There is no doubt in my mind that the President has been murdered and that all the catastrophes and accidents of the past 24 hours were deliberate, coldblooded murder. Press and Radio seem to play down the technological aspects involved; now this might be sheer stupidity but I think it just as possible that censorship is taking a hand, quite unofficially, of course, lest the public's confidence be still more shaken than it already is. I shouldn't wonder at all if Dr. Scriven and those fellows from the War Department, too, should know by this time what I know. At the minimum they must be very much alerted that something has gone wrong with The Brain. But the more I think about these murderous acts of sabotage the less I understand the psychology behind them. As far as I can see there is no plan, no real strategy, there are not even sound tactics in these outbreaks; they seem unpremeditated and striking wild like the personal vendetta of some bandit chief. Even a stupid demagogue would know that to be successful he must gain control of the government machinery. Apart from the assassination of what might be termed personal enemies, The Brain has done nothing of the sort; specifically the armed forces don't seem to have suffered from acts of sabotage although their equipment is far more under Brain-control than the civilian economy. And I also fail to understand the timing of The Brain's putsch. Extension Bill or no Extension Bill, time was working for The Brain. Three months more and a much larger section of essential traffic and industries would have been equipped for central control. Six months from now the "muscles" now building in the Thorax and elsewhere would have corresponded much better to The Brain's central nervous system in their strength. All these are grave mistakes considering The Brain's vast powers of intelligence. What then must I conclude from this irrational behavior? Could it be possible that The Brain has gone _panicky_ over the killing of the Extension Bill? Could it be possible that under the strain, the warped, frustrated personality of this titanic child prodigy has suffered a reduction, a split? In plain English: that The Brain is _mad_? I've got to find out. I've got to stop the spreading of this catastrophe! * * * * * Cephalon Ariz. Nov. 29th 4 a.m. Arrived at the P. G. at midnight as usual. 12:15 a.m. Rushhour starts unusually early and great numbers of slips for spareparts are coming in. This more favorable than expected; nobody has time to waste on me. 12:20 a.m.: pulsemeter plugged in. After five minutes I can hear the rapid pulsebeat and in undulating movements like a caterpillar the 'green dancer' creeps onto the screen. There is no calling signal from The Brain coming through however.