y kinds of hell
will break loose if he dies now and the Fraternities are accused, as
the Illiterates' Organization will be sure to, of having had him
poisoned."

"Who are you?" the Literate asked, taking the prescription and
glancing at it. "That,"--he gestured toward Cardon's silver-laced
black Mexican jacket--"isn't exactly a white smock."

Cardon had his pocket recorder in his hand. He held it out, pressing a
concealed stud; the stylus-and-tablet insignia glowed redly on it for
a moment, then vanished. The uniformed Literate nodded.

"Fill this exactly; better do it yourself, to make sure, and take it
over to Pelton's yourself. I see you have a medic-trainee's badge. Ask
for Sergeant Coccozello, and tell him Frank Cardon sent you." The
Literate, who had not recognized him before, opened his eyes at the
name and whistled softly. "And fix up a sedative to keep him quiet
for not less than four nor more than six hours. Let me use your
visiphone for a while, if you please."

The man in the Literate smock nodded and hurried out. Cardon dialed
William R. Lancedale's private number. When Lancedale's thin, intense
face appeared on the screen, he reported swiftly.

"The way I estimate it," he finished, "Latterman put Bayne up to
making a pass at the girl, after having thrown out Pelton's nitrocaine
bulbs. Probably told the silly jerk that Claire was pining away with
secret passion for him, or something. Maybe he wanted to kill Pelton;
maybe he just wanted this to happen."

"I assume there's no chance of stopping a leak?"

Cardon laughed with mirthless harshness. "That, I take it, was
rhetorical."

"Yes, of course." Lancedale's face assumed the blank expression that
went with a pause for semantic re-integration. "Can you cover yourself
for about an hour?"

"Certainly. 'Copter trouble. Visits to campaign headquarters. An
appeal on Pelton's behalf for a new crew of Literates for the store--"

"Good enough. Come over. I think I can see a way to turn this to
advantage. I'm going to call for an emergency session of the Grand
Council this afternoon, and I'll want you sitting in on it; I want to
talk to you about plans now." He considered for a moment. "There's
too much of a crowd at O'Reilly's, now; come the church way."

Breaking the connection, Cardon dialed again. A girl's face, over a
Literate Third Class smock, appeared in the screen; a lovely golden
voice chimed at him:

"Mineola High School; good morning, sir."