The Illuminatus! Trilogy Part 26

"Wilco," Despond said tersely. "Anything else?"

"He thinks he might remember the name of her next customer. She mentioned it to him. We might get that, too."

"Let's hope so," Despond said and clicked off. He sat back in his chair and addressed the three agents in his office. "The guy we've got-what's his name? Naismith-is probably the next customer. We'll check the two descriptions of the girl against each other and get a much more accurate picture than the CIA has, since they're working from only one description."

But fifteen minutes later, he was staring in puzzlement at the chart which had been chalked on the blackboard:

DESCRIPTIONS OF SUSPECT.

First Witness Second Witness Second Witness Height 52 52 55 55 Weight 90-100 lbs 90-100 lbs 110-115 lbs 110-115 lbs Hair Black Black Blond Blond Race Negro Negro Caucasian Caucasian Name or alias Bonnie Bonnie Sarah Sarah Scars, etc.

None None Scar on throat Scar on throat Age Late teens Late teens Mid-twenties Mid-twenties s.e.x Female Female Female Female

A tall, bearish agent named Roy Ubu said thoughtfully, "I've never seen two eyewitness descriptions match exactly, but this this ..." ..."

A small, waspish agent named Buzz Vespa snapped, "One of them is lying for some reason. But which one?"

"Neither of them has any reason to lie," Despond said. "Gentlemen, we've got to face the facts. Dr. Mocenigo was unworthy of the trust that the U.S. government placed in him. He was a degenerate s.e.x maniac. He had two two women last night, one of them a Nigra." women last night, one of them a Nigra."

"What do you mean that little sawed-off b.a.s.t.a.r.d is gone?" Peter Kurten of the CIA was shouting at that very moment. "The only way out of his room was right through that door, there, and we've all had it under constant surveillance. The door was only opened once when DeSalvo took out the coffee urn to have it refilled at the sandwich shop next door. Oh...my... Peter Kurten of the CIA was shouting at that very moment. "The only way out of his room was right through that door, there, and we've all had it under constant surveillance. The door was only opened once when DeSalvo took out the coffee urn to have it refilled at the sandwich shop next door. Oh...my...G.o.d...the...coffee...urn ..." As he slumped back in his chair, mouth hanging open, an agent with a device that looked like a mine sweeper stepped forward. ..." As he slumped back in his chair, mouth hanging open, an agent with a device that looked like a mine sweeper stepped forward.

"Daily sweep for FBI bugs, sir," he said uncomfortably. "I'm afraid the machine is registering one under your desk. If you'll let me just reach in and...uh...that gets it ..."

And Tobias Knight, listening, heard no more. It would be a few hours, at least, until their man in the CIA was able to plant a new bug.

And Saul Goodman stepped hard on the brakes of his rented Ford Brontosaurus as a tiny and determined figure, das.h.i.+ng out of the Papa Mescalito Sandwich Shop, ran right in front of the fender. Saul heard a sickening thud and Barney Muldoon's voice beside him saying, "Oh Christ, no ..."

I was at the end of my ropes. The Syndicate I could see, but why the Feds? I was flabbygastered. I said to that dumb c.u.n.t Bonnie Quint, "Are you a thousand percent sure?" I was flabbygastered. I said to that dumb c.u.n.t Bonnie Quint, "Are you a thousand percent sure?"

"Carmel," she says. "I know the Syndicate. They're not that smooth. These guys were just what they claimed. Feds."

Oh, Christ Jesus. Christ Jesus with egg in his beard. I couldn't help myself, I just hauled off and bopped her in the kisser, the dumb c.u.n.t. "What'd you tell them?" I screamed. "What'd you tell them?"

She started to snivel. "I didn't tell them nothing," she says.

So I had to bop her again. Christ, I hate hitting women, they always blubber so much. "I'll use the belt," I howled. "So help me, G.o.d, I'll use the belt. Don't tell me you didn't tell them nothing. Everybody tells them something. Even a clam would sing like Sinatra when they're finished with him. So what'd you tell them?" I bopped her again, Christ, this was terrible.

"I just told them I wasn't with this Mocenigo. Which I wasn't."

"So who did you tell them you were with?"

"I made up a prescription. A midget. A guy I saw on the street. I wouldn't give the name of a real John, I know that could come back against you. And me."

I didn't know what to do, so I bopped her again. "Go away," I says. "Be missing. Let me think."

She goes out, still blubbering, and I go over to the window and look at the desert to calm my head. My rose fever was starting to act up; it was that time of year. Why did people have to bring roses to the desert? I tried to contemplate hard on the problem and forget my health. There was only one explanation: that d.a.m.ned Mocenigo figured out that Sherri was pumping him and told the Feds. The Syndicate wasn't in it yet. They were all still running around the East like chickens with their legs cut off, trying to figure who rubbed Maldonado, and why it happened at the house of a straight like this banker Drake. So they hadn't got the time yet to find out that five million of Banana Nose's money had disappeared into my own safe as soon as I heard he was dead. The Feds weren't in on that at all, and the connection was circ.u.msubstantial.

And then it hit me so hard that I almost fell over. Besides my own girls, who wouldn't talk, there were a dozen or two cab drivers and bartenders and whatnots who knew that Sherri worked for me. The Feds would get it out of somebody sooner or later, and probably sooner. It was like a light bulb going on over my head in a comic strip: TREASON, AIDING AND ABEDDING THE ENEMY. I remembered from when I was a kid those two Jewish scientists who the Feds got for that. The hot squat. They fried them, Christ Jesus, I thought I'd vomit. Why does the f.u.c.king government have to be that way about somebody just trying to make a buck? Even the Syndicate would only shoot you or give you a lead enema, but the c.o.c.ksucking government has to go and put you in an electrical chair. Christ Jesus, I was hot as a chimney.

I took a candy out of my pocket and started chewing it, trying to think what to do. If I ran, the Syndicate would guess I was the one who emptied the till when Maldonado was rubbed, and they'd get me. If I didn't didn't run, the Feds would be at the door with a high treason warrant. It was a double whammy. I might try to highjack a plane to Panama, but I didn't know nearly enough about Mocenigo's bugs to make a deal with the Commie government down there. They'd just send me right back. It was hopeless, like trying to fill a three-card inside straight. The only thing to do was find a hole and bury myself. run, the Feds would be at the door with a high treason warrant. It was a double whammy. I might try to highjack a plane to Panama, but I didn't know nearly enough about Mocenigo's bugs to make a deal with the Commie government down there. They'd just send me right back. It was hopeless, like trying to fill a three-card inside straight. The only thing to do was find a hole and bury myself.

And then it was just like a light bulb in my head again, and I thought: Lehman Cave.

"What does the computer say now?" the President asked the Attorney General. the President asked the Attorney General.

"What does the computer say now?" the Attorney General barked into the open phone before him.

"If the girl had two contacts before she died, at this moment the possible carriers number," the phone paused, "428,000. If the girl had three contacts, 7,-656,000."

"Get the Special Agent in Charge," the President snapped. He was the calmest man at the table-ever since Fernando Poo, he had been supplementing his Librium, Tofranil and Elovil with Demerol, the amazing little pills that had kept Hermann Goering so chipper and cheerful during the Nuremberg Trials while all the other n.a.z.is crumbled into catatonic, paranoid or other dysfunctional conditions.

"Despond," a second open phone said.

"This is your President," the President said. "Give it to us straight. Have you treed the c.o.o.n?"

"Uh, sir, no, sir. We have to find the procurer, sir. The girl can't possibly be alive, but we haven't found her. It is now mathematically certain that somebody hid her body. The obvious theory, sir, is that her procurer, being in an illegal business, hid the body rather than report it. We have two descriptions of the girl, sir, and, uh, although they don't tally completely completely they should lead us to her procurer. Of course, he should die soon, sir, and then we'll find him. That's the Rubicon of the case, sir. Meanwhile, I'm happy to report, sir, that we're lucking out amazingly. Only two definite cases off the base so far and both of them injected with the antidote. It is possible, just possible, that the procurer went into hiding after disposing of the body. In that case, he hasn't contacted another human being and is not spreading it. Sir." they should lead us to her procurer. Of course, he should die soon, sir, and then we'll find him. That's the Rubicon of the case, sir. Meanwhile, I'm happy to report, sir, that we're lucking out amazingly. Only two definite cases off the base so far and both of them injected with the antidote. It is possible, just possible, that the procurer went into hiding after disposing of the body. In that case, he hasn't contacted another human being and is not spreading it. Sir."

"Despond," the President said, "I want results results. Keep us informed. Your country depends on you."

"Yes, sir."

"Tree that c.o.o.n, Despond."

"We will, sir."

Esperando Despond turned from the phone as an agent from the computer section entered the room. "Got something?" he snapped nervously.

"The first girl, the Nigra, sir. She was one of the pros we questioned yesterday. Her name is Bonnie Quint."

"You look worried. Is there a hitch?" Despond asked shrewdly.

"Just another of the puzzles. She didn't admit being with Mocenigo the night before, but that kind of lying we expected. Here's what's weird: her description of the guy she says she was was with." The computer man shook his head dubiously. "It doesn't fit Naismith, the guy who said he was with with." The computer man shook his head dubiously. "It doesn't fit Naismith, the guy who said he was with her her. It fits the little mug, the dwarf, that the CIA grabbed. Only he he said she was the second girl." said she was the second girl."

Despond mopped his brow. "What the heck has been going on in this town?" he asked the ceiling. "Some kind of s.e.x s.e.x orgy?" orgy?"

In fact, several kinds of s.e.x orgies had been going on in Las Vegas ever since the Veterans of the s.e.xual Revolution had arrived two days earlier. The Hugh M. Hefner Brigade had taken two stories of the Sands, hired a herd of professional women, and hadn't yet come out to join the Alfred Kinsey Brigade, the Norman Mailer Guerrillas and the others in marching up and down the Strip, squirting young girls in the crotch with water pistols, pa.s.sing bottles of hooch back and forth and generally blocking traffic and annoying pedestrians. Dr. Naismith himself, after a few token appearances, had avoided most of the merriment and retired to a private suite to work on his latest fund-raising letter for the Colossus of Yorba Linda Foundation. Actually, the VSR, like White Heroes Opposing Red Extremism, was one of Naismith's lesser projects and brought in only peanuts. Most of the real veterans of the s.e.xual revolution had succ.u.mbed to syphilis, marriage, children, alimony or some such ailment, and few white heroes were prepared to oppose red extremism in the bizarre manner suggested by Naismith's pamphlets; in both of those cases, he had recognized two nut markets that n.o.body else was exploiting and had quickly moved in. Even the John Dillinger Died For You Society, of which he was inordinately proud since it was probably the most implausible religion in the long history of humanity's infatuation with metaphysics, didn't earn much less per annum than these fancies. The real bread was in the Colossus of Yorba Linda Foundation, which had been successfully raising money for several years to erect a heroic monument, in solid gold and ten feet taller than the statue of Liberty ten feet taller than the statue of Liberty, honoring the martyred former president Richard Milhous Nixon. This monument, paid for entirely by the twenty million Americans who still loved and revered Nixon despite the d.a.m.nable lies of the Congress, the Justice Department, the press, the TV, the law courts, et al et al., would stand outside Yorba Linda, Tricky d.i.c.ky's boyhood home, and scowl menacingly toward Asia, warning those gooks not to try to get the jump on Uncle Sammie. Beside the gigantic idol's right foot, Checkers looked adoringly upward; beneath the left foot was a crushed allegorical figure representing Cesar Chavez. The Great Man held a bunch of lettuce in his right hand and a tape recording in the left. It was all most tasteful, and so appealed to Fundamentalist Americans that hundreds of thousands of dollars had already been collected by the Colossus fund, and Naismith planned to hop to Nepal with the loot at the first sign that contributors or postal inspectors were beginning to wonder when the statue would actually start rising on the plot he had purchased, amid much publicity, after the first few thousand arrived.

Naismith was a small, slight man and, like many Texans, affected a cowboy hat (although he had never herded cattle) and a bandito mustache (although his thefts were all based on fraud rather than force). He was also, for his nation at this time in history, an uncommonly honest man, and, unlike most corporations of the epoch, none of his enterprises had poisoned or mutilated the customers whose money he took. His one vice was cynicism based on lack of imagination: he reckoned most of his countrymen as total mental basket cases and fondly believed that he was exploiting their folly when he told them that a vast Illuminati conspiracy controlled the money supply and interest rates or that a bandit of the 1930s was, in a sense, a redeemer of the atrophying human spirit. That there was an element of truth in these bizarre notions never crossed his mind. In short, even though born in Texas, Naismith was as alienated from the pulse, the poetry and the profundity of American emotion as a New York intellectual.

But his cynicism served him well when, after reporting certain strange symptoms to the hotel doctor, he found himself rushed to a supposed U.S. Public Health Service station which was manned by individuals he quickly recognized as laws laws. This is an old Texas word, probably an abbreviation of lawmen lawmen (Texans don't know much about abbreviating) and is as charged with suspicion and wariness, although not quite so much rage, as the New Left's word (Texans don't know much about abbreviating) and is as charged with suspicion and wariness, although not quite so much rage, as the New Left's word pig pig. Bonnie Parker had used it, eloquently, in her last ballad: Someday they'll go down together They'll bury them side by side For some it means grief For the laws a relief But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

That about summed it up: the laws laws were not necessarily fascist Gestapo racist pigs (words largely unknown in Texas), but they were people who would find it a relief if bothersome and rebellious individualism disappeared, however b.l.o.o.d.y the disappearance might be. If you were ornery enough, the laws would bushwhack you-shoot you dead from ambush, without a chance to surrender, as they did to Miss Parker and Mr. Barrow-but even if you were merely a mildly larcenous hoaxter like Dr. Naismith, they would be much cheered to put you someplace where you couldn't throw any more entropy into the functioning of the Machine they served. And so, recognizing laws, Dr. Naismith narrowed his eyes, thought deeply, and when they began their questioning, lied as only an unregenerate old-school Texas confidence man can lie. were not necessarily fascist Gestapo racist pigs (words largely unknown in Texas), but they were people who would find it a relief if bothersome and rebellious individualism disappeared, however b.l.o.o.d.y the disappearance might be. If you were ornery enough, the laws would bushwhack you-shoot you dead from ambush, without a chance to surrender, as they did to Miss Parker and Mr. Barrow-but even if you were merely a mildly larcenous hoaxter like Dr. Naismith, they would be much cheered to put you someplace where you couldn't throw any more entropy into the functioning of the Machine they served. And so, recognizing laws, Dr. Naismith narrowed his eyes, thought deeply, and when they began their questioning, lied as only an unregenerate old-school Texas confidence man can lie.

"You got it from somebody who had body contact with you. So either you were in a very crowded elevator or you got it from a prost.i.tute. Which was it?"

Naismith thought of the collision on the sidewalk with the Midget and the weasel-faced character with the big suitcase, but he also thought that the questioner leaned heavily on the second possibility. They were looking for a woman; and, if you tell the laws what they want to hear, they don't keep coming back and asking more personal questions. "I was with a prost.i.tute," he said, trying to sound embarra.s.sed.

"Can you describe her?"

He thought back over the pros he had seen with other VSR delegates, and one stood out. Being a kindly man, he didn't want to implicate an innocent wh.o.r.e in this messy business (whatever it was), so he combined her with another woman, the first that he ever successfully penetrated in his long-ago youth in the 1950s.

Unfortunately for Dr. Naismith's kindly intentions, the laws never expect an eyewitness description to match the person described in all all respects, so when his information was coded into an IBM machine, three cards came out. Each one had more similarities to his fiction than differences from it, and they came from a card file of several hundred prost.i.tutes whose descriptions had been gathered and coded in the past twenty-four hours. Running the three cards through a different sorting in the machine, limited to outstanding bodily characteristics most commonly remembered correctly, the technicians emerged, after all, with Bonnie Quint. Forty-five minutes later she was in Esperando Despond's office, nervously twirling her mink stole, picking at the hem of her mini-skirt, evading questions nimbly and remembering intensely Carmel's voice saying, "I'll use the belt. So help me, G.o.d. I'll use the belt." She was also smarting from the injection. respects, so when his information was coded into an IBM machine, three cards came out. Each one had more similarities to his fiction than differences from it, and they came from a card file of several hundred prost.i.tutes whose descriptions had been gathered and coded in the past twenty-four hours. Running the three cards through a different sorting in the machine, limited to outstanding bodily characteristics most commonly remembered correctly, the technicians emerged, after all, with Bonnie Quint. Forty-five minutes later she was in Esperando Despond's office, nervously twirling her mink stole, picking at the hem of her mini-skirt, evading questions nimbly and remembering intensely Carmel's voice saying, "I'll use the belt. So help me, G.o.d. I'll use the belt." She was also smarting from the injection.

"You don't don't work free-lance," Despond told her, nastily, for the fifth time. "In this town, the Maf would put a knife up your a.s.s and break off the handle if you tried that. You've got a pimp. Now, do we throw the book at you or do we get his name?" work free-lance," Despond told her, nastily, for the fifth time. "In this town, the Maf would put a knife up your a.s.s and break off the handle if you tried that. You've got a pimp. Now, do we throw the book at you or do we get his name?"

"Don't be too hard on her," Tobias Knight said. "She's only a poor, confused kid. Not twenty yet, are you?" he asked her kindly. "Give her a chance to think. She'll do the right thing. Why should she protect a lousy pimp who exploits her all the time?" He gave her a rea.s.suring glance.

"Poor confused kid, my a.s.s!" Despond exploded. "This is a matter of life and death and no Nigra wh.o.r.e is going to sit here lying her head off and get away with it." He did a good imitation of a man literally trembling with repressed fury. "I'd like to kick her head in," he screamed.

Knight, still playing the friendly cop, looked shocked. "That's not very professional," he said sadly. "You're overtired, and you're frightening the child."

Three hours later-after Despond had nearly done a complete psycho schtick and virtually threatened to behead poor Bonnie with his letter opener, and Knight had become so fatherly and protective that both he and she were beginning to feel that she was actually his very own six-year-old daughter being set upon by Goths and Vandals-a sobbing but accurate description of Carmel emerged, including his address.

Twelve minutes later, Roy Ubu, calling via car radio, reported that Carmel was not in his house and had been seen driving toward the Southwest in a jeep with a large suitcase beside him.

In the next eighteen hours, eleven men in jeeps were stopped on various roads southwest of Las Vegas, but none of them was Carmel, although most of them were around the height and weight and general physical description given by Bonnie Quint, and two of them even had large suitcases. In the twenty-four hours after that, nearly a thousand men of all sizes and shapes were stopped on roads, north, south, east and west, in cars not remotely like jeeps and some driving toward, not away from, Las Vegas. None of them was Carmel either.

Among all the men wandering around the Desert Door base and the city of Las Vegas with credentials from the U.S. Public Health Service, one who really was employed by USPHS, had a long lean body, a mournful countenance, a general resemblance to the late great Boris Karloff, and the name Fred Filiarisus. By special authority of the White House, Dr. Filiarisus was able to gain access to everything known by the scientists at Desert Door, including the course of the disease in those originally infected, among whom two had died before the antidote took effect and three had shown a total lack of symptoms even though exposed along with the others. He also had access to both FBI and CIA information as it came in, without having to bug either office. It was he, therefore, who finally put together the correct picture, on April 30, and reported directly to the White House at eleven that morning.

"Some people are naturally immune to Anthrax Leprosy Pi, Mr. President," Filiarisus said. "Unfortunately, they serve as carriers. We found three like that at the base, and it is mathematically, scientifically certain that a fourth is still at large.

"Everybody was lying to the FBI and CIA, sir. They were all afraid of punishment for various activities forbidden by our laws. No variation or permutation on their stories will hang together reasonably. Each witness lied about something, and usually about several things. The truth is other than it appeared. In short, the government, being an agency of punishment, acted as a distorting factor from the beginning, and I had to use information-theory equations to determine the degree of distortion present. I would say that what I finally discovered may have universal application: no governing body can ever obtain an accurate account of reality from those over whom it holds power. From the perspective of communication a.n.a.lysis, government is not an instrument of law and order, but of law and disorder. I'm sorry to have to say this so bluntly, but it needs to be kept in mind when similar situations arise in the future."

"He sounds like an effing anarchist," the Vice President muttered.

"The true picture, with a ninety-seven percent probability, is this," Filiarisus continued. "Dr. Mocenigo had only one contact, and she died. The FBI hypothesis is correct: her body was then hidden, probably in the desert, by an a.s.sociate wis.h.i.+ng to avoid involvement with law enforcement agencies. If prost.i.tution were legal, we might never have had this nightmare."

"I told you he was an effing anarchist," the Vice President growled. "And a s.e.x maniac, too!"

"The a.s.sociate who hid the body," Filiarisus went on, "is our fourth carrier, personally immune but lethal to others. It was this person who infected Mr. Chaney and Dr. Naismith. This person was probably not a prost.i.tute. These men lied, among other reasons, because they knew what the government agents wanted them to say. When power is wielded over people, they say say as well as as well as do do what they think is expected of them-another reason government always finds it difficult to learn the truth about anything. what they think is expected of them-another reason government always finds it difficult to learn the truth about anything.

"The only hypothesis that mathematical logic will accept, when all the known data was fed into a computer, is that the fourth carrier is the procurer who disappeared, Mr. Carmel. Experiencing no symptoms himself, he is unaware that he carries the world's most dangerous disease. For reasons of his own, which we cannot guess, he has been hiding since he disposed of the woman's body. Probably, he feared that the corpse might be found and a case of manslaughter or homicide could be made against him. Or he might have a motive completely unrelated to her death. Only twice has he contacted other human beings. I would suggest that his contact with Miss Quint was typical of their professional relations.h.i.+p; he either hit her or had s.e.x relations with her. His contact with Dr. Naismith and Mr. Chaney was some sort of accident-perhaps the crowded elevator that has been suggested by Mr. Despond. Otherwise, he had been, as it were, underground.

"This is why we only found three cases instead of the thousands or millions we feared.

"However, the problem still remains. Carmel is immune, will never know he has the disease unless he is told it, and will eventually surface somewhere. When he does, we will learn of it through the outbreak of Anthrax Leprosy Pi cases in the vicinity. At that point, the whole nightmare begins again, sir.

"Our best hope, and the computer backs me on this, is public disclosure. The panic we tried to avoid will have to be faced. Every medium of communication in the nation must be given the full facts, and Camel's description must be circulated everywhere. This is our last chance. The man is a walking biological Doomsday Machine and he must be found.

"Psychologists and social psychologists have fed all the relevant facts about this case, and about previous panics and plagues, into the computer also. The conclusion, with ninety-three percent certainty, is that the panic will be nationwide and martial law will have to be declared everywhere. Liberals in Congress should be placed under house arrest as the first step, and the Supreme Court must be stripped of its powers totally. The Army and the National Guard will have to be sent into every city with authority to override any policies of local officials. Democracy, in short, must cease until the emergency is ended."

"He's not an anarchist," the Secretary of the Interior said. "He's a G.o.ddam fascist."

"He's a realist," said the President, clear-minded, crisp, quick on the uptake and stoned clear round the corner of schizophrenia by his usual three tranquilizers, a stronger dose of amphetamines than usual, and loads of those happy little Demerol tablets. "We start implementing his suggestions right now."

And so those few tattered remnants of the Bill of Rights which had survived into the fourth decade of the Cold War were laid to rest-temporarily, it was thought by those present. Dr. Filiarisus, whose name in the Ancient Illuminated Seers of Bavaria was Gracchus Gruad, had completed on the day known as May Eve or Walpurgisnacht Walpurgisnacht the project begun when the first dream of Anthrax Leprosy Pi was planted in Dr. Mocenigo's mind on the day known as Candelmas. These dates were known by much older names in the Illuminati, of course, and the burial of the Bill of Rights was expected, by them, to be permanent. the project begun when the first dream of Anthrax Leprosy Pi was planted in Dr. Mocenigo's mind on the day known as Candelmas. These dates were known by much older names in the Illuminati, of course, and the burial of the Bill of Rights was expected, by them, to be permanent.

(Two hours before Dr. Filiarisus spoke to the President, four of the world's five Illuminati Primi met in an old graveyard in Ingolstadt; the fifth could not be present. They agreed that all was going as scheduled, but one danger remained: n.o.body in the order, however developed his or her ESP, had been able to trace Carmel. Leaning on a tombstone-where Adam Weishaupt had once performed rites so unique that the psychic vibration had bounced off every sensitive mind in Europe, leading to such decidedly peculiar literary productions as Lewis's The Monk The Monk, Maturin's Melmoth Melmoth, Walpole's Castle of Otranto Castle of Otranto, Mrs. Sh.e.l.ley's Frankenstein Frankenstein, and DeSade's One Hundred Twenty Days of Sodom One Hundred Twenty Days of Sodom-the eldest of the four said, "It can still fail, if one of the mehums finds the pimp before he infects a city or two." Mehums was an abbreviation for all descendants of those not part of the original Unbroken Circle; it meant mere humans mere humans.

"Why can none of our ultra-sensitives find him?" a second asked. "Does he have no ego or soul at all?"

"He has a vibration but it's not distinctly human. Whenever we seem to have a fix on it, we're usually picking up a bank vault or the safe of some paranoid millionaire," the eldest replied.

"We have that problem with an increasing number of Americans," the third commented morosely. "In that nation, we have done our work too well. The conditioning to those pieces of paper is so strong that no other psychic impulse remains to be read."

The fourth spoke. "Now is no time for trepidation, my brothers. The plan is virtually realized, and this man's lack of ordinary mehum qualities will prove an advantage when we do fix on him. No ego, no resistance. We will be able to move him at our whim. The stars are right, He Who Is Not To Be Named is impatient, and now we must be intrepid!" She spoke with fervor.

The others nodded. "Heute die Welt, Morgens das Sonnensystem!" "Heute die Welt, Morgens das Sonnensystem!" the eldest cried out fiercely. the eldest cried out fiercely.

"Heute die Welt" all repeated, all repeated, "Morgens das Sonnensystem!") "Morgens das Sonnensystem!") But two days earlier, as the Leif Erikson Leif Erikson left the Atlantic and entered the underground Ocean of Valusia beneath Europe, George Dorn was listening to a different kind of chorus. It was, Mavis had explained to him in advance, the weekly Agape Ludens, or Love Feast Game, of the Discordians, and the dining hall was newly bedecked with p.o.r.nographic and psychedelic posters, Christian and Buddhist and Amerindian mystic designs, balloons and lollypops dangling from the ceiling on Day-Glo-dabbed strings, numinous paintings of Discordian saints (including Norton I, Sigismundo Malatesta, Guillaume of Aquitaine, Chuang Chou, Judge Roy Bean, various historical figures even more obscure, and numerous gorillas and dolphins), bouquets of roses and forsythia and gladiolas and orchids, cl.u.s.ters of acorns and gourds, and the inevitable proliferation of golden apples, pentagons and octopi. left the Atlantic and entered the underground Ocean of Valusia beneath Europe, George Dorn was listening to a different kind of chorus. It was, Mavis had explained to him in advance, the weekly Agape Ludens, or Love Feast Game, of the Discordians, and the dining hall was newly bedecked with p.o.r.nographic and psychedelic posters, Christian and Buddhist and Amerindian mystic designs, balloons and lollypops dangling from the ceiling on Day-Glo-dabbed strings, numinous paintings of Discordian saints (including Norton I, Sigismundo Malatesta, Guillaume of Aquitaine, Chuang Chou, Judge Roy Bean, various historical figures even more obscure, and numerous gorillas and dolphins), bouquets of roses and forsythia and gladiolas and orchids, cl.u.s.ters of acorns and gourds, and the inevitable proliferation of golden apples, pentagons and octopi.

The main course was the best Alaskan king crab Newburg that George had ever tasted, only lightly dusted with a mild hint of Panamanian Red gra.s.s. Dozens of trays of dried fruits and cheeses were pa.s.sed back and forth among the tables, together with canapes of an exquisite caviar George had never encountered before ("Only Hagbard knows where those sturgeon sp.a.w.n," Mavis explained) and the beverage was a blend of the j.a.panese seventeen-herb Mu tea with Menomenee Indian peyote tea. While everyone gorged, laughed and got gently but definitely zonked, Hag-bard-who was evidently satisfied that he and f.u.c.kUP had located "the problem in Las Vegas"-merrily conducted the religious portion of the Agape Ludens.

"Rub-a-dub-dub," he chanted, "O hail Eris!"

"Rub-a-dub-dub," the crew merrily chorused, "O Hail Eris!"

"Sya-dasti" Hagbard chanted. "All that I tell you is true." Hagbard chanted. "All that I tell you is true."

"Sya-dasti" the crew repeated, "O hail Eris!" George looked around; there were three, or five, races present (depending upon which school of physical anthropology you credited) and maybe half a hundred nationalities, but the feeling of brotherhood and sisterhood transcended any sense of contrast, creating instead a blend, as in musical progression. the crew repeated, "O hail Eris!" George looked around; there were three, or five, races present (depending upon which school of physical anthropology you credited) and maybe half a hundred nationalities, but the feeling of brotherhood and sisterhood transcended any sense of contrast, creating instead a blend, as in musical progression.

"Sya-davak-tavya" Hagbard chanted now. "All that I tell you is false." Hagbard chanted now. "All that I tell you is false."

"Sya-davak-tavya," George joined in, "O hail Eris!" George joined in, "O hail Eris!"

"Sya-dasti-sya-nasti" Hagbard intoned. "All that I tell you is meaningless." Hagbard intoned. "All that I tell you is meaningless."

"Sya-dasti-sya-nasti" all agreed, some jeeringly, "O hail Eris!" all agreed, some jeeringly, "O hail Eris!"

If they had services like this in the Baptist church back in Nutley, George thought, I never would have told my mother religion is all a con and had that terrible quarrel when I was nine.

"Sya-dasti-sya-nasti-sya-davak-tav-yaska" Hagbard sang out. "All that I tell you is true and false and meaningless." Hagbard sang out. "All that I tell you is true and false and meaningless."

"Sya-dasti-sya-nasti-sya-davak-tav-yaska," the ma.s.sed voices replied, "O hail Eris!" the ma.s.sed voices replied, "O hail Eris!"

"Rub-a-dub-dub," Hagbard repeated quietly. "Does anyone have a new incantation?"

"All hail crab Newburg," a Russian-accented voice shouted.

That was an immediate hit. "All hail crab Newburg," everyone howled.