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Updated: May 9, 2025
"You mean, starting a rift between Pelton and the Consolidated Illiterates' Organization, which we can widen after the election?" "No. I hadn't thought of it that way, Frank," Lancedale smiled. "It's an idea worth keeping in mind, and we'll exploit it, later. What I was thinking about was the more immediate problem of the election "
The fellow's name, he recalled, was Kettner; Lancedale had given him a briefing which had included some particulars about him. He was an Independent-Conservative ward-committeeman. He had gotten his present job after being fired from his former position as mailman for listening to other peoples' mail with his pocket recorder-reproducer. "Yetsko," he had said. "Kick this bum out on his face."
"The vote has been one hundred and eighty-three for, seventy-two against," Literate President Morehead finally announced. "The motion is herewith declared carried. Literate Lancedale, I appoint you to organize a committee to implement the said motion, at once." Prestonby flung open the door of the rest room where Sergeant Coccozello and his subordinate were guarding the unconscious Pelton.
We've got to give him a chance to cool off before he sees her again. Take her to Lancedale. I have everything fixed up; she'll be admitted to the Fraternities this afternoon, and given Literate protection." Prestonby grabbed his hand impulsively. "Frank! I'll never be able to repay you for this, not if I live to be a thousand " he began.
"Obviously, we should know, by about thirteen hundred, what's being planned." "Right, sir." Lancedale's spy at Independent-Conservative headquarters nodded and vanished from the screen. "What does it sound like to you, Frank?" Lancedale asked. "China is obviously a code-designation for some place in downtown Manhattan, where the Conservative goon gangs are being concentrated.
"A riot which could arise from business motives," Lancedale added. "That sounds like the docks, or the wholesale district, or the garment district, or something like that." He passed his hand rapidly over the photoelectric eye of the commo box.
Going around the room counterclockwise to the seats of his faction, he encountered two other Lancedale men: Gerald K. Toppington, of the Technological Section, thin-faced, sandy-haired, balding; and Franklin R. Chernov, commander of the local Literates' guards brigade, with his ragged gray mustache, his horribly scarred face, and his outsize tablet-holster almost as big as a mail-order catalogue.
Lancedale must have succeeded to an extraordinary degree in imposing his will on the Grand Council. Prestonby found, however, that he would need some time to brief the new chief Literate on the operational details at the store.
"I'd suggest that you ask it of my superior, Literate Lancedale, however." The Literate in the screen blinked; that was the equivalent, for him, of anybody else's jaw dropping to his midriff. "Well! A pleasure, Literate. Good day." "Miss Pelton!" The man in the blue-and-orange suit was still trying to catch her attention. "Where are we going to put that stuff?
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