“I’m on the brink!” he greeted Jonathan Relevant.
Of what? Jonathan Relevant wondered. Madness? “Of what?” Jonathan Relevant asked.
“Of perfecting my universal deodorant. One additional element . . . one small alteration in my calculations . . . one variation in the process of electrolysis, perhaps . . .”
“Great discoveries always hinge on the most minute factors,” Jonathan Relevant sympathized.
“That’s very true.” Dr. Shpritzsvet launched into a long, detailed, complicated explanation of his experiments. He could see that Jonathan Relevant followed the most difficult points with ease. It wasn’t too often that Dr. Shpritzsvet had a chance to explain his work to a scientific equal and now the opportunity made him verbose. It was quite a while before he ran down.
“I see what you mean,” Jonathan Relevant said. “It really will be some very simple thing that will snap into place and your problem will be solved. But perhaps the trouble is that you’re overtired. Why don’t you go home and get some sleep and then come back and tackle this with a clear head?”
“No! I can’t stop now! Not when I’m right on the verge! I have to keep going until—”
So Dr. Shpritzsvet, like his two colleagues, stubbornly refused to leave the Science Research Institute. Jonathan Relevant left him and reported back to Minerva Kaufman. Glumly, she accepted the fact that none of the hostages would cooperate by letting the dissidents set them free.
That was the position as nine o’clock drew closer. It was still a few moments short of the hour when a sound truck appeared on the quad in front of the Science Research Institute. Several alumni rode the truck. As it braked to a halt, Chancellor Hardlign addressed the dissidents through a loudspeaker:
“THIS IS A FINAL WARNING. IF YOU DO NOT VACATE THE PREMISES IMMEDIATELY YOU WILL BE FORCIBLY REMOVED. IF, PRIOR TO THIS ACTION, YOU HAVE NOT RELEASED THOSE YOU ARE HOLDING HOSTAGE, I HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT THE FEDERAL AUTHORITIES WILL PRESS KIDNAPPING CHARGES AGAINST ALL THOSE INVOLVED, LEADERS AND FOLLOWERS AS WELL. I REPEAT: THIS IS A FINAL WARNING.”
A wave of frightened murmurs swept over the SDS students at the chancellor’s words. “Damn it! We’re not holding any hostages,” Minerva remarked to Jonathan Relevant. “They’re only here because they refuse to leave!”
“Then the chancellor should know that before they start busting heads.”
“Do you think he’d believe it?”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Jonathan Relevant took out a white handkerchief, attached it to the end of a classroom pointer, and stuck it out the window.
“IF THE DISSIDENT STUDENTS WISH TO TALK, WE WILL LISTEN,” the chancellor announced, ever the public-relations man conscious of the news media setting up its equipment nearby.
Jonathan Relevant emerged from the building carrying the white flag. Minerva followed behind him. They walked up to the sound truck and the chancellor climbed down to talk to them. Among the alumni on the truck there were murmurs of disapproval and recommendations that the pair should be seized. But the chancellor was much too aware of image to betray the flag of truce.
“Mr. Relevant!” the chancellor was surprised to see him with the SDS leader. The alumni on the truck looked at the distinguished man with the young girl student with puzzlement. Then Minerva claimed their attention.
“We came to discuss the matter of the hostages,” she told the chancellor.
“Then you’re prepared to give them up and vacate the premises peacefully?”
“We won’t vacate the premises until our demands are met. But we are perfectly willing to let the hostages leave. You see, they’re not hostages at all, really. We’ve offered them their freedom and they refuse to go. We’re not holding them against their will. We thought that fact should be known.” Minerva raised her voice as a few newsmen came into earshot.
“Surely you don’t expect me to believe that,” the chancellor demurred.
“It’s true,” Jonathan Relevant told him.
“It is?” The chancellor’s disbelief was shaken.
“Yes.”
“I believe you,” the chancellor heard himself saying—- and meaning it. “But you unruly children will still have to leave the institute,” he added to Minerva.
“Unruly children!” she snarled. “You don’t mind killing us off in your goddam war, and you have the gall to—-”
“Hey, baby!” Jonathan Relevant took her arm. “Cool it. ‘Children’ isn’t a curse word. It’s just a category usually determined by the age of the cat doing the generalizing.”
“I meant no offense,” the chancellor told Minerva. “But you are unruly. You are breaking the rules. And it is my responsibility to see that the rules are upheld.”
“No matter how many skulls are cracked,” Minerva muttered. “You won’t even consider our demands, no matter how just some of them may be. All you’re interested in is discipline.”
“I will not consider your demands under protest. Bring them to my attention through the proper channels and-—”
“Chancellor,” Jonathan Relevant interrupted him, “do you know what the greatest escalating factor in the whole world is?”
“No. What?”
“Formality. That’s right. Formality. Don’t be formal, Chancellor. Not now, when time is so short. Unbend. Forget about the shape of the table, if you see what I mean. Forget about the ‘proper channels.’ Come and talk to these students human to human, and violence may yet be averted.” The eyes of Jonathan Relevant looked deep into the eyes of the chancellor.
The chancellor looked up at the alumni on the truck. They were staring at Jonathan Relevant as if mesmerized. The very fact that they weren’t screaming objections was enough to convince the chancellor. “All right. I’ll go back with you and talk to them,” he told Jonathan Relevant and Minerva. Flanked by them, he started back toward the institute.
As the three of them started up the steps of the building, the CIA Indian pushed his way past the student guards and emerged to meet them. “Nice going!” the Indian performed a little war dance. “I didn’t think he’d be stupid enough to go for it. Now we’ve really got us a hostage!”
“What does he—” the chancellor sputter.
“The chancellor is here under a flag of-—” Minerva started to explain.
But before either could finish the sentences they had started, several things happened simultaneously. The Indian produced an egg and mashed it into the chancellor’s face. The shrubbery on one side of the entrance came alive with campus security police, who charged up the stairs toward the four figures at the top. The shrubbery on the other side of the entrance spewed forth Weathermen dissidents who climbed over the side of the broad staircase to intercept the campus cops.
“Bleed, baby, bleed!” the Weathermen leader shouted to one of his followers as he deliberately stuck his head under an all-too-willing cop’s club.
“Shouldn’t we wait until the TV people get their cameras into position?” another Weathermen martyr asked.
“Kill the chancellor!” the CIA Indian screamed. But when Jonathan Relevant interposed himself between Hardlign and the Indian, the latter retreated in confusion.
“Come on.” Jonathan Relevant pulled the chancellor over the side of the stairs. They landed in the shrubbery. The sound truck, heading toward the scene at top speed, veered to pick up the chancellor. The alumni were frothing at the mouth and demanding vengeance for the “double-cross.”
Jonathan leaped back up to the staircase, reached Minerva, and drew her inside. Before the student guards could close the door on the battle, the Indian also entered. Looking behind him at the cops splattering Weathermen pulp all over the marble steps, the Indian’s face was smugly satisfied.