Forrester waved a hand. "No need for formality," he said, and felt like
an ass. But none of the girls seemed to notice. Agreement with his idea
became general. "Well, let's see."
His eyes wandered over the surrounding scenery in quiet thought. Several
Myrmidons were scattered about twenty feet away, and they were standing
with their backs to the group as a matter of formality. If they had
turned around, they couldn't have seen a thing in the darkness. But they
had to remain at their stations, to make sure no unauthorized persons,
souvenir-hunters, musicians, special-pleaders or just plain lost souls
intruded upon great Dionysus while he was occupied.
The Myrmidons were the only living souls within that radius, except for
Forrester himself and his bevy--and the Symes trio.
His gaze settled on them. Ed Symes, he noticed with quiet satisfaction,
was now out cold. Forrester thought that the little spell he had cast on
the beer might have had something to do with that, and he felt rather
pleased with his efforts, at least in that direction. Symes was lying
flat on his back, snoring loudly enough to drown out all but a few notes
from the steam calliope, which was singing itself loudly to sleep
somewhere in the distance. Near the prone figure, Gerda was trying to
fend off the advances of good old Alvin Sherdlap, but it was obvious
that the sheer passage of time, plus the amount of liquor she had
consumed, were weakening her resistance.
Forrester pointed a finger at the man. The one thing he really wanted to
do was to give Alvin the rock treatment. One little _zap_ would do it,
and Alvin Sherdlap would encumber the Earth no more. And it wasn't as if
Alvin would be missed, Forrester told himself. It was clear from one
look at the lout that no one, anywhere, for any reason, would miss Alvin
if he were exploded into dust.
The temptation was very nearly irresistible, but somehow Forrester
managed to resist it. He had been told that he had to be extremely
careful in the use of his powers, and he had a pretty good idea that he
wouldn't be able to justify blasting Alvin. Viewed objectively, there
was nothing wrong with what the oaf was doing. He was merely following
his religion as he understood it, and the religion was a very simple
one: when at an orgy, have an orgy.
Gerda didn't have to give in if she didn't want to, Forrester thought.
He tried very hard to make himself believe that.
But his finger was still pointed at the man. He didn't stop his powers
entirely; he merely throttled them down so that only a tiny fraction of
the neural energy at his command came into play. The energy that came
from the tip of his finger made no noise and cast no light. It was not a
killing blow.
Invisibly, it leaped across the intervening space and hit Alvin Sherdlap
squarely on the nose.
The results were eminently satisfactory. Alvin uttered a sharp cry, let
go of Gerda and fell over backward. His legs stood up straight in the
air for a second, and then came down to hit the ground. He was silent.
Gerda stared down at him, too tired and confused to make any coherent
picture out of what was going on.
Forrester sighed happily to himself. _That_, he thought, _ought to take
care of Alvin for a while_.
"Lord Dionysus," Kathy asked in that same innocent tone, "what are you
pointing at out there?"
The girl was decidedly irritating, Forrester thought. "Pointing?" he
said. "Ah, yes." He thought fast. "My target-tosser. I fear that his
religious fervor has led to his being overcome."
The girls all turned round to look but, of course, Forrester thought,
they could see nothing at all in the darkness.
"My goodness," Bette said.
"But if he's unconscious," Kathy put in, "why were you pointing at him?"
Forrester told himself that the next time the Sabbatical Bacchanal was
held, he would see to it that an intelligence test was given to every
candidate for Dionysian Escort, and anyone who scored as high on it as
Kathy would be automatically disqualified.
He had to think of some excuse for looking at the man. And then he had
it--the game he had planned. It was really quite a nice little idea.
"I hate to see the poor mortal miss out on the rest of the evening,"
Forrester said, "even if he is asleep now. And I think we may have a use
for him."
He gestured gently with one hand.
Gerda and Alvin Sherdlap didn't even notice what was happening. They
were much too busy arguing, Alvin claiming that somebody had slapped him
on the nose--"and pretty hard, too, let me tell you!"--and Gerda
swearing she hadn't done it. The fact that Ed Symes's snores were fading
quietly into the distance dawned on neither of them.
But Ed was in flight. He rose five feet above the ground, still
unconscious and snoring, and sped unerringly across the air, like a
large, fat arrow shot from a bow, in the direction of Forrester and the
circle of girls.
He appeared overhead suddenly, and Forrester controlled him so that he
drifted downward as delicately as an overweight snowflake, eddying in
the slight breeze while the girls gaped at him. Forrester allowed the
body to drop the last six inches out of control, so that Ed Symes landed
with a heavy thump in the center of the circle. But no harm was done. Ed
was very far gone indeed; he merely snored on.
"There," Forrester said.