Ability Quotient

Chapter Ten

In the hallway, near the door, Bert Alshuler paused, stood to one side, drew a curtain at one of the windows a bit and peered out. Jim was leaning nonchalantly on one of the porch pillars, his pistol evidently back in his belt.

Jill said coldly, “How does one acquire a name like Killer Caine?”

He shot her a look. “It starts as a gag. A couple of your buddies call you that once or twice for laughs.”

He threw the power pack of his pistol and dropped it into his left pocket and brought forth a fresh one from his right jacket pocket.

He said, “Then one day you’re in the middle of a big fire fight and just by chance the news boys have a camera on you. Not that you give a damn at the time. All you’re interested in is getting through the razzle alive. Later on, when it’s over, one of the newsmen comes over to get your name and a little interview. So he hears one of your squad call you Killer and picks it up. He uses it in the story, and a couple of months later, a magazine comes around and everybody in the company reads about it and thinks it’s very funny. Which it is… I guess.”

He jammed the fresh power pack into the butt of the laser pistol and looked out the window again. He said, “So from then on you can’t ditch the name. You get a little teed off a couple of times and go a round with a couple of them, but it doesn’t do any good. The whole company calls you that.”

“I see,” she said.

“Come on, it’s clear,” he said. “Move fast and get into the back of the car. I don’t think there’s any more of them around.”

They left the house; Jim grinned at her and said, “Boy Scouts to the rescue.”

Her face was wan. She said, “How many of them are dead back there?”

Bert didn’t answer He said to Jim, “Sit in the back with her and keep a lookout to the rear.”

“Right.”

In the car, Kenneth Kneedler was sitting where they had left him in the front seat. He was staring straight ahead, but his eyes were unseeing, glazed. He was, Bert decided, probably regretting breaking so easily.

He started up and began retracing their route.

Jill said, her voice empty. “But how does one go about deserving a name like that? How does one become the most decorated man of a war?”

Jim looked at her askance from the side of his eyes, but then out the back window again, looking for pursuit.

Bert Alshuler said, after taking a deep breath, “By accident. Usually, while doing everything you can to keep olive. Usually, while you’re scared stiff inside. Sergeant Alvin York in the First World War and Audie Murphy in the Second didn’t have decorations in mind when they did their thing. Neither did I in the Asian War.”

He took another deep breath before going on “After that TV thing, they field commissioned me. I was just a lad but the brass likes that kind of publicity. It goes over very well back home; good for civilian morale. At any rate, a few months later somebody pulled a razzle and the company was sent in against a gook outfit that was supposed to be company strength too, but wasn’t. It was a battalion. And we were pinned down on top of a ridge and stayed pinned down for six days. They couldn’t get in to relieve us because the monsoon rains were on. So when the helio-jets finally managed to come in and run the gooks off, I was alone on top of the hill.”

“Alone?” she said weakly.

“Alone. With all my lieutenants and sergeants and corporals and privates, and even a chaplain and two news reporters, scattered around, all up and down that ridge. The machine gun ammunition was all gone, and all the grenades and all the mortar shells and the food and the water. We’d been holding them off with small arms fire for the past twenty-four hours. And my last man died only fifteen minutes before the relief came.”

“So when they finally came in, complete as usual with the TV crews, you stand up, all alone, and tuck your automatic under your arm, like you were going out after rabbits or quail, and you start down the hill, still on your feet, though you’ve taken several hits. And there they are, at the foot of the ridge, taking in all the bodies, both of the company and the gooks, that are spread so thick you can hardly walk without stepping on one. So on your way down you fish a stogie cigar from your shirt pocket and stick it in your mouth and you’re awfully tired, but you’re still on your feet. And when you come up on the TV camera crew, in their natty, ironed-that-morning outfits, the newsman on the mike says, ‘It’s Killer Caine. The sole survivor is Captain Killer Caine.’ And you walk up to him real close and look into his face and say, ‘Got a match, friend?’ ”

Bert Alshuler took a deep breath. “Possibly you saw that bit of asinine bravado on the TV screen at the time. I understand it was rather universally shown. I don’t even remember it happening. I don’t remember anything of those last couple of days. I was probably in semi-shock.”

Jill shook her head. “I never watched the war propaganda. I was a pacifist.”

“So was I,” Bert said wearily. “Back when they grabbed me and stuck me in. They didn’t accept whatever plea I made and I was inducted.”

Jim Hawkins chuckled at that.

Bert looked over his shoulder at him. “What’s so funny, you grinning hyena? You probably volunteered.”

Jim chortled. “You, a pacifist.”

Bert wound it up to Jill. “So in a week or so, when they decided to create the Elite Service, they bounced me up to major and I was in command. And Jim, here, my second. That’s where most of the notoriety came in, when the Elite Service was exposed a few times in some of the anti-war left wing newspapers and magazines.”

Jill looked at Jim Hawkins, next to her. “Why didn’t you bother to change you name and undergo plastic surgery?”

Jim grinned in put-on modesty. “Who ever hears of the third most highly decorated man to come out of a war? Or the second, for that matter. Who took the second Bert?”

“Darned if I know. I didn’t even know you were third.”

“My old buddy,” Jim said.

They had come to the dispatcher at the entry to the underground of the university city. Bert brought the electro-steamer to a halt, threw it off manual and said into the screen, “Administration Building.”

The auto-drive took over and they eased forward and into the traffic.

For the first time since they had left the house in which Jill had been held, Kenneth Kneedler spoke up. He said, “Where are you taking me? I demand to be released.”

Jim chuckled. He seemed to be in a chuckling mood, Bert thought sourly. They had about as much reason to be amused as they did to take Holy Orders.

Jim said, his voice friendly, “We’re going some place where we can bounce you around a little more, Golden Boy There’s a lot of talking that has to be done.”

“I won’t stand for this,” Kneedler blurted. “In the data banks is the information that on your Identity Card this vehicle was rented and went from the building in which you reside to that house in the off-skirts. I don’t know what went on there, but I am convinced that criminal action took place. You will be apprehended.”

“Three bits of criminal action took place,” Bert put in flatly. “There are three dead men in that house.”

Jill flinched.

But Jim said cheerfully, “And that’s why we’re going to have to find out what’s going on, Golden Boy.”

“You’ll get nothing more from me!”

Jim said, wonderingly, “What is it about being a professor that doesn’t require brains? You didn’t seem to bother to listen to Bert telling how you acquire a handle like Killer Caine. Four men are dead in the fun and games we’ve been having these past few hours, Professor. Do you think one more makes any difference to us? We’ve got to get out from under, whatever way we can. You’re a witness, right? Maybe it’ll turn out we can’t afford a witness. You never know.”

The assistant professor seemed to shrink down into his clothes and some of his newly regained courage disappeared.

Jill said, “I can’t allow this.”

Bert said, “Take it easy, Jill. We’ve got to find out what’s going on.”

“Miss Masterson,” she said.

Bert looked at her emptily. “I went into that place to rescue you, Miss Masterson, not to have the fun of exposing myself to three trigger-happy lads. In my time I’ve run into men who get their jollies out of killing. Most of them passed from the scene fairly quickly. I am still alive.”

“I am sure that all your motivations are not altruistic, Killer Cain.”

He was bitter. “I can’t even figure out what my motivations are,” he said. “I haven’t got the vaguest idea of what’s going on. I haven’t the vaguest idea of why those men grabbed you.”

“Through my own silliness.”

Jim said, “Here we are,” as they emerged into the metro beneath the Administration Building.

When they had stopped, Bert said flatly, “We’re going up to my suite to have a talk. As Jim pointed out, he and I are in the soup, and not through our own desire. The only way we can get out, if we can, is through cooperation with you two. Neither of us are particularly noble, we wouldn’t be alive today if we were. So we go up to my suite and talk a bit. If you object, Professor Kneedler?”

“I’ll go with you. I realize that you men are desperadoes.”

“Now, that’s a nice turn of phrase,” Jim said.

Jill glared at him. “I hate you,” she said, dripping cold contempt.

Jim said, trying to be light, but an apology there, “And I love you, Sweetie Pie.”

She snorted.

Bert led the way from the car to the exclusive elevator that led to the uppermost reaches of the Administration Building.

At Suite G he turned to Jill. “You must be very upset. Do you want to go to your own apartment and, well, clean up and rest, or whatever?”

She looked at him coolly. “I refuse to leave you here with this unfortunate man.” She looked at Kneedler. “You are Professor…?”

“Kneedler,” the teacher said. He was in a state of exhaustion.

“Kay,” Bert said. “Let’s all go in and find out what’s going on.”

In the living room, Jill looked at Jim, dwelling on the arm he had in a black sling. His face was on the pale side.

She said, “You’ve been hurt.”

Jim said, mockingly, “Didn’t you notice? While your boy friends were taking you for a ride, Bert and I tried to, uh, admonish them. One of them hit me a little with that shooter he had.”

“Let me take a look at it,” she said.

“All right, there’s a medical kit in here.” He looked at Bert apologetically. “I seem to have ripped some of those bandages off, there at the house. I’m dripping a little more ink.”

“Need a medic?”

“Maybe not. Let’s see.”

On the way to the bathroom with Jill, Jim stopped at the bar long enough to pour himself some more of the ancient Scotch. Carrying his glass with him, as he followed her, he said, “This stuff almost makes the whole thing worth while, though frankly I came to this place to loaf on my veteran’s benefits and Guaranteed Annual Income, not for this sort of fun and games.”

Kenneth Kneedler sank onto one of the living room couches and held his head in his hands.

Bert Alshuler went over to the ornate desk and sat before the phone screen. He flicked the switch and said, “Professor Ralph Marsh. Albert Alshuler calling, I’m listed on his restricted phone.”

Marsh’s plump face faded in. When he saw who it was, irritation was there. He snapped, “What is it now, confound it?”

Bert said, “We’ve rescued Jill Masterson, confound it.”

That stopped the other. Finally, he got out, “You have? How?”

“It’s a long story and one I haven’t got time to tell right now. The thing is, the three men who were holding her were armed.”

The professor stared at him.

Bert said, flatly, “They’re dead. It’s undoubtedly on the data bank records in the traffic department that I drove out to that house in a rented vehicle. Here are the coordinates. The place is on the outskirts.” He stated the coordinates Kneedler had given him. “There’s something else that could be tracked down through the data banks. We had to kidnap Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler. He was in on it. He knew where they were. We had to track him down and that record will be somewhere too.”

The professor was aghast.

Bert rapped, “Can you do anything about all this?”

“I… I’m not sure.”

“Well, you’d better hop to it. And listen, Marsh, I want to see Katz, absolutely soonest. Understand?”

“He’s out of town.”

“Well, get him back into town, damn it.” He slammed off the phone.

Bert Alshuler looked over at Kneedler who was still sitting, head in hands. Bert went over to the bar, poured a double slug in a glass and carried it to the teacher.

“Here,” he said.

Kneedler looked up. “I don’t drink.”

“This comes under the head of medicine. You need it. Toss it all the way down.”

The other obeyed and sputtered.

Jill and Jim came back into the room, and Jim made a beeline for the bar.

Bert growled at him, “Stay away from that liquor, you lush. We’ve got to keep our heads clear.”

Jim ignored him, got a drink and then came over and sat on the far end of the couch Kneedler occupied. Jill took a chair and tightened her lips.

Bert said, “Kay. Let’s start Jill, why did those men take you out of here?”

They said they had come to warn me. To tell me all about Katz and what he was up to. I wouldn’t listen and they were afraid that some of their enemies would show up. So they forced me to go along to some place where they’d have time to explain. I was stubborn.

“Why did they shoot at Jim and me out in the hall?”

“The others said later that the one with the gun evidently thought you were connected with Katz, and that he had just been trying to scare you off.”

Jim chuckled sourly. “Unfortunately, we don’t scare so good.”

“Shut up, Jim,” Bert said. “Well, what did they tell you, there at the house before Jim and I arrived?”

“Practically nothing. I was terribly upset at seeing the shooting and all. They were letting me rest, so that I’d be settled down and could understand.”

Bert Alshuler grimaced and turned to Kenneth Kneedler. “Kay. It’s your turn. Start at the beginning, friend. Four men are dead, and we’ve got to find some good reasons why.”

Chapter Eleven

Evidently, the raw spirits had done Kneedler some good. His face was defiant again. He said, “How much do you know about brain stimulation, the augmentation of concentration and the increasing of mind capacity?”

“Precious little except personal experience the last couple of days. Start at the beginning, Kneedler,” Bert said.

Kneedler breathed deeply. “Very well. If there is ever a beginning, possibly the beginnings were back a few decades ago when the biological explosion really started.”

“Come again on that one,” Jim said.

Kneedler looked over at him. “The science writer, Gordon Taylor, called it the Biological Time Bomb, and it was. A dozen breakthroughs were made over a very short period. Have you heard of Cylert, developed by the Abbott Laboratories in Chicago? No? It was the trade name of magnesium pemoline. They tested it on amnesia patients and others suffering from senility. Memory was fantastically improved. But that was just the beginning and just one line of experimentation. Another line was with THC, the laboratory equivalent of cannabis sativa.”

“Pot,” Jim said.

“Yes, marijuana. But that was just one of the hallucinogens they worked with. Mescaline was another, and LSD, too. You’re probably not up on the subject, but the earliest advocates of the hallucinogens, as a means of expanding perception, such as Aldous Huxley, had a germ of reality in some of their crackpot beliefs. Obviously, it is, and always has been, possible to speed up your perception, brighten your wits, through the use of chemicals. Caffeine comes to mind, and nicotine, for that matter.”

He thought back for a moment, before going on. “There were other lines of investigation into the possibilities of increasing I.Q. At first they worked considerably with babies and children. Holger Hyden, a Swedish professor, was a pioneer. Influencing the child before it was ever born, he came up with one, Karl Ortel, who was answering the phone at the age of thirteen months and was speaking four languages at the age of three. Hyden’s super-children had an average vocabulary of two hundred words by eighteen months, as compared to six words for ordinary children. This meant their I.Q.s would be over the 140 level of genius and perhaps as high as 250. By the way, up until that time the highest I.Q. ever recorded was 205, attained by a California girl.”

“Kay,” Bert said impatiently. “As far back as several decades ago, they began making breakthroughs in bettering memory, increasing speed of perception and goosing along I.Q. So then…?”

“So then the curtain dropped.”

Jill, Jim and Bert all stared at him.

Kneedler said impatiently, “Can’t you see some of the implications?” He came to his feet and went over to the desk. He sat down before the library booster, activated and spoke into it.

He said, “This, for instance, was written some time ago by a Gerald Feinberg in his The Prometheus Project: ‘Suppose it were decided that children to be born in the future should be biologically modified so that their mental powers were greatly increased in such respects as much better memories, faster thought processes, ability to concentrate on a number of problems simultaneously, or any of the other mental abilities that men have wished for. It is likely that the intelligent children, once grown to maturity, would be somewhat impatient with a society designed for their more dull-witted ancestors and would set about changing it to fit their own needs… Such a confrontation between man and superman may be an extreme example of the consequences of biological engineering.’ ”

He called for another book and shortly began to read again.

“This comes from Professor Donald MacKay, of Keele University, in an article in Science Digest : The possibilities of misapplication of the results of brain science are already frightening to many people. Could it be, they ask, that here at last we face the ultimate Pandora’s Box, a secret whose uncovering would be the destruction of human society? Has brain research gone far enough, if not too far, already?’ ”

He returned to the couch, obviously gaining courage by the minute. He sat down again and looked at his audience defiantly. “Can’t you see? It is pure dynamite. Can you realize the changes that would take place in our society? Would we put up with the inept who now run the country? Who now run the economy? Would we put up with such anachronisms as the military, and a world divided into conflicting national states?”

Bert said suddenly, “If you’re a political economist, how come you’re so far up on this biological engineering subject?”

Kneedler all but glared at him. “Can’t you comprehend the ramifications so far as socio-economics are concerned? You grabbed onto the fact that I taught communism in one of my classes. How long do you think the government of the Soviet Complex would last if the average citizen had an I.Q. of 200?”

Jim grinned. “How long would our own government?”

The other turned to him and nodded. “Or any other in the world.”

Jill said, “But you and the others of your group. Where do you come in? What do you stand for?”

“An all-out investigation into all ramifications. This must be taken out from under wraps and released to all. We’re at the crossroads. It’s one of the most important crises that has ever touched the race and the details are in the hands of self-seeking bunglers.”

He got up from his seat again, went back to the library booster, and went through the routine of finding another quotation he wanted.

“Listen to this: ‘The ethical problems raised by genetics and neurophysiology, and by the social and mental sciences are at least as great as those arising from atomic energy and the H-Bomb, from space travel and ultrasonic flight, from telecommunications, computers and automation. There is no doubt in my mind that several of these developments are as epoch-making for mankind as any that have preceded them. They rank at least as high, if not higher, in importance than the discovery of the wheel.’ ” Kneedler looked at them. “That quotation comes from the British ethologist Dr. W. H. Thorpe of Cambridge University, one of the greatest authorities of his time on the subject.”

Bert said, “But what’s all this cloak and dagger stuff? This kidnapping of Jill? This going around armed, in a day when guns are taboo for the public? This hiding of the identity of your gang, and the rest of it?”

Kneedler looked at him indignantly. “Katz and his crew are out to get us. We’re the opposition. They’ve got to try to eliminate us.”

“But why?” Jill said, frowning. “What in the name of heavens is it that Katz wants?”

“He wants the knowledge for himself—and his group. And not for anyone else. They’re afraid to let it into the hands of anyone else. They’ve kept the developments suppressed for decades but you can’t keep human discoveries hidden indefinitely. And every year that goes by, still new discoveries are made. And always there is the lurking fear: suppose the Soviets or someone else hit upon the same information and released it to their people. What happens if, suddenly, their population or that of China begins averaging more than 200 in the way of I.Q. and also begins utilizing our new educational techniques so that in a matter of months they have educations that usually take twenty years to acquire?”

Bert shook his head in confusion. “The more I hear about all this, the more of a razzle it seems.”

“That makes two of us,” Jim said.

Bert came to a decision. “Look,” he said, “you get along. We know where we can get in touch with you. Tomorrow I’ll see Katz and check this out.”

Jim gestured at the assistant professor with his head. “Suppose he goes to Security?”

Bert looked at him. “He can’t. He’s in on it. He was up on the fact that Jill was going to be kidnapped. He’s involved. Not as badly as we are, but involved.”

Kneedler had returned to his seat, but now he stood. He said, “All right. There’s a good deal more to it, but it can wait until you’ve satisfied yourselves that Katz is an opportunist and one of the most dangerous men in the country.”

“Well see,” Bert told him. He led the other to the door and ushered him out.

When he returned to the living room, he was thoughtful. Jim Hawkins and Jill Masterson looked up at him. For a moment he paced the floor, fists jammed into jacket pockets.

He turned on them and demanded, “How did you two meet?”

Jim said, “Why, at a faculty party.” He leered at Jill. “It was love at first sight, eh, Sweetie Pie?”

She snorted.

“What were you doing at a faculty party?” Bert said.

His old sidekick was aggrieved. “Holy smokes, I don’t know. I figured I was a minor celebrity because of the war record. After all, I got a Medal of Honor too.”

Bert looked at Jill. “And you?”

She said, “Professor Katz invited me. We had already discussed the project and I was still deciding whether or not I wanted to take him up on it. Why?”

“It’s too much of a coincidence, you and me meeting so easily. Three hundred thousand persons in this university city and the only two students on Katz’ project meet in the first days of the semester. We were meant to meet, but they wanted to disguise the fact. You were introduced to my old buddy, who in turn introduced you to me. All, seemingly, coincidence.”

“But why?” she demanded.

“I don’t know,” he said. He looked out the window. It was dark, “I suppose we had better break it up until morning. If anything develops during the night, call me on your phone.”

“Or, better still, me,” Jim said. “I’m staying here.”

Bert looked at him.

Jim said, “We’re all in this together now. I’m staying near my old buddy, old buddy. Just like old times. A team. Seems to me you could use a man to cover your back.”

Bert came to a quick decision. “Kay,” he said. “Now let’s take a look at where our suites join. It occurs to me that they’ve already used one musher in this game. If they ring in another, you might not be able to call us.”

Jill said, indecision in her voice, ” I… I don’t know if I want to stay here at all. I don’t know if I want to associate with… with you two. I don’t like any of this.” She licked her lower lip nervously.

All right. She was only a kid. She’d never seen anyone shot before. She’d never come in contact with old pros like Bert and Jim. She’d never been exposed to extreme violence before. She was scared, and why not?

Bert said, “Jill, there are too many angles we don’t know about Too many people running around waving guns, and sometimes shooting them. The issues are evidently big, probably bigger than we realize at this stage of the game. I strongly suggest that you stay right next door, with Jim and me on hand, until we’ve been dealt more cards. You don’t have to like us. As you’ve made clear, we’re not particularly likable people. However, at least you can trust us. Among other things, lover boy, here, is in love with you.”

Without waiting for an answer he led the way into one of the bedrooms of his suite. “This must adjoin your place,” he said to Jill.

“I suppose so,” she said grudgingly.

Jim said, “Look, here’s a door. Evidently they can turn both suites into one if the V.I.P. is big enough.” He bent over the keyhole and then straightened, surprise on his face. “Devil! It’s open.” He swung the door free, and, sure enough, Jill’s apartment was on the other side.

Bert Alshuler looked at him indignantly. “Any door is open when you’re around,” he growled.

Chapter Twelve

After they had seen Jill safely to her quarters and checked the place out to be sure nobody was there, Bert Alshuler and Jim Hawkins returned to Suite G. Bert led the way into the dining room.

They sat at the table and Jim took in the menu on the screen. “Holy smokes,” he said in admiration. “The works.” He ordered enough exotic food for three persons and a bottle of vintage champagne.

“That’s all we need,” Bert growled. “To get smashed.” He ordered more moderately himself, conveniently forgetting his steak gorging of yesterday.

Jim ignored him. He said, “Old buddy, how’d you ever fall into this pool of crud and come out spittin’ pearls? Didn’t you have enough of being in the middle of messes in the war?”

“It turned out I was the smartest man in the army, so I was nominated.”

“Smartest man in the army, eh? Never noticed,” Jim said, working the cork out of the bottle of chilled wine. “You sure managed to hide the fact, old buddy. Remember that time in Brisbane those sharpies took away our whole taw with those crooked dice?”

“Shut up,” Bert said. “I’ve got to think.”

“And I’ve got to eat,” Jim said. “As an old hand doughboy, I’m smart enough to grub up on first rate chow when it’s available. Tomorrow well probably be back to hot dogs and beans.”

“Doughboy?”

Jim said cheerfully, “You’re sure not up on current slang, old buddy. The public called us doughboys in the First war, G.I.s in the Second and slobs in the Asian War. By that time they were getting tired of wars and heroes.”

“Shut up,” Bert muttered again.

They spent the night in the bedroom that adjoined Jill Masterson’s suite, their laser pistols on the tables that flanked their twin beds.

Like the old army men that they were, they awoke at dawn and decided not to bother the girl, who undoubtedly was more than ordinarily exhausted and could use the sleep. They had a glum breakfast, this time in the kitchen, Jim again ordering more expensive dishes than he could have possibly eaten. He had been about to order another bottle of champagne, but Bert sent him a sour look and he desisted.

After the meal, Bert led him into the study. Jim looked about and gave a low hiss of a whistle in appreciation of the elaborate layout.

Bert indicated the auto-teacher. “That’s what the whole razzle is about.”

“Looks like an ordinary auto-teacher to me. I took some courses in the army on them. They allow you to go as fast, or as slow as you want. Eliminates sitting around in classes with others who are either too smart or too stupid to go at the same rate you do.”

“Kay. But this is an auto-teacher with a difference. Sit down and watch. Get yourself something to read. You can read? You were a captain?”

“What’s that got to do with being able to read?” Jim said, aggrieved.

Bert went over to his pills and took one of the brown ones and headed back to his seat before the auto-teacher’s screen. He looked down at his watch. As expected, the second hand was crawling. He thought of something and got up again and crossed to where Jim had taken a comfort chair.

“Let’s see what time you’ve got?” he said, taking up the other’s wrist. Once again, as he had suspected, Jim’s second hand was also plodding along at a pace no faster than his own. He grunted satisfaction and returned to his chair.

“Holy… smokes… stop… dashing… around… and… stop… talking… so… fast… I… can hardly… understand… you,” Jim said, drawling it out so slowly as to be irritating.

Bert flicked on the screen and the robot voice said, “Elementary Physics, One and Two.” He pressed the page switch and took up his marking stylus. He sped things up as the brown pill took full effect, and then again, and again.

He didn’t notice his companion coming up behind him, standing there looking over his shoulder, until the other’s voice came dragging out.

“What… the… devil’s… going… on?”

“I’m studying physics. Sit down and I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Studying?… You… completely… around… the… bend?… You… couldn’t… even… turn… pages… that… fast… by… hand.”

“Sit down,” Bert ordered.

The other returned to his chair, walking very slowly, looking as though he were trudging his way through molasses.

Bert finished the book and went over to his pills and took one of the green ones. The reaction seemed to be all but instantaneous.

Jim was gaping at him. “Will you quit running around like that? You’re making me dizzy.”

Bert settled himself across from Jim. “I just finished a course in Elementary Physics, One and Two.”

Jim was blank. “One and Two? You mean a whole year?”

“Yes.”

“Aw, come off it, Killer. I took physics last year and just managed to squeeze through. It’s all great with these kids, but old duffers like us have got out of the studying habit.”

“Kay. So you’ve taken the same course, eh? Ask me some questions.”

“Okay, smarty pants. Describe the third law of thermodynamics.”

“It states that every substance has a definite entropy, that is availability of energy to do work, that approaches zero as its temperature approaches absolute zero. As the energy becomes unavailable the entropy is said to increase. You want me to go further into it? I can quote you by the page from V. N. Faires, A. L. King, Doolittle or Zerbon.”

“Don’t bother,” Jim muttered. “Describe the principle of operation of a photoelectric cell.”

Bert did.

Jim was staring in absolute disbelief. “And you expect me to believe you got all that in less than a couple of hours?”

“You know this is my freshman year. Where would I have picked up college level physics?”

Jim was silent for several minutes, his face still registering his disbelief. Finally, he said, “What was all that running around like a whirling dervish, and talking like a speeded up old-time tape recorder?”

Bert stood and went over to the table that bore his pill bottles. He held them up. “As Professor Marsh put it, the brown ones turn you on, the green ones turn you off.”

Jim took the brown bottle and shook out one of the pills and stared at it. “You mean, all I have to do is chomp one of these and I speed up to the point where I can take on a year’s course in a couple of hours? Devil! I’ll give it a try.”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Bert said hurriedly. “That’s not the whole treatment. I’ve been taking a series of shots, too. This stuff isn’t to be messed around with. I made the mistake of taking a drink while I was high on one of these brown bombers and it knocked me for a razzle that lasted until morning. I don’t know what might happen to you if you took it without the preliminary shots.”

Bert returned the pill to the bottle and screwed the lid back on.

Jim was frustrated. “Holy smokes, and Jill’s in on this same deal? In a week, she’ll be so smart I won’t be able to talk to her.”

“Evidently she is,” Bert said, looking at his watch. “Let’s give old Marsh a try.”

He went over to the phone screen and tried to get the professor, without result. The other had evidently put a really tight priority rating on his phone.

Bert Alshuler leaned back to think, but then his own phone screen hummed. He activated it. The face of Leonard Katz was there and his rueful smile on it.

Bert snapped, “What’s so funny?”

Katz said, “I’ve just heard from Ralph Marsh. You must think that we’ve taken inadequate provisions for… your project.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Bert said sarcastically. “Kay, Professor. Let’s get together. There are a few things to be discussed. But first, are you in a position to take care of… that situation that developed yesterday?”

“Yes. Steps are being taken. We are not without resources. I want you to meet me here at the Octagon.”

“Where?”

“The Octagon, in Great Washington. Come immediately. Report to the offices of General Russell Paul.”

“No you don’t,” Bert Alshuler said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t like the way things are going. I want to know more of the rules of this game before I play any more.”

“My dear Alshuler, I don’t know what you mean.”

“I can’t make it much clearer, I’m afraid.”

The professor said coldly, “According to your dossier and Ability Quotient, you don’t become afraid, Alshuler, or should I say Major Caine?”

“You should say Alshuler, and if my Ability Quotient says I don’t get afraid, then those tests of yours aren’t as accurate as you think they are. I get very afraid, and that’s one of the reasons I’m still alive, Katz. I’m not coming to the Octagon. I have a sneaking suspicion that you’d have too much muscle there—on the off-chance that I don’t like what you have to say and want to bow out. If I want to bow out, I want to bow out, not be finished off. Oh, you’d be surprised how afraid I can get.”

The other was miffed and showed it.

Bert waited it out. Jim Hawkins began to move in to look over his shoulder into the screen, but Bert waved him away. Jim Hawkins was one of the few cards he had up his sleeve and he wanted him to remain there for at least the time.

Katz said finally, “Very well. The general and I will take the next vacuum-tube to Mid-West University City. We’ll see you shortly.” His face faded.

Bert turned back to Jim, scowling irritation.

“General who?” Jim said. “Is it late enough in the day to decently have a drink? Or indecently, for that matter.”

“No,” Bert said. “Damn it, Jim, stay off the liquor until we find out what’s going on and whose side we’re on. General Paul You remember old “Bugs” Paul. The Octagon yet! I’m beginning to have glimmerings, not to speak of suspicions.”

Jim said, with mock sadness, “I’d just hate to have somebody hit me the final one while all that good hooch is still in there unconsumed.”

“Hooch?”

“Lush, booze, the sauce.”

“Oh, shut up, you rummy.”

“Now you’re getting with it. Rummy. I haven’t heard that one for a coon’s age.” In high irritation, Bert went on into the kitchen and acquired a triple decker sandwich. As always after a bout with the brown-pills-turn-you-on-the-green-pills-turn-you-off routine, he was desperately hungry. He had ironed out one thing, with Jim acting as his stooge. Evidently, whatever Marsh had him on speeded up your metabolism fantastically. That was what was burning up the energy. It didn’t make much difference, under this set-up, but he would have thought they’d give him a shot of glucose or something. Was it glucose they gave you for quick energy?

Still eating the sandwich, he went on back into the living room.

The lanky Jim, sprawled all over a couch, said, “Old buddy, ore you thinking this out?” He waved, all-embracingly, at the apartment. “Here it is, raining beer—holy smokes, champagne—and you’re in a tizzy. What’s wrong with this deal? How can I suck up to it?”

Bert glowered at him. “Would you get into a war without even knowing what side you were on?”

Jim leered. “That’s a good question. First, I’d find out what side was going to win.”

“Yeah. Well, I’m still at the stage where I’m not really sure what they’re fighting about. Come on, let’s see if Jill is up and around.”

“Why not just phone her?”

“Because I don’t know who might be monitoring every call that goes on, in, and around these apartments. The less we use public communications the less business of ours whoever listening in will know.”

“Holy smokes, you’re really running scared,” Jim protested, unwinding himself from his seat. He followed Bert into the bedroom adjoining Jill’s suite.

Bert knocked on the door and got no response; knocked again more loudly with the same result, then opened it and called, “Jill?”

A voice from the living room answered, “Come on in.”

She was in a comfort chair, coffee cup in hand, and looking wan. “I barricaded the door last night, on the off-chance that one of you two Romeos would try sneaking in.”

“You’re dated,” Jim told her. “Not Romeos. Sheiks. The men are Sheiks and the girls are Shebas.”

“We wrestled it out,” Bert told her, “to see who’d make the attempt but it was a draw, so we went to bed.”

“My heroes,” she sighed.

Bert then told her about his talk with Katz.

“The Octagon?” she said. “What in the name of heavens do we have to do with the Octagon?”

“Evidently, Katz has some general over there he’s in contact with. They’re both coming to give us their story.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m scared, Bert. I’m a terrible coward I’ll… I’ll stay right here.”

Jim shook his head and said cheerfully, “Everybody’s getting scared these days.”

Bert looked at him. “So would you be if you had the brains.”

Jim grunted. “That’s right. You two are the big brains, aren’t you? That’s why you’ve been selected for this gravy train.”

Jill said to him, “Oh, stop being silly. How’s your arm?”

He looked down at it, still in the black sling. “Much better. I wish we’d had some of these new super-drugs back during the war. They’ve gotten to the point where you’re all healed up before you’ve hardly been hit.”

Bert said to her, “Kay. We’ll meet with our friends and report back to you. You ought to be safe here for a few hours. Be sure you recognize anybody on the door screen before you let them in.”

Chapter Thirteen

Bert Alshuler and Jim Hawkins returned to the other suite just in time to hear the ping of the front door. Bert went to it to find the face of Professor Marsh on the identity screen. He opened up.

Bert led the way back to the living room.

Jim looked up from where he was sprawled full length on a couch. “Hi, Doc.”

Marsh said; “Confound it, are you still here?”

Bert said, “I’m not sure I’m going to take any more of your treatment until I learn what’s going on.”

The professor was testy. “Then don’t take any more of those stimulants I gave you. I’d suggest you continue. I am not quite sure what would result if the series was discontinued at this point. I am not even certain that we could pick it up again, after an interim of even a few days.”

“Hell, I’m in it this far,” Bert said in disgust. “Let’s go.”

The doctor-professor opened his briefcase and began to bring forth the now familiar hypodermics and injections.

Jim, watching interestedly, said, “Hey Doc, how about letting me in on this? I’ve always wanted to read War and Peace.”

Marsh ignored him but looked at Bert in irritation. “You’ve been talking too much.” He readied one of the hypos.

“Kay. But you haven’t been talking enough,” Bert said. “This party is getting rough and I don’t mind having a little insurance. Jim’s been an insurance policy of mine for a long time.”

“Old buddy, old buddy,” Jim drawled, “you make our fine, noble friendship sound so mercenary.”

Bert got three shots this time.

Marsh said, “Miss Masterson is in the adjoining suite?”

“That’s right,” Bert said. “What do you want with her?”

“That is none of your affair.” The other began to repack his briefcase.

Jim sighed and brought himself erect. “You might as well go through this way. We’ve opened a connecting door with Jill’s apartment.” He led the professor out of the room, and a moment later Bert heard him calling her name and knocking on her bedroom door.

The phone hummed and he went over. Katz’ face was there, evidently he was calling on his pocket phone. He said, “We’ll meet you in the penthouse of the Acropolis Building in about twenty minutes.”

Bert said, “Who else is going to be there?”

“No one except General Paul. I understand you have had dealings with him before.”

“Remotely,” Bert said. “Majors don’t exactly have dealings with three star generals. Kay, I’ll be there.”

The other faded off.

Jim returned from the other suite and said, “What’s cooking?”

Bert said, “Let’s go. That was Katz. We’re to meet him in the penthouse of the Acropolis Building. Know where that is?”

“Sure. It’s one of the swankiest high-rises in this university city. Do we take our shooters?”

“From now on, old buddy,” Bert said, a grim quality in his voice, “we take our shooters wherever we go. Listen are you sure you want to be in on this? What’s there in it for you, Jim—besides the possibility of being hit again?” He led the way to the bedroom where they had left their laser pistols.

Jim followed him, saying, “Old buddy, I smell money. Piles on piles of pseudo-dollars. Everything about this deal reeks with it. And I’ve got an old belief that if you rub against enough people who are well-breaded, some of the crumbs might rub off on you.”

“Ha,” Bert snorted “And I thought it was affection for your old buddy, old buddy.”

“Ha,” Jim said, taking up his gun and checking the charge. He tucked the weapon back into his belt again.

Bert slipped his into the shoulder harness he was still wearing and said, “Let’s go.”

They remained silent as they sank down into the depths of the Administration Building to the metro station where they took a two-seater, automated vehicle, to the Acropolis Building. The metro there was even more ornate than that of the high-rise where Bert had his quarters. Evidently, the building was very recent.

At the elevator banks, Bert approached an information screen and said, “I wish to go to the penthouse.”

“Name and identity number, please.”

Bert gave them.

“Yes, Mr. Alshuler. You are expected. Please take Elevator Z.”

Elevator Z turned out to be the equivalent of the restricted elevator that Bert Alshuler utilized in his own building.

As they rose to the top floor, Jim looked around the small compartment in wonder. “They’ve done everything but plate it with gold,” he said. “Our race is becoming effete, old buddy. But, as I say, I hope some of it rubs off on me.”

Bert said, “How quick are you with that shooter, left-handed?”

The gun was magically in his companion’s hand. And just as magically back in the belt, beneath the jacket again.

Jim leered at him. “I always was a quicker draw than you, old buddy. Even left-handed. You think we might be using these?”

“I don’t know what to think.”

The elevator finally came to a halt and the door opened. They emerged onto a scene that was hard to believe could be at the top of a skyscraping building. Fully three quarters of the area was gardens, trees, lawns and pools. There was even a small running stream, issuing from a small hill, rambling through the park and then flowing back into another hillock. There were two rustic wooden bridges over it. The whole had been so designed, so landscaped that there was no feeling of being on a building high in the air.

“Holy smokes,” Jim said, in awe.

“Beyond dreams of avarice,” Bert muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

A military figure, though dressed in mufti, approached them. The man was in the later middle years, face expressionless, eyes quizzical and narrow as though in perpetual squint. The body was firm and its health aggressive, an obvious product of the sunlamp, the careful watching of dieting and drinks, the gym and masseur.

The newcomer put out a long, hard hand. “Major Caine, Captain Hawkins.”

Jim shook first. “Yes, sir. It’s been quite a while.”

“That is correct. You were on my staff briefly there in Bangkok, weren’t you, Captain?” He turned to Bert.

Bert shook his hand, and said, “Not major, mister. And my name is now Albert Alshuler.”

The other looked at him quizzically. “I seem to remember tendering you a decoration once, ah, Alshuler. In those days you were referred to as Killer Caine.”

“And you were General Bugs Paul. But that was in those days, not now.”

The flush that came barely made it through the tan. The general said, abruptly, “The professor is awaiting us in his study.” He turned and started off, adding over his shoulder, “I came to welcome you since the staff has been dismissed. We wished the utmost of privacy.”

Bert and Jim fell in.

Bert said conversationally, “Ain’t this quite a layout for a university professor?”

The general said, “Leonard Katz has private means.”

“I’ll bet he has.”

The study let off the garden and they entered it through French windows. It was obviously a scholar’s retreat, no attempt being made to live up to the ostentation of the rest of the establishment. The room was lined with books, largely old and battered, in a day when books have given way to the library boosters connected with the National Data Banks. There was a wide range of paintings on the walls and Bert, no great authority, decided that they were undoubtedly originals. He recognized at least two, a Picasso and a Degas. He had never seen an original of either before, outside a museum. There was a fireplace that evidently was actually utilized, either that or the logs stacked to one side were a clever bit of business. There was a bar in one corner, and there were old style rifles and shotguns in a rack and several heads of game displayed, including a huge American buffalo.

Professor Leonard Katz was seated, a book in hand, in a battered red easy chair of the old type seldom seen in these days. He came to his feet when they entered, put the book on a cocktail table and came forward to meet them.

He nodded to Bert Alshuler, shook hands and then turned to Jim Hawkins, his eyebrows high.

The general said, “This is former Captain James Hawkins, once of my staff before the forming of the Elite Service in which he was Major Caine’s second in command.”

“Hawkins, Professor Leonard Katz.”

“Alshuler,” Bert said, “not Caine.”

Leonard Katz said, “I see.” He shook with Jim Hawkins. “And why did you come to this meeting, my dear Hawkins?”

Jim wasn’t the type to be easily thrown off. He grinned and said, “When trouble started brewing up for Bert, it seemed just natural for me to come along for the trip.” His voice altered just slightly. “I’m riding shotgun.”

“Very well,” Katz said. “Sit down, gentlemen. Is it too early in the day to offer you a drink? General, will you do the honors?”

Jim was the only customer. He winked at Bert. It wasn’t every day you had a three star general rushing the drinks for you.

When they were all seated, the professor leaned forward, put his fingertips together and looked at Bert. “I understand that you have been having some second thoughts about our… project.”

Bert crossed his legs, relaxed and said, “It was pointed out to me yesterday that the story of my ranking highest in Ability Quotient was a bit hard to swallow. My fellow nominee for the project indicated my reputation suggested that my true abilities lay in a different field.”

“Very well, and to what conclusion did this bring you, my dear Alshuler?”

“That The Establishment, as they used to call it, has something up its sleeve and that I’ve been elected one of the patsies…” He turned his eyes to Jim Hawkins. “Isn’t patsy one of the old terms, Jim?”

Jim jiggled his glass and said approvingly, “You’re getting on, Killer. Patsy is good.”

Bert turned back to the professor and general. “Elected one of the patsies to pull some of the chestnuts out of the fire. They must be some rather hot chestnuts, considering my reputation—which I’ve been trying to get away from since demobilization.”

The general was irritated. He said abruptly, “See here, Caine, have you ever wondered why The Establishment, so called, became The Establishment?”

Bert looked at him politely, and waited.

“It became The Establishment because those who consisted of it were capable enough to become well established in a dog-eat-dog world. You don’t become established in this world of ours without having more than average on the ball. You know that from your military career. You were inducted a private and were discharged a major, the most decorated man to come out of the Asian War. You, yourself, are part of The Establishment.”

“Oh now, really,” Bert Alshuler said. “Until the professor’s offer came along, I was on Guaranteed Annual Income. Not exactly munificence.”

“That was possibly your own fault. I understand that you were offered a dozen lucrative positions by various corporations.”

“Based on my name. Based on being Killer Caine. I was even offered stardom in some Tri-Di shows. No thanks.”

The general said, with a bit more heat, The point is that The Establishment—a foolish term—has evolved, Caine. As always, power concentrates. Europe was a hundred thousand small fiefs and baronies during Medieval times. Slowly, she coalesced into kingdoms, then empires. Today, she is Common Europe, one whole. When that term, The Establishment, was first used, it included millions of persons. It included everyone who had an interest in the status quo. It is no longer millions. It has coalesced into a comparative handful. You are being given the chance to become part of this super-establishment, Major Caine.”

Jim looked at his old buddy and lifted his eyebrows mockingly.

Bert ignored him and said to the general, “Albert Alshuler, not Major Caine.”

“See here, Caine. I can turn to that phone screen over there and get in touch with the Octagon. And in half an hour you’ll be called up from reserve… possibly as a private, rather than with a major’s rank.”

Bert ran a palm over his mouth. “I don’t advise trying, General. That’s one thing about being a national hero. You throw weight. If I howl, the news boys have a field day.”

The professor, urgency in his voice, said, “Gentlemen, gentlemen. This is nonsense, I fear. Mr. Alshuler has unfortunately picked up some incorrect ideas.”

Bert looked at him in turn. “Kay. You tell me the right ones. Why was Killer Caine picked for this project?”

“For the very reason I told you.”

“My I.Q. doesn’t exactly brand me a genius.”

“We didn’t go solely by I.Q., my dear Alshuler. I told you that. We went by your Ability Quotient, only one element of which involves I.Q. Your I.Q., by the way, is 132 which puts you in the Very Superior category. But your Ability Quotient is composed of a score of other tests as well. How do you think you became Killer Caine, surviving where so many died? It was because of your quick reflexes, your ability to act coolly in the, ah, crunch, I believe you call it. It was your dexterity, your intuitive reactions in emergency. It is all these things which make up your Ability Quotient.”

“Man,” Jim chuckled. “My old buddy.”

The general looked at him. “Your own Ability Quotient was almost as high, Captain.”

Bert said, “So it was you who decided, eh?” He turned back to Leonard Katz. “What’s going on? Under these shots and pills Marsh has been giving me, I’ll be able to wade through every course this university offers in months, if not weeks.”

“Through every course the world offers, Alshuler.”

Bert was startled. “What?”

“Through the international data banks, my dear Alshuler, you can take the courses of any university in the West and even quite a few in the Soviet Complex, though using Mid-West University City as your base of studies. That course you completed in Early English emanated from Oxford. It was not ours. When you study French and French literature the courses will originate in the Sorbonne and German from Heidelberg. When you study engineering, it will be from Great MIT. Naturally, we won’t duplicate subjects. Most of your elementary courses will originate right here but it would be ridiculous for you to take our Russian courses, though we have them. When you get to Russian, you’ll study through the University of Moscow, or Leningrad. We are making arrangements for some courses in Mandarin at Peking.”

“This floors me,” Bert said. “But I want to get back to something earlier. Yesterday, I had a session with Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler, who evidently belongs to a group that figures you’re an opportunist. He read off a whole collection of quotes from various authorities who evidently viewed with alarm these breakthroughs in the development of the brain.”

Katz nodded. “I know Kneedler. Obviously, we don’t see eye to eye. The very existence of his organization, a split-off from the one to which the general and I belong, by the way, is an indication of the dangerous forces which confront us and the need for us to make our way with care. Basically, his group desires to release our present information and devices to all. But, you see, Alshuler, a shifting of only 1.5 percent in the I.Q. of the whole population would more than double the number of people with I.Q.s of over 160. How many geniuses can we afford?”

“I’d think the more the better,” Bert said.

“Possibly, but not necessarily. That is why we are treading so carefully. As G. R. Taylor put it, our society is adjusted to the basic facts of human mental attainment and weakness in many intricate ways. Any dramatic change in parameters such as intelligence, memory-power, emotionalism, ability to make decisions would create problems for which there is literally no precedent And if such knowledge lent increased power to those who might misuse it to influence or control others, might not undreamed-of tyrannies arise?”

Bert said suddenly, “Why me? Why Jill Masterson?” He looked from the professor to the general and back again. “Why don’t you use these new processes on yourselves?”

The professor smiled ruefully. “To the extent possible, we have, although the stimulants you and Miss Masterson are being subjected to are the very latest and beyond what we have had in the past. However, they apply best to the young. As we grow older, they drop off drastically in effectiveness. The mental capacities of the human animal are at their peak between the ages of 15 and 25; after that they slowly fall off. Brain cells do not divide and a hundred thousand of them perish every day. Despite the brain’s great margin of surplus capacity, eventually the effect is felt. To teach something really new to a man who has reached his four score years and ten is very difficult.”

“Then, once again, why me? Why not get some kid of fifteen?”

The professor made a gesture of the obvious, his palms upturned. “Remember, we are going by Ability Quotient, not just I.Q. An adolescent doesn’t have the experience behind him to be able to assimilate that which you and Miss Masterson can.”

Bert Alshuler came to his feet, jammed his hands into his jacket pockets and prowled up and down in thought. Finally, he said, “Then what it amounts to is that Jill Masterson and I are guinea pigs. You want to see what will happen when we have become as completely educated as possible, and when our I.Q. and Ability Quotients have been as stimulated as possible.”

“That is roughly correct.”

“Kay. What happens when we have completed the course… the project?”

“That is what we are waiting to see. Future plans depend upon it.”

“Kneedler mentioned the chance that the Soviet Complex or China might come up with the same breakthroughs and utilize them immediately.”

“In the name of Cain, don’t you think we’re aware of that?” General Paul said.

Bert thought about it. Finally, he said, “Kay. For the time, at least, I’ll go along with you and recommend the same to Miss Masterson. But I’ve got one demand.”

The other three looked at him.

Bert said flatly, “I want that damned Priority One, so far as the National Data Banks are concerned, lifted.”

“Priority One?” Professor Katz said. He looked at the general blankly.

The general was only a bit embarrassed. “I thought that in the early stages it might be better if they were restricted on what they could find out about the operation.”

The professor came back to Bert Alshuler. “Very well, we’ve now revealed a great deal more than we had expected to at this date. We’ll make immediate arrangements for unlimited priority so far as scholarly studies are involved.”

Bert stood. He said thoughtfully, “I begin to see why you used the expression, wealthy beyond my dreams of avarice. Jill and I will be the most educated persons the world has ever seen, won’t we?”

“Yes,” the professor said simply.

Chapter Fourteen

On the way down in the elevator, Jim Hawkins said, “Holy smokes.”

“Yeah,” Bert said.

Jim said, “You didn’t buy all that, old buddy?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. There are too many loose ends.”

“Like what? Old buddy, how can you lose? Imagine being the smartest man in the world.”

“I wouldn’t remain the smartest man in the world long. That’s the decision they’re going to have to come up with. As soon as they see that Jill’s brains and mine don’t leak out under the pressure, they’re going to have to decide who to give it to and how many of them. Is it going to be everybody, or a handful? It’s a decision I’d hate to have to make.”

“Maybe you will have to make it, old buddy. By that time you’ll be smarter than Katz, Marsh and Bugs Paul all wrapped together.”

Bert looked at him. “That’s another thing I don’t like. Remember the reputation Bugs Paul had over in Asia?”

Jim said slowly, “He was a little… ambitious.”

At the metro station in the basements, Jim said, “Look, you figure anything might happen between here and your apartment? If you don’t I’ll go over to my digs and gather up my things. I’m moving in with you until all this is through.”

Bert looked at him, frowning, “Isn’t this going to mess up your own studies?”

Jim grinned at him. “I’ve just resigned from the student body, old buddy. The old way’s too slow. Didn’t you hear what Bugs Paul told me? I was a runner-up. Maybe, when all the cards have been dealt in this game, it’ll be decided that I’m one of the next on the list to get the treatment. Like I said, I’ve always wanted to read the complete works of the Marquis de Sade, but they’re too lengthy.”

“You said, War and Peace.”

“Yeah, but then I was trying to project intelligence.”

Bert grunted. “Kay, old buddy, pack your things and come on over. I still have the uncomfortable feeling I could use a bodyguard.”

“And a chaperon, old buddy. I’m not forgetting my girl lives next door.”

Bert Alshuler made it back to the Administration Building without incident, but then, for some reason, he didn’t want to go up to his suite quite yet. He had spent too much time there in the past few days. Spacious as it was, he had the feeling of being cooped up. He knew very well that the moment he got back into the study he would start cramming again and in a way, fascinating though it was, he revolted against so many hours at an auto-teacher. In the past he had only been a moderate student, studying enough to get by but not pushing it. He had the feeling now that the next weeks were going to be one of the longest drags he had ever been through.

So he dropped off into the auto-cafeteria where he had met Jill and Jim—was it only yesterday?

He took the same table they had been at before and put his Identity Card in the table’s slot and called for a glass of imported British ale, a drink he had always liked but which hadn’t been on his budget as a student on Guaranteed Annual Income. Evidently, just about anything was on his budget now.

When the brew came, he sipped it slowly. He was wondering what the computers would decide to give him next when someone said, “Major Caine?”

Bert looked up. “The name is Albert Alshuler.”

“All right. Mind if I sit down?”

The newcomer was in his mid-thirties, neatly dressed, open-faced and didn’t project being either a student or a member of the university’s faculty.

Bert Alshuler shifted his shoulders so that his jacket draped in such manner as to facilitate a quick draw from the shoulder rig slung beneath his left armpit.

He said, “I have no monopoly on the table. However, there seem to be others in the vicinity that are empty.”

The other nodded, but sat down. “My name’s Harmon. Frank Harmon. I wanted to talk with you.”

“Start talking, friend. Drink?”

“I’m on duty.”

“Oh? What kind of duty?”

“Local Security. I’m a cop… Mr. Alshuler.”

“Kay. What can I do for you?” Bert Alshuler finished his ale and summoned another one.

“Three students were killed yesterday and, we’re not sure, but another seems to be missing.”

Bert Alshuler was wide-eyed. “You mean here in town?”

“In the jurisdiction of this university city.”

“Well, what’s all this razzle about? What do you want with me?”

“They were killed with a laser.”

Bert looked at him, frowning puzzlement. “So?”

“You’re acquainted with the use of laser weapons?”

“Obviously. They were just coming in during the last months of my service. For that matter there must be thousands of ex-military personnel in this city who have been checked out on lasers.”

“But few so well as you and Captain Jim Hawkins.”

Bert shrugged and took up his fresh glass. “What are you getting at, uh, Harmon?”

Frank Harmon looked at him for a long moment. “I was in the big one too, Killer.”

“Don’t call me that. I never asked for the handle and never liked it. So you were in the Asian War too. Does that make us old comrades in arms?”

“I’m not trying to antagonize you, Mr. Alshuler. This is my job. I don’t want to intrude on you. I can understand you wanting to drop out of all the publicity crud they heaped on you. Like I say, I was in it too. I’ve got a lot of respect for… for the man who took as many decorations as you did.”

Bert said, “I’ve mislaid my violin. What did you want, Harmon?”

“Where were you yesterday?”

“When? Mostly I was in my apartment.”

“Your student mini-apartment in the Parthenon Building?”

Bert looked at him in disgust. “I assume you know better than that. Professor Leonard Katz has made arrangements for me to take over Suite G. in this building while I do some special courses utilizing new education methods he and some of his associates have dreamed up.”

“Where were you at about two o’clock?”

“I imagine in my suite. I don’t recall checking the time particularly during the afternoon. Why?”

“Because something strange happened. An electro-steamer was summoned down in the metro and was driven to the house in which the three students were found. Later it returned to this building again. The thing is, there is no record of whose identity card was utilized to rent the vehicle. Somehow that information was erased from the data banks.”

Bert Alshuler tried to look pained. “Oh, now really. Do I look like somebody who has access to the data banks? I’ve only been in town a few days. I don’t even know where the data banks are located, and I’m not an electronic technician. Why pick on me to question, Harmon?”

The other sighed. “We’ve never had a murder before in this university city. Certainly not three at a crack—performed with lasers. You turn up under an assumed name, are shortly established in luxurious quarters, although you have no known source of income beyond GAI, and in a few days three men are beamed down. What did you come here for, Alshuler?”

Bert projected disgust. “Would you believe to study?”

Frank Harmon said abruptly, indicating Bert’s jacket, “You’re heeled, aren’t you, Alshuler? You’re carrying a concealed weapon. Do you have a permit?”

“I wouldn’t have any trouble getting one. Sure I’m heeled. Before I changed my name and underwent a little plastic surgery, I used to get a dozen crank letters a week. Every crackpot in the country would have loved to get his face in the news by knocking off Killer Caine.”

“Is it a laser? They’re forbidden to civilians, under any circumstances.”

“Of course not. It’s a gyro-jet.”

“May I see it, please?”

“No. See here, friend, I’m getting tired of this. If you think you have anything on me, then take me and charge me. You’ll have a hot potato on your hands when the news boys plaster the fact around that you’ve arrested the most highly decorated man to come out of the war, for carrying a gun for self-defense.”

The Security man stared at him in frustration, then came to his feet. He said wearily, “All right, Alshuler. But something smells here and I’m going to find out what’s causing the stench.”

“Good luck,” Bert said, and turned his attention back to his glass.

When Frank Harmon was gone, Bert Alshuler ran his right hand over his mouth unhappily. Double damn it.

These days, the police had methods undreamed of even a quarter of a century ago. He wondered if he had left any fingerprints, or anything else in that house where the shooting had taken place. Or if Jill had. Damn it Why hadn’t he thought to check that out?

He brought his pocket phone from his jacket, activated it and said into the screen, “Lieutenant General Russell Paul. The number is undoubtedly restricted, but I assume I have priority.”

The general’s face faded in.

Bert said, “Can you scramble this so that it won’t be recorded in the data banks, or anywhere else, for that matter?”

“Yes, if necessary.”

“It’s necessary.”

“Just a moment, then.” The other did something off screen and then came back, full face and looked at Bert quizzically. “Go on.”

“Kay. There’s one of your lower echelon boys here, Frank Harmon, who’s bugging me, as Jim Hawkins would probably put it. That matter yesterday. Can’t you have him transferred to Greater Denver, or something?”

“I see. I’ll have him eliminated.”

“Eliminated, for God’s sake! Listen, he seems to be a good man. Bounce him up a grade or two—but send him to Alaska or Peru for the time being.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Major. I had no intention of physically eliminating the man.”

When the other’s face was gone, Bert returned the phone to his pocket. He said, meaninglessly, “Bugs Paul.”

His drink was suddenly tasteless to him. He got to his feet and wended his way through the tables and chairs to the door. He passed within a short distance of the two kids who had been with Jim and Jill the day before. They were seated, holding hands across the table, and staring raptly into each other’s faces. What were their names? Clyde and Betty. He grunted. Had he ever been that young? He had gone into the war at seventeen; he hadn’t had much time for youth.

He took the elevator up to the top floor and entered his apartment, thinking that part of the treatment that Marsh was giving him must involve stimulation of desire to achieve learning. He had always considered himself on the lazy side, before, but now he was keen to get to his next course.

Jill’s voice called, “Bert? Jim?” from her suite.

He went to the bedroom that adjoined her quarters and passed on through to her place. He called, “Jill? It’s Bert.”

She was in her living room.

She said something, but the words came out so fast, so run together, that he couldn’t make them out. When she moved, it was like one of the early silent movies where for gag reasons the Keystone Cops, or Charlie Chaplin, or whoever, were speeded up to an impossible pace.

Bert looked around. On the room’s small desk were two bottles he recognized. He went over and picked up the green one and shook out a pill. “Here take this.”

There was a carafe of water. He poured her a glass to chase down the pill. Although he had already been under the effect of Marsh’s stimulants himself several times, this was the first he had witnessed it in another. It was on the startling side.

The antidote worked with surprising speed.

She looked at him and shook her head as though in rejection. She said, “You were moving so slowly. As though you were an old, old man.”

“Yeah, I know. Obviously, Doc Marsh gave you your preliminary shot this morning and your turn-on and turn-off pills.”

She came over to him and put a hand on his arm. “Bert, it’s fantastic. Since you were here, I finished a course in Comparative Religion and one on the Humanities.”

He nodded. “I know. I’ve been on the stuff for several days now.”

She said, “You’ve seen Professor Katz? What did he say? What did he say about Kneedler’s accusations?”

“Among other things, he revealed that we are to be given what amounts to all the accumulated knowledge (he world possesses. Not just the complete curriculum of this university city, but all other schools in the world that have material not available here. Even some behind the so-called iron curtain. We’re to be made into walking encyclopedias. By the way, he claims your accusation was incorrect. They aren’t particularly interested in my, in our, I.Q.s. Evidently they can be, are being, stimulated.”

She said, “Bert, Bert. What in the name of heavens is this all about? What do they ultimately expect?”

He rubbed his mouth ruefully. “You know, Jill, I sometimes suspect they don’t even know. I get the feeling from Katz that they’re being pushed, at least the real scientists among them are. There are forces working that they’re not sure how to deal with. Elements like Kneedler’s group—God only knows how many of them there are—who want the information released to everybody. I get the feeling that General Paul, who is evidently high up in the thing, possibly their liaison man with the top echelons of the government, wants it restricted to an elite. He being one of them, of course. Then they’re being pushed by the fear that the Soviets or Chinese will hit on the same techniques.”

He took a deep breath. “We’re guinea pigs, Jill. According to what happens to us, they’ll move this way or that.”

“Bert,” she cried, “I’m afraid. It’s so fascinating that I don’t want to give it up, but I’m afraid.”

He took her into his arms and patted her on the back. She came very willingly.

She raised her face and, totally unexpected by them both, their lips met. He had a silly thought come to him, two babes in the woods. However, her generous mouth had a warm, delicately soft quality that he couldn’t remember ever experiencing with another woman.

A voice behind them said indignantly, “Hey, old buddy, that’s my girl.”

Chapter Fifteen

Bert and Jill came quickly apart, embarrassed.

Bert Alshuler said, “Jill had her wind up a little. I don’t blame her.”

Jim said, “Holy smokes, Killer. There’s not enough of her for both of us. She’s too small. Share and share alike is all great between buddies, but there comes a point—”

“Oh, good heavens, Jim, don’t be silly,” Jill protested. “You’re not my lord and master.” She looked up into Bert’s face and there was a new shine in her eyes that irritated him. Damn it all, he hadn’t asked for this. He had no intention of stepping on his friend’s toes.

Bert said gruffly, “Let’s go back into the other apartment and have a pow-wow. There’s some stuff to discuss.”

“No hooch,” Jim told her. “They put a nice bar in Bert’s joint, but they evidently figure ladies don’t drink.”

Back in Suite G, Jim took over the bar. “How about me mixing a John Brown’s Body?” he asked, staring at the collection of bottles happily.

“How about a beer instead?” Bert growled. “We’ve got some thinking to do.”

“Beer?” Jim said plaintively. “With all this fancy hooch?”

“Shut up, you rummy, and bring the beer and sit down.”

When they were organized in chairs, drinks in hand, Bert Alshuler said, “The time has come for Machiavellian tactics.”

“Come again?” Jim said.

Bert said, “I continually get the impression in this whole deal that nobody is being straight forward. There are wheels within wheels. I get the feeling that everybody involved has a different idea of what the end product should be.”

“Even Professor Katz?” Jill wanted to know. “He strikes me as having a basic integrity.”

“Maybe. But he’s got something up his sleeve we don’t know about. And somehow I get the feeling that possibly General Paul doesn’t know about it either.”

“So what do we do?” Jim said, crossing his impossibly long legs.

Bert looked at Jill. “The theory is that we study the subjects that the computers shove off on us. It’s probably a valid idea so far as the project is concerned. They’d undoubtedly take us along, step by step, until we’d assimilated everything there was to be assimilated.”

“I can see it coming,” Jim chortled. “Old Killer Caine’s going to fox them.”

“What can we do instead?” Jill said cautiously.

“Oh, we can study the courses the computers give us. We’ll have to, or Marsh, or Katz, or some of the other eggheads who must be in on this will smell a rat. However, we only spend half of our time at our scheduled courses.”

“And the other half?” Jill asked.

“When this started, they lowered my priority rating on the National Data Banks to One, so that I couldn’t stick my nose into angles they didn’t want me to know about, at least not yet. And I suspect they did the same to you. But today I put it to them and Katz agreed to an unlimited priority—short of classified military and such, I imagine. At any rate, we’re now free to dig out anything in the National Data Banks that’s there.”

She was beginning to get it.

Bert leaned forward. “This big explosion in the field of neuro-physiology and related subjects started at least a quarter of a century ago. Some of the research people got a mite frightened at some of the ramifications and they’ve done a bang-up job of keeping a lot of the developments from the layman. But it’s all there, somewhere in the data banks. It has to be. Kay. We’re going to fish it out. We’re going to learn as much or more about the subject than Katz and Marsh and all the rest of them do.”

Jill said, “It seems sort of underhanded.”

“It’s known as self-defense,” Bert said.

Jim said, “Okay. What am I doing while you two are about all this super-cramming? Sitting around as kind of a bodyguard, sipping up this fancy booze—I hope?”

Bert shook his head, “No, you exercise these special abilities of yours that I didn’t know you had until a couple of days ago.”

“Oh, oh,” Jim said. “Such as?”

“Can you get into that penthouse of Katz’?”

“Why?”

“Because somewhere there are probably papers, or whatever, that deal with this whole project. We need a look at them. We also need a look at Bugs Paul’s secret, secrets.”

“Oh, swell. I can just see me prowling the Octagon.”

“What we want wouldn’t be in the Octagon. It’d be in his private house or apartment, wherever he lives. And, in view of his position in Security, it’s doubtful if anyone expects burglars to be breaking into his place.”

“Burglar?” Jim said, aggrieved. “That’s a devil of a handle to hang on me. I’m currently a scholar and a gentleman.”

“Can you do it?”

“I guess I can try, Killer.”

They began their new campaign immediately, Bert and Jill going to their respective studies and turning on with the brown pills.

Bert checked out whether or not his priority rating in (he data banks had been changed as promised. He dialed information, put his card in the screen slot and said, “What is my priority rating?”

“Priority Five, Mr. Alshuler.”

Fine. He assumed that Jill’s had also been upped. He didn’t know exactly what a five priority meant but it seemed satisfactory, if Jim Hawkins, as a university student, had only a three.

Yesterday, with Jim’s card he had been able to get various books on neuro-physiology, but had been stymied in looking into the science beyond a certain point. He recalled some of the books and authors involved and now requested them. And soon realized how lacking in background he was to make a serious study.

After an hour or two, he called it quits for the time being and went over to his auto-teacher and took up his examination stylus.

“Next subject,” he said.

“Elementary Biology,” the screen’s voice told him.

Well, at least that would fit in with his secret research. It was one of his difficulties in his studies of the highly specialized field of medicine. He hadn’t the scientific background to understand enough of it, no matter how stimulated his I.Q. and perception.

He got through the biology course and one in beginning French before stopping. He had a sneaking suspicion that although he already had a sizable vocabulary in the language and could read it fairly well, he’d have his work cut out communicating with any Frenchman. His accent was undoubtedly atrocious and he didn’t see how they were going to improve it much on an auto-teacher. Picking up an acceptable accent in a foreign tongue was largely experience.

The three of them had dinner together in Bert’s dining room and went into more details of their campaign. It was astonishing how much food Jill was capable of putting away.

Jim stared at her. “How in the devil am I ever going to afford that appetite when we’re married?”

“Ha,” she said. “Where’d you get the idea we were going to be married, lover boy?”

He portrayed hurt “It’s my fondest dream.”

“Nightmare, you mean,” she told him. “I’d have to have a stepladder to get up to where I could kiss you.”

“I could scrooch down,” he said.

It was decided that Bert and Jill would take four auto-teacher courses a day, two in the morning, two in the afternoon. That should be enough to divert suspicion. But between hours and in the evenings they would cram up on books in the National Data Banks. A few textbooks assimilated and they should be in a position to go deeper into the subject.

Jim was going to have to wait until his arm was healed before he could do his prying, but the inactivity worried him not at all.

Bert did a lead on the girl by waking, as usual, at dawn. He got a full course under his belt, German, before she appeared for breakfast. After breakfast, he got in another course, more math, before the door of the suite pinged. He took one of the green pills and went into the living room. Jim was sprawled before the Tri-Di set, a long drink in his left hand.

Bert said, in disgust, “Why didn’t you get the door?”

“I figured you needed a break, old buddy. Besides, it’ll be for you, not me.”

It was the inevitable Professor Marsh but this time he was accompanied by another, an efficient looking younger man Bert Alshuler hadn’t seen before. He carried a rather bulky case.

Bert said, “Doctor Smith, I presume,” and followed the other back into the living room.

Marsh didn’t bother to introduce them. He said, “We have a few tests to be made, but first let me give you your regular shots.”

“I’m beginning to feel like a pin cushion,” Bert complained mildly.

Marsh ignored him and began to bring forth the usual equipment. At the same time, his companion put his case on a table and opened it. It was full of shiny, sterile looking medical equipment. Bert groaned.

There were three shots from Marsh and then they sat him in a straight chair and the newcomer began taking blood samples, giving him injections, examining him for reflexes and in general giving him a checkout such as he hadn’t had since being hospitalized during the war.

Jim said to Marsh, “Hey, Doc, how about taking a gander at this wing of mine? I’m getting tired of stashing it in this sling.”

Marsh went over to him.

The technician said to Bert, “Have you ever had children?”

“I’m not even married.”

The other looked at him patiently.

“Not so far as I know,” Bert said. “I’m sterile.”

“Sterile!” Marsh blurted, turning as quickly as his plump body allowed. “Are you jesting?”

“No. Why not? One of those temporary deals. If and when I get married and want kids, I have another treatment. Latest thing in controlling the population explosion.”

“Oh.” The professor turned back to Jim. “You’re about healed up.”

Finished with Bert Alshuler, the two went on into Jill’s suite.

The following day, Jim Hawkins took off, after shucking his arm sling and securing a shoulder rig holster similar to that of Bert’s from the arms cache. He didn’t show up that night, nor was he present when Marsh returned, alone, the following morning.

Bert and Jill met at meal times, but otherwise continued their campaign at a punishing pace. The computers were giving her a somewhat different series of studies from Bert’s, evidently keyed to her own Ability Quotient. Both were making progress in their investigations into medicine and particularly those relating to the brain but were still not up to the most advanced studies.

At lunch the following day, even though Bert had taken his green pill, he seemed to note that the second hand of his watch was moving at less than normal speed. Ho checked with Jill’s and noted the same.

He grimaced at her. “You know, I think that some of this speeded up metabolism is becoming permanent. Not all of it, but some of it.”

“I think you’re right and I believe stimulated I.Q. is sinking in as well. It seems to me I can think faster and better even when I’m not on the drugs.”

Bert said thoughtfully, “We’d better watch it. God only knows what the end will be, but we’re in it now for the duration. I suggest that when others are around, possibly even Jim, that we deliberately speak slowly and move slowly.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

There had been no more physical contact, nor any allusion to the incident of the other day, but there was a growing awareness between them. Bert disliked the situation, in view of his old friend’s feelings, but he was afraid it was getting beyond his control. From time to time when they were together he had to steel himself against physical contact with her. And he seemed to note an amused glint in her eyes, a slightly mocking quality that unnerved him.

That afternoon, following lunch and just before taking his stimulant, Bert heard a slight sound behind him. He spun and almost drew his gun, but then recognized the man leaning in the study’s doorway, a gyro-jet pistol in hand.

It was Frank Harmon, the Security man. “Don’t go for it, Major Caine,” he said. “Like I told you, I too was in the big one. I can handle a shooter possibly just as well as you.”

Bert said, “You startled me. An old combat man’s reflexes are automatic when somebody comes up behind him. How did you get in here? Do you have a warrant?”

Harmon looked about the study, ignoring the questions. “So you were telling the truth. One of the professors has you up here on a special study experiment.”

“That’s right,” Bert said, forcing himself to simmer down. “Come on into the living room and tell me what this is all about.”

Frank Harmon followed him into the other room, his gun at the easy ready. Bert sat down and looked politely inquiring; the Security man remained standing.

“The other day,” he said, “the same day as the shoot out, an assistant professor in political economy, Kenneth Kneedler, disappeared. His offices were in this building. The lock of the door had been shot off with a laser beam. Immediately previous to his disappearance there had been some inquiries about him and his whereabouts to the computers. Whose Identity Card was utilized to acquire the information had been wiped from the data banks. I was looking into it further when I was suddenly informed I had been promoted to captain and assigned to Hawaii.”

“Congratulations,” Bert said.

“I’m not going, Caine.”

“Alshuler,” Bert said mildly. “Why bother to tell me about it?”

The Security man motioned with his gun. “Line up against the wall over there. Lean up against it with your hands, and spread your legs wide. I want to take a look at that gun of yours. Say no, and I’ll take you in.”

Bert’s mind raced. If he could talk this character out of it, it might go no further. But if he was taken down to headquarters and booked, then it would be all over the town, probably all over the world, in short order, and then God only knew who might start prying further.

He shrugged and came to his feet and went over to the wall and leaned against it, in the standard position used for shaking down prisoners. Harmon came up behind him with great care which amused Bert—there was nothing like having a reputation—reached around and drew the gun from its underarm holster. Harmon stepped back.

“A laser,” he said. “You claimed you carried a gyro-jet.”

Bert turned and his voice took on a weary note. “I did, when you asked me there in the auto-cafeteria. I just got that yesterday.”

“You have a permit for it, of course. There is no such thing as a permit to carry a laser pistol.”

“Of course.”

“Where is it?” the other said scornfully.

“The general hasn’t sent it around yet.”

“What general? Where did you get this gun, Caine?”

“Alshuler. Your superior, General Russell Paul, gave it to me. He’s an old war acquaintance. When I told him about all the shooting that was going on around here, he insisted that he issue me a laser. I didn’t really think I needed it, but he insisted.”

The other snapped, “You expect me to believe that?”

“You can always call the general, friend.”

Jill entered from the bedroom that connected with her own suite. She looked from Bert to the newcomer, surprised, especially in view of the fact that Frank Harmon had a gun in each hand.

Bert’s mind was working rapidly. The implication of her coming out of what was obviously a bedroom was clear.

He said, “Darling, this is Frank Harmon, of Security. He has a few questions to ask. For instance, where was I at two o’clock last Thursday? Remember, that was the day those three students were shot in that mysterious affair out in the suburbs.”

She said, “Why, darling, you were right here with me, all afternoon.”

Frank Harmon was obviously set back.

Bert said to him, “Well, aren’t you going to call the general?”

Harmon said, “Bugs Paul is the one who gave the orders to ship me off to Hawaii. I’m taking you in, Caine. A little truth serum down at headquarters and we’ll get to the bottom of this before the general even hears about it.”

From the doorway behind him a new voice said, “So they still call him Bugs. I’ll have to let him know about that.”

Chapter Sixteen

Frank Harmon shot a startled look over his shoulder. Jim Hawkins stood there, a benign look on his face, a laser pistol in hand, nonchalantly trained on Harmon.

He said, “I’ve been out here in the hall, taking most of this in. You sure are an eager beaver, Harmon. Uh, Jim Hawkins is the handle.”

Harmon said inanely, “You wouldn’t dare shoot. I’m taking you both in.”

Jim chuckled softly. “Old buddy, you’ve been accusing Bert and me of bumping off three men, kind of putting the snatch on an assistant professor and all sorts of fun and games. Now if we’d really swing all that, do you think we’d hesitate knocking off one more?”

Harmon’s face registered indecision.

Jim said to Bert Alshuler in mock complaint, “See how it is? Everybody thinks I’m just an easygoing slob. Now if you’d give him his marching orders, Killer, he’d be out of here in a hurry.”

Harmon said wanly, “Your own reputation is as notorious as the major’s, Captain Hawkins.” He tossed Bert’s gun to the couch. “This isn’t the end, you know.” I le returned his own gun to a hip holster.

Jim said, his voice friendly, “When you contact the general, remember me to him. Used to make dates for him, locate decent booze for him, get him home when it got a little drunk out; shucks, I was the most valuable member of his staff there in Siam.”

Frank Harmon growled something inarticulately and brushed by the lanky Hawkins on his way out.

When he was gone, Bert snapped, “How much of that did you hear?”

“Practically all of it. I came in the front door, just as you two were entering this room. I stood out in the hall and listened.” He leered at Jill. “I even heard the little bit that suggested you two were shacked up here.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Jim,” she said. “It obviously made a perfect alibi.”

Bert went over to the bar for drinks. “How about a cognac, all around?” he said. “We could use one. Where’ve you been, Jim?”

“Make mine a double,” Jim said, returning his gun to its holster. “Running errands for my old buddy.”

Jill sank into a chair. “Make mine a double too,” she said wearily. “This is beginning to pile up on me. I don’t have the background you two do. I get frightened.”

Jim chuckled, “Nobody has the background we two do, Sweetie Pie. This would have been considered a restful weekend in the old days.”

Bert said, “Easy, Jim. The poor kid’s about had it” He brought the three drinks and handed the others theirs.

He said to Jim, “You’d better get the general on the phone and let him know what happened. Tell him to get this man off our backs soonest. Harmon’s not stupid, and he’s sore. If he’s on this another twenty-four hours he’ll crack something and even generals can’t cover over three killings, particularly when the three are students, rather than mugs.”

Jim started for the phone screen, saying over his shoulder, “What the devil happened to Kneedler? He walked out of here all right.”

Bert knocked back half of his brandy. “He’s probably gone to ground. Hiding out with some of his group. He’s got his wind up. Too much shooting going on. He’s probably okay.”

While Jim Hawkins got through to General Paul, Bert and Jill sat silently nursing their drinks.

Bert said finally, “Come up with anything today?”

“Not too much, but I’m beginning to get an idea of the magnitude of some of these breakthroughs. They must absolutely scare the men who are making them. You?”

“I’m getting the same feeling. Did you come up against that bit by Arthur C. Clarke about the education machine?”

“No.”

“I’ll tell you about it later.”

Jim came back, grinning. “Old Bugs is hopping. He says he’ll clobber poor Harmon.”

Bert said, “Did you find out anything about Katz and the general?”

“Some. Not much. With phone screens people don’t write much in the way of letters any more, and with the data banks always available they don’t even take much in the way of notes. However…”

“You mean you actually got into Katz’ penthouse?”

Jim grinned at him. “That wasn’t much of a problem.”

“Possibly not for you, but it sure as hell would have been for me. How did you get up that restricted elevator and past the door identity screens?”

“I didn’t,” Jim Hawkins grinned. “Remember Fred Durkin who was with the helio-jets? Well, he’s got a job crop dusting not far from here. Has a personal mini-helio of his own, a two-seater. At any rate, he sat me down, real quiet-like, right on the fancy landscaping job Katz did on his roof.”

Bert appropriated a term out of his friend’s vocabulary. “Holy smokes,” he said. “And nobody spotted you?”

“It was about two in the morning. But that wasn’t it. You know something, Bert? Katz doesn’t live there. Or, at least, not much. The place is deserted.”

Both Jill and Bert Alshuler frowned at him, not understanding.

Jim said, “So I took my time prowling the joint. You know all those books he had there in his study? They were in at least twenty languages. Not just the usual European ones, but such off-beats as Tagalog, Chinese and Arabic, and those books were well used. You know something, Bert? I’ve got a suspicion that Professor Katz already has all this education that you’re still working on.”

Bert Alshuler grunted surprise at that. “What else did you find?”

“Only one thing that makes any difference to us—if it does. A list of names with Ability Quotient ratings.” There was a smirk on his face. “You were pretty well down the list, Bert. Even Jill, here, had a higher rating than yours.” He brought a paper from an inner pocket. “There were several copies. I brought the top sheet of one of them. The full list was pretty long.”

Bert took the list and scowled down at it His name was about sixteenth from the top.

He said, “Did you get anything about the general at all?”

“Not much. I got into his house. He has a place in Lincoln Heights, Greater Washington. I thought he’d be in bed, but he came in with some broad just as I was beginning to look around. I had to hide in a closet and stayed there for something like four hours. Believe me, it was a chore.”

“Save the gory details,” Jill murmured.

Bert said, “Well?”

“They talked some, of course. He was a few sheets in the wind. But you can’t expect him to go over his complete plans, just because I’m so handily located in the closet that I can hear what he said. However, I got the impression that old Bugs and Katz aren’t as buddy-buddy as you and I are, old buddy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I got the feeling that they hang out together because they need each other. Paul has the in with the government and Katz needs it, and Katz has these techniques he’s using on you two, and Paul wants them. But anyway, I got the feeling that old Bugs is about to act, about to lower the boom on the professor.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Just some of the things he said to the chick. She must be one of his secretaries, or something. Maybe his mistress. It sure as the devil wasn’t his wife.”

Jill looked at Bert, “What in the name of heavens is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Bert said grimly. “Let’s see if we can find out anything.”

He got up and went over to the phone screen. He dialed University Information and said, “What is the position of Professor Leonard Katz on the faculty? What does he teach?”

The robot-like voice said, “Professor Katz is not a member of the faculty of Mid-West University City. He is sometimes a visitor and has been given a permanent office. When the Professor is in residence, it is considered a honor to have him in our midst.”

It took a long moment for Bert to think up the next question. He said, “Where is the Professor permanently based? Where does he teach?”

“That information is not available.”

“What the devil,” Jim said.

Bert Alshuler had the list of names and Ability Quotient ratings in his hand. He traced a finger down the list until he came to Temple Alonzo Woolley.

“Well, there wouldn’t be many of those,” he muttered, dialing Information. He said into the screen, ” I wish to speak to Temple Alonzo Woolley. I do not have his identity number. All I know about him is that he is probably between the ages of eighteen and twenty-five.”

Shortly, a face faded it. It was a young man’s face, intelligent, clean-cut, handsome. He was frowning at this long distance call.

Bert said, “Mr. Wooley, if you don’t mind, could you tell me from where you are speaking?”

“Why, from my study. Who are you?”

“I mean from what town?”

“Why, here in Berkeley University City.”

“I see. You’re participating in Professor Katz’ new teaching project, aren’t you?”

“How did you know? It is supposed to be very restricted.”

“I know,” Bert said sourly. “I’m on it too. It’s evidently not as restricted as we were led to believe. One other question. Are there any other students in Berkeley on it?”

“I don’t know why I should tell you but as a matter of fact, there is. One other. Dorothy Wheeler. Now, just who are you to be asking questions?”

Bert said, “Listen. You look too young to have been in the war.”

“What’s that got to do with it? I wasn’t.”

“Where did you take your Ability Quotient tests?”

“Why, when I applied for university entrance I was informed that my I.Q. was exceptionally high and was offered the chance to compete for special tuition and a scholarship. I made the highest Ability Quotient rating and Professor Katz gave me this opportunity.”

“Oh, you did. And this Dorothy Wheeler was second.”

“Why, yes. But who are you and—”

Bert flicked him off. “You aren’t very good at keeping secrets, friend,” he muttered.

Jill began to say something, but he interrupted her. “Just a minute. Something else occurs to me.”

He traced his finger down the list of names and finally came to Manfred Von Kauzchen.

He said over his shoulder, “What’s the biggest university in that part of Common Europe that used to be Germany?”

“Heidelberg, I suppose,” Jill said.

He dialed International and said, “The University of Heidelberg, Heidelberg, Common Europe.”

A woman’s face faded in and Bert said in atrocious German, “Do you have a student named Manfred Von k’auzchen?”

She did something to one side and in less than a minute was back, full face. “Da. Would you rather speak in English?”

“Yes,” he said thankfully. “May I talk to him, please?”

Moments later, a new face faded in; one of the most Germanic faces Bert Alshuler could ever remember seeing: blonde, blue eyed, square and with that certain aggressiveness that is unmistakably Teutonic.

Bert said in English, “You are acquainted with Professor Leonard Katz?”

The other’s English was almost as poor as Bert’s German, but he said, “Yes, I am acquainted with the Herr Professor.”

Bert said carefully, “Herr Kauzchen, are you a participant in his new educational methods project?”

The other glared at him. “That is a secret!” he snapped. “I will not talk with you.” He clicked off.

Bert came to his feet and returned to the others.

He said, “That’s what I thought. Our big authority on the human brain has his project going in universities all over the world.” He checked down the list again. Dorothy Wheeler’s name was twentieth.

Jim finished off his drink and went to replenish it “Nope, you made a mistake there, old buddy.”

Bert said, “How do you mean?”

“Katz isn’t a particularly big authority on the brain. It isn’t his field at all.”

Chapter Seventeen

Bert said, “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“I told you I prowled his study up there in the penthouse. Went through some of the books he’s done and all. I sure as the devil was out of my depth but I can tell you one thing, his specialty has nothing to do with the brain.”

Jill said, “But he won a Nobel Prize once.”

“So I’ve heard, Sweetie Pie, but not in any field even remotely involving the brain, or education, or speeding up I.Q.” Bert and Jill stared at him for a moment “Well, what was it in?” Bert said.

“Search me. Some field of medicine, I guess, but it’s all so specialized now I didn’t even recognize the name. Shucks, all I am is a sophomore in this overgrown school.”

Bert looked at Jill. “What did he win his Nobel Prize for?”

“Why, I don’t know. I’ve heard that he won one, some years ago. When he first contacted me, I assumed that this project of his was in conjunction with the field in which he made his reputation. It was one of the reasons I had confidence in him, in spite of all the mysterious goings-on.”

Bert Alshuler ran his palm over his mouth in supreme irritation. He got up and paced the room twice, his hinds jammed into his jacket pockets. Then he looked at Jill and said, “I asked you about that bit from Arthur C. Clarke. You haven’t run into it, eh?”

“No. Not as yet.”

“I think I can remember it, word for word. It comes from an old time book of his called Profiles of the Future: ‘…the mechanical educator—or some technique which performs similar functions—is such an urgent need that civilization can not continue for many more decades without it. The knowledge of the world is doubling every ten years and the rate itself is increasing. Already, twenty years of schooling are insufficient; soon we will have died of old age before we have learned to live, and our entire culture will have collapsed owing to its incomprehensible complexity.’ ”

Jim gave him a surprised look. “Holy smokes, old buddy, have all these shots and all gotten you to the point where you can recite whole paragraphs of stuff you’ve read just once?”

“Yes.”

Jill said, “What do you conclude from that, Bert?”

“I don’t know.” He stopped pacing and headed for the phone screen again. “Possibly that it’s time for a showdown.”

He flicked the screen alive and said, “Professor Leonard Katz.”

In a moment the screen said, “Professor Katz does not respond. He has restricted his phone to top priority.”

Bert said, “Then Professor Ralph Marsh.”

Marsh’s face faded in. “Confound it, Alshuler, what is it now? I seem to be free from your harassment only for a few hours a day.”

Bert Alshuler ignored that. “I want to get in touch with Katz.”

“He is out of town.”

“He is practically always out of town for the very good reason that this isn’t his town. And I begin to suspect that no other town is either. He keeps on the move. He has to, to cover all his territory. Kay, Marsh. This is an ultimatum. Get both Kate and General Paul up to that penthouse the professor uses when he’s here in Mid-West. You come along too, Marsh, and anybody else in this vicinity that might be a big-wig in your whole conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy, conspiracy! Are you jesting! Why, why, who do you think you are to order us about, Alshuler?”

“I’ll tell you who I am, friend,” Bert said, his voice ice. “I’m the guy on whom they hung the name Killer Caine. And I have the reputation of being able to cause more trouble than any man who survived the Asian War. Get them here soonest, Marsh. Within two hours—two hours is enough by vacuum tube transport—or I begin to blow the whistle and start one of the biggest stinks this planet has ever seen.”

He snapped the screen off.

“Holy smokes, old buddy,” Jim said. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

Jim worked his lanky form to his feet and headed for the bar. “Then we’d better have another drink, old buddy.”

“Stay away from that liquor, you rummy. I need you clear-headed.”

Jim ignored him.

Bert flicked on the phone screen again and said into it, “Captain Frank Harmon, of Security.”

Harmon’s face came on and when he saw who it was he glowered.

Bert bit out, “Can you get hold of Kenneth Kneedler?”

“Why?”

“Never mind. Answer.”

The other’s face worked, but he said, “As a matter of fact, I can. That is, I just found out where he is. But I’ve been discharged, Caine. I suspect through your efforts.”

“The hell with that. You know where Kneedler is, eh?”

“Yes. The fool is no conspirator. He left his apartment without taking anything with him. In a hurry, evidently. But just a couple of hours ago, he used his Identity Card to order a few things from an ultra-market. Pajamas and such, for Christ sake. We zeroed in on him. He’s holed up in the apartment of a friend.”

“Kay. Get him. Have him in the penthouse on top of the Acropolis Building two hours from now.”

“Why?”

“Because there’s going to be a showdown and he ought to be there. A showdown involving those four students who were finished off.”

Harmon sucked in breath, “Four?”

“Yes, four. Not three.”

“All right, Caine. We’ll both be there.”

“No, just him. You’ll be up above in a police helio-jet, waiting for me to call you in.”

“I told you, I’ve just been bounced.”

“I suspect you have close friends in local Security. You be there, Harmon.”

Frank Harmon, his face still working, held silence for a moment. Then he said, “Check… Killer.” His face faded out.

Bert Alshuler turned back to the other two. Jim, tall glass in hand, had resumed his comfort chair. His easygoing face registered boredom. “Fun and games,” he said.

Bert said, “Have you recharged your shooter since you used it?”

“Nope.”

Bert stood. “Recharge it and put a spare or two in your pocket.”

Jim muttered sourly and came to his feet. “I used to get special combat pay for this sort of thing,” he complained, heading for the arms cache.

Bert looked at Jill.

She licked her lower lip nervously and said, “You want me to be there?”

He shook his head. “There’s probably going to be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble… darling?”

Jim looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows raised, but continued on his way.

“I don’t really know,” Bert said, “but you don’t have to be there.” He headed for his study.

Inside, he picked up his pill bottles and shook one out of each. He put the brown pill in his right hand jacket pocket, the green in his left, not really knowing why he was doing it.

He went on back to the living room and said to Jim, “Kay, let’s go. I’d like to get the layout a little more, before the others arrive.”

Jim said, “You think we can get in?”

“Yes. If we have any trouble, the stink starts sooner than originally expected. From now on, we start throwing weight.”

Chapter Eighteen

They had no difficulty in getting into the penthouse. Evidently Katz, or someone, had instructed the building’s computers to admit them. They were the first to arrive.

Jim took his companion through the house.

“See? Don’t you get the unlived-in atmosphere?”

“Yes. I wonder in how many towns he has layouts like this.”

Jim said, “Well, think about it. If he’s got even part of the dope in his head that you and Jill are supposed to wind up with, it wouldn’t be hard to make all the dough in the world doing just about anything he wanted to do.”

Bert led the way back to the library and sat down before the phone screen. He put his Identity Card in the slot and said, “National Data Banks. Information. In what field did Professor Leonard Katz take his Nobel Prize?”

“In Gerontology.”

Bert Alshuler snapped off the set, and leaned back in his chair.

Jim, who had stationed himself at the bar and was contemplating the bottles there, evidently hard put to decide with which to treat himself, said, “What in the devil is Gerontology?”

“Stay away from that liquor, damn it. We can’t afford to be smashed. A gerontologist studies aging in man and how to avoid it. There hasn’t been a great deal published on the subject lately. At least, not much that’s been released through the news media.”

Jim poured himself a snort of Metaxa and returned with it to a chair in the room’s center. He sprawled in it and looked at Bert critically. “You know, old buddy, this super-education bit is beginning to get to you. You used to talk like a guy, an old pro soldier. Now you’re beginning to sound like some stuffed shirt. Where’d you pick up that cultivated accent bit?”

“Shut up,” Bert said sourly. “I’m trying to think.”

The others came in a group. It seemed likely that Katz, Marsh and General Paul had met Kneedler in the lobby and he had, probably defiantly, told them that he had been invited to the showdown. At any rate, when they entered he made a point of staying away from the other three.

Leonard Katz looked at Bert and Jim thoughtfully, Marsh in testy disgust. The general, as usual, was expressionless save for a quizzical quality in his eyes.

“Shall we all get comfortable?” Professor Katz said. “The bar is over there, if anyone would like a drink. Captain Hawkins, I see you have already anticipated my invitation.”

No one else was in the mood for refreshment.

When they were seated, the Professor looked at Bert and lifted his eyebrows ruefully. “It is your turn, my dear Alshuler.”

Bert said, “Your field is Gerontology, rather than the brain or education.”

“I never claimed otherwise. I took a Nobel Prize in Gerontology. However, I am knowledgeable in various fields.”

Marsh snorted humor, but no one looked at him.

Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler blurted, “Why did you gunmen have me brought here?”

Bert said, “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. I doubt if you’re head man of your group, but you are the only one I know of and thought you’d want to be represented.” He looked back at Katz. “You have given us the impression that Jill Masterson and I were the only two students on this new educational project, that we were more or less pathfinders, that the techniques aren’t fully worked out. However, I find that the same experiment is taking place in various universities all over the world. And I suspect that in each case the situation is duplicated. That is, one man and one woman. And I also begin to suspect that they are thrown into each other’s company deliberately, under circumstances that could lead to their becoming more… friendly.”

Jim stirred at that and scowled.

Katz said, “You possibly misunderstood, Alshuler. We do not deny that the experiment is taking place in a good many universities.”

“It’s gone beyond the need of more experimentation,” Kneedler blurted. “It should now be released to all.”

The general said gruffly, “Which would lead to chaos. It is true that the process has been developed to the point where release of it is practical. But it should be confined to the elite, those who are in a position to utilize it intelligently. It is, obviously, not for every Tom, Dick and Harry.”

Professor Katz held up a hand for silence. He said to Bert, “You’ve evidently been quite busy. What else do you think you have discovered?”

“That you, yourself, have probably gone through the procedure. I doubt if you discovered it; probably many scientists were involved. But you were possibly the first guinea pig, not people like Jill and myself. I have also found that our Ability Quotients weren’t as high as you led us to believe. Both of us were rather far down the list.”

Bert hesitated a minute, then looked at the general. “I think my first real clue came when I ran into a passage from G. R. Taylor in a paper he did entitled New Minds For Old. I think I can recite it. There is… the danger of creating an elite group, all the more dangerous socially because it will be genuinely an elite. Those who have been operated upon… may well feel a genuine kinship with other super-brains, and as a group the super-brains may tend to work for their own preferential treatment, even if they do not actually seek to take over the reins of power. There is the possibility that such an elite, having assumed power, should deny the treatment which produces intelligence to any but a minority, perhaps their own offspring, thus perpetuating a two-caste society… Even if we do not push the prediction to these extremes, we can see that the possibility of a have and a have-not group, intellectually speaking, in society is a real one.’ ”

He looked at General Paul. “That brought you to mind, General, and what you said about rule by an elite.”

“It’s the only kind of rule that makes sense,” the general said flatly. “A true elite. Today, the United States of the Americas. Tomorrow the world.”

“No!” Kneedler shouted. “It should be released democratically, to all!”

The general snorted contempt. “Nine-tenths and more of the common people neither could handle nor would want an I.Q. of 400 and an education far and beyond anything available today.”

Bert said to the general, “You’re right, of course. The elite should rule—I prefer the term ‘lead,’ in this present age. However, the question becomes, who are the elite? And it arises with each new generation. When man was under tribal society, the council of chiefs, elected from each clan, were the elite, and led the tribe. But the thing is, the moment they stopped being the best men to lead, they were no longer the elite and steps had to be taken to remove them from their positions. The same applied when kings and high priests ruled. As soon as they were no longer the best men, no longer the true elite, then they had to be overthrown, or society was in chaos. The same with feudalism. As long as the aristocrats were really aristocrats they could be, and should have been, tolerated, but as soon as they deteriorated, it was time for the revolt on the part of those who were really suited to rule, or lead.”

“What in the name of Cain are you driving at?” the general demanded.

“You obviously represent a group that think of themselves as the nation’s elite, born to command. But I wonder, particularly in view of what I know about your own abilities… and ambitions. Certainly, if you got your hands on this technique and could utilize it yourselves and prevent anyone else from doing so, you would become our ruling class and could maintain yourselves in that position indefinitely. No thanks, General.”

“Why, you ass! Don’t you see that you, yourself, are in on the ground floor of this? You would be one of us!”

Bert looked at him with disgust. ” I did not ask to be. I had most of my driving ambition burned out of me back when I was heading the Elite Service. Since then I’m a little philosophical about elites.”

“Holy smokes,” Jim muttered, unwinding himself to his feet. “My old buddy sure does talk pretty these days.” He repaired to the bar, poured himself another, and leaned there.

Bert ignored him and turned back to Professor Katz. “And where do you stand, Professor? Whom do you back? Kneedler’s group, which wants to release your new mind expanding and teaching techniques to everyone, or the general’s, which wants a small minority to have it so that they can dominate the country, and ultimately the world?”

The professor smiled his rueful smile. “You have presented the case very neatly, my dear Alshuler. Very well, I will tell you. Neither.”

All eyes were on him.

Katz leaned forward, the tips of his finger together. “I am afraid that with the exception of Professor Marsh here, one of our inner circle, none of you have seen quite all of the cards.”

The general snapped, “What does that mean, Katz?”

Leonard Katz ignored him and continued to speak to Bert. “You are mistaken in one thing. About your Ability Quotient and the other requirements you fulfilled before you were selected. You quoted very neatly from G. R. Taylor and I am gratified to see how quickly you are developing an all but photographic memory. However, you should also become aware of the work of the French statesman of science, Pierre Auger, who at about the same time asked whether there are some operations beyond the capacity of the human brain as we know it. It may equally be asked whether an enlarged brain might not carry man above some threshold as yet uncrossed. When the brain became large enough and complex enough to encompass speech, man separated from the animals. Men with still better brains might have capacities which we cannot even envisage and as such would constitute a different species, even a different order of beings from ourselves.” He hesitated.

Bert said, “Kay. Follow through. You have the rostrum, Professor.”

“Very well. In actuality, you have most of the picture already, my dear Alshuler. The general is quite right when he states that not every Tom, Dick and Harry are equipped to handle an I.Q. of 400, nor a truly universal education.”

“That is correct,” the general snorted.

Professor Leonard Katz looked at him. “Neither is the general, nor the group he represents.”

“What!”

Kneedler insisted, “It belongs to all of the people!”

Bert said coldly, “And why should you and I be exceptions, Katz?”

“We aren’t.”

Silence fell.

The professor said, and there was a sad tone in his voice, “Gentlemen, we are to be the first species that ever presided over its own extinction. And that is the ultimate raison d’etre of this project.”

“Holy smokes,” Jim said, from the bar.

“Shut up, Jim,” Bert Alshuler growled. “Begin making sense, Professor.”

The professor said, “The human race was not… ah… designed for an I.Q. of 400 nor a really universal mind. I am sorry, perhaps, but it was not. Even in our world today a man with an abnormally high I.Q. is often not a happy man, any more than a moron is happy. He is often a misfit. The argument can be made that if everyone, almost overnight, was bounced up four hundred percent in I.Q. that there would be no basic difference. But no. We are animals who issued forth from our caves, or down from the trees, but a few thousand years ago. Indeed, in some remote areas of our planet, we are still in them. Neolithic society to this day remains on Earth in some places. A few thousand years is no span at all, in nature. We are animals with all of our original instincts. We are unfitted for the godhead.

“In the past century we have had an information explosion as it is sometimes called. It accelerates. Robert Oppenheimer, back in the 1950s, pointed out that human knowledge was doubling every eight years. To what do we devote it? Look at what we are doing to our world. We are destroying its resources, we are polluting it, we are devoting our energies to greater and greater means of destruction. What do we do with what intelligence we have; what do we do with the information we have accumulated? What would man, as he is, do with four times as much intelligence and soon a hundredfold as much information? I am not optimistic, gentlemen.”

Kneedler said, “But… but…”

Katz shrugged unhappily. “Obviously, we will all live our lives out. However, super-intelligence and ultra-knowledge is not for such as we.”

The general said abruptly, “You’ve gone around the bend. You’ve never talked this way before.”

“No. Of course not. Not to you, Bugs.”

“Bugs!”

Katz looked at Bert and Jim. “Isn’t that what the military people called him?”

Bert laughed. “Yes,” he said. “He bugged everybody.”

Leonard Katz nodded and went on. “You must understand, my dear Alshuler, that the biological explosion did not take place in the field of neuro-physiology alone but in practically every branch of the science, including my own, Gerontology. In the past it had been tacitly assumed that the degenerative changes occurring in the aging human being and animal are natural processes, yet when we looked for the evidence we found that it did not exist. Research in the past couple of decades has, to the contrary, shown that the degeneration is associated with identifiable extraneous causes which we are now capable of erasing.”

“What in the name of Cain are you talking about?” the general demanded.

Bert looked over at him. “He’s saying that they can prolong life—indefinitely, I suppose.”

“Yes,” the professor said. “And we have come to the conclusion—I and my colleagues—that it is just as well that the process must be begun before the birth of the child,” He looked to Bert ruefully. “Your children, and those of Miss Masterson will never die, Alshuler, except through accident, or possibly suicide.”

The silence in the room could have been cut with a knife.

The professor sighed and went on. “It was fortuitous that the two breakthroughs came almost simultaneously. Our race as it is could never have handled either an all but unlimited I.Q. nor could it have handled immortality. I leave it to your imagination the effect of the latter on the population explosion. So our project involved the selecting of our very highest Ability Quotient young people to be the parents of the new race. We sought not only I.Q. but all the other factors needed to breed the super-race, including superb health.”

Bert said slowly, “But what is the need of this ultimate education you are giving us?”

“The great need is that the new race have as beneficial an environment in which to be raised as possible. Your children, by the time they have reached maturity, will be far and beyond you, Alshuler. But compared to the rest of us here, they will be as gods and we Neanderthals.”

Bert stood and rammed his hands in his jacket pockets and began to pace in agitated thought.

The general stood too.

He said, “No.”

All eyes turned to him. “I have no intention of standing by while a group of double-domed scientists reads the human race out of existence. My group is going to take over this whole project. We’ll suppress this immortality nonsense. And we’ll take over the new perception increasing techniques and the speeded up education. Later on, possibly, there’ll be more breakthroughs in Gerontology and we’ll be able to extend prolonged life to our elite, even though we’re adults.”

It was Kneedler’s turn to stand. He shook his head at the general.

“No. I, at least, am convinced that Professor Katz is correct. And I’ll make every effort, though my group, to support him. And every effort to hinder anything you attempt, General Paul.”

For once, there was expression on the general’s face. It was fury.

He snapped, “Captain!”

In a flow of motion, there was a laser pistol in Jim Hawkin’s hand and its beam reached out. Assistant Professor Kenneth Kneedler crumbled forward to the floor.

Bert yelled, “Jim!”

The other directed the pistol at Bert Alshuler. Jim said, “Easy, old buddy. There’ve been some changes.” Bert Alshuler’s face was sick. “What was it? Jill?” Jim grinned at him. “That was just part of it, old buddy. I’ve been fed up for a long time with playing second fiddle to a chump like you and being told to shut up. When the general gave me the chance of taking over your position in the project, I figured at long last my licks had arrived.”

Bert Alshuler had come to an abrupt halt in his pacing, but his hands were still jammed into his jacket pockets. He brought them forth now, after palming the brown pill. He ran his right hand over his mouth, in his characteristic gesture.

The general said to Katz and Marsh, “Captain Hawkins will take over Caine’s position. Meanwhile, you two are under arrest.”

Marsh said, “Confound it, I refuse to cooperate with you. I shall make every effort to see you murderers prosecuted.”

The general snorted contempt of that. “No. You would be surprised at some of the means we have today in the way of truth serums and other devices to force the, uh, recalcitrants to our way of thinking. Keep them covered, Captain Hawkins. I’ll summon some of my people.”

He started toward the phone screen, walking, so it seemed to Bert Alshuler, so slowly as though plowing through a lake of molasses.

The general said, slowly, slowly, “We… were… about… ready… for… our… coup de tat… anyway.”

Bert Alshuler blurred into movement. He flung forward at Jim Hawkins.

The other had no time to react. His trigger finger began to tighten, but far too late. With a sweep, Bert had jerked the laser pistol from his hand and jumped backward.

The general was grabbing for his sidearm.

Bert, speaking ever so slowly, at least to his own ears, said, “Don’t try it, General.” And again, “Leave that gun alone, Bugs!”

But the other was deaf in his rage. Seemingly, to Bert’s eyes, he slowly, slowly, slowly brought forth his gyro-jet sidearm from its holster, and slowly, slowly brought it up.

Bert Alshuler shot him.

He dipped his left hand into his pocket and brought forth the green pill and took it down. He said, “Everybody stay where they are. I’ll be normal in a moment.” Then, realizing that it had probably come out so fast as to be meaningless to Katz, Marsh and Jim Hawkins, he repeated it slowly.

When the green pill had taken effect, Bert looked at Jim Hawkins.

He said, “For a long time I’ve owed you a life, Jim. You saved mine eleven times in that machine gun nest, I saved yours ten. Kay. This evens us up. Get going, Jim.”

Jim Hawkins snapped, “I’ll get you for this eventually, Killer.”

“No you won’t, Jim. You’re on the run. There’s a police helio-jet up above us. I’m going to call it in, in a few minutes, and turn these laser pistols over to them. Your fingerprints will be on the power pack in yours. I’ll wipe mine clean. We three remaining here will testify that you shot both Kneedler and the general I’ll testify that you killed the four students who were in Kneedler’s group.”

“Yeah? Well, Jill witnessed that it was you who killed those four.”

“Jill will be my witness, not yours, Jim. You’d better get going. You’re on the run, Jim. I suggest you try and get out of the country. You don’t kill a general of Security and get away with it. I doubt if his men will even allow you to give yourself up. They’ll cut you down, Jim.”

When the other was gone, hurrying, Bert Alshuler turned to the two professors who were rooted in their chairs, eyes goggling at the developments of the last few minutes.

Bert snapped, “Quick now. You heard what the general said about a coup d’etat. Is there anything you can do about it, preferably before the word gets back to his group that he’s dead?”

Professor Katz shook his head for clarity. “Yes. Actually, the clique he was connected with isn’t as numerous as all that. Paul was a liaison man between our organization and the government. We already knew he wasn’t to be trusted and we were taking measures to have him thwarted. I’ll handle it.”

Bert went over to the screen phone to call Frank Harmon, the Security agent. Jim had a head start, he told himself, still sick inside. He’d probably make it out of the country.

But he hesitated and turned and looked at Katz, scowling. “You seem to have the impression that Jill Masterson and I will get married and have children and the implication is that every other one of these man and woman teams at all the various universities will do the same. How can you be so sure? How do you know Jill will have me?”

Katz smiled complacently. “How could we ever operate in this day and age without the computer?” he said. “They report that if you and Miss Masterson are put in contact with each other, that the chance is forty-nine out of fifty that you will fall in love.”