"You're so right. That's the trouble with any rigid system," Cantwell said, much more calmly. "When it starts to crack it's apt to shatter. But that's the way you Tops have always wanted it, so you're stuck with it. So let's get at it."

  "All right. I'll have to make a couple of calls."

  There was no more talk of business until they were in SUITE ONE of the subspacer. Then Punsunby said, "Go ahead, Ersk. What do you think it is?"

  "I know what it is, now. Sabotage. Expert, organized, directed, and highly efficient sabotage. Worthy of the Commies at their very best."

  "The Commies? But I...

  "I didn't say it was and I don't think it is. I don't see how it could be. I can see only one possibility. I never have believed in mind reading; but what else can it be?"

  "The Galaxians." Punsunby thought for minutes. "Mental stuff-that's why you want our mentalists to work openly with operators without losing caste. But no person has ever-knowingly, that is-has ever even seen a three-A, Ersk. It'd scare 'em to death."

  "It'll have to be worse than that. They'll have to shed their pretty colored spotlights, put on lockets, and become operators. How the hell else can we find out what is going on? All we're doing now is knocking hell out of production by killing thousands of dumb bastards who don't know whether Christ was crucified or shot in a crap game."

  "Well, how about hiring some of their psychics away from 'em? Price would be no object."

  "We can't. They're ethical. And if WestHem ever finds out what we're doing they'll stop the Earth in its tracks and throw us the hell off bodily. Don't kid yourself about this, Lord Byron, or you'll wind up square behind the eight-ball."

  Punsunby wriggled and squirmed all the way to The World; but his every idea was crushed by Cantwell's relentless logic. Therefore, as soon as the starship landed, the two Supreme Beings of The World went directly to the immense building housing Information Central and donned the gorgeously-colored, heavily-jeweled regalia of their respective positions. Punsunby sat on the splendidly ornate Throne of The Company; Cantwell on a much smaller and somewhat plainer throne at his master's feet.

  Punsunby put on a wisely beneficent smile, Cantwell pressed a hidden switch, and each of the thousands of Agents in Information Central's vast building was bathed both in the pure mercury-vapor Light of the Company and in the warmth and abundance of the Company's good will. Each put hands on head; each was suffused with happiness at this all-too-rare personal contact with The Company Itself.

  "Children of the Company-my children-be happy," Punsunby told the raptly-listening thousands. "In view of the unprecedented difficulties which the World is now experiencing, The Company decrees that Article Ninety of its Second Directive is amended by the addition to it of Section Fifty Six, as follows: All members of all Mentalist castes in category A A A are permitted and directed to work, with no effect upon caste, at whatever undertakings and in whatever fashions Highest Agent A A A A A A B shall set up and direct.' Be happy children."

  The Company lights all went out, the golden thrones sank down through the golden floor, and Punsunby whirled on Cantwell.

  "I hope to hell that does it!" he snapped. "Now let's shed this junk and get me going back to Earth!"

  Deston and his crew were not interested in Punsunby himself. What they wanted was the coordinates of The World. Thus they were on the lookout for, and were checking up on, every starship approaching Tellus. Thus, even before Cantwell's subspacer landed, they had learned everything that Cantwell himself had ever known about The World and had put the Explorer into orbit around The World's sun. And thus, long before the disguised psychologists of The World had made any significant progress in their investigations, the Galaxians were ready to go to work.

  "Shall we take a quick peek at Information Central?" Deston asked, "To see which of those colored-headlamped buzzards are doing what to whom?"

  "We shall not!" Barbara declared. "If I never know exactly which button a murderer pushes to kill a perfectly innocent person it will be three days too soon. We can cripple all the instrumentation of that whole Information Central without..." She paused and frowned. "Exactly," Jones said. "That would tear it."

  "Well, maybe," Barbara conceded. "So well hunt up whoever's causing it and put them out of business, and then stop it. We know it isn't the Galaxians, so it must be the Communists."

  "If we couldn't find the place, how could they?" Deston asked. His thoughts took a new turn then, and as he thought his mind-blocks began unconsciously to go up. "Okay, we'll hunt 'em up. We know how they work. They won't be close in-too easy to spot. They'll be 'way out somewhere, and quite possibly underground. It will be a job, fine-toothing that much territory, but there's a lot of us. We'll divide it up... like this...

  It was super-sensitive Bernice who finally found the Russians' carefully-concealed, deeply-buried headquarters.

  "Good going, Bun!" Deston applauded. Then, after a quick probe, he went on. "New Russia! That's really one for the book. First thing, let's get those Company Agents up here-those two there, I think, are going to be the answer to Maynard's prayer. Their language has been sort of-censored?-let's see how they take to telepathy."

  A C B A and A C B D, being very strong latents and well on the way to making psiontists of themselves without even knowing that such a science as psiontcs existed, learned telepathy in seconds. More, they went into a hammer-and-tongs mind-to-mind session with the Funny Four even while the six leaders were arguing with the other ex-Agents. All these were latents, however; hence, after the University of Psionics had been explained to them, they were more or less eager to go. They knew less of reality than even the little that the two "hunchers" knew; but, like latents everywhere, they did want to learn.

  Wherefore, after Barbara had had a flashing exchange of thought with Stella Adams, the new recruits were delivered to her in her office in the University. Beedy was still bruised and battered, but no one-except his new wife, of course-paid any more attention to that than he did himself. Everyone knew all about what had happened, and they all approved of him and he knew it.

  "Babe!" Barbara burst out then. "What's on your mind? You've been blocking solid-give!"

  "I didn't mean to, actually, but I wouldn't wonder. I don't like the only possible answer a bit, and you won't either. We never even heard of that planet New Russia. And how did they find this world? I've been racking my brains and the only possible answer I can come up with is that Feodr Ilyowicz has always been a double agent -suckering us but good, all along."

  "Oh, no!" came a storm of protest, and Jones added, "I can't buy that bundle, Babe. There isn't a psiontist in the outfit. He'd be here himself-no, he couldn't, at that-but he'd have somebody on the job here."

  "You're wrong, Here, he couldn't." Cecily shook her head. "Perfect Commie technique. When did a commissar ever trust a psychic as far as he could throw him? He'd use his knowledge, yes, but he wouldn't let him get out of sight."

  "That's true, Curly," Deston said. "Anyway, all..." "But just look at what he's doing to Communist Russia!" Bernice broke in.

  "He has to, or he wouldn't last an hour," Jones said, grimly. "All that means is that, compared to a planet and years of time, EastHem's expendable-for as many years as is necessary. So I'll buy it after all. What do we do next? Scout New Russia?"

  "I don't think so, we need dope first, and, as I started to say, we can find out. Flit us to one of Jupiters's moons, you Trains, and we'll put..."

  "High it, fly-boy, and find the beam!" Jones snapped. "We can't 'port those jaspers down there back to New Russia and we can't leave 'em here and we can't very well kill 'em in cold blood."

  "Okay, Control Six, I'll try it again," Deston agreed. "Um... um... mm. How about putting 'em-being sure we get 'em all, of course-into an empty hold here in the Explorer? Keep 'em in durance vile for the duration? Intern 'em?"

  "That's a cogent thought, friend," Barbara said, and the others agreed. "I wish we could do a lot worse to 'em than that."

  It was done.

  "Can I land now, Control Six?" Deston asked, plaintively, and the others laughed.

  "Okay, fly-boy, you're on the beam now."

  "Thank you, Control Six. As I was saying when I was so rudely interrupted, let's flit to somewhere near Tellus: and put the snatch on Ilyowicz and see if our guesses are any good. No, better let me do the grabbing alone if he has any warning whatever we'll never get him, and if I'm wrong about him I'll apologize abjectly."

  The Russian had no warning whatever. Before he could begin to thing about setting up the psionic barrier through which no psionic force could act, he was in the Explorer. Nor did Deston have occasion to apologize. It became evident instantly that Ilyowicz would fight to the death, and in another instant six of the most powerful minds known to man were tearing at his mental shields.

  He held those shields with everything he had, but he did not have enough. No human mind could have had enough. His shields failed; and, a moment after their failure, such was the irresistible flood of mental energy driving inward, Feodr Ilyowicz died. In that moment before death, however, the six learned much.

  He had always been a double agent. He had always lived for Russia, he was dying for Russia. Not the Russia of Earth-that was expendable-no one cared what happened there for a few years or a few decades-but the great New Russia that already possessed one whole planet, was taking possession of another at this moment, and would very soon possess all the populated planets of civilization. Everything he had learned he had passed on to New Russia. It had a University of Psionics that would soon surpass that of Newmars. He had traced Punsunby to The World long ago, and had advised the Premier himself as to what should be done about it. If it had not been for that stupid oaf Ovlovetski he would have gone to The World himself and made such arrangements as to...

  That was all. Feodor Ilyowicz was dead.

  Thoughts flew for minutes; then Deston said, "There may not have to be any scandal. I'll yank his first assistant-his nephew, Stepan Ilyowicz, you know-and we'll see what he's like."

  The nephew was deeply shocked at what had happened, but he opened his mind fully and completely.

  While his uncle had always been a solitary, secretive sort of man, one who never opened his screens fully to anyone, he had always believed him to be thoroughly loyal to the Galaxian cause. He had always acted that way; had never given any grounds whatever for suspicion.

  Yes, he himself believed fully in Galaxianism and was completely loyal to it. Yes, if acceptable to the Board, he would be very glad indeed to take his uncle's place on the Board.

  It was agreed that Maynard would have to know the whole truth, and would have to decide what to do with it.

  Maynard was shocked, too; and for minutes deeply thoughtful. "Well," he said, finally, "that teaches us something. There'll be no more gentlemanliness or courtesy on the Board with respect to mental privacy. Never again. No, we can't have a scandal at this point; it would be disastrous. I'll take care of it. Thanks, all of you both for this and for the fine job you've done on the whole project."

  And Maynard did take care of it. It was announced with due pomp that Feodr Ilyowicz, the beloved, revered, and highly honored Second Tellurian Member of the Directorate of the Galactic Federation, had died almost instantly in his sleep of a massive cerebral hemorrhage.

  Chapter 20

  THE ELECTION

  "On, Babe, look!" Barbara laughed delightedly and hugged Deston's arm against her side. "And she's four months pregnant, too."

  Deston "looked." Cecily Train was romping like a schoolgirl with Teddy and Babbsy. She was on her hands and knees on the rug in the main lounge, shaking her head and growling deep in her throat; the kids, with all four hands buried in her thick red mop of curls, were tugging at it and shrieking with glee.

  "Uh-huh; nice," Deston agreed. "And you aren't quite as sylph-like yourself as you were a while back." He glanced down at a slight bulge.

  "Uh-huh. Bun, too. It's catching, I guess. There's some kind of a germ around, must be. S'pose we'd better fumigate the ship or something'?" Her voice was solemn, but her eyes danced. "But that wasn't what I meant, that she might hurt herself-I'm so happy for her. Who'd ever have thought that such an out-and-out stinker as she used to be would turn out to be such a wonderful person? Why, even Bun loves her now."

  "Something made her change her ways, that's for sure. Love? Psionics? It's a shame to break that joyous roughhouse up, but we've got a lot of..."

  "We don't have to yet, my sweet and impetuous. It can wait a few minutes. I'm going to join that roughhouse myself-the kids need exercise, you big dope."

  Wherefore it was fifteen minutes later that the Big Six went to work. The fleet englobing Earth was the first thing on the agenda, and disposing of the multitude of People aboard those hundreds of huge starships was a problem. So Deston shot a thought across space and -much to his surprise-Bee-ay and Beedy materialized beside him in the Explorer.

  "You're that good already?" Deston marveled. The two were in perfect fusion. He had recovered fully from his fight with the Russians. Her face was no longer hard; it was beautiful. Both were again wearing platinum headbands mounting shining green jewels, but no lockets. "And those? Reasonable facsimiles, I suppose?"

  "No, duplicates. We felt-well, undressed-so the Four-we won't call those wonderful people funny even in fun-showed us all about 'em and we made 'em in about a minute. We aren't charged, though, now, of course; but we could be. On most things we're getting to be pretty good-the Fourth Nume, even. We can't do long-distance 'porting yet, except on ourselves, but Stella says we'll be ready for anything in a couple of weeks. Then Mr. Maynard says we can go back to The World. He said, 'See if you can work out a program of rehabilitation that will begin to show results in the generation now being born.' He's wonderful, isn't he?"

  "He's wonderful at putting people to work, that's for sure. But what we wanted to know is, how can we put all those people back on your world without lousing everything up over there?"

  'Oh, easy-that'll be perfect! It won't bother them a bit= Acts of the Company,' you know. There'll he enough of them, maybe..." the fusion scanned the fleet, "... almost enough, anyway, to put everything back to normal. The Three-A's will instruct and take care of caste, and the Aceys will give them all job transfers, housing coupon books, and so on. Everything will be perfect. And that was a good idea, putting a psionic shield around The World, in case the Russians-but wouldn't it be a good idea to release it long enough to blow up their headquarters?"

  "It would indeed...." Deston began. "But no atomics!" Barbara said, sharply.

  "Maybe not, at that. Half a dozen two-thousand pound charges of cyclodetonite will do the trick, with no more jar than a very small earthquake, and I know where they keep the demolition stuff...."

  They placed the bombs; then watched a small mountain on The World erupt and then subside. They could find no trace of what had once been there.

  "That's it," Deston said then. "Now if you two will show us exactly where to put each one of-but listen! There are thousands of 'em-your Aceys will be running themselves ragged-and those three-A's will smell-hell, everybody will smell a rat-they can't help but smell such a rough job as that."

  "Oh, no, the two assured him, but they did grin at each other. "The Ways of The Company are just as inscrutable to them as to everyone else. And after such a mal-such a disaster-it would be perfectly natural, wouldn't it, for The Company to do whatever is necessary to get its World right back into full production?"

  "My... God..." Cecily breathed. "But that does make a weird kind of sense, at that."

  "Another thing," the Aceys went on. "It'd take simply forever to 'port them one at a time to the homes they used to have, even if they still have 'em. There's a great big recreation park back of our house-I'll show you where-so you can 'port 'em there in what you call job lots. That would be even more impressive and Company-like, don't you think?"

  "I'll tell that whole cockeyed world it would," Deston agreed, and that was how the job was done.

  After it was done Train, who had been looking around on his own, laughed, suddenly. "Somebody did smell your rat, Babe. Cantwell. He called Punsunby and they're both having litters of kittens all over the place."

  They all looked, and Jones and Deston laughed, too; but the girls didn't think it was funny to see even two such men as those suffer so much.

  "Well, whatever they decide to do, it'll keep 'em out of mischief for a while," Deston said, "so let's clean it up. Thanks a lot, you two," and the Aceys 'ported themselves back to the University.

  Then the six turned the entire fleet, together with its Tellurian officers-and also together with the whole group of Russian saboteurs to be interned-over to Fleet Admiral Guerdon Dann. All this, of course, was very much contrary to International and Interplanetary Law -but what else could they have done?

  Deston turned then to Bernice. "Bun, you're our supersensitive. We'd like to have you find out all you possibly can about New Russia without touching off any psychic alarms-I doubt very much if they've got anybody in your class for delicacy of touch. The rest of us will go along, to cover you if we have to, but you'll do all the feeling around. Okay?"

  "I'll give it the good old college try, Babe," silver haired Bernice said, and Operation New Russia was begun.

  While all these things were going on, and for some time before, the political campaign throughout all WestHem had been waxing warmer and warmer. It was now in full, hot swing. With full prosperity restored-and everyone who could either see or hear knew how that had come about and who had brought it about-the Galaxians were really making hay.

  They had made so much hay that the Sociocrats and the Consercans, the two major parties before this unprecedented break-up, had merged as the only way of beating the snowballing Galaxians; and the Communists and the Liberals had joined them after being promised a place at the trough. This fusion party, the Party of Freedom and Liberty, was called the "FreeLibs."

  "That old cliche about 'strange bedfellows' was never truer," Spehn said to Maynard one day. "I never thought I'd live long enough to see renegade capital, labor, Commies, gangsters, radicals, and facists all eating out of the same dish. How long can such an alliance as that last, even if they beat us this time?"

 

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