"O.K., if you say so, Chief. May I ask why you don't simply let 'em wake up when the effect wears off?'
"Because," he explained, "if they simply come to before anybody finds them the effect will be much more mysterious than if they are found apparently dead. The object of the whole caper was to break the morale of the Asiatics. This increases the effect."
"Right -- as usual, Chief. The word is going out."
"Fine. When that's done, have them check the shielding of their temples, turn on the fourteen-cycle note, and go to bed -- all that aren't on duty. I imagine we'll have a busy day tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. Aren't you coming back here, Chief?"
Ardmore shook his head. "It's an unnecessary risk. I can supervise just as effectively through television as I could if I were standing right beside you."
"Scheer is all set to fly over and pick you up. 'He could set her down right on the temple roof."
"Tell him thanks, but to forget it. Now you turn it over to the staff duty officer and get some sleep."
"Just as you say, Chief."
He had a midnight lunch with the local priest and some conversation, then. let the priest show him to a stateroom down underground.
CHAPTER TEN
Ardmore was awakened by the off duty pararadio operator shaking him vigorously. "Major Ardmore! Major! Wake up!"
"Unnh ... . M-m-m-m ... . Wassa matter?"
"Wake up -- the Citadel is calling you -- urgently!"
"What time is it?"
"About eight. Hurry, sir!"
He was reasonably wide awake by the time he reached the phone. Thomas was there, on the other end, and started to talk as soon as he saw Ardmore. "A new development, Chief -- and a bad one. The PanAsian police are rounding up every member of our congregations -- systematically."
"H-m-m-m -- it was an obvious next move, I guess. How far along are they?"
"I don't know. I called you when the first report came in; they are coming in steadily now from all over the country."
"Well, I reckon we had better get busy." It was one thing for a priest, armed and protected, to risk arrest; these people were absolutely helpless.
"Chief -- you remember what they did after the first uprising? This looks bad, Chief -- I'm scared!"
Ardmore understood Thomas' fear; he felt it himself. But he did not permit his expression to show it.
"Take it easy, old son," he said in a gentle voice.
"Nothing has happened to our people yet and I don't think we'll let anything happen."
"But, Chief, what are you going to do about it? There aren't enough of us to stop them before they kill a lot of people."
"Not enough to do it directly, perhaps, but there is a way. You stick to collecting data and warn everybody not to go off half-cocked. I'll call you back in about fifteen minutes." He flipped the disconnect switch before Thomas could answer.
It required some thought. If he could equip each man with a staff, it would be simple. The shielding effect from a staff could theoretically protect a man against almost anything; except, perhaps, an A-bomb or the infiltration of poison gas. But the construction and repair department had been hard pushed to provide enough staffs to equip each new priest; one for each man was out of the question, since they lacked factory mass production. Anyhow, he needed them now -- this morning.
A priest could extend his shield to include any given area or number of people, but in great extension the field became so tenuous that a well-thrown snowball would break through it. Nuts!
He realized suddenly that he was thinking of the problem in direct terms again, in spite of his conscious knowledge that such an approach was futile. What he wanted was psychological jiu-jitsu -- some way to turn their own strength against them. Misdirection -- that was the idea! Whatever it was they expected him to do, don't do it! Do something else.
But what else? When he thought he had found an answer to that question he called Thomas to the screen. "Jeff," he said at once, "give me Circuit A."
He spoke for some minutes to his priests, slowly and in detail, and emphasizing certain points. "Any questions?" he then asked, and spent several more minutes in dealing with such as they were relayed in from the diocese stations.
Ardmore and the local priest left the temple together. The priest attempted to persuade him to stay behind, but he brushed the objections aside. The priest was right; he knew in his heart that he should not take personal risks that could be avoided, but it was a luxury to be out from under Jeff Thomas' restraining influence.
"How do you plan to find out where they have taken our people?" asked the priest. He was a former real-estate operator named Ward, a man of considerable native intelligence. Ardmore liked him.
"Well, what would you do if I weren't along?"
"I don't know. I suppose I would walk into a police station and try to scare the information out of the flatface in charge."
"That's sound enough. Where is one?"
The central police station of the PanAsian police lay in the shadow of the palace, between eight and nine blocks to the south. They encountered many PanAsians en route, but were not interfered with. The Asiatics seemed dumbfounded to see two priests of Mota striding along in apparent unconcern. Even those garbed as police appeared uncertain what to do, as if their instructions had not covered the circumstance.
However, someone had phoned ahead; they were met on the steps by a nervous Asiatic officer who demanded of them, "Surrender! You are under arrest!"
They walked straight toward him. Ward lifted one, hand in blessing and intoned, "Peace! Take me to my people."
"Don't you understand my language?" snapped the PanAsian, his voice becoming shrill. "You are under arrest!" His hand crept nervously toward his holster.
"Your earthly weapons avail you not," said Ardmore calmly, "in dealing with the great Lord Mota. He commands you to lead me to my people. Be warned!" He continued to advance until his personal screen pushed against the man's body.
It -- the disembodied pressure of the invisible screen -- was more than the PanAsian could stand. He fell back a pace, jerked his sidearm clear and fired point-blank. The vortex ring struck harmlessly against the screen, was absorbed by it.
"Lord Mota is impatient," remarked Ardmore in a mild tone. "Lead his servant, before the Lord Mota sucks the soul from your body." He shifted to another effect, never before used in dealing with the PanAsians.
The principle involved was very simple; a cylindrical tractor-pressor stasis was projected, forming in effect a tube. Ardmore let it rest over the man's face, then applied a tractor beam down the tube. The unfortunate PanAsian gasped for air where there was no air and pawed at his face. When his nose began to bleed, Ardmore let up on him. "Where are my children?" he inquired again as softly as before.
The police officer, probably in sheer reflex, tried to run. Ardmore nailed him with a pressor beam against the door and again applied momentarily the suction tube, this time to the fellow's midriff. "Where are they?"
"In the park," the man gasped, and regurgitated violently.
They turned with leisured dignity, and headed back down the steps, sweeping those who had pressed too close casually out of the way with the pressor beam.
The park surrounded the erstwhile State capitol building. They found the congregation herded into a hastily erected bull pen which was surrounded by ranks of Asiatic soldiers. On a platform nearby, technicians were installing television pick-up. It was easy to infer that another public "lesson" was to be given the serfs. Ardmore saw no evidence of the rather bulky apparatus used to produce the epileptogenetic ray; either it had not been brought up, or some other method of execution was to be used -- perhaps the soldiers present were an enormous firing squad.