suite. He passed a
kindergarten where thirty children and ten adults were mixing speech and thought
in a frightful patternless mish-mash. Their instructor was patiently
broadcasting: "Think, class. Think. Words are not necessary. Think. Remember to
break the speech reflex. Repeat the first rule after me..."
And the class chanted: "Eliminate the Larynx."
Powell winced and moved on. The wall opposite the kindergarten was covered by a
gold plaque on which was engraved the sacred words of the Esper Pledge:
I will look upon him who shall have taught me this Art as one of my parents.
I will share my substance with him, and I will supply his necessities if he
be in need. I will regard his offspring even as my own brethren and I will
teach them this Art by precept, by lecture, and by every mode of teaching;
and I will teach this Art to all others. The regimen I adopt shall be for
the benefit of mankind according to my ability and judgment, and not for
hurt or wrong. I will give no deadly thought to any, though it be asked of
me.
Whatsoever mind I enter, there will I go for the benefit of man, refraining
from all wrong-doing and corruption. Whatsoever thoughts I see or hear in
the mind of man which ought not to be made known, I will keep silence
thereon, counting such things to be as sacred secrets.
In the lecture hall, a class of 3rds was earnestly weaving simple basket
patterns while they discussed current events. There was one little overdue 2nd,
a twelve-year-old, who was adding zig-zag ad libs to the dull discussion and
peaking every zig with a spoken word. The words rhymed and were barbed comments
on the speakers. It was amusing and amazingly precocious.
Powell found the president's suite in an uproar. All the office doors were open,
and clerks and secretaries were scurrying. Old T'sung H'sai, the president, a
portly mandarin with shaven skull and benign features, stood in the center of
his office and raged. He was so angry he was shouting, and the shock of the
articulated words made his staff shake.
"I don't care what the scoundrels call themselves," T'sung H'sai roared.
"They're a gang of selfish, self-seeking reactionaries. Talk to me about purity
of the race, will they? Talk to me about aristocracy, will they? I'll talk to
them. I'll fill their ears. Miss Prinn! Miss Pr-i-nnnnn!"
Miss Prinn crept into T'sung's office, horrified at the prospect of oral
dictation.
"Take a letter to these devils. To the League of Esper Patriots. Gentlemen...
Good morning, Powell. Haven't seen you in eons... How's Dishonest Abe? The
organized campaign of your clique to cut down Guild Taxation and appropriations
for the education of Espers and the dissemination of Esper training to mankind
is conceived in a spirit of treachery and fascism. Paragraph..."
T'sung wrenched himself from his diatribe and winked profoundly at Powell. "And
have you found the peeper of your dreams yet?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Confound you, Powell. Get married!" T'sung bellowed. "I don't want to be stuck
with this job forever. Paragraph, Miss Prinn: You speak of the hardships of
taxation, of preserving the aristocracy of Espers, of the unsuitability of the
average man for Esper training... What do you want, Powell?"
"I want to use the grapevine, sir."
"Well don't bother me. Speak to my #2 girl. Paragraph, Miss Prinn: Why don't you
come out into the open? You parasites want Esper powers reserved for an
exclusive class so you can turn the rest of the world into a host for your
blood-sucking! You leeches want to---"
Powell tactfully closed the door and turned to T'sung's second secretary, who
was quaking in a corner.
"Are you really scared?"
Image of an eye winking.
Image of a question mark quaking.
"When Papa T'sung blows his top we like him to think we're petrified. Makes him
happier. He hates to be reminded that he's a Santa
kindergarten where thirty children and ten adults were mixing speech and thought
in a frightful patternless mish-mash. Their instructor was patiently
broadcasting: "Think, class. Think. Words are not necessary. Think. Remember to
break the speech reflex. Repeat the first rule after me..."
And the class chanted: "Eliminate the Larynx."
Powell winced and moved on. The wall opposite the kindergarten was covered by a
gold plaque on which was engraved the sacred words of the Esper Pledge:
I will look upon him who shall have taught me this Art as one of my parents.
I will share my substance with him, and I will supply his necessities if he
be in need. I will regard his offspring even as my own brethren and I will
teach them this Art by precept, by lecture, and by every mode of teaching;
and I will teach this Art to all others. The regimen I adopt shall be for
the benefit of mankind according to my ability and judgment, and not for
hurt or wrong. I will give no deadly thought to any, though it be asked of
me.
Whatsoever mind I enter, there will I go for the benefit of man, refraining
from all wrong-doing and corruption. Whatsoever thoughts I see or hear in
the mind of man which ought not to be made known, I will keep silence
thereon, counting such things to be as sacred secrets.
In the lecture hall, a class of 3rds was earnestly weaving simple basket
patterns while they discussed current events. There was one little overdue 2nd,
a twelve-year-old, who was adding zig-zag ad libs to the dull discussion and
peaking every zig with a spoken word. The words rhymed and were barbed comments
on the speakers. It was amusing and amazingly precocious.
Powell found the president's suite in an uproar. All the office doors were open,
and clerks and secretaries were scurrying. Old T'sung H'sai, the president, a
portly mandarin with shaven skull and benign features, stood in the center of
his office and raged. He was so angry he was shouting, and the shock of the
articulated words made his staff shake.
"I don't care what the scoundrels call themselves," T'sung H'sai roared.
"They're a gang of selfish, self-seeking reactionaries. Talk to me about purity
of the race, will they? Talk to me about aristocracy, will they? I'll talk to
them. I'll fill their ears. Miss Prinn! Miss Pr-i-nnnnn!"
Miss Prinn crept into T'sung's office, horrified at the prospect of oral
dictation.
"Take a letter to these devils. To the League of Esper Patriots. Gentlemen...
Good morning, Powell. Haven't seen you in eons... How's Dishonest Abe? The
organized campaign of your clique to cut down Guild Taxation and appropriations
for the education of Espers and the dissemination of Esper training to mankind
is conceived in a spirit of treachery and fascism. Paragraph..."
T'sung wrenched himself from his diatribe and winked profoundly at Powell. "And
have you found the peeper of your dreams yet?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Confound you, Powell. Get married!" T'sung bellowed. "I don't want to be stuck
with this job forever. Paragraph, Miss Prinn: You speak of the hardships of
taxation, of preserving the aristocracy of Espers, of the unsuitability of the
average man for Esper training... What do you want, Powell?"
"I want to use the grapevine, sir."
"Well don't bother me. Speak to my #2 girl. Paragraph, Miss Prinn: Why don't you
come out into the open? You parasites want Esper powers reserved for an
exclusive class so you can turn the rest of the world into a host for your
blood-sucking! You leeches want to---"
Powell tactfully closed the door and turned to T'sung's second secretary, who
was quaking in a corner.
"Are you really scared?"
Image of an eye winking.
Image of a question mark quaking.
"When Papa T'sung blows his top we like him to think we're petrified. Makes him
happier. He hates to be reminded that he's a Santa
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