Sixth Column (23 page)

Ardmore ignored them and continued his progress until he stood

immediately in front of the commander. "I am told that my people have

sinned," he announced. "The Lord Mota will deal with them."

Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on the perplexed

official and shouted, "In the name of Shaam, Lord of Peace!" and turned on

the green ray from his staff.

He played it over the imprisoned congregation. Down they went, as if the

ray were a strong gale striking a stand of wheat. In seconds' time, every man,

woman and child lay limp on the ground, to all appearance dead. Ardmore

turned back to the PanAsian officer and bowed low. "The servant asks this

penance be accepted."

To say that the Oriental was disconcerted is to expose the inadequacy of

language. He knew how to deal with opposition, but this whole-hearted

cooperation left him without a plan; it was not in the rules.

Ardmore left him no time to think of a plan. "The Lord Mota is not

content," he informed him, "and directs that I give you and your men

presents, presents of gold!"

With that he switched on a dazzling white light and played it over the

stacked arms of the soldiers to his right. Ward followed his motions, giving his

attention to the left flank. The stacked small arms glowed and scintillated

under the ray. Wherever it touched, the metal shone with a new luster, rich

and ruddy. Gold! Raw gold!

The PanAsian common soldier was paid no better than common soldiers

usually are. Their lines shifted uneasily, like race horses at the barrier. A

sergeant stepped up to the weapons, examined one and held it up. He called

out something in his own tongue, his voice showing high excitement.

The soldiers broke ranks.

They shouted and swarmed and danced. They fought each other for

possession of the useless, precious weapons. They paid no attention to their

officers; nor were their officers free of the gold fever.

Ardmore looked at Ward and nodded. "Let 'em have it!" he commanded,

and turned his knockout ray on the PanAsian commander.

The Asiatic toppled over without learning what had hit him, for his

agonized attention was on his demoralized command. Ward had gone to

work on the staff officers.

Ardmore gave the American prisoners the counteracting effect while

Ward disintegrated a large gate in the bull pen. There developed the most

unexpected difficult part of the task -to persuade three hundred-odd, dazed

and disorganized people to listen and to move all in one direction. But two

loud voices and a fixed determination accomplished it. It was necessary to

clear a path through the struggling, wealth-mad Orientals with the aid of the

tractor and pressor beams. This gave Ardmore an idea; he used the beams

an his own followers much as a goose girl touches up a flock of geese with

her switch.

They made the nine blocks to the temple in ten minutes, moving at a

dogtrot that left many gasping and protesting. But they made it, made it

without interruption by major force, although both Ward and Ardmore found it

necessary to knock out an occasional PanAsian en route.

Ardmore wiped sweat from his face when he finally stumbled in the

temple door, sweat that was not due entirely to precipitate progress. "Ward,"

he asked with a sigh, "have you got a drink in the place?"

Thomas was calling him again before he had had time to finish a

cigarette. "Chief," he said, "we are beginning to get some reports in. I thought

you would like to know."

"Go ahead."

"It looks successful-so far. Maybe twenty percent of the priests have

reported so far through their bishops that they are back with their

congregations."

"Any casualties?"

"Yes. We lost the entire congregation in Charleston, South Carolina.

They were dead before the priest got there. He tore into the PanAsians with

his staff at full power and killed maybe two or three times as many of the

apes as they had killed of us before he beat his way to his temple and

reported."

Ardmore shook his head at this. "Too bad. I'm sorry about his

congregation, but I'm sorrier that he cut loose and killed a bunch of

PanAsians. It tips my hand before I'm ready."

"But, Chief, you can't blame him-his wife was in that crowd!"

"I'm not blaming him. Anyhow, it's done-the gloves had to come off

sooner or later; this just means that we will have to work a little faster. Any

other trouble?"

"Not much. Several places they fought a sort of rear-guard action getting

back to the temples and lost some people." Ardmore saw a messenger in the

screen hand a sheaf of_ flimsies to Thomas. Thomas glanced at them and

continued. "A bunch more reports, Chief. Want to hear 'em?"

"No. Give me a consolidated report when they are all in. Or when most of

them are in, not later than an hour from now. I'm cutting off."

The consolidated report showed that over ninety-seven percent of the

members of the cult of Mota had been safely gathered into the temples.

Ardmore called a staff meeting and outlined his immediate plans. The

meeting was, in effect, face to face, as Ardmore's place at the conference

table was taken by the pick-up and the screen of the receiver. "We've had our

hands forced," he told them. "As you know, we had not expected to start

action of our own volition for another two weeks, perhaps three. But we have

no choice now. As I see it, we have to act and act so fast that we will always

have the jump on them."

He threw the situation open to general discussion; there was agreement

that immediate action was necessary, but some disagreement as to methods.

After listening to their several opinions Ardmore selected Disorganization

Plan IV and told them to go ahead with preparations. "Remember," he

cautioned, "once we start, it's too late to turn back. This thing moves fast and

accelerates. How many basic weapons have been provided?"

The "basic weapon" was the simplest Ledbetter projector that had been

designed. It looked very much like a pistol and was intended to be used in

similar fashion. It projected a directional beam of the primary Ledbetter effect

in the frequency band fatal in those of Mongolian blood and none other. It

could be used by a layman after three minutes' instruction, since all that was

required was to point it and press a trigger, but it was practically foolproof-the user literally could not harm a fly with it, much less a Caucasian man. But

it was sudden death to Asiatics.

The problem of manufacturing and distributing quantities of weapons to

be used in the deciding conflict had been difficult. The staffs used by the

priests were out of the question; each was a precision instrument comparable

to a fine Swiss watch. Scheer himself had laboriously fashioned by hand the

most delicate parts of each staff, and, nevertheless, required the assistance

of many other skilled metalsmiths and toolmakers to keep pace with the

demand. It was all handwork; mass production was impossible until

Americans once more controlled their own factories.

Furthermore, detailed instruction and arduous supervised practice were

indispensable in order for a priest to become even moderately skillful in the

use of the remarkable powers of his staff.

The basic weapon was the pragmatic answer. It was simple and rugged

and contained no moving parts other than the activating switch, or trigger.

Even so, it could not be manufactured in quantity at the Citadel, as there

would have been no way to distribute the weapons to widely separated parts

of the country without attracting unhealthy attention from the PanAsian

authorities. Each priest carried to his own temple one sample of the basic

weapon; it was then his responsibility to locate and enlist in his own

community, workmen with -the necessary skill in metalwork for producing the

comparatively simple device.

In the secret places down underneath each temple, workmen had been

busy for weeks at the task grinding, polishing, shaping, reproducing by hand

row on row of the lethal little gadgets.

The supply staff officer gave Ardmore the information he had requested.

"Very well," Ardmore acknowledged, "that's fewer weapons than we have

members of our congregations, but it will have to do. There will be a lot of

dead wood, anyway. This damned cult business has attracted every

screwball and crackpot in the country-all the long-haired men and shorthaired women. By the time we count them out we may have a few basic

weapons left over. Which reminds me-if we do have any left over, there ought

to be some women in every congregation who are young and strong and

tough-minded enough to be useful in a fight. We'll arm them. About the

crackpots you'll find a note in the general indoctrination plan as to how each

priest is to break the news to his flock that the whole thing is really a hoax for

military purposes. I want to add to it. Nine people out of ten will be overjoyed

to hear the truth and strongly cooperative. That tenth one may cause trouble,

get hysterical, maybe try to do a bunk out of the temple. Caution each priest,

for God's sake, to be careful; break the news to them in small numbers at a

time, and be ready to turn the sleepy ray on anybody that looks like a source

of trouble. Then lock 'em up until the fun is over-we haven't time to try to

reorient the soft-minded.

"Now get on with it. The priests will need the rest of the day to

indoctrinate their congregations and to get them organized into something

resembling military lines. Thomas, I want the scout car assigned tonight to

the job involving the Prince Royal to stop here first and pick me up. Have

Wilkie and Scheer man it."

"Very well, sir. But I had planned to be in that car myself. Do you object

to that slight change?"

"I do," Ardmore said dryly. "If you will look at Disorganization Plan IV you

will see that it calls for the commanding officer to remain in the Citadel. Since

I am already here, outside the Citadel, you will remain in my place."

"But, Chief-"

"We are not going to risk both of us, not at this stage of the game. Now

pipe down."

"Yes, sir."

Ardmore was called back to the communicator later that morning. The

face of the headquarters communication watch officer peered out of the

screen at him. "O1-Major Ardmore, Salt Lake City is trying to reach you with

a priority routing."

"Put them on."

The face gave way to that of the priest at Salt Lake City.

"Chief," he began, "we've got a most extraordinary prisoner. I'm of the

opinion you'd better question him yourself."

"I'm short of time. Why?"

"Well, he's a PanAsian, but claims he is a white man and that you will

know him. The funny thing about it is that he got past our screen. I thought

that was impossible."

"So it is. Let me see him."

It was Downer, as Ardmore had begun to suspect. Ardmore introduced

him to the local priest and as cured that official that his screens had not failed

him. "Now, Captain, out with it."

"Sir, I decided to come in and report to you in detail because things are

coming to a head."

"I know it. Give me all the details you can."

"I will, sir. I wonder if you have any idea how much damage you've done

the enemy already?-their morale is cracking up like rotten ice in a thaw. They

axe all nervous, uncertain of themselves. What happened?"

Ardmore sketched out briefly the events of the past twenty-four hours,

his own arrest, the arrest of the priests, the arrest of the entire cult of Mota,

and the subsequent delivery. Downer nodded. "That explains it. I couldn't

really tell what had happened; they never tell a common soldier anything-but

I could see them going to pieces, and I thought you had better know."

"What happened?"

"Well-I guess I had better just tell you what I saw, and let you make your

own inferences. The second battalion of the Dragon Regiment at Salt Lake

City is under arrest. I heard a rumor that every officer in it had committed

suicide. I suppose that is the outfit that let the local congregation escape, but

I don't know."

"Probably. Go ahead."

"All I know is what I saw. They were marched in about the middle of the

morning with their banners reversed and confined to their barracks, with a

heavy guard - around the buildings. But that's not all. It affects more than the

one outfit under arrest. Chief, you know how an entire regiment will go to

pieces if the colo nel starts losing his grip?"

"I do. Is that the way they act?"

"Yes-at least the command stationed at Salt Lake City. I'm damned well

certain that the big shot there is afraid of something he can't understand, and

his fear has infected his troops, right down to the ordinary soldiers. Suicides,

lots of 'em, even among the common soldiers. A man will get moody for

about a day, then sit down facing toward the Pacific and rip out his guts.

"But here is the tip-off, the thing that proves that morale is bad all over

the country. There has been a general order issued by the Prince Royal, in