What Rough Beast?
By JEFFERSON HIGHE
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Galaxy Science FictionJuly 1954. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Standing braced—or, as it seemed to him, crucified—against the lengthof the blackboard, John Ward tried to calculate his chances of headingoff the impending riot. It didn't seem likely that anything he could dowould stop it.
"Say something," he told himself. "Continue the lecture, talk!" Butagainst the background of hysterical voices from the school yard,against the brass fear in his mouth, he was dumb. He looked at the bankof boys' faces in front of him. They seemed to him now as identical asmetal stampings, each one completely deadpan, each pair of jaws movingin a single rhythm, like a mechanical herd. He could feel the tension inthem, and he knew that, in a moment, they would begin to move. He feltshame and humiliation that he had failed.
"Shakespeare," he said clearly, holding his voice steady, "for those ofyou who have never heard of him, was the greatest of all dramatists.Greater even," he went on doggedly, knowing that they might take it as aprovocation, "than the writers for the Spellcasts." He stopped talkingabruptly.
Three tigers stepped out of the ceiling. Their eyes were glassy,absolutely rigid, as if, like the last of the hairy mammoths, they hadbeen frozen a long age in some glacial crevasse. They hung there amoment and then fell into the room like a furry waterfall. They landedsnarling.
Something smashed viciously into the wall beside Ward's head. From theback of the room, someone's hand flashed a glitter of light. Ward leapedaway and cut across the end of the room toward the escape chute. Holdinghis ring with its identifying light beam before him, he leaped into theslot like a racing driver. Behind him, the room exploded in shouts andsnarls. The gate on the chute slammed shut after him, and he heard themscratching and banging at it. Without the identifying light, they wouldbe unable to get through. He took a long breath of relief as he shotdown the polished groove of the slide into the Mob Quad. The boys he'dleft behind knew how to protect themselves.
They were all there—Dr. Allenby, McCarthy the psych man, Laura Ames thepretty gym teacher, Foster, Jensen—all of them. So it had been generalthen, not just his group which had rioted. He knew it was all the moreserious now, because it had not been limited to one outbreak.
"You, too, Ward?" Dr. Allenby said sadly. He was a short, slender manwith white hair and a white mustache. He helped Ward up from where hehad fallen at the foot of the escape slide. "What was it in yourclassroom this time?"
"Tigers," Ward said. Standing beside Allenby, he felt very tall,although he was only of average height. He smoothed down his wiry darkhair and began energetically brushing the dust from his clothing.
"Well, it's always something," Allenby said tiredly.
He seemed more sad than upset, Ward thought, a spent old man clinging tothe straw of a dream. He saw where the m