She awakened sometime in the night with the sense of loneliness increased to overwhelming proportions. She was acutely aware of the three-million-odd living beings around her, but the whole city seemed alive only with malignant entities, jealous of her, anxious to drag her down to their own ignoble status. This attack on her spirit, this attempt to despoil the sanctity of her inner being, assumed an almost corporate nature. It seemed to her that it was nibbling at the edges of her mind, snuffling at her defences.
Terrified, she called out to Ben and Phil. There was no answer; her mind could not find them.
The filthy thing that threatened her was aware of her failure; she could feel it leer. In open panic she called to the Senior.
No answer. This time the thing spoke—“That way, too, is closed.”
As hysteria claimed her, as her last defences crumbled, she was caught in the arms of a stronger spirit, whose calm, untroubled goodness encysted her against the evil thing that stalked her.
“Ling!” she cried, “Master Ling!” before racking sobs claimed her.
She felt the quiet, reassuring humor of his smile while the fingers of his mind reached out and smoothed away the tensions of her fear. Presently she slept.
His mind stayed with her all through the night, and talked with her, until she awakened.
Ben and Phil listened to her account of the previous night with worried faces. “That settles it,” Phil decided. “We’ve been too careless. From now on until this thing is finished, we stay in rapport day and night, awake and asleep. As a matter of fact, I had a bad time of it myself last night, though nothing equal to what happened to Joan.”
“So did I, Phil. What happened to you?”
“Nothing very much—just a long series of nightmares in which I kept losing confidence in my ability to do any of the things we learned on Shasta. What about you?”
“Same sort of thing, with variations. I operated all night long, and all of my patients died on the table. Not very pleasant—but something else happened that wasn’t a dream. You know I still use an old-fashioned straight-razor; I was shaving away, paying no attention to it, when it jumped in my hand and cut a big gash in my throat. See? It’s not entirely healed yet.” He indicated a thin red line which ran diagonally down the right side of his neck.
“Why, Ben!” squealed Joan. “You might have been killed.”
“That’s what I thought,” he agreed dryly.
“You know, kids,” Phil said slowly, “these things aren’t accidental—”
“Open up in there!” The order was bawled from the other side of the door. As one mind, their senses of direct perception jumped through solid oak and examined the speaker. Plainclothes did not conceal the profession of the oversize individual waiting there, even had they not been able to see the gold shield on his vest. A somewhat smaller, but equally officious, man waited with him.
Ben opened the door and inquired gently, “What do you want?”
The larger man attempted to come in. Coburn did not move.
“I asked you your business.”
“Smart guy, eh? I’m from police headquarters. You Huxley?”
“No.”
“Coburn?” Ben nodded.
“You’ll do. That Huxley behind you? Don’t either of you ever stay home? Been here all night?”
“No,” said Coburn frostily, “not that it is any of your business.”
“I’ll decide about that. I want to talk to you two. I’m from the bunco squad. What’s this game you were giving the boys yesterday?”
“No game, as you call it. Come down to Pershing Square at noon today, and see for yourself.”
“You won’t be doing anything in Pershing Square today, Bud.”
“Why not?”
“Park Commission’s orders.”
“What authority?”
“Huh?”
“By what act, or ordinance, do they deny the right of private citizens to make peaceful use of a public place? Who is that with you?”
The smaller man identified himself. “Name’s Ferguson, D.A.’s office. I want your pal Huxley on a criminal libel complaint. I want you two’s witnesses.”
Ben’s stare became colder, if possible. “Do either of you,” he inquired, in gently snubbing tones, “have a warrant?”
They looked at each other and failed to reply. Ben continued, “Then it is hardly profitable to continue this conversation, is it?” and closed the door in their faces.
He turned around to his companions and grinned. “Well, they are closing in. Let’s see what the papers gave us.”
They found just one story. It said nothing about their proposed demonstration, but related that Doctor Brinckley had sworn a complaint charging Phil with criminal libel. “That’s the first time I ever heard of four metropolitan papers refusing a juicy news story,” was Ben’s comment. “What are you going to do about Brinckley’s charge?”
“Nothing,” Phil told him, “except possibly libel him again. If he goes through with it, it will be a beautiful opportunity to prove our claims in court. Which reminds me—we don’t want our plans interfered with today; those bird dogs may be back with warrants most any time. Where’ll we hide out?”
On Ben’s suggestion they spent the morning buried in the downtown public library. At five minutes to twelve, they flagged a taxi, and rode to Pershing Square.
They stepped out of the cab into the arms of six sturdy policemen.
—“Ben, Phil, how much longer do I have to put up with this?”
—“Steady, kid. Don’t get upset.”
—“I’m not, but why should we stay pinched when we can duck out anytime?”
—“That’s the point; we can escape anytime. We’ve never been arrested before; let’s see what it’s like.”
They were gathered that night late around the fireplace in Joan’s house. Escape had presented no difficulties, but they had waited until an hour when the jail was quiet to prove that stone walls do not a prison make for a person adept in the powers of the mind.
Ben was speaking, “I’d say we had enough data to draw a curve now.”
“Which is?”
“You state it.”
“All right. We came down from Shasta thinking that all we had to overcome was stupidity, ignorance, and a normal amount of human contrariness and cussedness. Now we know better. Any attempt to place the essentials of the ancient knowledge in the hands of the common people is met by a determined, organized effort to prevent it, and to destroy, or disable the one who tries it.”
“It’s worse than that,” amended Ben. “I spent our rest in the clink looking over the city. I wondered why the district attorney should take such an interest in us, so I took a look into his mind. I found out who his boss was, and took a look at his mind. What I found there interested me so much that I had to run up to the state capital and see what made things tick there. That took me back to Spring Street and the financial district. Believe it or not, from there I had to look up some of the most sacred cows in the community—clergymen, clubwomen, business leaders, and stuff.” He paused.
“Well, what about it? Don’t tell me everybody is out of step but Willie—I’ll break down and cry.”
“No—that was the odd part about it. Nearly all of these heavyweights were good Joes, people you’d like to know. But usually—not always, but usually—the good Joes were dominated by someone they trusted, someone who had helped them to get where they were, and these dominants were not good Joes, to state it gently. I couldn’t get into all of their minds, but where I was able to get in, I found the same sort of thing that Phil found in Brinckley—cold calculated awareness that their power lay in keeping the people in ignorance.”
Joan shivered. “That’s a sweet picture you paint, Ben—just the right thing for a bedtime story. What’s our next move?”
“What do you suggest?”
“Me? I haven’t reached any conclusion. Maybe we should take on these tough babies one at a time, and smear
’em.”
“How about you, Phil?”
“I haven’t anything better to offer. We’ll have to plan a shrewd campaign, however.”
“Well, I do have something to suggest myself.”
“Let’s have it.”
“Admit that we blindly took on more than we could handle. Go back to Shasta and ask for help.”
“Why, Ben!” Joan’s dismay was matched by Phil’s unhappy face. Ben went on stubbornly, “Sure, I know it’s grovelling, but pride is too expensive and the job is too—”
He broke off when he noticed Joan’s expression. “What is it kid?”
“We’ll have to make some decision quickly—that is a police car that just stopped out in front.”
Ben turned back to Phil. “What’ll it be; stay and fight, or go back for reinforcements?”
“Oh, you’re right. I’ve known it ever since I got a look at Brinckley’s mind—but I hated to admit it.”
The three stepped out into the patio, joined hands, and shot straight up into the air.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
* * *
“A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.”
“WELCOME HOME!” Ephraim Howe met them when they landed. “Glad to have you back.” He led them into his own private apartment. “Rest yourselves while I stir up the fire a mite.” He chucked a wedge of pinewood into the wide grate, pulled his homely old rocking chair around so that it faced both the fire and his guests, and settled down. “Now suppose you tell me all about it. No, I’m not hooked in with the others —you can make a full report to the council when you’re ready.”
“As a matter of fact, don’t you already know everything that happened to us, Mr. Howe?” Phil looked directly at the Senior as he spoke.
“No, I truly don’t. We let you go at it your own way, with Ling keeping an eye out to see that you didn’t get hurt. He has made no report to me.”
“Very well, sir.” They took turns telling him all that had happened to them, occasionally letting him see directly through their minds the events they had taken part in.
When they were through Howe gave them his quizzical smile and inquired, “So you’ve come around to the viewpoint of the council?”
“No, sir!” It was Phil who answered him. “We are more convinced of the need for positive, immediate action than we were when we left—but we are convinced, too, that we aren’t strong enough nor wise enough to handle it alone. We’ve come back to ask for help, and to urge the council to abandon its policy of teaching only those who show that they are ready, and, instead, to reach out and teach as many minds as can accept your teachings.
“You see, sir, our antagonists don’t wait. They are active all the time. They’ve won in Asia, they are in the ascendancy in Europe, they may win here in America, while we wait for an opportunity.”
“Have you any method to suggest for tackling the problem?”
“No, that’s why we came back. When we tried to teach others what we knew, we were stopped.”
“That’s the rub,” Howe agreed. “I’ve been pretty much of your opinion for a good many years, but it is hard to do. What we have to give can’t be printed in a book, nor broadcast over the air. It must be passed directly from mind to mind, wherever we find a mind ready to receive it.”
They finished the discussion without finding a solution. Howe told them not to worry. “Go along,” he said, “and spend a few weeks in meditation and rapport. When you get an idea that looks as if it might work, bring it in and we’ll call the council together to consider it.”
“But, Senior,” Joan protested for the trio, “you see—well, we had hoped to have the advice of the council in working out a plan. We don’t know where to start, else we wouldn’t have come back.”
He shook his head. “You are the newest of the brethren, the youngest, the least experienced. Those are your virtues, not your disabilities. The very fact that you have not spent years of this life in thinking in terms of eons and races gives you an advantage. Too broad a viewpoint, too philosophical an outlook paralyzes the will. I want you three to consider it alone.”
They did as he asked. For weeks they discussed it in rapport as a single mind, hammered at it in spoken conversation, meditated its ramifications. They roamed the nation with their minds, examining the human spirits that lay behind political and social action. With the aid of the archives they learned the techniques by which the brotherhood of adepts had interceded in the past when freedom of thought and action in America had been threatened. They proposed and rejected dozens of schemes.
“We should go into politics,” Phil told the other two, “as our brothers did in the past. If we had a Secretary of Education, appointed from among the elders, he could found a national academy in which freedom of thought would really prevail, and it could be the source from which the ancient knowledge could spread.”
Joan put in an objection.
“Suppose you lose the election?”
“Huh?”
“Even with all the special powers that the adepts have, it’ud be quite a chore to line up delegates for a national convention to get our candidate nominated, then get him elected in the face of all the political machines, pressure groups, newspapers, favorite sons, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
“And remember this, the opposition can fight as dirty as it pleases, but we have to fight fair, or we defeat our own aims.”
Ben nodded. “I am afraid she is right, Phil. But you are absolutely right in one thing; this is a problem of education.” He stopped to meditate, his mind turned inward.
Presently he resumed. “I wonder if we have been tackling this job from the right end? We’ve been thinking of reeducating adults, already set in their ways. How about the children? They haven’t crystallized; wouldn’t they be easier to teach?”
Joan sat up, her eyes bright. “Ben, you’ve got it!” Phil shook his head doggedly. “No. I hate to throw cold water, but there is no way to go about it. Children are constantly in the care of adults; we couldn’t get to them. Don’t think for a moment that you could get past local school boards; they are the tightest little oligarchies in the whole political system.”
They were sitting in a group of pine trees on the lower slopes of Mount Shasta. A little group of human figures came into view below them and climbed steadily toward the spot where the three rested. The discussion was suspended until the group moved beyond earshot. The trio watched them with casual, friendly interest.
They were all boys, ten to fifteen years old, except the leader, who bore his sixteen years with the serious dignity befitting one who is responsible for the safety and wellbeing of younger charges. They were dressed in khaki shorts and shirts, campaign hats, neckerchiefs embroidered with a conifer and the insignia ALPINE PATROL, TROOP I. Each carried a staff and a knapsack.
As the procession came abreast of the adults, the patrol leader gave them a wave in greeting, the merit badges on his sleeve flashing in the sun. The three waved back and watched them trudge out of sight up the slope.
Phil watched them with a faraway look. “Those were the good old days,” he said; “I almost envy them.”
“Were you one?” Ben said, his eyes still on the boys. “I remember how proud I was the day I got my merit badge in first aid.”
“Born to be a doctor, eh, Ben?” commented Joan, her eyes maternal, approving. “I didn’t—say!” “What’s up?”
“Phil! That’s your answer! That’s how to reach the children in spite of parents and school boards.”
She snapped into telepathic contact, her ideas spilling excitedly into their minds. They went into rapport and ironed out the details. After a time Ben nodded and spoke aloud. “It might work,” he said, “let’s go back and talk it over with Ephraim.”
“Senator Moulton, these are the young people I was telling you about.” Almost in awe, Joan looked at the face of the little white-haired old man whose name had become a synonym for integrity. She felt the same impulse to fold her hands acro
ss her middle and bow which Master Ling inspired. She noted that Ben and Phil were having trouble not to seem gawky and coltish.
Ephraim Howe continued, “I have gone into their scheme and I think it is practical. If you do too, the council will go ahead with it. But it largely depends on you.”
The Senator took them to himself with a smile, the smile that had softened the hearts of two generations of hard politicians. “Tell me about it,” he invited.
They did so—how they had tried and failed at Western University, how they had cudgeled their brains for a way, how a party of boys on a hike up the mountain had given them an inspiration. “You see, Senator, if we could just get enough boys up here all at once, boys too young to have been corrupted by their environment, and already trained, as these boys are, in the ideals of the ancients—human dignity, helpfulness, self-reliance, kindness, all those things set forth in their code—if we could get even five thousand such boys up here all at once, we could train them in telepathy, and how to impart telepathy to others.
“Once they were taught, and sent back to their homes, each one would be a center for spreading the knowledge. The antagonists could never stop it; it would be too wide spread, epidemic. In a few years every child in the country would be telepathic, and they would even teach their elders—those that haven’t grown too calloused to learn.
“And once a human being is telepathic, we can lead him along the path of the ancient wisdom!”
Moulton was nodding, and talking to himself. “Yes. Yes indeed. It could be done. Fortunately Shasta is a national park. Let me see, who is on that committee? It would take a joint resolution and a small appropriation. Ephraim, old friend, I am afraid I shall have to practice a little logrolling to accomplish this, will you forgive me?”
Howe grinned broadly.
“Oh, I mean it,” Moulton continued, “people are so cynical, so harsh, about political expediency—even some of our brothers. Let me see, this will take about two years, I think, before the first camp can be held—”