"Right. The Speech. Right here, sir." Cam tendered the manuscript.
The Grimmest of Reapers found the most uncomfortable chair in the room,
sat, and began reading. The first page was peeled off and dropped to the
floor; the second; the third; and finally, the entire effort was strewn
beside Sowles, who rose in what he undoubtedly considered righteous
wrath.
"You've missed the whole _Message!_" he hissed.
"Sir?"
"All this Pollyanna frou-frou is all right as frosting--but you've left
out the _cake!_"
Cam was momentarily spooked--and not "on account of the account,"
either. Sowles looked fully capable of loosing a full-fledged
Inquisition, complete with rack and thumbscrew, at Cam's well-barbered
head.
Sowles continued to fulminate. "You haven't got one word in there about
our _enemies!_"
"But Father, I refer several times to the Slave World and its evil
rulers...."
"Not just _Them!_ What about the traitors in our midst--the sinister
cabal of pinko liberals and moderate conservatives that have undermined
our defenses...."
"I thought the Smirch Society had staked out that claim," said Cam.
"Bah! The Smirchers are too mealy-mouthed for the needs of the hour. I
think _they're_ a little soft on Communism. And what about the race
mongrelizers?" spluttered Sowles. "Trying to subvert America with an
Afro-Asian Trojan Horse!"
"I suppose you can trace your ancestry all the way back to Caligula,"
muttered Everett.
"That's right, you human sewer! If I hadn't been assured you might be of
use to the Cause--" He left the sentence unfinished.
"I get the picture, Father." Cam ushered Sowles to the door. "We'll get
the new draft out right away."
"And don't forget the economic heretics," Sowles shouted as the door
closed on him. "The fiends that concocted the income tax, and Social
Security, and the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation, and...."
"Wow," breathed Cam, when the torrent was finally cut off.
"How do you like Galahad now?" asked Ev from the bar.
"Build me one too," answered Cam.
* * * * *
Nevertheless, the revision had to be done, and done it was.
"That'll have 'em seein' Red, all right," pronounced Everett.
"It's got everything in it except a declaration of war on Switzerland,"
said Cam ruefully.
"Quiet--or he'll hear about that, and want it too," said Ev.
* * * * *
The Day of the Rally dawned bright and smoggy, but the weather boys
promised a clear, cool evening. Naturally, the major 3-D nets were all
set to 'cast the "birth in the Bowl" of a potentially historic campaign.
Satellites would bounce the signal over oceans and continents,
throughout Euramerica, as well carrying the presentation as to allies
and unaligned nations from Tokyo to Karachi. The crusading aspect of
Sowles' candidacy had been tom-tommed so well that pundits were already
predicting that Sowles might easily go on to the Governorship of North
America two years hence--if, indeed, his Soldiers did not sweep to
control of the U. S. of E. Parliament then. That, of course, would
install the Grim Reaper in the Presidential Palace.... Cam shuddered and
thrust the thought from his mind. But wild dreams aside, there was no
doubt that two hemispheres' attention was riveted on the big-time debut
of the West Coast's Angel of Vengeance.
En route to the Bowl, the "Soldier" theme was already manifest. Every
few feet, a "Brother-Private" in a new, usually ill-fitting uniform was
directing traffic or hawking MAB-confected wares. "Father-General"
Sowles appeared to have lifted more than one leaf from the Salvation
Army's book.
Cam himself had been verbally commissioned Brother Lieutenant-Colonel
when the revised oration had been submitted to Sowles. The Reaper ate it
up this trip. "You'd have thought it came down from Sinai on tablets,"
said Ev after Sowles left to begin practicing the Speech.
"He'll make it sound that way," Cam had remarked. "Above all, Our Leader
is a great orator."
"Translation: bloody demagogue," Ev had replied.
Now their chauffeured air-suspension limo was tooling them up through
the thickening crowds to the hill-cradled amphitheater.
Curt had come along to help. "What's going to happen to the overflow?"
he asked anxiously, peering at the turgid sea of faces outside.
"Special buses will take them to closed circuit 3-D houses," said Cam.
"Fantastic," said Ev.
Inside, there were just about the same number of last-minute panics and
snafus as at most 3-D spectaculars. Power for the innumerable huge
coaxial snakes was several times inadequate, which problem no one, of
course, had foreseen. But eventually all the crises had had their moment
and were coped with--and suddenly it was almost air time.
Cam, Curt, and Ev repaired to the control booth and found an area where
they wouldn't be under the technicians' feet. (Cam had decreed a triple
platoon system on this one: a fresh director and crew were alternated in
every fifteen minutes.) Ev produced a flask, which Cam and Curt
declined; but the super-mongoose took a few greedy licks at the cap.
"A lush _Gestalt_ yet," muttered Curt.
"Don't insult the folks that put you in silk, sonny," advised Ev.
"Tell me about the others now," said Cam. "Everything's out of our hands
anyhow."
* * * * *
Ev breathed deeply. "Okay, I'll tell you a wee bit. One of us is a
Pathan valet in Bombay--which would cut up the Reaper worse than the
fictitious _entente_ with the squid. And the Pathan must have a few
drops of Irish blood and, ergo, second sight--he contributes enormously
to the acuity of our insight into potential human reaction."
"Mmmm. And?"
"My small friend here, the super-mongoose, is the amplifier. Some goofy
new gland, I suppose--or as you guessed, a mutational development. In
that tiny _corpus_, however it came about, is an organ that enables us
to communicate on an elemental level among ourselves without regard to
mileage; and to probe psyches anywhere in the world--as many as we want.
Actually, we have to keep his output at a fraction of capacity, or else
get swamped in a tidal wave of emotion."
"That accounts for three. But you indicated there were four," said Cam.
"No, I never! But you're right. There is a fourth. Twelve years old; IQ
about 180. Never even leaves his room. But his mind--and his psi
faculties--have seven-league boots. He runs our team."
"Where does he live?"
"High on a windy hill. He, he, he!" Ev hit the flask as a trout the fly,
and an engineer glared. The gradually rising stage lights signalled the
Zero Second in a symphony of changing color.
First, the cross-and-star symbol grew from a tiny point on the stage
until it became a living pillar of luminosity that seemed to dwarf the
night.
Then came the distant music of fife and drum, augmented by cornet:
"Yankee Doodle;" and in the traditional Revolutionary regalia, the
musical minute-men led a parade down the aisles of the Choral Guard.
They segued to "Onward Christian Soldiers" as they marched past the
mesmerized audience, up to and onto the stage; and topped off the medley
with "The Battle Hymn of The Republic." It was only great.
"The folks are already on the ropes," said Ev.
"Where does he live?" asked Cam.
A Brother-Major came forward and led the Choral Guard and audience in a
responsive psalm that emphasized the smiting of enemies. With the
"Amen," the cameras panned with the audience's eyes up to the pregnant
night sky. You could hear an option drop.
Then the Guard did some fancy quick-step singing on stage: "God Bless
America"; "Over there"; and "The Soldiers Are Coming", to the tune of
"The Campbells Are Coming", complete with bagpipe brigade.
Next, a rather hard-featured Sister Captain told how the growing army of
the Lord needed support. The Offertory was handled by Brother N.C.O.'s
while super-imposed 3-D slides told the brethren at home exactly how to
get their bux to Sowles. Meanwhile a battery of organs swept through the
"_Marseillaise_", "Land Of Hope And Glory", and other U. S. of E. songs.
Finally, a Guard contralto came forward and got the whole crowd on its
feet to join her in singing "The Star Spangled Banner."
"They're limp as old wet-wash," said Ev.
* * * * *
Now the Bowl went dark except for the pale light of the moon and stars.
Minutes passed. Eventually, a spotlight picked out Sowles standing
alone, quietly, meditatively, at Stage Right. He looked as though
wondering if it was all right to come out. The audience went wild. Cam
reflected that it probably would have, even without the claques he had
planted. As it was, had the Bowl had a roof, it would have been blasted
off.
"We're picking up reactions like mad," said Ev.
"The U. S. of E. audience alone will hit at least 200 million," said
Cam.
"All thinking--I should say feeling--like one great docile beast."
"Where does he live?" Cam asked again.
"Tibet," blurted Ev unthinkingly; then he turned and glared at Cam as he
might at a tarantula in his daiquiri.
But Sowles had begun to speak. A huge rear-projection screen behind him
visualized each thought uttered. He started with the theme of the West:
how logical that a great new crusade should be born here where men of
the cloth had first blazed Western civilization's trails; Berkeley was
quoted about the Westward Star of Empire; this was the shore sought by
the most valiant of the westering tide of pioneers; etc., etc. Meanwhile
the 3-D living mural milked Western scenery to a fare-thee-well. Gaunt
fishermen stared out over Puget Sound, and Big Sur underlined the
concept of rugged strength. Mount McKinley and Mazatlan passed in
review.
Then Sowles got down to business. This vital young giant--the West--was
not going to let the effete pestholes of the East (by this he meant all
the way East, including Stockholm, Athens, and Kashmir) forfeit the
Caucasian heritage with their decadent goings-on. The Commie Complex was
not going to be handed the rest of the planet on a silver platter
because of Euramerican "marshmallow moral fiber."
He proceeded to the list of Hates: Welfare Statism; tyranny by tax
("Remember the Boston Tea Party!"); loose divorce laws; fraternal
lodges; "promiscuous enfranchisement"; water fluoridation; and so on.
These were but a few of the cancers, he screamed, that must be
ruthlessly excised from the body politic so that a lean, clean
Euramerica might face the Arch-Enemy on reasonably even terms.
"They're frothing at the mouth," said Ev.
Now Sowles really tore the rag off the bush. He described the Godless
Atheists that held half the world in thrall. He rehearsed again the
butchery of the kulaks and the kangaroo courts of Cuba. He showed the
Mongol tanks rumbling into Budapest and the pinched-face terror of the
East German refugees; the "human sea" charges in Korea and the flight of
the Dalai Lama.
Suddenly Cam was struck by a wild surmise.
"Number Four--he's the Panchen Lama, isn't he?" Cam knew that the
current Red puppet high priest was about twelve.
"You win the cigar," said Ev.
Cam made up his mind quickly. "Ev, listen to me and do exactly as I say.
This is crucial."
"What?"
"Turn up the gain on the mongoose."
"What for? It's all I can stand right now!"
"Never mind. Turn it up."
"You're the account exec."
* * * * *
Now Sowles began telling in hushed whispers how it would be under the
Reds. The huge mural became a panorama of rapine. Commie soldiers sacked
Euramerican cities and hamlets. Girls were dragged off for the pleasure
of drunken battalions. Barbarian guffaws rang out as homes and stores
were pillaged and put to the torch.
"Ourch!" gritted Ev. "All this hate...."
"Have another snort and turn up the gain."
The crowd began to low like a cow in labor. Sowles swung into the
climax: A series of questions shouted to the audience....
"Would you work night and day to crush this menace to your homes, your
family, your country, your _God?_"
"_YES!_" The hills rang with the full-throated bellow.
"Would you fight, and if need be, die, to save our civilization and slay
the Commie monsters in their lairs?"
"_YES!_"
Cam thought he could even hear answering shouts from outside the Bowl.
"Turn up the gain again."
"Will you place in the hands of your servants, the Christian Soldiers,
all powers necessary to crush the barbarian tide?" This last was fairly
screamed. Sowles was draped across the podium, arms outstretched to the
audience.
"YES! YES! YES!" thundered the reverberating response.
Fife, drum, and cornet struck up "Onward" very softly.
"_Will you follow me to the_ ends of the earth--to the very gates of Red
Hell itself--destroying every obstacle in our path--until the
Anti-Christ has been annihilated root and branch, and we have come into
our Kingdom? _Will you follow ME??!_"
Pandemonium. The crowd surged into the aisles, falling in with the
Choral Guard, singing, shouting, weeping.
"He hit high C," said Ev.
"Full gain," said Cam.
Ev gulped more skull-buster and stroked the "amplifier" in the region of
the pancreas.
Sowles' arms were uplifted, and one of Cam's clever little effects
haloed his flying locks.
"KILL THE REDS!" he shrilled.
"Kill ... REDS ... KILL ... REDS ..." chanted the crowd, in time to the
drum.
The bright feral light of the super-mongoose's eyes seemed to lance at
Sowles, like an infra-red flash. Then there was a puff where the
would-be messiah had stood--a crackle, and a smell of scorched air; but
no more Sowles.
"He's gone!" said Curt.
"You're damn right, and thank God for it," said Cam, ministering to Ev
who had slumped unconscious from his chair.
* * * * *
The mob broke up uncertainly, with the disappearance of the focus for
its concerted bloodlust. The police asked many questions but none of the
right ones. Finally, Cam, Ev, and Curt escaped to the waiting limo and
started the long slow crawl downhill.
"Now--give," said Ev.
"Feedback. That's why I had you unleash Mighty Mouse. All that hate in
hundreds of millions of people _had_ to boomerang back through your
_Gestalt_ in some psi-fashion ... although I did not anticipate the
pyrotechnics--or should I say pyrokinetics?"
"But what for, Cam?" asked Curt. "I've never seen such an effective job
of mass influence."
"He could have been elected President tomorrow," said Ev.
"That's just it--we did too good a job. And I think that's the way your
Tibetan quarterback wanted it." Cam tilted Ev's flask. "Sowles was a
cinch to go all the way, which would have meant all-out war. Maybe your
junior Fu Manchu figured he could pick up the pieces afterwards."
"How could he know you'd have a character like Sowles all set to go?" Ev
said. "Oh, I get it--precognition. It's fortunate that his crystal ball
didn't read as far as the outcome tonight."
"In any case, we'd better get your Pathan over here, and start
rebuilding your _Gestalt_," said Cam. "You won't hear from the
Panchen--he's undoubtedly constructing a new, all-Red unit right now.
After this bit, psi faculties, including telempathy, have to be
considered another weapons family in the Cold War ... a new set of
pieces of the big chessboard. So you're going to have to find a
substitute for the Himalayan Quiz Kid, and git crackin'."
"I'll consider your application," said Ev, giving his flask the _coup de
grace_; and the lights of L.A. rushed up around them like a huge
breaker--gaudy, garish, and beautifully comprehensible.