“I’ll take him home, and then run the boys to the school,” he told Prestonby. “You and Ray and Claire get in this other ’copter and go straight to Literates’ Hall.” He pointed up to the passenger vehicle which was hovering above, waiting for the truck to leave. “Go in the church way, and go straight to Lancedale’s office. And here.” He scribbled an address and a phone number and a couple of names. “These men have my ’copter at this address. Call them as soon as you get to Literates’ Hall and have them take it at once to Pelton’s home, on Long Island.”
Prestonby nodded and watched Cardon climb into the truck. The Literates’ guard who was driving lifted it up and began windmilling away toward the east. The passenger ’copter, driven by another guard from the school, settled down. Putting Ray and Claire into it, he climbed in after them.
“Ray,” he said, “how would you like to be a real white-smock Literate?”
Ray’s eyes opened. “You think I’m good enough?”
“Good enough to be a novice, to start with. And I don’t think you’ll stay a novice long.”
Claire looked at him inquiringly, saying nothing.
“You, too, honey,” he said. “Frank fixed it all up. You and Ray will be admitted to the Fraternities, this afternoon. And that will remove any objection to our being married.”
“But … how about the Senator?” she asked.
Prestonby shrugged. “It’s all over the state now that you can read; there’s nothing that you can do about it. And Frank has a lot of influence with him; he’ll talk him around to where he’ll be willing to make the best of it, in a week or so.”
Russell Latterman noticed that Major Slater was looking at him in a respectfully inquiring manner. He said nothing, and, at length, the Literates’ guards officer broke the silence.
“You didn’t go out with the others.”
Latterman shook his head. “No, major; I’m an executive of Pelton’s Purchasers’ Paradise, however unlike its name it may look at the moment. My job’s here. I’m afraid I’ll have to lean pretty heavily on you, until Mr. Cardon can get help to us. I’m not particularly used to combat.”
“You’ve been doing all right with that rifle,” Slater told him.
“I can hit what I aim at, yes. But I’m not used to commanding men in combat, and I’m not much of a tactician.”
Slater thrust out his hand impulsively. “I took a sort of poor view of you, at first. I’m sorry,” he said. “Want me to take command?”
“If you please, major.”
“What are you going to do, after this thing’s over?” Slater asked.
“Stay on with Pelton’s, provided Mr. P. doesn’t find out that I organized that trick with his medicine and the safe,” Latterman said. “Since Lancedale seems to have gotten on top at the Hall, I am, as of now, a Lancedale partisan. That’s partly opportunism, and it’s partly because, since a single policy has been adopted, I feel obliged to go along with it. I’ll have to get the store back in operation, as soon as possible. Pelton’s going to need money, badly, if he’s going to try for the presidency in ’44.” He looked around him. “You know, I’ve always wanted to run a fire sale; this’ll be even better—a battle sale!”
Cardon watched Chester Pelton apprehensively as the bald-headed merchant and senatorial candidate sipped from the tall glass in his hand and then set it on the table beside him. His face was pale, and he had the look of a man who has just been hit with a blackjack.
“That’s an awful load of bricks to dump on a man, all at once, Frank,” he said reproachfully.
“You’d rather I told you, now, than turn on the TV and hear some commentator talking about it, wouldn’t you?” Cardon asked.
Pelton swore vilely, in a lifeless monotone, cursing Literacy, and all Literates back to the invention of the alphabet. Then he stopped short.
“No, Frank, I don’t mean that, either. My own son and daughter are Literates; I can’t say that about them. But how long—?”
“Oh, for about a year, I’d say. I understand, now, that they were admitted to the Fraternities six months ago,” he invented.
“And they were working against me, all that time?” Pelton demanded.
Cardon shook his head. “No, Chet; they were for you, all the way. Your daughter exposed her Literacy to save your life. Your son and his teacher came to your store and fought for you. But there are Literates who want to see you defeated, and they’re the ones who made that audiovisual, secretly, of the ceremony in which your son and daughter took the Literates’ Oath and received the white smock, and they’re going to telecast it this evening at twenty-one hundred. Coming on top of the stories that have been going around all afternoon, and Slade Gardner’s speech, this morning, they think that’ll be enough to defeat you.”
“Well, don’t you?” Pelton gloomed. “My own kids, Literates!” He seemed to have reached a point at which he was actually getting a masochistic pleasure out of turning the dagger in his wounds. “Who’d trust me, after this?”
“No, Chet; it isn’t enough to beat you—if you just throw away that crying towel and start fighting. They made one mistake that’s going to wreck them.”
“What’s that, Frank?” Pelton brightened, by about one angstrom unit.
“The timing, of course!” Cardon told him, impatiently. “I thought you’d see that, at once. This telecast comes on at twenty-one hundred. Your final speech comes on at twenty-one thirty. As soon as they’ve shown this business of
