21 (AUG. 11, MON.)
No matter how thin you slice it, it's still boloney.
—Al Smith
"Resistance would have been futile, I suppose," Joy Linx said.
We were Monday-morning quarterbacking our capture, now nearly 24 hours old.
"Never argue with a man with a gun," Rod Harris said. "Old city-desk adage."
We were in a big room, much more luxurious than my previous Monolithian cell, and which we judged to be at Ultra's dead center. It had a wall-to-wall carpet, four couches, some straight chairs, a big bare desk and indirect lighting. There were two doors—the one we'd come in through and another to a well-equipped bathroom, which afforded our only privacy from each other. We'd slept in our clothes on the couches without blankets. It had been chilly.
We'd had no visitors except a Monolithian who brought us food but no enlightenment about our fate. He said not a word to us.
In the morning we took turns in the bathroom, Rod and I shaving and Joy fixing her face and untousling her hair.
"How about the next time the waiter comes in we jump him?" Joy asked.
"And how about him shooting us right in the head?" I said. "You notice he keeps his gun right under the tray."
"Better to be a live coward than a dead hero," Rod said. "Old copy-desk maxim."
"Never saw such level-headed, clear-thinking captives," Joy said. "I admire your restraint."
"He who lives to run away may file his story another day," Rod said. "Old——"
"Don't tell me. Old front-office memo. Well, what's your story going to say, if you ever get to file it?"
"It's going to say Monolithians are no damn good. It's going to say they should go back where they came from, since they don't like it here. On Earth, I mean."
"It seems to beusthey don't like," I said. "Let's write a story, Rod. It'll be something to do."
"Sure, why not? Even if it's published posthumously."
"That's what I like," Joy said. "Optimism. All right, you ace reporters, go ahead and write your story. You can even dictate it to me. I've got the old pad in the old handbag."
Joy took out her steno pad and poised a pencil over it.
Rod lay back on one of the couches. "Fair enough. How shall we start, Sam?"
"Dateline," I said. "Ultra, August whatever-it-is—eleven? That part's easy. Then what? AP? WW?"
"No," Rod said. "Special to the Free Press of the World. By Sam Kent and Rod Harris."
"As told to Joy Linx," I said.
"Sure, put that down," Rod said. "It's going to look like one of those six-man bylines in theNew York Post, but what the hell."
"Thank you, gentlemen. Shall I read back what I've got so far?"
"Don't be flippant. Now let's see. A good lead is half the story. How about, 'Probably the most fantastic plot in Earth's history was being hatched today on the Monolithian super-satellite Ultra.'"
"Take out the 'probably,'" I said. "Earth never had an extraterrestrial plot before."
"Good desk man's deletion. That's giving it the whambo-zambo. Now, second sentence—new paragraph: 'A conspiracy involving substitution of Earth's leading statesmen by Monolithians impersonating them down to the last birthmark'—is that the way you see it, Sam?"
"Exactly," I said. "... 'down to the last birthmark threatens to reduce the world to the status of a colony in an alien empire.'"
"Good," Rod said. "I see we're talking on the same channel. Now: 'The seemingly friendly Monolithians, who made such a well-publicized point of allying themselves, through the United Nations, with Earth's highest aspirations toward peace and brotherhood....'"
We must have worked on it for two hours. When Joy had taken it all down and we'd gone over it with the old editorial pencil, it read like this:
by Sam Kent and Rod Harris as told to Joy LinxULTRA, Aug. 11 (Special to the Free Press of the World)—The most fantastic plot in Earth's history unfolded today in the Monolithian super-satellite Ultra.A conspiracy involving substitution of Earth's leading statesmen by Monolithians impersonating them down to the last birthmark threatened to reduce the world to the status of a colony in an alien empire.The seemingly friendly Monolithians who publicly allied themselves with Earth's highest aspirations toward peace and brotherhood have been unmasked as schemers and plotters bent on conquest—conquest by bloodless subversion if possible, but by force if necessary.Events have made it clear that the ordinary people of Earth, their doubts stilled by the fact that their trusted leaders had agreed to a super-summit meeting, had no way of knowing the great pressures that had been brought to bear on their presidents and prime ministers.The recent "peril"—that of the alleged threat to annihilate the world's major cities by Spaniolan O-bombs—has been revealed by authoritative sources as a gigantic hoax.These sources, who include an official close to the President of the United States, are convinced that the threat never existed. They said it was an incident manufactured by the Monolithians with the willing cooperation of the Spaniolan dictator, General Domingo Sanchez, whose reward was to be the role of ruler of the Caribbean. He, too, is expected to find that he's been a dupe of the aliens, it was learned, and may not live to reap his reward.The O-bombs he professed to have were nonexistent, these sources said. While it seems likely that the Monolithians do possess the "conscience gas" which reportedly ended the threat, there is extreme doubt that it was actually used on Domingo Sanchez—simply because he was a willing tool of the Monolithians and it wasn't necessary.It is believed that knowledge of part of the plot was the factor that induced Earth's leaders to agree to the so-called super-summit meeting here. The Monolithians told them that the Spaniolan bombers—accompanied by refueling planes able to keep them aloft indefinitely—were already airborne and en route to the target cities. Disguised as commercial jet airliners and flying regular flight lanes, they avoided challenge by air defense forces.Faced with the potential destruction of their cities, the world's leaders were forced to agree to the fantastic trip through space, in alien craft, to Ultra. "They were not naïve, as many supposed," one high official said. "They were taking what they believed was the only step possible to save the lives of millions of innocent people."Thus the Monolithians, who held out hope of preventing this unparalleled massacre, were able to entice Earth's top Statesmen into the trap.Once in Ultra, accompanied only by aides and a few military personnel armed feebly with hand guns, they were sitting ducks for the next twist of the alien plot.This was the great substitution of incredibly well-trained Monolithians—transformed by alien medico-science into exact duplicates—for the presidents of the United States and France, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Premier of the Soviet Union, the Chancellor of Germany, and the others who went on the ill-fated journey.From here, the future course of the plot is plain to see. The fake leaders, acclaimed by their people as the saviors of humanity, will be able to do no wrong. Their declarations of faith in the motives of the Monolithians will go unchallenged.The next step—the absolute domination of Earth by the Monolithians—will be a short and terrible one.
by Sam Kent and Rod Harris as told to Joy Linx
ULTRA, Aug. 11 (Special to the Free Press of the World)—The most fantastic plot in Earth's history unfolded today in the Monolithian super-satellite Ultra.
A conspiracy involving substitution of Earth's leading statesmen by Monolithians impersonating them down to the last birthmark threatened to reduce the world to the status of a colony in an alien empire.
The seemingly friendly Monolithians who publicly allied themselves with Earth's highest aspirations toward peace and brotherhood have been unmasked as schemers and plotters bent on conquest—conquest by bloodless subversion if possible, but by force if necessary.
Events have made it clear that the ordinary people of Earth, their doubts stilled by the fact that their trusted leaders had agreed to a super-summit meeting, had no way of knowing the great pressures that had been brought to bear on their presidents and prime ministers.
The recent "peril"—that of the alleged threat to annihilate the world's major cities by Spaniolan O-bombs—has been revealed by authoritative sources as a gigantic hoax.
These sources, who include an official close to the President of the United States, are convinced that the threat never existed. They said it was an incident manufactured by the Monolithians with the willing cooperation of the Spaniolan dictator, General Domingo Sanchez, whose reward was to be the role of ruler of the Caribbean. He, too, is expected to find that he's been a dupe of the aliens, it was learned, and may not live to reap his reward.
The O-bombs he professed to have were nonexistent, these sources said. While it seems likely that the Monolithians do possess the "conscience gas" which reportedly ended the threat, there is extreme doubt that it was actually used on Domingo Sanchez—simply because he was a willing tool of the Monolithians and it wasn't necessary.
It is believed that knowledge of part of the plot was the factor that induced Earth's leaders to agree to the so-called super-summit meeting here. The Monolithians told them that the Spaniolan bombers—accompanied by refueling planes able to keep them aloft indefinitely—were already airborne and en route to the target cities. Disguised as commercial jet airliners and flying regular flight lanes, they avoided challenge by air defense forces.
Faced with the potential destruction of their cities, the world's leaders were forced to agree to the fantastic trip through space, in alien craft, to Ultra. "They were not naïve, as many supposed," one high official said. "They were taking what they believed was the only step possible to save the lives of millions of innocent people."
Thus the Monolithians, who held out hope of preventing this unparalleled massacre, were able to entice Earth's top Statesmen into the trap.
Once in Ultra, accompanied only by aides and a few military personnel armed feebly with hand guns, they were sitting ducks for the next twist of the alien plot.
This was the great substitution of incredibly well-trained Monolithians—transformed by alien medico-science into exact duplicates—for the presidents of the United States and France, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Premier of the Soviet Union, the Chancellor of Germany, and the others who went on the ill-fated journey.
From here, the future course of the plot is plain to see. The fake leaders, acclaimed by their people as the saviors of humanity, will be able to do no wrong. Their declarations of faith in the motives of the Monolithians will go unchallenged.
The next step—the absolute domination of Earth by the Monolithians—will be a short and terrible one.
There was no typewriter in the room, so Joy had transcribed it into longhand.
We were reading the story over and wondering aloud how, if ever, we were going to file it when the door opened. Rod quickly dropped the pages behind the couch.
Our jailer shoved another prisoner into the room and shut the door again. It was Spookie Masters, comedian, bon vivant and world traveler, looking sheepish.
"Pardon the intrusion, folks," Spookie said.
"I didn't know you were aboard," Rod said. "For pete's sake, Spookie, what happened?"
"I stowed away," he said, his usual self-assurance returning. "Didn't want to be left out of this great development in the affairs of men."
"Stowed away?" Joy said admiringly. "How could you? I thought security was as tight as a drum." The hero worship the entertainer always managed to evoke in women was shining in Joy's eyes.
"I guess I oversimplified," Spookie said. "Actually I used pull. Biff Overton's an old friend of mine and I persuaded him to have Gov smuggle me aboard in the guise of a fifth assistant undersecretary. Just consider me one of the striped-pants set."
Overton was only the Secretary of the Treasury. Spookie Masters seemed to know everybody.
"Yeah," Rod told him, "but somewhere along the line you goofed."
"That I did, Roddy my boy. I dropped the jolly old brick. I got bored playing diplomat and started wandering around. Just strolling, and having a look into this corner and that, you know, when it began to dawn on me that everything wasn't strictly kosher."
"For instance?" I asked.
"Little things at first, Sam." I was pleased as a cub that he'd remembered my name. "Like when I wandered into a funny room where they were faking messages between Ultra and Earth."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, it was full of teletypes, like an Army message center I once had the misfortune to be assigned to. It seemed to be a Monolithian relay point. All the stories your colleagues filed passed through it—and they were all being edited or censored. And the incoming cables, or whatever you call them, were getting the same treatment. Lots of bright young men hard at work, doctoring the news of the world. Government messages, too. All Monolithians, I gather—but guess who their boss was, Sam."
"Who?"
"You. I gave you the big hello and you gave me the big vacant stare, and so I got out of there. I'm not an egomaniac, exactly, but I did think it a bit strange that you didn't remember ol' Spookie Masters."
"That wasn't me," I said. "I saw him, too."
"I didn't know then there were two of you. But after I snooped some more and saw two Gov Allisons and two French presidents and two of all the rest, it percolated fast that there was a big deficiency in the up-and-up department. By that time the boys in the wool cloaks were hot on my tail and I ended up here with you other charming spies. I presume that's what you're in for too."
"Where did you see these two sets of summiteers?" Rod asked. "I gather it wasn't long ago."
"Just a few minutes ago," Spookie said. "It was at the big porthole thing—you know, where we transferred from the spaceship. Only they were going out—one set into one spaceship and the other into a second. It's just a hunch, of course, but I sort of got the impression that the wrong presidents were going back to Earth."