Mack Reynolds: Earth Unaware

Ed Wonder wished he dared close his eyes in pain. Instead, he said hurriedly, “What was it you did call me in for, Mr. Mulligan?”

“Oh? Yeah, well, what’re you doing tomorrow night, Little Ed?”

“I’ve got a date. Tomorrow’s one of my free days, Mr. Mulligan.”

“Well, maybe you can take her along. See here, have you ever heard of some twitch named Ezekiel Joshua Tubber?”

“I don’t think so. A name like that I’d remember. I don’t think it’s possible to break this date.”

The studio chief ignored him. “He’s some kind of religious nut, or something. But the thing is, the society’s got a couple of letters and a phone call complaining about him, understand? Claim he’s subversive.”

“I thought you said he was a religious twitch.”

“Yeah, but subversive too. A lot of these reds hide out in the guise of religion. Like that archbishop over in England, whatever his name was. And some of these Jewish rabbis that’re always signing petitions against segregation. Anyway, at the last meeting of the chapter it was decided to investigate this Tubber. So I was given the assignment.”

Ed Wonder could see it coming. “This date…” he began hopefully.

“I don’t know anything about religious nuts, but you, with this program are all up on crackpots. So tomorrow night you can attend his meeting. Here’s the address, an empty lot over on Houston street. You can give a report at the next meeting of the chapter.”

“Look, Mr. Mulligan, I wouldn’t know a subversive if I found one under the bed.” He played his trump. “This date is with Helen.”

“Helen?”

“Helen Fontaine. Jensen Fontaine’s daughter.”

“Helen Fontaine! What would a classy, high stepping girl like Miss Fontaine see in…” He cut the question short with a burp, and pursed his heavy lips. “See here,” he said finally, “did you ever talk to Mr. Fontaine about your program, now that it’s been on a while?”

“He’s crazy for it,” Ed said quickly. “He was telling me so just the other night. We were sitting around having a couple of drinks together while I was waiting for Helen to finish dressing.”

“Oh, you were, eh?” The studio chief made facial motions as though he were chewing. “Well, see here. Mr. Fontaine is a member of the chapter, so is Helen, for that matter, even if she doesn’t come around much. Why don’t the two of you just take this tent meeting in for half an hour or so? That ought to be plenty.”

“A tent meeting!” she said, unbelievingly. “I thought it was the end when you wanted to take in that tea leaf reader’s convention but…”

“The Precognition Society,” Ed said unhappily. “And it was mainly crystalloscopy, not tea leaves.”

“…this takes the frosted malted. Whatever gave you the idea I’d be willing to go to a religious revival meeting in lieu of a date, Little Ed Wonder?”

He explained hastily. Told her he would have put Mulligan in his place, if it hadn’t been a Stephen Decatur Society project. Told her he’d thought she’d be hot to do a chore for the society. Told her they could cut it as short as she wanted. Told her he could spot a subversive in the first few moments of talk. Told her he was a commie spotter from way back. Told her he had denounced two of his schoolmates as undercover reds as early as third grade.

That last got to her and she made a moue at him. “All right, sharpy. But you’d better not let Daddy hear you being flippant like that. He takes the society seriously.”

Later, in the Volkshover, she said, “When are you going to get off those impossible hours, Little Ed? I thought the idea was to build your program up and finally switch it to TV on Sunday morning.”

Ed said, “Well, that’s what I thought, but for some reason old Fatso Mulligan can’t see it. He doesn’t realize how many people go for this kooky stuff. Why, most of the people in the country believe in one sort of far out idea or the other. It’s exactly that kind of twitch who spends half his life sitting in front of his idiot box.” He cleared his throat. “Now, if you could get your father to drop a hint…”

“Oh, Daddy’s not really concerned with the station,” she said disinterestedly, “just because he owns it. He owns a lot of things. What he’s really interested in is the society.”

They came to the empty acres on the outskirts of town which provided the room for a medium large tent which had been pitched almost in the exact center. It wasn’t until they had drifted closer that they saw the second tent behind.

“Oh, Mother ,” Helen protested. “Does somebody live in that like—like gypsies?”

There weren’t many cars descended on the area that had evidently been chosen for parking. Ed sank the beetle parallel to the others and switched off the lights. “It looks as if they’re already under way,” he said.

Helen said, “When are you going to get a car , Little Ed? I feel like a cockroach crawling in and out of this thing.”

Under his breath, as he slid out from under the wheel, Ed muttered, “When I’m rich, honey, when I’m rich.”

He took her arm to lead her toward what was obviously the entrance of the larger of the two canvas shelters.

She said, “Remember, we’re going to go in there and leave again so quick they’ll think we’re some sort of blur.”

There was a small reception committee at the entrance, two middle-aged types and a girl. They didn’t exactly block the way, but it was simpler to stop a moment.

One of the middleaged ones twisted her face in what was probably a smile and said, “Dear ones, are you pilgrims on the path to Elysium?”

Ed thought about that for a moment before saying, “I don’t think so.”

Helen said, “I know darn well I’m not.”

Amusement came from a source unsuspected. The girl member of the reception committee laughed softly and said, “No, I’m afraid you aren’t, at least as yet.” She put a hand out. “I’m Nefertiti Tubber,” she told them. “Tonight’s Speaker of the Word is my father.”

“Not just tonight,” one of the others put in. “Ezekiel Joshua Tubber, is the Speaker of the Word. The guru of the path to Elysium.”

“Anyone can spread the word, Martha,” Nefertiti said softly.

“I’m losing track of this,” Helen said. “Let’s get in and see the big show.”

Ed Wonder had taken the girl’s proffered hand. It was both firm and soft in a disconcerting way.

The Tubber girl smiled after them as Ed Wonder followed Helen into the tent and to chairs spank down in the front row. He decided that Helen was feeling mischievous all right. He would have settled for the rear.

The meeting was already under way and for the time the speaker’s words didn’t get through to the newcomers. While helping Helen with her coat and getting settled on the somewhat rickety wooden folding chair, Ed Wonder kept mental fingers crossed. The score or so who made up the balance of the audience didn’t give the appearance of burn-’em-at-the-stake religious fanatics but still the last place Ed was in favor of starting a ruckus was a revival meeting.

Helen said, in a tone only one degree below a stage whisper, “With that beaver, he looks more like Abraham Lincoln than a preacher.”

Ed said, “Shhh. Let’s get a quick line on what he says.”

Somebody else in the audience said shhhhh too, and Helen swiveled in her chair to glare.

As a matter of fact, Ed decided, Helen’s description wasn’t as far off as all that. There was a Lincolnesque quality about the old boy up on the speaker’s stand, a transcendent beauty in the sheer ugliness of face. An infinite sadness.

He was saying, “…no matter how the system of representation or delegation of the governmental function is arranged, there is necessarily an alienation of part of the liberty and means of the citizen…”