INTERVENTION (25 page)

Above the dais there appeared a small atmospheric maelstrom.

Our heartfelt felicitations to you, dear colleagues, upon the successful completion of Earth's first phase of intensified overt manifestation.

In metaconcert, the Authority responded: We are gratified that the Supervisory Body approves, and herewith present a digest of data relevant to progress in coadunation of the World Mind. [Display.]

The maelstrom was enlarging, spinning in a plane perpendicular to the dais, and five distinct whorls were condensing out of it.

How interesting that the outbreaks of metapsychic operancy among the humans are so widely scattered. Even though the genes for high mental function are present in all racial groups, one notes that its phenotypic expression crops out with special vigor among certain Celtic and Oriental populations.

This has been allowed for in ethnodynamic equations. The sorting factors have a fascinating Darwinian aspect, in that those groups subject to great environmental—as opposed to social—stress tend to manifest the metapsychic traits most strongly. Thus the Georgian, Alpine, Hebridean, and Eastern Canadian Celts tend to become operant more rapidly than their more numerous Irish and French congeners. The same is true of the Asian irruptive locus, with the North Siberian, Mongol, and Hokkaido groups most noteworthy, together with the isolate fractions flourishing in Tibet and Finland. Unfortunately, the Australian aboriginal locus has become nearly extinct, as have the Kalahari and Pigmy concentrations in Africa. The Nilotic group trembles on the brink due to severe social disruption. In any case, these southern populations are now almost too small to be viable reservoirs of operant genotypes.

Tragic. But as
we
know, operancy must be combined with ethnic dynamism if coadunation of the Mind is to be achieved.

And on Earth, dynamism is largely a Northern function, due to the complex interaction of stress factors.

"Northern hyperfertility isn't to be sneezed at, either," murmured the Poltroyan, ex-concert. "Which is why I put my money on the Canucks in the operancy sweepstakes."

The other three Overseers flinched at the effrontery of their small colleague, but the Lylmik seemed amused.

You are most perceptive, Faltonin-Virminonin! It is indeed from that group, especially the northeastern Franco-Americans, that we expect the largest numbers of natural operants to be born during this critical pre-Intervention phase of proctorship.

The five atmospheric vortices had now assumed a decidedly material aspect. The Gi and the Krondaku, being the most ultrasensitive members of the metaconcert, realized with some excitement that the Supervisors were about to do them the unusual honor of assuming astral bodies—or, at least, astral heads. The news ignited the entire Authority, especially Lashi Ala, who had never experienced a Lylmik vis-a-vis encounter.

They asked: Is it your wish, then, that we devise plans for the special encouragement of these Franco-American operants?

By no means. This is a task reserved for others.

Others?...What others?

But before the Oversight Authority could pursue this puzzle further, they were completely distracted by the apparition unfolding before them.

Above the dais now floated five heads. Perhaps in consideration of the Poltroyan, Gi, and Simb representatives, who had largely humanoid features, the heads each developed two eyes and a single smiling mouth. Their psychocreative flesh was roseate with no trace of hair, feathering, scales, or other epidermal outgrowth. The eyes of the central head were gray; those of the four surrounding heads were a brilliant aquamarine green. The Lylmik had no necks, but from their occipital regions trailed multiple ectoplasmic filaments like pale gauzy scarves stirring in a light breeze. Strangely, each of the different Authority magnates thought that the heads were supremely beautiful. Even those who had seen this manifestation of the Lylmik before felt that they could look into those eyes forever without tiring; and poor Lashi Ala, meeting them for the first time, was reduced to bewitched helplessness.

"I am Noetic Concordance," said the uppermost head.

"I am Eupathic Impulse," said the lowest.

"I am Homologous Trend," said the right-hand head.

"I am Asymptotic Essence," said the one on the left.

The central head, which radiated the most overwhelming power of all, had the softest voice. "And I am Atoning Unifex. We of the Supervisory Body embrace you and your organization. We thank you for what you have done, and charge you to carry on your assigned tasks in spite of discouragements, doubts, and difficulties. It is known to us that the small planet we are orbiting at this moment occupies a critical place in the probability lattices. From it may emerge a Mind that will exceed all others in metapsychic potential. It is known to us that this Mind will be capable of destroying our beloved Galactic Milieu. It is further known to us that this Mind will also be capable of magnifying the Milieu immensely, accelerating the Unification of all the inhabited star-systems. For this reason we have directed this extraordinary attempt at Intervention. It involves a great risk. But all evolutionary leaps are hazardous, and without risk-taking there can only be stagnation, the triumph of entropy, and eventual death. Do you understand this, colleagues?"

We understand.

"Mental potential is not actualization. The human race must reach an acceptable level of operancy largely through its own efforts. We can guide, but we cannot force evolution of the Mind. Thus there still exists the possibility that this rising operant population may founder—either through internal or external calamity. There exists another possibility, fortunately diminishing, that the entire world may perish in a suicidal conflict. So Intervention is not certain. But we shall work toward it ... you in your way and we in ours, full of trust."

We understand.

"Go now and initiate the next Oversight phase. From time to time we will lend special assistance."

We do not understand, but we acquiesce willingly.

The central head nodded. The eyes of all five were ablaze with irresistible psychic energy. The heads began melting away to ectoplasmic vapor, but the eyes remained to focus Unifying power.

Join with us,
said the Supervisors, and the minds of the Overseers rushed into the joyous light.

***

A long time later, when the four awoke in their shuttle-craft, they instinctively came together to gaze out of a viewport at the blue planet rolling below.

"Incredible," said the Krondaku.

"What an experience!" Lashi Ala was still in a state of near-total bemusement. "I agree—it was quite incredible."

The Gi shook its head, gently corrective. "While Unity with the Lylmik is memorable, it is not the matter that Rola'eroo Mobak finds difficult to believe."

"Certainly not," the monster growled. "It's what they
said.
"

The Poltroyan pursed lavender lips and hoisted a single eyebrow in unspoken query.

"The head in the middle." RipRip Muml amplified its speech with a remembered vision. "It said that the Lylmik were going to assist us. That's even
more
unprecedented than their original veto of the Concilium pull-out vote!"

Rola'eroo said, "You will also recall that the Lylmik Supervisors told us that we were not to attempt positive reinforcement of the Franco-American operant group ... that the task would be undertaken by others."

Both Poltroyan eyebrows shot up and the ruby optics bulged. "Love's Oath! You can't mean it!"

"I conclude that certain human operants are to be shepherded by the Lylmik themselves," Rola'eroo asserted. "By these aloof beings who scarcely ever condescend to participate in the Concilium deliberations, who tantalize us and confuse us when they are not vexing us with their mystical vagary."

"There was nothing vague," Lashi said, "about that crew we met today. That central head was downright blunt."

"Most uncharacteristic," the Krondaku said. "We must ponder the implications strenuously."

The Gi had turned to the port and contemplated the blue planet with a certain foreboding. Its irrepressible genitalia were blanched and subdued. "Earthlings! Do you know—I'm beginning to be quite afraid of them."

"Nonsense!" said Lashi Ala stoutly. "We Simbiari know humanity better than any of you. They don't scare
us.
"

The three other entities exchanged thoughts of sudden, shared comprehension.

***

THE END OF
PART ONE

NEW YORK CITY, EARTH

21
FEBRUARY
1978

T
HE FLIGHT FROM
Chicago had been over an hour late, and helicopter shuttle service between Kennedy and Manhattan had been disrupted by the same fog that had delayed the airplane. The car-rental counter was mobbed, but here Kieran O'Connor's coercion expedited procurement of a Cadillac limousine. He and Arnold Pakkala, his executive assistant, took the front seat while Jase Cassidy and Adam Grondin got into the back. Then they were off in a squeal of expensive rubber, with the minds of Cassidy and Grondin clearing the way and Pakkala driving like the battle-trained Chicago commuter that he was.

Kieran closed his burning eyes and dreamed while the big black automobile roared up the Van Wyck and Long Island expressways in defiance of the speed limit. It negotiated the snarl at the Queens-Midtown Tunnel magically and bulldozed its way down 42nd Street. Other vehicles seemed to melt out of its way as it streaked up Avenue of the Americas, ignored by patrolling NYPD cruisers. It turned left onto West 5 7th against the lights, zigzagged from lane to lane amidst traffic apparently frozen in place, and plunged into the whorl of Columbus Circle like a black shark invading a sluggish shoal of prey species. Here, with vehicles coming at it from six directions, the limousine faced its keenest challenge. The targeting eyes of Cassidy and Grondin flicked to and fro and their minds shouted silent commands to the other drivers:
You stop! You
go
right! You move left lane! Up the curb bike! Out of the way walkers! Go! Stop! Gangway!
Enchanted buses froze at the curb or lumbered aside; private cars seemed to cower as they yielded; take-out-food delivery boys on bicycles and pedestrians scattered like pigeons before a hawk; even the pugnacious Manhattan taxis were demoralized and swerved out of the limousine's charmed path with tires screeching and brake lights flashing scarlet alarm.

Arnold Pakkala guided the Cadillac with fluid precision through the chaos, ran a red light for the seventeenth time that night, and floored the accelerator when he attained the comparatively unimpeded reach of Central Park West.

Adam Grondin said: Kennedy to Central Park 34 minutes. Beautiful Arnie.

Jase Cassidy said: Time to make it. Chief still asleep?

Pakkala said: Until I tell him to wake up.

A map image of New York City seemed to hover in his peripheral vision off to the right, among the lamplit bare trees of the park. He spotted a police cruiser, but Adam and Jase had already fuzzed the minds of the two officers inside. They knew they couldn't possibly have seen a Caddy doing seventy northbound, and turned their attention to a doorman walking three poodles who was suspiciously unencumbered by a pooper-scooper.

Pakkala said: Only a few blocks more.

The limousine charged across 65 th Street on the fag end of the amber light, then hung a left onto 66th virtually riding the rims. For the last time Cassidy and Grondin exerted their coercive powers to stop the modest flow of vehicles on Columbus. The Cadillac took the final corner smoothly, decelerated, and drove up the ramp in front of the Lincoln Center for the Performing Arts. A touch of power brakes brought it to a sedate halt.

Cassidy and Grondin relaxed their overstrained brains with audible groans of relief. Arnold Pakkala's face had gone rigid in the wan light from the instrument panel. Still gripping the steering wheel, he let his head fall back against the padded rest. His eyes closed. The other two men flinched at the orgasmic discharge that energized the interior of the car for an instant, setting their own nerves afire with sympathetic vibration. Seconds later Pakkala was sitting ramrod-straight again, not one white hair out of place, stripping off his leather driving gloves with small, neat motions.

"Jesus, Arnie, I
wish
you wouldn't do that." Grondin ripped open a pack of Marlboros with shaking hands and coaxed one out.

Cassidy wiped his florid face with a handkerchief. "Wouldn't that be a helluva thing for the chief to wake up to? The fallout from your stupid come!"

Pakkala ignored that. "Mr. O'Connor may continue to sleep until I make certain that our subjects are actually inside, in their box. If our informants erred—of if they lied—other plans will have to be made."

"Well, get cracking, dammit," Cassidy snapped. "Don't just sit around here getting your rocks off."

Pakkala's face went rigid again. He seemed to be studying the hub of the steering wheel with blind eyes. Tiny flakes of snow sifted down and melted to pinpoint droplets when they struck the warm windshield. The engine idled soundlessly and Kieran O'Connor exhaled a deep, sighing breath that was almost a sob.

Grondin sucked cigarette smoke fiercely. "Poor bastard."

Cassidy said, "He'll be all right. Just so long as those two dago butchers are in there where we can get at 'em."

Nodding at Pakkala, Grondin said, "Arnie'll find out. Umpteen thousand people in there, but Arnie'll find 'em if they're inside. Helluva head, old Arnie, even if he has his weird moments."

"I still think this is the wrong place for a hit, though," Cassidy said. "I know the chief has to do it before any of the New York crowd expect him to act. But to do it
here...
"

Both men looked across Lincoln Plaza, where the five tall arches forming the façade of the Metropolitan Opera House enclosed a scene of festive splendor. They were more than ninety feet high and panelled in transparent glass from top to bottom, framing the four tiers of the house and the golden vaults of the ceiling. Colossal murals by Marc Chagall blazed on either side of a grand double staircase of white marble, carpeted in red. The walls were crimson velvet or gleaming stone, set off by twinkling sconces. In the central arch hung the famous starburst chandeliers, the largest at the top and the smaller satellites offset beneath it like a cluster of crystal galaxies. Rising bright against the black sky of winter, the opera house looked like the open door into a fantasy world, rather than the designated site of a double execution.