had foreseen. But eventually all the crises had had their moment
and were coped with--and suddenly it was almost air time.

Cam, Curt, and Ev repaired to the control booth and found an area where
they wouldn't be under the technicians' feet. (Cam had decreed a triple
platoon system on this one: a fresh director and crew were alternated in
every fifteen minutes.) Ev produced a flask, which Cam and Curt
declined; but the super-mongoose took a few greedy licks at the cap.

"A lush _Gestalt_ yet," muttered Curt.

"Don't insult the folks that put you in silk, sonny," advised Ev.

"Tell me about the others now," said Cam. "Everything's out of our hands
anyhow."

* * * * *

Ev breathed deeply. "Okay, I'll tell you a wee bit. One of us is a
Pathan valet in Bombay--which would cut up the Reaper worse than the
fictitious _entente_ with the squid. And the Pathan must have a few
drops of Irish blood and, ergo, second sight--he contributes enormously
to the acuity of our insight into potential human reaction."

"Mmmm. And?"

"My small friend here, the super-mongoose, is the amplifier. Some goofy
new gland, I suppose--or as you guessed, a mutational development. In
that tiny _corpus_, however it came about, is an organ that enables us
to communicate on an elemental level among ourselves without regard to
mileage; and to probe psyches anywhere in the world--as many as we want.
Actually, we have to keep his output at a fraction of capacity, or else
get swamped in a tidal wave of emotion."

"That accounts for three. But you indicated there were four," said Cam.

"No, I never! But you're right. There is a fourth. Twelve years old; IQ
about 180. Never even leaves his room. But his mind--and his psi
faculties--have seven-league boots. He runs our team."

"Where does he live?"

"High on a windy hill. He, he, he!" Ev hit the flask as a trout the fly,
and an engineer glared. The gradually rising stage lights signalled the
Zero Second in a symphony of changing color.

First, the cross-and-star symbol grew from a tiny point on the stage
until it became a living pillar of luminosity that seemed to dwarf the
night.

Then came the distant music of fife and drum, augmented by cornet:
"Yankee Doodle;" and in the traditional Revolutionary regalia, the
musical minute-men led a parade down the aisles of the Choral Guard.
They segued to "Onward Christian Soldiers" as they marched past the
mesmerized audien