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Updated: June 6, 2025
There was a sudden blast of sound from overhead the banging of machine guns, the bark of the store's 20-mm auto-cannon, the howling of airplane jets, and the crash of explosions. Everybody in the room jerked up and stood frozen, then Prestonby jumped for the TV-screen and pawed at the dials.
And we'd have to go up a ladder, and out a manhole, to get out of the conveyor tunnel. What sorta shape's Mr. Pelton in?" "He's under hypnotaine, completely unconscious," Prestonby said. "Then we'd have to drag him," Yetsko said. "Strap him up in a tarp, or load him into a sleeping bag, if we can get hold of one." "There are plenty, down in the warehouse," Latterman interrupted, joining them.
There's that Hartnett boy he runs around with; Tom Hartnett bought Literate training for him. And that fellow Prestonby; I don't trust him " "Prestonby?" Claire asked, puzzled. "Oh, you know. The principal at school. You've met him." Claire wrinkled her brow just like her mother, when she was trying to remember something. "Oh, yes. I met him at that P.T.A. meeting.
"Claire, you have some way of keeping a running count of the number of customers in and out of the store, haven't you?" Prestonby asked. "Why, yes; here." She pointed to an indicator on Chester Pelton's desk, where constantly changing numbers danced. "And don't you have a continuous check on sales, too? How do they jibe?" "They don't; look.
An alarm buzzer went off suddenly, and an urgent voice came out of the box on the wall: "Here come the goons! South escalator!" Prestonby grabbed a burp gun and a canvas musette bag full of clips. By the time he had gotten down to what, in deference to the superstitions of the Illiterate store force, was known as the fourteenth floor, an attack on the north escalator had developed as well.
Furthermore, a new crew of Literates, with their novices, guards, et cetera, is being sent at once to your store. Obviously, neither the Fraternities, nor Pelton's, nor the public, would be benefitted by returning Literate Bayne or any of his crew; he has been given another assignment." "Thank you. And when can we expect this new crew of Literates?" Prestonby asked.
He used language about the Board of Education and the tax-paying public that was probably subversive within the meaning of the Loyalty Oath. "I wish I had a pair of 40-mm auto-cannons up there, instead of that sono gun." "Each class is a little worse than the one before; in about five years, they'll be making H-bombs in the lab," Prestonby said.
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." "Good morning. Frank Cardon here. Let me talk, at once, to your principal, Literate First Class Prestonby." Ralph Prestonby cleared his throat, slipped a master disk into the recording machine beside his desk, and pressed the start button.
"B, D, F, H, J, L, N, P, R, T, V, X, Y," he recited to the guardians of the door. "A, C, E, G, I, K, M, O, Q, S, U, W, Y," the monitor replied solemnly. "The inkwell is dry, and the book is dusty." "But tomorrow, there will be writing and reading for all," Prestonby answered.
"All right, boys; help yourselves!" For a surprisingly long time, the riot was localized in China, where it had begun. Using, alternately, three TV-pickups around the scene of the disturbance, Prestonby watched its progress, and watched successive details of store personnel, armed with clubs and a few knives and sono pistols, hit the riot, shouting their battle cry, and vanish.
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