Transcriber’s Note:
This etext was produced from the 1963 book publication of the story.Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the copyright onthis publication was renewed.
Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected withoutnote.
The word “PLaza” (two capital letters) was correct usage to designatea telephone exchange at the time the story was written. It has beenleft as printed.
Mark Phillips
Supermind
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
In 1914, it was enemy aliens.
In 1930, it was Wobblies.
In 1957, it was fellow travelers.
In 1971, it was insane telepaths.
And, in 1973:
“We don’t know what the hell it is,” said Andrew J. Burris, Directorof the FBI. He threw his hands in the air and looked baffled andconfused.
Kenneth J. Malone tried to appear sympathetic. “What what is?” heasked.
Burris frowned and drummed his fingers on his big desk. “Malone,” hesaid, “make sense. And don’t stutter.”
“Stutter?” Malone said. “You said you didn’t know what it was. Whatthe hell it was. And I wanted to know what it was.”
“That’s just it,” Burris said. “I don’t know.”
Malone sighed and repressed an impulse to scream. “Now wait a minute,Chief—” he started.
Burris frowned again. “Don’t call me Chief,” he said.
Malone nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But if you don’t know what it is, youmust have some idea of what you don’t know. I mean, is it larger thana breadbox? Does it perform helpful tasks? Is it self-employed?”
“Malone,” Burris sighed, “you ought to be on television.”
“But—”
“Let me explain,” Burris said. His voice was calmer now, and he spokeas if he were enunciating nothing but the most obvious and eternaltruths. “The country,” he said, “is going to hell in a handbasket.”
Malone nodded again. “Well, after all, Chief—”
“Don’t call me Chief,” Burris said wearily.
“Anything you say,” Malone agreed peacefully. He eyed the Director ofthe FBI warily. “After all, it isn’t anything new,” he went on. “Thecountry’s always been going to hell in a handbasket, one way oranother. Look at Rome.”
“Rome?” Burris said.
“Sure,” Malone said. “Rome was always going to hell in a handbasket,and finally it—” He paused. “Finally it did, I guess,” he said.
“Exactly,” Burris said. “And so are we. Finally.” He passed a handover his forehead and stared past Malone at a spot on the wall. Maloneturned and looked at the spot, but saw nothing of interest. “Malone,”Burris said, and the FBI agent whirled around again.
“Yes, Ch—Yes?” he said.
“This time,” Burris said, “it isn’t the same old story at all. Thistime it’s different.”
“Different?” Malone said.
Burris no