phony broadcast. "You are not in any danger. No
harm will come to you."

"You _sure_ we ain't dead, sweetie?" the woman in the flowered housecoat
asked Clocker. "Isn't that--"

"No," said Clocker. "He'd have a halo, wouldn't he?"

"Yeah, I guess so," she agreed doubtfully.

The white-bearded man went on, "If you will listen carefully to this
orientation lecture, you will know where you are and why. May I
introduce Gerald W. Harding? Dr. Harding is in charge of this reception
center. Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Harding."

* * * * *

A number of people applauded out of habit ... probably lecture fans or
semi-pro TV studio audiences. The rest, including Clocker, waited as an
aging man in a white lab smock, heavy-rimmed eyeglasses and smooth pink
cheeks, looking like a benevolent doctor in a mouthwash ad, stood up and
faced the crowd. He put his hands behind his back, rocked on his toes a
few times, and smiled benevolently.

"Thank you, Mr. Calhoun," he said to the bearded man who was seating
himself on a marble bench. "Friends--and I trust you will soon regard us
_as_ your friends--I know you are puzzled at all this." He waved a white
hand at the buildings around them. "Let me explain. You have been
chosen--yes, carefully screened and selected--to help us in undoubtedly
the greatest cause of all history. I can see that you are asking
yourselves _why_ you were selected and what this cause is. I shall
describe it briefly. You'll learn more about it as we work together in
this vast and noble experiment."

The woman in the flowered housecoat looked enormously flattered. The
little tailor was nodding to show he understood the points covered thus
far. Glancing at the rest of the crowd, Crocker realized that he was the
only one who had this speech pegged. It was a pitch. These men were out
for something.

He wished Doc Hawkins and Oil Pocket were there. Doc doubtless would
have searched his unconscious for symbols of childhood traumas to
explain the whole thing; he would never have accepted it as _some_ kind
of reality. Oil Pocket, on the other hand, would somehow have tried to
equate the substantial Mr. Calhoun and Dr. Harding with tribal spirits.
Of the two, Clocker felt that Oil Pocket would have been closer.

Or maybe he was in his own corner of psychosis, while Oil Pocket would
have been in another, more suited to Indians. Spirits or figments?
Whatever they were, they looked as real a