awakened by the off duty pararadio operator shaking him

vigorously. "Major Ardmore! Major! Wake up!"

"Unnh . . . . M-m-m-m . . . . Wassa matter?"

"Wake up-the Citadel is calling you-urgently!"

"What time is it?"

"About eight. Hurry, sir!"

He was reasonably wide awake by the time he reached the phone.

Thomas was there, on the other end, and started to talk as soon as he saw

Ardmore. "A new development, Chief-and a bad one. The PanAsian police

are rounding up every member of our congregations-systematically."

"H-m-m-m-it was an obvious next move, I guess. How far along are

they?"

"I don't know. I called you when the first report came in; they are coming

in steadily now from all over the country."

"Well, I reckon we had better get busy." It was one thing for a priest,

armed and protected, to risk arrest; these people were absolutely helpless.

"Chief-you remember what they did after the first uprising? This looks

bad, Chief-I'm scared!"

Ardmore understood Thomas' fear; he felt it himself. But he did not

permit his expression to show it.

"Take it easy, old son," he said in a gentle voice.

"Nothing has happened to our people yet and I don't think we'll let

anything happen."

"But, Chief, what are you going to do about it? There aren't enough of us

to stop them before they kill a lot of people."

"Not enough to do it directly, perhaps, but there is a way. You stick to

collecting data and warn everybody not to go off half-cocked. I'll call you back

in about fifteen minutes." He flipped the disconnect switch before Thomas

could answer.

It required some thought. If he could equip each man with a staff, it

would be simple. The shielding effect from a staff could theoretically protect a

man against almost anything; except, perhaps, an A-bomb or the infiltration

of poison gas. But the construction and repair department had been hard

pushed to provide enough staffs to equip each new priest; one for each man

was out of the question, since they lacked factory mass production. Anyhow,

he needed them now-this morning.

A priest could extend his shield to include any given area or number of

people, but in great extension the field became so tenuous that a well-thrown

snowball would break through it. Nuts!

He realized suddenly that he was thinking of the problem in direct terms

again, in spite of his conscious knowledge that such an approach was futile.

What he wanted was psychological jiu-jitsu-some way to turn their own

strength against them. Misdirection-that was the idea! Whatever it was they

expected him to do, don't do it! Do something else.

But what else? When he thought he had found an answer to that

question he called Thomas to the screen. "Jeff," he said at once, "give me

Circuit A."

He spoke for some minutes to his priests, slowly and in detail, and

emphasizing certain points. "Any questions?" he then asked, and spent

several more minutes in dealing with such as they were relayed in from the

diocese stations.

Ardmore and the local priest left the temple together. The priest

attempted to persuade him to stay behind, but he brushed the objections

aside. The priest was right; he knew in his heart that he should not take

personal risks that could be avoided, but it was a luxury to be out from under

Jeff Thomas' restraining influence.

"How do you plan to find out where they have taken our people?" asked

the priest. He was a former real-estate operator named Ward, a man of

considerable native intelligence. Ardmore liked him.

"Well, what would you do if I weren't along?"

"I don't know. I suppose I would walk into a police station and try to scare

the information out of the flatface in charge."

"That's sound enough. W here is one?"

The central police station of the PanAsian police lay in the shadow of the

palace, between eight and nine blocks to the south. They encountered many

PanAsians en route, but were not interfered with. The Asiatics seemed

dumbfounded to see two priests of Mota striding along in apparent

unconcern. Even those garbed as police appeared uncertain what to do, as if

their instructions had not covered the circumstance.

However, someone had phoned ahead; they were met on the steps by a

nervous Asiatic officer who demanded of them, "Surrender! You are under

arrest!"

They walked straight toward him. Ward lifted one, hand in blessing and

intoned, "Peace! Take me to my people."

"Don't you understand my language?" snapped the PanAsian, his voice

becoming shrill. "You are under arrest!" His hand crept nervously toward his

holster.

"Your earthly weapons avail you not," said Ardmore calmly, "in dealing

with the great Lord Mota. He commands you to lead me to my people. Be

warned!" He continued to advance until his personal screen pushed against

the man's body.

It the disembodied pressure of the invisible screen-was more than the

PanAsian could stand. He fell back a pace, jerked his sidearm clear and fired

point-blank. The vortex ring struck harmlessly against the screen, was

absorbed by it.

"Lord Mota is impatient," remarked Ardmore in a mild tone. "Lead his

servant, before the Lord Mota sucks the soul from your body." He shifted to

another effect, never before used in dealing with the PanAsians.

The principle involved was very simple; a cylindrical tractor-pressor

stasis was projected, forming in effect a tube. Ardmore let it rest over the

man's face, then applied a tractor beam down the tube. The unfortunate

PanAsian gasped for air where there was no air and pawed at his face. When

his nose began to bleed, Ardmore let up on him. "Where are my children?" he

inquired again as softly as before.

The police officer, probably in sheer reflex, tried to run. Ardmore nailed

him with a pressor beam against the door and again applied momentarily the

suction tube, this time to the fellow's midriff. "Where are they?"

"In the park," the man gasped, and regurgitated violently.

They turned with leisured dignity, and headed back down the steps,

sweeping those who had pressed too close casually out of the way with the

pressor beam.

The park surrounded the erstwhile State capitol building. They found the

congregation herded into a hastily erected bull pen which was surrounded by

ranks of Asiatic soldiers. On a platform nearby, technicians were installing

television pick-up. It was easy to infer that another public "lesson" was to be

given the serfs. Ardmore saw no evidence of the rather bulky apparatus used

to produce the epileptogenetic ray; either it had not been brought up, or some

other method of execution was to be used-perhaps the soldiers present were

an enormous firing squad.

Momentarily he was tempted to use the staff to knock out all the soldiers

present they were standing at ease with arms stacked, and it was

conceivably possible that he might be able to do so before they could harm,

not Ardmore, but the helpless members of the congregation. But he decided

against it; he had been right when he gave his orders to his priests -this was a

game of bluff; he could not combat all of the soldiers that the PanAsian

authorities could bring to bear, yet he must get this crowd safely inside the

temple.

The massed people in the bull pen recognized Ward, and perhaps the

high priest as well, at least by reputation. He could see sudden hope wipe

despair from their faces-they surged expectantly. But he passed on by them

with the briefest of blessing, Ward in his train, and hope gave way to doubt

and bewilderment as they saw him stride up to the PanAsian commander

and offer him the same blessing.

"Peace!" cried Ardmore. "I come to help you."

The PanAsian barked an order in his own tongue. Two PanAsians ran up

to Ardmore and attempted to seize him. They slithered off the screen, tried

again, and then stood looking to their superior officer for instructions, like a

dog bewildered by an impossible command.