Sixth Column (25 page)

your absence-but that is beside the point," Calhoun conceded with a

magnanimous gesture. "What I wanted to say is this: Have you given any

thought to the form of government after we drive out the Asiatic invader?"

What the devil was the man getting at? "Not particularly-why should I? Of

course, there will have to be a sort of provisional interim period, military

government of sorts, while we locate all the old officials left alive and get

them back on the job and arrange for a national election. But that ought not

to be too hard-we'll have the local priests to work through."

Calhoun's eyebrows shot up. "Do you really mean to tell me, my dear

man, that you are seriously contemplating returning to the outmoded

inefficiencies of elections and all that sort of thing?"

Ardmore stared at him. "What else are you suggesting?"

"It seems obvious. We have here a unique opportunity to break with the

stupidities of the past and substitute a truly scientific rule, headed by a man

chosen for his intelligence and scientific training rather than for his skill in

catering to the prejudices of the mob. "

"Dictatorship, eh? And where would I find such a man?" Ardmore's voice

was disarmingly, dangerously gentle.

Calhoun did not speak, but indicated by the slightest of smug selfdeprecatory gestures that Ardmore would not have far to look to find the right

man.

Ardmore chose not to notice Calhoun's implied willingness to serve.

"Never mind," he said, and his voice was no longer gentle, but sharp.

"Colonel Calhoun, I dislike to have to remind you of your duty-but understand

this: you and I are military men. It is not the business of military men to

monkey with politics. You and I hold our commissions by grace of a

constitution, and our sole duty is to that constitution. If the people of the

United States want to streamline their government, they will let us know!

"In the meantime, you have military duties, and so do I. Go ahead with

yours."

Calhoun seemed about to burst into speech. Ardmore cut him short.

"That is all. Carry out your orders, sir!"

Calhoun turned abruptly and left.

Ardmore called his Chief of Intelligence to him. "Thomas," he said, "I

want a close, but discreet, check kept on Colonel Calhoun's movements."

"Yes, sir."

"The last of the scout cars are in, sir."

"Good. How does the tally stand now?" Ardmore asked.

"Just a moment, sir. It was running about six raids to a ship-with this last

one that makes a total of . . . uh . . . nine and two makes eleven-seventy-one

prisoners in sixty-eight raids. Some of them doubled up...

"Any casualties?"

"Only to the PanAsians-"

"Damn it that's what I meant! No, I mean to our men, of course."

"None, Major. One man got a broken arm when he fell down a staircase

in the dark."

"I guess we can stand that. We should get some reports on the local

demonstrations-at least from the East coast cities-before long. Let me know."

"I will. "

"Would you mind telling my orderly to step in as you leave? I want to

send for some caffeine tablets, better have one yourself; this is going to be a

big day."

A good notion, Major." The communications aide went out.

In sixty-eight cities throughout the land, preparations were in progress for

the demonstrations that constituted Phase 2 of Disorganization Plan IV. The

priest of the temple in Oklahoma City had delegated part of his local task to

two men, Patrick Minkowski, taxi driver, and John W. (Jack) Smyth, retail

merchant. They were engaged in fitting leg irons to the ankles of the Voice of

the Hand, PanAsian administrator of Oklahoma City. The limp, naked body of

the Oriental lay on a long table in a workshop down under the temple.

"There," announced Minkowski, "that's the best job of riveting I can do

without heating tools. It'll take him a while to get it off, anyway. Where's that

stencil?"

"By your elbow. Captain Isaacs said he'd weld those joints with his staff

after we finished; I wouldn't worry about them. Say, it seems odd to call the

priest Captain Isaacs, doesn't it? Do you think we're really in the army-legally,

I mean?"

"I wouldn't know about that-and as long as it gives me a chance to take a

crack at those flat-faced apes, I don't care. I suppose we are, though-if you

admit that Isaacs is an army officer, I guess he can take recruits. Look-do we

put this stencil on his back or on his stomach?"

"I'd say to put it on both sides. It does seem funny, though, about this

army business, I mean. One day you're going to church; the next you're told

it's a military outfit, and they swear you in."

"Personally, I like it," commented Minkowski. "Sergeant Minkowski-it

sounds good. They wouldn't take me before on account o' my heart. As for

the church part, I never took any stock in this great God Mota business,

anyhow; I came for the free food and the chance to breathe in peace." He

removed the stencil from the back of the Asiatic; Smyth commenced filling in

the traced design of an ideograph with quick-drying indelible paint. "I wonder

what that heathen writing means?"

"Didn't you hear?" asked Smyth, and told him.

A delighted grin came over Minkowski's face. "Well, I'll be damned," he

said. "If anybody called me that, it wouldn't do him no good to smile when he

said it. You wouldn't kid me?"

"No, indeed. I was in the communications office when they were getting

the design from the Mother Temple-I mean general headquarters. Here's

another funny thing, too. I saw the chap in the screen who was passing out

the design, and he was Asiatic as this monkey"-Smyth indicated the

unconscious voice of the Hand-"but they called him Captain Downer and

treated him like one of us. What do you make of that?"

"Couldn't say. He must be on our side, or else he wouldn't be loose in

headquarters. What'll we do with the rest of the paint?"

Between them they found something to do with it, which Captain Isaacs

noticed at once when he came in to see how they were progressing. He

suppressed a smile. "I see you have elaborated on your instructions a bit," he

commented, trying to keep his voice soberly official.

"It seemed a pity to waste the paint," Minkowski explained ingenuously.

"Besides, he looked so naked the way he was."

"That's a matter of opinion. Personally, I would say that he looks nakeder

now. We'll drop the point; hurry up and get his head shaved. I want to leave

any time now."

Minkowski and Smyth waited at the door of the temple five minutes later,

the Voice of the Hand rolled in a blanket on the floor between them. They

saw a sleek duocycle station wagon come shooting up to the curb in front of

the temple and brake to a sudden stop. Its bell sounded, and Captain Isaacs'

face appeared in the window of the driver's compartment. Minkowski threw

down the butt of a cigarette and grabbed the shoulders of the muffled figure

at their feet; Smyth took the legs and they trotted clumsily and heavily out to

the car.

"Dump him in the back," ordered Captain Isaacs.

That done, Minkowski took the wheel while Isaacs and Smyth crouched

in the back with the subject of the pending demonstration.

"I want you to find a considerable gathering of PanAsians almost

anywhere," directed the captain. "If there are Americans present, too, so

much the better. Drive fast and pay no attention to anyone. I'll take care of

any difficulties with my staff." He settled himself to watch the street over

Minkowski's shoulder.

"Right, Captain! Say, this is a sweet little buggy," he added as the car

shot forward. "How did you pick it up so fast?"

"I knocked out a few of our Oriental friends;" answered Isaacs briefly.

"Watch that signal!"

"Got it!" The car dewed around and dodged under the nose of oncoming

cross traffic. A PanAsian policeman was left futilely waving at them.

A few seconds later Minkowski demanded, "How about that spot up

ahead, Captain?" and hooked his chin in the indicated direction. It was the

square of the civic center.

"O. K. " He bent over the silent figure on the floor of the car, busy with his

staff.

The Asiatic began to struggle. Smyth fell on him and pinned the blanket

more firmly about the head and shoulders of their victim. "Pick your spot.

When you stop, we'll be ready."

The car lurched to a stomach-twisting halt. Smyth slammed open the

rear door; he and Isaacs grabbed corners of the blanket and rolled the nowconscious official into the street. "Take it away, Pal"

The car jumped forward, leaving startled and scandalized Asiatics to deal

with an utterly disgraceful situation as best they might. Twenty minutes later

a brief but explicit account of their exploit was handed to Ardmore in his office

at the Citadel. He glanced over it and passed it to Thomas. "Here's a crew

with imagination, Jeff."

Thomas took the report and read it, then nodded agreement. "I hope

they all do as well. Perhaps we should have given more detailed

instructions."

"I don't think so. Detailed instructions are the death of initiative. This way

we have them all striving to think up some particularly annoying way to get

under the skins of our slant-eyed lords. I expect some very amusing arid

ingenious results."

By nine a.m., headquarters time, each one of the seventy-odd PanAsian

major officials had been returned alive, but permanently, unbearably

disgraced, to his racial brethren. In all cases, so far as the data at hand went,

there had been no cause given to the Asiatics to associate their latest trouble

directly with the cult of Mota. It was simply catastrophe, psychological

catastrophe of the worst sort, which had struck in the night without warning

and without trace.

"You have not set the time for Phase 3 as yet, Major," Thomas reminded

Ardmore when all reports were in.

"I know it. I don't expect it to be more than two hours from now at the

outside. We've got to give them a little time to appreciate what has happened

to them. The force of demoralization will be. many times as great when they

have had time to compare notes around the country and realize that all of

their top men have been publicly humiliated. That, combined with the fact that

we crippled their continental headquarters almost to the limit, should produce

as sweet a case of mass hysteria as one could wish: But we'll have to give it

time to spread. Is Downer on deck?"

"He's standing by in the communications watch office."

"Tell them to cut in a relay circuit from him to my office. I want to listen to

what he picks up here."

Thomas dialed with the interoffice communicator and spoke briefly. Very

shortly Downer's pseudoAsiatic countenance showed on the screen above

Ardmore's desk. Ardmore spoke to him. Downer slipped an earphone off one

ear and gave him an inquiring look.

"I said, Àre you getting anything yet? " repeated Ardmore.

"Some. They're in quite an uproar. What I've been able to translate is

being canned." He flicked a thumb toward the microphone which hung in

front of his face. A preoccupied, listening look came into his eyes, and he

added, "San Francisco is trying to raise the palace-"

"Don't let me interrupt you," said Ardmore, and closed his own

transmitter.

"--the Emperor's Hand there is reported dead. San Francisco wants

some sort of authorization Wait a minute; the comm office wants me to try

another wave length. There it comes-they're using the Prince Royal's signal,

but it's in the provincial governor's frequency. I can't get what they're saying;

it's either coded or in a dialect I don't know. Watch officer, try another wave

band-I'm just wasting time on that one . . . . That's better." Downer's face

became intent, then suddenly lit up. "Chief, get this: Somebody is saying that

the Governor of the gulf province has lost his mind and asks permission to

supersede him! Here's another-wants to know what's wrong with the palace

circuits and how to reach the palace, wants to report an uprising-"

Ardmore cut back in. "Where?"

"Couldn't catch it. Every frequency is jammed with traffic, and about half

of it is incoherent. They don't give each other time to clear-send right through

another message."

There was a gentle knock at the outer door of Ardmore's office. It opened

a few inches and Dr. Brooks' head appeared. "May I come in?"

"Oh-certainly, Doctor. Come in. We are listening to what Captain Downer

can pick up from the radio."

"Too bad we haven't a dozen of him-translators, I mean. "

"Yes, but there doesn't seem to be much to pick up but a general

impression." They listened to what Downer could pick up for the better part of

an hour, mostly disjointed or partial messages, but it was made increasingly

evident that the sabotage of the palace organization, plus the terrific

emotional impact of the disgrace of key administrators, had played hob with

the normal, smooth functioning of the PanAsian government. Finally Downer

said, "Here's a general order going out Wait a minute-It orders a radio