g on that SRI feature, I
supposed, so I could get it out of the way and either relax or
concentrate on this telenosis business, which I was supposed to be
forgetting about. I had most of the dope I needed for the
story--atmosphere, first hand experience....

Everything, it occurred to me, but the essential facts.

For instance, I would need to know more about Zan Blekeke
himself--simple biographical data that shouldn't take too long to
gather. A harder job would be finding out about "Dear Late Doctor." So
far I didn't even know what his name was. And if none of the SRI members
would talk about him....

As Maxwell and I sat at a breakfast room table, I made a mental
checklist of the points I would have to work on. I was staring out the
window at the flowers staging a color-riot in the garden, when suddenly
Maxwell said:

"Say, Earl, about how long does it take to find out a guy's brain wave
band?"

"Huh? What do you mean?" I looked at him. He was shoveling pancakes into
his mouth like a fireman stoking a furnace.

He shrugged and swallowed. "You said there was no danger from telenosis
until they found my wave band. Well, last night I had the damnedest
nightmares, and I was just wondering--"

"Relax," I said. "Ever been telenized?"

"Not that I know of."

"Got nothin' to worry about, then. If you had been telenized, it's just
possible they could have gotten your band number from the Telenosis
Bureau. Which, by God, come to think of it, is where they probably got
mine. But without that, or an electroencaphalograph, it'd take weeks, at
least."

"But can't it influence a lot of people at once? I mean, like mass
hypnosis?"

"Sure be hell if it could," I said. "But I don't think it can. I don't
know why not, but I definitely remember old Doc Reighardt saying it'd
never been done."

He seemed to feel better. He finished his breakfast in relative silence.
I was able to map out a general procedure for gathering all of the
necessary SRI information.

First step was to get hold of Zan Blekeke again and have him tell me his
life history. I shuddered at the prospect, but it had to be done.

"We're going to East Emerson beach," I told John Maxwell.

On the way, aboard a third-level bus, I asked him, "SRI ever been
investigated by you people?"

"Damn if I know. Why?"

"Never mind. Save me a lot of trouble, maybe, if it had. Just a
thought."

We found the SRI cultists at their usual place on the beach. It was a