"How long ago was that?"
"An hour, maybe."
"While we were still rising. That would make sense. We've stopped again, you know. Professor Garet gave us a bulletin on it."
He had been going ahead of her in the narrow tunnel. Now it widened and they were able to walk side by side. There seemed to be no end to it. But then they came to a sturdy-looking door, padlocked.
"That's that," Don said.
"That's that nothing," she said. "Break it down."
He laughed. "You flatter me. Come on back."
"Don't you think this is at all peculiar? A tunnel starting under an abandoned grandstand, running all this way and ending in a locked door?"
"Maybe this was a station on the underground railway. It looks old enough."
"We're going through that door." She opened her purse and took out a key ring. On it was an extensive collection of keys. Eventually she found one that opened the padlock.
"Well!" he said. "Who taught youthat?"
"Open the door."
The corridor beyond the door was lined—walls, ceiling and floor—with a silvery metal. It continued east a hundred yards or so, swung north and then went east again, widening all the time.
It ended in a great room whose far wall was glass or some equally transparent substance. The room was a huge observatory at the end of Superior but below its rim. They could look down from it, not without a touch of nausea, to the Earth four miles below.
Don, thinking of the surface of Superior above, thought it was as if they were looking out of the gondola slung beneath a dirigible.
Or from one of the lower portholes in a giant flying saucer.
There were clouds below that occasionally hid the Earth from sight. For a minute or more they gazed in silence at the magnificent view.
"This wasn't built in a day," Jen Jervis said at last.
"I should say not," Don agreed. "Millions of years."
She looked at him sharply. "I wasn't talking about the age of the Earth. I mean this room—this lookout post—whatever it is."
He grinned at her. "I agree with you there, too. I'm really a very agreeable fellow, Miss Jervis. Obviously, whoever built it knew well in advance that Superior was going to take off. They also knew how much of it was going up and exactly where this would have to be built so it would be at the edge."
"Under the edge, you mean, with a downward view."
"That's right. From a distance I'd say Superior looked as if someone had cut the end off an orange. The flat part—where the cut was made—is the surface and we're looking out from a piece of the convex skin."
"You put things so simply, Mr. Cort, that even a child could understand," she said acidly.
"Thank you," he said complacently. He had remembered that whoever was listening in for Military Intelligence through the tiny radio under his shirt could have only a vague idea of what was going on. Any little word pictures he could supply, therefore, would help them understand. He had to risk the fact that his companion might think him a bit of an idiot.
Of course with this Geneva Jervis it was easy to lay himself open to the scathing comment and the barbed retort. He imagined she was extremely useful in her role as Girl Friday to Senator Bobby Thebold.
"I don't think this is the work of those boobies at the booby hatch," she was saying.
"I beg your pardon?"
"The Cavalier Institution of Applied Foolishness, whatever they call it. They just wouldn't be capable of an undertaking of this scope."
"Oh, I agree. That's why I let you drag me away from the meeting. It was a lot of pseudo-scientific malarkey. Old Doc Rubach, D.V.M., was going on about the ultimote being connected to the thighbone, way up in the middle of the air. Tell me, who doyouthink is behind it all?"
She was walking around the big-sided room as if taking mental inventory. There wasn't much to catalogue—six straight chairs, heavy and modern-looking, with a large wooden table, a framed piece of dark glass that might be a television set, and a gray steel box about the size and shape of a three-drawer filing cabinet. This last was near the big window-wall and had three black buttons on its otherwise smooth top. Don itched to push the buttons to see what would happen. Jen Jervis seemed to have the same urge. She drummed on the box with her long fingernails.
"I?" she said. "Behind it all?"
"Yes. What's your theory? Is this something for the Un-Earthly Activities Committee to investigate?"
"Don't be impertinent. If the Senator thinks it's his duty to look into it, he will. He undoubtedly is already. In the meantime, I can do no less than gather whatever information I can while I'm on the scene."
"Very patriotic. What do you conclude from your information-gathering so far?"
"Obviously there's some kind of conspiracy—" she began, then stopped as if she suspected a trap.
"—afoot," Don said with a grin. "As I see it, all you do is have Bobby the Bold subpoena everybody up here—every last man-jack of 'em—to testify before his committee. They wouldn't dare refuse."
"I don't find you a bit amusing, Mr. Cort, though I have no doubt this sophomoric humor makes a big hit with your teen-age blonde. We'd better get back. I can see it was a mistake to expect any co-operation from you."
"As you like, Madame Investigator." Don gave her a mock bow, then turned for a last look down at the vast segment of Earth below.
Geneva Jervis screamed.
He whirled to see her standing, big-eyed and open-mouthed, in front of the framed dark glass he had taken for a television screen. Her face was contorted in horror, and as Don's gaze flicked to the screen he had the barest glimpse of a pair of eyes fading with a dissolving image. Then the screen was blank and Don wasn't sure whether there had been a face to go with the eyes—an inhuman, un-earthly face—or whether his imagination had supplied it.
The girl slumped to the floor in a faint.
COLUMBUS, OHIO, Nov. 1 (AP)—Sen. Robert (Bobby) Thebold landed here today after leading his Private Pilots (PP) squadron of P-38's on a reconnaissance flight which resulted in the loss of one of the six World War II fighters in a crash landing on the mysteriously airborne town of Superior, Ohio. The pilot of the crashed plane parachuted safely to Earth.
Sen. Thebold told reporters grimly:
"There is no doubt in my mind that mysterious forces are at work when a town of 3,000 population can rise in a body off the face of the Earth. My reconnaissance has shown conclusively that the town is intact and its inhabitants alive. On one of my passes I saw my secretary, Miss Geneva Jervis."
Sen. Thebold said he was confident Miss Jervis would contact him the moment she had anything to report, indicating she would make an on-the-spot investigation.
The Senator said in reply to a question that he was "amazed" at official Washington's "complete inaction" in the matter, and declared he would demand a probe by the Senate Investigations Subcommittee, of which he is a member. He indicated witnesses might include officials of the Defense Department, the Central Intelligence Agency, and "possibly others."
LADENBURG, Ohio, Nov. 1 (UPI)—Little Ladenburg, former neighbor of "The City in the Sky," complained today of a rain of empty beer cans and other rubbish, apparently being tossed over the edge by residents of airborne Superior.
"They're not so high and mighty," one sanitation official here said, "that they can make Ladenburg their garbage dump."
WASHINGTON, Nov. 1 (Reuters)—American officials today were at a loss to explain the strange behaviour of Superior, Ohio, "the town that took off."
Authoritative sources assured Reuters that no military or scientific experiments were in progress which could account for the phenomenon of a town being lifted intact thousands of feet into the air.
Rumors circulating to the effect that a "Communist plot" was at work were greeted with extreme scepticism in official quarters.
Bulletin
COLUMBUS, Ohio, Nov. 1 (UPI)—The airborne town of Superior began to drift east across Ohio late today.
The unconscious Geneva Jervis, lying crumpled up in the oversized fur coat, was the immediate problem. Don Cort straightened her out so she lay on her back, took off her shoes and propped her ankles on the lower rung of a chair. He found she was wearing a belt and loosened it. It was obvious that she was also wearing a girdle but there wasn't anything he wanted to do about that. He was rubbing one of her wrists when her eyes fluttered open.
She smiled self-consciously. "I guess I was a sissy."
"Not at all. I saw it, too. A pair of eyes."
"And a face! A horrible, horrible face."
"I wasn't sure about the face. Can you describe it?"
She darted a tentative look at the screen but it was comfortingly blank. "It wasn't human. And it was staring right into me. It was awful!"
"Did it have a nose, ears, mouth?"
"I—I can't be sure. Let's get out of here. I'm all right now. Thanks for being so good to me—Don."
"Don't mention it—Jen. Here, put your shoes on."
When he had closed the big wooden door behind them, Don padlocked it again. He preferred to leave things as they'd found them, even though their visit to the observation room was no longer a secret.
He was relieved when they had scrambled up the steps under the grandstand. There had been no sense of anyone or anything following them or spying on them during their long walk through the tunnel.
They were silent with their separate thoughts as they crossed the frosty ground and Jen held Don's arm, more for companionship than support. At the campus the girl excused herself, saying she still felt shaky and wanted to rest in her room. Don went back to the dining room.
The meeting was over but Alis Garet was there, having a cup of tea and reading a book.
"Well, sir," she said, giving him an intent look, "how was the rendezvous?"
"Fair to middling." He was relieved to see that she wasn't angry. "Did anybody say anything while I was gone?"
"Not a coherent word. You don't deserve it but I made notes for you. Running off with that redhead when you have a perfectly adequate blonde. Did you kiss her?"
"Of course not. It was strictly business. Let me see the notes, you angel."
"Notes, then." She handed over a wad of paper.
"Rubach," he read, "Magnology stuff stuff stuff etc. etc. Nothing.
"Q. (Conductor Jas Brown) Wht abt Mayor's proclamation Superior seceded frm Earth?
"A. (Civek) Repeated stuff abt discrimination agnst Spr & Cavlr & bubl gum prices.
"Q. Wht u xpct gain?
"A. Stuff abt end discrimination.
"Q. Sovereignty?
"A. How's that?
"Q. R u trying set up Spr as separate city-state w/govt independent of U S or Earth? ('That Conductor Brown is sharper than I gave him credit for,' Alis elaborated.)
"A. Hem & haw. Well now.
"Q. Well, r u?
"A. (Father, rescuing Civek) Q of sovereignty must remain temporarily up in the air. Laughter (Father's). When & if Spr returns wil acpt state-fed laws as b4 but meantime circs warrant adapt to prevailing conditions.
"Rest of mtg was abt sleeping arngmnts, meals, recreation privileges, clothing etc."
Don folded the notes and put them in his pocket. "Thanks. I see I didn't miss much. The only thing it seems to add is that Mayor Civek is a figurehead, and that if the Cavalier people know anything they're not talking, except in gobbledygook."
"Check," Alis said. "Now let's go take a look at Pittsburgh."
"Pittsburgh?"
"That's where we are now. One of the students who lives there peeped over the edge a while ago. I was waiting for you to come back before I went to have a look."
"Pittsburgh?" Don repeated. "You mean Superior's drifting across the United States?"
"Either that or it's being pushed. Let's go see."
There hadn't been much to see and it had been too cold to watch for long. The lights of Pittsburgh were beginning to go on in the dusk and the city looked pretty and far away. A Pennsylvania Air National Guard plane came up to investigate, but from a respectful distance. Then it flew off.
Don left Alis, shivering, at her door and decided he wanted a drink. He remembered having seen a sign,Club Lyric, down the street from theSentryoffice and he headed for it.
"Sergeant Cort," said a muffled voice under his collar.
Don jumped. He'd forgotten for the moment that he was a walking radio station. "Yes?" he said.
"Reception has been excellent," the voice said. It was no longer that of Captain Simmons. "You needn't recapitulate. We've heard all your conversations and feel we know as much as you do. You'll have to admit it isn't much."
"I'm afraid not. What do you want me to do now? Should I go back and investigate that underground room again? That seems to be the best lead so far."
"No. You're just a bank messenger whose biggest concern was to safeguard the contents of the brief case. Now that the contents are presumably in the bank vault your official worries are over, and though you're curious to know why Superior's acting the way it is, you're willing to let somebody else do something about it."
"But they saw me in the room. Those eyes, whatever they are. I had the feeling—well, that they weren't human."
"Nonsense!" the voice from the Pentagon said. "An ordinary closed-circuit television hookup. Don't let your imagination run away with you, and above all don't play spy. If they're suspicious of anyone it will be of Geneva Jervis because of her connection with Senator Thebold. Where are you going now?"
"Well, sir, I thought—that is, if there's no objection—I thought I'd go have a drink. See what the townspeople are saying."
"Good idea. Do that."
"What are they saying in Washington? Does anybody put any stock in this magnology stuff of Professor Garet's?"
"Facts are being collated. There's been no evaluation yet. You'll hear from us again when there's something to tell you. For now, Cort, carry on. You're doing a splendid job."
The streets were cold, dark, and deserted. The few street lights were feeble and the lights in houses and other buildings seemed dimmer than normal. A biting wind had sprung up and Don was glad when he saw the neon wordsClub Lyricahead.
The bartender greeted him cheerfully. "It ain't a fit night. What'll it be?"
Don decided on a straight shot, to start. "What's going on?" he asked. "Where's the old town going?"
The bartender shrugged. "Let Civek worry about that. It's what we pay him for, ain't it?"
"I suppose so. How're you fixed for liquor? Big supply?"
"Last a coupla weeks unless people start drinking more than usual. Beer'll run out first."
"That's right, I guess. But aren't you worried about being up in the air like this?"
The bartender shrugged again. "Not much I can do about it, is there? Want another shot?"
"Mix it this time. A little soda. Is that the general attitude? Business as usual?"
"I hear some business is picking up. Lot of people buying winter clothes, for one thing, weather turning cold the way it did. And Dabney Brothers—they run the coal and fuel oil company—got enough orders to keep them going night and day for a week."
"That's fine. But when they eventually run out, like you, then what? Everybody freeze to death?"
The bartender made a thoughtful face. "You got something there. Oh, hello, Ed. Kinda brisk tonight."
It was Ed Clark, the newspaperman. Clark nodded to the bartender, who began to mix him a martini. "Freeze the ears off a brass monkey," Clark said, joining Don. "I have an extra pair of earmuffs if you'd like them."
"Thanks," Don said, "but I think I'd better buy myself some winter clothes tomorrow and return yours."
"Suit yourself. Planning to settle down here?"
"I don't seem to have much choice. Anything new at your end?"
Clark lifted his brimming glass and took a sip. "Here's to a mild winter. New? I guess you know we're in Pennsylvania now and not Ohio.OverPennsylvania, I should say. Don't ask me why, unless Hector Civek thinks Superior will get a better break, taxwise."
"You think the mayor's behind it all?"
"He has his delusions of grandeur, like a lot of people here. But I do think Hector knows more than he's telling. Some of the merchants—mostly those whose business hasn't benefited by the cold wave—have called a meeting for tomorrow. They want to pump him."
"He wasn't exactly a flowing spout at Cavalier this afternoon when the people from the train wanted answers."
"So that's where he was. They couldn't find him at Town Hall."
"Where's it all going to end? If we keep on drifting we'll be over the Atlantic—next stop Europe. Then Superior will be crossing national boundaries instead of just state lines, and some country may decide we're violating its air space and shoot us out of the sky."
"I see you take the long view," Clark said.
"Is there any other?" Don asked. "The alternative is to kid ourselves that everything's all right and trust in Providence and Hector Civek. What is it with you people? You don't seem to realize that sixteen square miles of solid earth, and three thousand people, have taken off to go waltzing through the sky. That isn't just something that happens. Something or somebody's making it happen. The question is who or what, and what are you going to do about it?"
The bartender said, "The boy's right, Ed. How do we know they won't take us up higher—up where there's no air? Then we'd be cooked."
Clark laughed. "'Cooked' is hardly the word. But I agree that things are getting out of hand." He set down his glass with a clink. "I know the man we want. Old Doc Bendy. He could stir things up. Remember the time they tried to run the pipeline through town and Doc formed a citizens committee and stopped them?"
"Stopped them dead," the bartender recalled, then cleared his throat. "Speak of the devil." He raised his voice and greeted the man who had just walked in. "Well, Doc. Long time since we've had the pleasure of your company. Nice to see you."
Doc Bendy was an imposing old gentleman of more than average height and magnificent girth. He carried a paunch with authority. His hands, at the ends of short arms, seemed to fall naturally to it, and he patted the paunch with satisfaction as he spoke. He was dressed for the cold weather in an old frock coat, black turning green, with a double line of oversized buttons down the front and huge eighteenth-century lapels. He wore a battered black slouch hat which long ago had given up the pretense of holding any particular shape.
"Salutations, gentlemen!" Doc Bendy boomed, striding majestically toward the bar. "They tell me our peripatetic little town has just passed Pittsburgh. I'd have thought it more likely we'd crossed the Arctic Circle. Rum, bartender, is the only suitable potable for the occasion."
Clark introduced Don, who saw that close up Doc Bendy's face was full and firm rather than fat. The nose had begun to develop the network of visible blood vessels which indicated a fondness for the bottle. Shaggy white eyebrows matched the fringe of white hair that sprouted from under the sides and back of the slouch hat. The eyes themselves were alert and humorous. The mouth rose subtly at the corners and, though Bendy never seemed to smile outright, it conveyed the same humor as the eyes. These two features, in fact, saved the old man from seeming pompous.
Don noticed that the rum the bartender poured for Bendy was 151 proof and the portion was a generous one.
Bendy raised his glass. "Your health, gentlemen." He took a sip and put it down. "I might also drink to a happy voyage, destination unknown."
"Don here thinks we're in danger of drifting over Europe."
"A distinct possibility," Bendy said. "Your passports are in order, I trust? I remember the first time I went to the Continent. It was with Black Jack Pershing and the AEF."
"Were you in the Medical Corps, sir?" Don asked.
Doc Bendy boomed with laughter, holding his paunch. "Bless your soul, lad, I'm no doctor. I was on the board of directors of Superior's first hospital, hence the title. A mere courtesy, conferred on me by a grateful citizenry."
"The citizens might be looking to you again, Doc," Clark said, "since their elected representatives are letting them down."
"But notbringingthem down, eh? Suppose you tell me what you know, Mr. Editor. I assume you're the best-informed man on the situation, barring the conspirators who have dragged us aloft."
"You think it's a conspiracy?"
"It's not an act of God."
Clark began to fill an ancient pipe, so well caked that the pencil with which he tamped the tobacco barely fitted into the bowl. By the time the pipe was ready for a match he had exhausted the solid facts. Don then took over and described the underground passage he had seen that afternoon. He was about to go further when the old man held up a hand.
"The facts only, if you please. Mr. Cort, what you saw in the underground chamber fits in remarkably with something I stumbled on this afternoon while I was skating."
"Skating?" Clark said.
"Ice skating. At North Lake. It's completely frozen over and I'm not so decrepit that I can't glide on a pair of blades. Well, I was gliding along, humming theSkater's Waltz, when I tripped over a stump. When I said I stumbled on something I was speaking literally, because I fell flat. While I lay there, with the breath knocked out of me, my face was only an inch from the ice and I realized I was eye-to-eye with a thing. Just as you were, Mr. Cort."
"You mean there was something under the ice?"
"Exactly. Staring up at me. Balefully, I suppose you could say, as if it resented my presence."
"Did you see the whole face?"
"I'd be embroidering if I said yes. It seemed—but I must stick to the facts. I saw only the eyes. Two perfectly circular eyes, which glared at me for a moment, then disappeared."
"It could have been a fish," Clark said.
"No. A fish is about the most expressionless thing there is, while these eyes had intelligence behind them. None of your empty, fishy stares."
Clark knocked his pipe against the edge of the bar so the ashes fell in the vicinity of an old brass cuspidor. "So, since what you and Don saw were both under the surface, we could put two and two together and assume that some kind of alien beings have taken up residence in Superior's lower levels?"
"Only if you think two and two make five," Doc Bendy said. "But even if they don't, there's a great deal more going on than Civek knows, or the Garet-Rubach crowd at Cavalier will admit. It seems to me, gentlemen, that it's time I set up a committee."
Miss Leora Frisbie, spinster, was found dead in the mushroom cellar of her home on Ryder Avenue in the northeastern part of town. She had been sitting in a camp chair, bundled in heavy clothing, when she died. She had been subject to heart trouble and that fact, coupled with notes she had been making on a pad in her lap, led the coroner to believe she had been frightened to death.
The first entry on the pad said:Someone stealing my mushrooms; must keep vigil. The notes continued:
Sitting in chair near stairs. Single 60-w. bulb dims, gravity increases. Superior rising again? Movement in corner—soil being pushed up from underneath. Hand. Hand? Claw!
Claw withdraws.
Head. Rat? No. Bigger.
Human? No. But the eyes eyes ey
That was all.
Photostatic copies of the late Miss Frisbie's notes and the coroner's report became exhibits one and two in Doc Bendy's dossier. Exhibit three was a carbon copy of a report by the stock control clerk at the bubble gum factory.
Bubble gum had been piling up in the warehouse on the railroad siding back of Reilly Street. The stock control clerk, Armand Specht, was taking inventory when he saw a movement at the far end of the warehouse. His report follows:
Investigated and found carton had been dislodged from top of pile and broken into. Gross of Cheeky brand missing. Saw something sitting with back to me opening packages, stuffing gum into mouth, wax paper and all, half-dozen at time. Looked like overgrown chimpanzee. It turned and saw me, continuing to chew. Didn't get clear look before it disappeared but noticed two things: one, that its cheeks bulged out from chewing so much gum at once, and other, that its eyes were round and bright, even in dim corner. Then animal turned and disappeared behind pile of Cheekys. No chimpanzee. Didn't follow right away but when I did it was gone.
Exhibit four:
Dear Diary:
There wasn't any TV tonight and I asked Grandfather Bendy what to do and he said "Marie, when I was young, boys and girls made their own fun" and so I got out the Scrabble and asked Mom and Dad to play but they said no they had to go to the Warners and play bridge. So they went and I was playing pretending I was both sides when the door opened and I said Hello Grandfather but it wasn't him it was like a kangaroo and it had big eyes that were friendly.
After a while I went over and scratched its ears and it liked that and then it went over to the table and looked at the Scrabble. I thought wouldn't it be funny if it could play but it couldn't. But it could spell! It had hands like claws with long black fingernails and fur on them (the fingers) and it pushed the letters around so they spelled Name and I spelled out Marie.
Then I spelled out Who are you and it spelled Gizl.
Then I spelled How old are you and it put all the blank spaces together.
I said Where do you live and it spelled Here. Then I changed to Where do you come from and it pointed to the blanks again.
The gizl went away before Mom and Dad came home and I didn't tell them about it but I'll tell Grandfather Bendy because he understands better about things like the time I had an invisible friend.
Don Cort went to bed in the dormitory at Cavalier with the surprised realization that it had been only twenty-four hours since Superior took off. It seemed more like a week. When he woke up the floating town was over New York.
Some high-flying skywriters were at work.Welcome Superior—Drink Pepsi-Colatheir message said.
Don dressed quickly and hurried to the brink. Alis Garet was there among a little crowd, bundled up in a parka.
"Is that the Hudson River?" she asked him. "Where's the Empire State Building?"
"Yes," he said. "Haven't you ever been to New York? I can't quite make it out. It's somewhere south of that patch of green—that's Central Park."
"No, I've never been out of Ohio. I thought New York was a big city."
"It's big enough. Don't forget we're four miles up. Have you seen any planes besides the skywriters?"
"Just some airliners, way down," she said. "Were you expecting someone?"
"Seeing how it's our last port of call, I thought there might be some Federal boys flying around. I shouldn't think they'd want a chunk of their real estate exported to Europe."
"Are we going to Europe?"
"Bound to if we don't change course."
"Why?"
"My very next words were going to be 'Don't ask me why.' I ask you. You're closer to the horse's mouth than I am."
"If you mean Father," Alis said, "I told you I don't enjoy his confidence."
"Haven't you even got an inkling of what he's up to?"
"I'm sure he's not the Master Mind, if that's what you mean."
"Then who is? Rubach? Civek? The chief of police? Or the bubble gum king, whoever he is?"
"Cheeky McFerson?" She laughed. "I went to grade school with him and if he's got a mind I never noticed it."
"McFerson? He's just a kid, isn't he?"
"His father died a couple of years ago and Cheeky's the president on paper, but the business office runs things. We call him Cheeky because he always had a wad of company gum in his cheek. Supposed to be an advertisement. But he never gave me any and I always chewed Wrigley's for spite."
"Oh." Don chewed the inside of his own cheek and watched the coastline. "That's Connecticut now," he said. "We're certainly not slowing down for customs."
A speck, trailing vapor through the cold upper air, headed toward them from the general direction of New England. As it came closer Don saw that it was a B-58 Hustler bomber. He recognized it by the mysterious pod it carried under its body, three-quarters as long as the fuselage.
"It's not going to shoot us down, is it?" Alis asked.
"Hardly. I'm glad to see it. It's about time somebody took an interest in us besides Bobby Thebold and his leftover Lightnings."
The B-58 rapidly closed the last few miles between them, banked and circled Superior.
"Attention people of Superior," a voice from the plane said. The magnified words reached them distinctly through the cold air. "Inasmuch as you are now leaving the continental United States, this aircraft has been assigned to accompany you. From this point on you are under the protection of the United States Air Force."
"That's better," Don said. "It's not much, but at least somebody's doing something."
The B-58 streaked off and took up a course in a vast circle around them.
"I'm not so sure I like having it around," Alis said. "I mean suppose they find out that Superior's controlled by—I don't know—let's say a foreign power, or an alien race. Once we're out over the Atlantic where nobody else could get hurt, wouldn't they maybe consider it a small sacrifice to wipe out Superior to get rid of the—the alien?"
Don looked at her closely. "What's this about an alien? What do you know?"
"I don'tknowanything. It's just a feeling I have, that this is bigger than Father and Mayor Civek and all the self-important VIP's in Superior put together." She squeezed his arm as if to draw comfort from him. "Maybe it's seeing the ocean and realizing the vastness of it, but for the first time I'm beginning to feel a little scared."
"I won't say there's nothing to be afraid of," Don said. He pulled her hand through his arm. "It isn't as though this were a precedented situation. But whatever's going on, remember there are some pretty good people on our side, too."
"I know," she said. "And you're one of them."
He wondered what she meant by that. Nothing, probably, except "Thank you for the reassurance." He decided that was it; the mechanical eavesdropper he wore under his collar was making him too self-conscious. He tried to think of something appropriate to say to her that he wouldn't mind having overheard in the Pentagon.
Nothing occurred to him, so he drew Alis closer and gave her a quick, quiet kiss.
The crowd of people looking over the edge had grown. Judging by their number, few people were in school or at their jobs today. Yesterday they had seemed only mildly interested in what their town was up to but today, with the North American continent about to be left behind, they were paying more attention. Yet Don could see no signs of alarm on their faces. At most there was a reflection of wonder, but not much more than there might be among a group of Europeans seeing New York Harbor from shipboard for the first time. An apathetic bunch, he decided, who would be resigned to their situation so long as the usual pattern of their lives was not interfered with unduly. What they lacked, of course, was leadership.
"It's big, isn't it?" Alis said. She was looking at the Atlantic, which was virtually the only thing left to see except the bright blue sky, a strip of the New England coast, and the circling bomber.
"It's going to get bigger," Don said. "Shall we go across town and take a last look at the States?" He also wanted to see what, if anything, was going on in town.
"Not the last, I hope. I'd prefer a round trip."
An enterprising cab driver opened his door for them. "Special excursion rate to the west end," he said. "One buck."
"You're on," Don said. "How's business?"
"Not what you'd call booming. No trains to meet. No buses. Hi, Alis. This isn't one of your father's brainstorms come to life, is it?"
"Hi, Chuck," she said. "I seriously doubt it, though I'm sure you'd never get him to admit it. How are your wife and the boy?"
"Fine. That boy, he's got some imagination. He's digging a hole in the back yard. Last week he told us he was getting close to China. This week it's Australia. He said at supper last night that they must have heard about this hole and started digging from the other end. They've connected up, according to him, and he had quite a conversation with a kangaroo."
"A kangaroo?" Don sat up straight.
"Yeah. You know how kids are. I guess he's studying Australia in geography."
"What did the kangaroo tell your son?"
The cab driver laughed defensively. "There's nothing wrong with the boy. He's just got an active mind."
"Of course. When I was a kid I used to talk to bears. But what did he say the kangaroo talked about?"
"Oh, just crazy stuff—like the kangaroos didn't like it Down Under any more and were coming up here because it was safer."
Later that morning, at about the time Don Cort estimated that Superior had passed the twelve-mile limit—east from the coast, not up—the Superior State Bank was held up.
A man clearly recognized as Joe Negus, a small-time gambler, and one other man had driven up to the bank in Negus' flashy Buick convertible. They walked up to the head teller, threatened him with pistols and demanded all the money in all the tills. They stuffed the bills in a sack, got into their car and drove off. They took nothing from the customers and made no attempt to take anything from the vault.
The fact that they ignored the vault made Don feel better. He thought when he first heard about the robbery that the men might have been after the brief case he'd stored there, which would have meant that he was under suspicion. But apparently the job was a genuine heist, not a cover-up for something else.
Police Chief Vincent Grande reached the scene half an hour after the criminals left it. His car had frozen up and wouldn't start. He arrived by taxi, red-faced, fingering the butt of his holstered service automatic.
Negus and his confederate, identified as a poolroom lounger named Hank Stacy, had gotten away with a hundred thousand dollars.
"I didn't know there was that much money in town," was Grande's comment on that. While he was asking other questions the telephone rang and someone told the bank president he'd seen Negus and Stacy go into the poolroom. In fact, the robbers' convertible was parked blatantly in front of the place.
Grande, looking as if he'd rather be dog catcher, got back into the taxi.
Joe Negus and Hank Stacy were sitting on opposite sides of a pool table when the police chief got there, dividing the money in three piles. A third man stood by, watching closely. He was Jerry Lynch, a lawyer. He greeted Grande.
"Morning, Vince," he said easily. "Come to shoot a little pool?"
"I'll shoot some bank robbers if they don't hand over that money," Grande said. He had his gun out and looked almost purposeful.
Negus and Stacy made no attempt to go for their guns, Stacy seemed nervous but Negus went on counting the money without looking up.
"Is it your money, Vince?" Jerry Lynch asked.
"You know damn well whose money it is. Now let's have it."
"I'm afraid I couldn't do that," the lawyer said. "In the first place I wouldn't want to, thirty-three and a third per cent of it being mine, and in the second place you have no authority."
"I'm the chief of police," Grande said doggedly. "I don't want to spill any blood—"
"Don't flash your badge at me, Vince," Lynch said. Negus had finished counting the money and the lawyer took one of the piles and put it in various pockets. "I said you had no authority. Bank robbery is a federal offense. Not that I admit there's been a robbery. But if you suspect a crime it's your duty to go to the proper authorities. The FBI would be indicated, if you know where they can be reached."
"Yeah," Joe Negus said. "Go take a flying jump for yourself, Chief."
"Listen, you cheap crook—"
"Hardly cheap, Vince," Lynch said. "And not even a crook, in my professional opinion. Mr. Negus pleads extra-territoriality."
That was the start of Superior's crime wave.
Somebody broke the plate-glass window of George Tocher's dry-goods store and got away with blankets, half a dozen overcoats and several sets of woolen underwear.
A fuel-oil truck disappeared from the street outside of Dabney Brothers' and was found abandoned in the morning. About nine hundred gallons had been drained out—as if someone had filled his cellar tank and a couple of his neighbors'.
The back door of the supermarket was forced and somebody made off with a variety of groceries. The missing goods would have just about filled one car.
Each of these crimes was understandable—Superior's growing food and fuel shortage and icy temperatures had led a few people to desperation.
But there were other incidents. Somebody smashed the window at Kimbrough's Jewelry Store and snatched a display of medium-priced watches.
Half a dozen young vandals sneaked into the Catholic Church and began toppling statues of the saints. When they were surprised by Father Brian they fled, bombarding him with prayer books. One of the books shattered a stained-glass window depicting Christ dispensing loaves and fishes.
Somebody started a fire in the movie-house balcony and nearly caused a panic.
Vincent Grande rushed from place to place, investigating, but rarely learned enough to make an arrest. The situation was becoming unpleasant. Superior had always been a friendly place to live, where everyone knew everyone else, at least to say hello to, but now there was suspicion and fear, not to mention increasing cold and threatened famine.
Everyone was cheered up, therefore, when Mayor Hector Civek announced a mass meeting in Town Square. Bonfires were lit and the reviewing stand that was used for the annual Founders' Day parade was hauled out as a speaker's platform.
Civek was late. The crowd, bundled up against the cold, was stamping their feet and beginning to shout a bit when he arrived. There was a medium-sized cheer as the mayor climbed to the platform.
"Fellow citizens," he began, then stopped to search through his overcoat pockets.
"Well," he went on, "I guess I put the speech in an inside pocket and it's too cold to look for it. I know what it says, anyway."
This brought a few laughs. Don Cort stood near the edge of the crowd and watched the people around him. They mostly had a no-nonsense look about them, as if they were not going to be satisfied with more oratory.
Civek said, "I'm not going to keep you standing in the cold and tell you what you already know—how our food supplies are dwindling, how we're using up our stocks of coal and fuel oil with no immediate hope of replacement—you know all that."
"We sure do, Hector," somebody called out.
"Yes; so, as I say, I'm not going to talk about what the problem is. We don't need words—we need action."
He paused as if he expected a cheer, or applause, but the crowd merely waited for him to go on.
"If Superior had been hit by a flood or a tornado," Civek said, "we could look to the Red Cross and the State or Federal Government for help. But we've been the victims of a far greater misfortune, torn from the bosom of Mother Earth and flung—"
"Oh, come on, Hector," an old woman said. "We're getting froze."
"I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Potts," Civek said. "You should be home where it's warm."
"We ran out of coal for the furnace and now we're running out of logs. Are you going to do something about that?"
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do, Mrs. Potts, for you and all the other wonderful people here tonight. We're going to put a stop to this lawlessness we never had before. We're going to make Superior a place to be proud of. Superior has changed—risen, you might say, to a new status. We're more than a town, now. We're free and separate, not only from Ohio, but from the United States.
"We're a sovereign place, a—a sovereignty, and we need new methods to cope with new conditions, to restore law and order, to see that all our subjects—our citizen-subjects—are provided for."
The crowd had become hushed as Civek neared his point.
"To that noble end," Civek went on, "I dedicate myself, and I take this momentous step and hereby proclaim the existence of the Kingdom of Superior"—he paused to take a deep breath—"and proclaim myself its first King."
He stopped. His oratory had carried him to a climax and he didn't quite know where to go from there. Maybe he expected cheers to carry him over, but none came. There was complete silence except for the crackling of the bonfires.
But after a moment there was a shuffling of feet and a whispering that grew to a murmur. Then out of the murmur came derisive shouts and catcalls.
"King Hector the First!" somebody hooted. "Long live the king!"
The words could have been gratifying but the tone of voice was all wrong.
"Where's Hector's crown?" somebody else cried. "Hey, Jack, did you forget to bring the crown?"
"Yeah," Jack said. "I forgot. But I got a rope over on my truck. We could elevate him that way."
Jack was obviously joking, but a group of men in another part of the crowd pushed toward the platform. "Yeah," one of them said, "let's string him up."
A woman at the back of the crowd screamed. Two hairy figures about five feet tall appeared from the darkness. They were kangaroo-like, with long tails. No one tried to stop them, and the creatures reached the platform and pulled Hector down. They placed him between them and, their way clear now, began to hop away.
Their hops grew longer as they reached the edge of the square. Their leaps had become prodigious as they disappeared in the direction of North Lake, Civek in his heavy coat looking almost like one of them.
Don Cort couldn't tell whether the creatures were kidnaping Civek or rescuing him.
Hector Civek hadn't been found by the time Judge Helms' court convened at 10:00 A.M.
Joe Negus was there, wearing a new suit and looking confident. His confederate, Hank Stacy, was obviously trying to achieve the same poise but not succeeding. Jerry Lynch, their lawyer, was talking to Ed Clark.
Don Cort took a seat the editor had saved for him in the front row. Alis Garet came in and sat next to him. "I cut my sociology class," she told him. "Anybody find His Majesty yet?"
"No," Don said. "Who gave him that crackpot idea?"
"He's had big ideas ever since he ran for the State Assembly. He got licked then, but this is the first time he's been kidnaped. Or should it be kanganaped? Poor Hector. I shouldn't joke about it."
Judge Helms, who was really a justice of the peace, came in through a side door and the clerk banged his gavel. But the business of the court did not get under way immediately. Someone burst in from the street and shouted:
"He's back! Civek's back!"
The people at the rear of the room rushed out to see. In a moment they were crowding back in behind Hector Civek's grand entrance.
"Oh, no," Alis said. "Don't tell me he made it this time!"
Civek was wearing the trappings of royalty. He walked with dignity down the aisle, an ermine robe on his shoulders, a crown on his head and a scepter in his right hand.
He nodded benignly about him. "Good morning, Judge," he said. To the clerk he said, "Frank, see to our horses, will you?"
"Horses?" the clerk said, blinking.
"Our royal coach is without, and the horses need attending to," Civek said patiently. "You don't think a king walks, do you?"
The clerk went out, puzzled. Judge Helms took off his pince-nez and regarded the spectacle of Hector Civek in ermine.
"What is all this, Hector?" he asked. "You weren't serious about that king business, were you? Nice to see you back safe, by the way."
"We would prefer to be addressed the first time as Your Majesty, Judge," Civek said. "After that you can call us sir."
"Us?" the judge asked. "Somebody with you?"
"The royal 'we,'" Civek said. "I see I'll have to issue a proclamation on the proper forms of address. I mean,we'llhave to. Takes a bit of getting used to, doesn't it?"
"Quite a bit," the judge agreed. "But right now, if you don't mind, this court is in session and has a case before it. Suppose you make your royal self comfortable and we'll get on with it—as soon as my clerk is back from attending to the royal horses."
The clerk returned and whispered in the judge's ear. Helms looked at Civek and shook his head. "Six of them, eh? I'll have a look later. Right now we've got a bank robbery case on the calendar."
Vincent Grande talked and Jerry Lynch talked and Judge Helms listened and looked up statutes and pursed his lips thoughtfully. Joe Negus cleaned his nails. Hank Stacy bit his.
Finally the judge said, "I hate to admit this, but I'm afraid I must agree with you, counselor. The alleged crime contravened no local statute, and in the absence of a representative of the Federal Government I must regretfully dismiss the charges."
Joe Negus promptly got up and began to walk out.
"Just a minute there, varlet!"
It was Hector Civek doing his king bit.
Negus, who probably had been called everything else in his life, paused and looked over his shoulder.
"Approach!" Civek thundered.
"Nuts, Your Kingship," Negus said. "Nobody stops me now." But before he got to the door something stopped him in mid-stride.
Civek had pointed his scepter at Negus in that instant. Negus, stiff as a stop-action photograph, toppled to the floor.
"Now," Civek said, motioning to Judge Helms to vacate the bench, "we'll dispense some royal justice."
He sat down, arranging his robes and shifting his heavy crown. "Mr. Counselor Lynch, we take it you represent the defendants?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," said the lawyer, an adaptable man. "What happened to Negus, sir? Is he dead?"
"He could have been, if we'd given him another notch. No, he's just suspended. Let him be an example to anyone else who might incur our royal wrath. Now, counselor, we are familiar enough with the case to render an impartial verdict. We find the defendants guilty of bank robbery."
"But Your Majesty," Lynch said, "bank robbery is not a crime under the laws of Superior. I submit that there has been no crime—inasmuch as the incident occurred after Superior became detached from Earth, and therefore from its laws."
"There is the King's Law," Civek said. "We decree bank robbery a crime, together with all other offenses against the county, state and country which are not specifically covered in Superior's statutes."
"Retroactively?" Lynch asked.
"Of course. We will now pronounce sentence. First, restitution of the money, except for ten per cent to the King's Bench. Second, indefinite paralysis for Negus. We'll straighten out his arms and legs so he'll take up less room. Third, probation for Hank Stacy here, with a warning to him to stay out of bad company. Court's adjourned."
Civek wouldn't say where he'd got the costume or the coach-and-six or the paralyzing scepter. He refused to say where the two kangaroo-like creatures had taken him. He allowed his ermine to be fingered, holding the scepter out of reach, talked vaguely about better times to come now that Superior was a monarchy, then ordered his coach.
By royal decree Hank Stacy, who had been inching toward the door, became royal coachman, commanded to serve out his probation in the king's custody. Stacy drove Civek home. No one seemed to remember who had been at the reins when the coach first appeared.
Ed Clark was setting type for an extra when Don and Alis visited his shop.
King's in Business, the headline said.
"You don't sound like a loyal subject," Don said.
"Can't say I am," Clark admitted. "Guess I won't get to be a royal printer."
"What's the story about?" Alis asked. "The splendid triumph of justice in court this morning?"
"No. Everybody knows all about that already. I've got the inside story—what happens next. Just likeThe New York Times."
"Where'd you get it?" Don asked.
Clark winked. "Like Scotty Reston, I am not at liberty to divulge my sources. Let's just say it was learned authoritatively."
"Well," Alis said, "what does happen next?"
"'His Unconstitutional Majesty, King Hector I, will attempt to prop up his shaky monarchy by seeking an ambassador from the United States, theSentrylearned today. Such recognition, if obtained, would be followed immediately by a demand for "foreign aid."
"'It is the thesis of the self-proclaimed king—known until 24 hours ago as just plain Hector—that the satellite status of Superior, the traveling townoid, makes it a potentially effective arm of U. S. diplomacy. King Hector will point out to the State Department the benefits of bolstering Superior's economy, especially during its expected foray over Europe and, barring such misfortune as being shot down en route, into the Soviet domain.
"'The King will not suggest in so many words that Superior would make a good spy platform, but the implication is there. It will also be implied that unless economic aid—which in plain English means food and fuel to keep Superior from starving and freezing to death—is forthcoming from the United States, Superior may choose the path of neutrality ...'
"That's as far as I've got," Clark said.
"I suppose the 'path of neutrality' means Superior might consider hiring itself out to the highest bidder?" Don asked.
"That would be one way of putting it," Clark said. "Undiplomatic but accurate."
"How does Civek intend to get his message to Washington?" asked Don, aware that it had already been transmitted to the Pentagon via the transceiver under his collar. "Bottle over the side?"
"My sources tell me they've got WCAV working on short wave. That right, Alis?"
"Don't ask me. I only live there."
"Do you still think Civek is fronting for the Cavalier crowd?" Don asked her.
"I don't remember saying that," she said. "I think I agreed with you when you said Civek was ineffectual. Who doyouthink is behind him? Do you think he's king of the kangaroos?"
"Well," Don said, "they're the ones who took him away last night. And when he came back this morning he had all the trappings. He didn't get that coach-and-six from foreign aid."
Ed Clark said, "This is all very fascinating, kids, but it's not helping me get out my extra. Don, why don't you take the little lady out to lunch? You can continue your theorizing over the blueplate special at the Riverside Inn. Only place in town still open, they tell me."
Doc Bendy was hurrying out of the Riverside Inn as they reached it. He waved to them. "Save your money. His Gracious Majesty is throwing a free lunch for everybody."
"Where?"
"At the palace, of course."
"What palace?" Alis asked.
"The bubble gum factory. He's taken it over."
"Why the gum factory?"
"Cheeky McFerson offered it to him. Not the factory itself but the big old house near the west wing. The mansion that's been closed up since the old man died. They say Cheeky's been given a title as part of the bargain."
"Sir Cheeky?" Alis asked, giggling.
"Something like that. Lord Chicle, maybe, or Baron de Mouthful. Come on. It should be quite a show."
Dozens of people were in the streets, all heading in the same direction. Word of the king's largess spread fast and, on the factory grounds, guards were directing the crowd to a line that disappeared into a side door of the old McFerson mansion.
A flag flew from the top of a pole at the front of the house. It was whipping in a stiff breeze and Don couldn't make out the device, except that a crown formed part of it.
One of the guards recognized Alis Garet and directed her to the front door. She took Doc Bendy and Don by their arms. "Come on," she said. "We're VIP's. Father must have sworn allegiance."
The chief of police was sitting behind a desk in the wide front hall but he now wore a military tunic with a chestful of decorations (including the Good Conduct Medal, Sergeant Cort noticed), and the visor of his military cap was overrun with gold curlicues.
"Well, Vince," Bendy said. "I see you got in on the ground floor."
"General Sir Vincent Grande, Minister of Defense," Grande said with a stiff little bow, "at your service."
"Enchanted," Bendy said, bowing back. "Tell me, Vince, how do you keep a straight face?"
"I'll overlook that, Bendy, and I'll give you a friendly tip. The country is on a sound basis now and we intend to keep it that way. Obstructionists will be dealt with."
"The country, eh? Well, let's go in and see how it's being run."
A clattery hubbub came from the big room on the right. To Don it sounded like any GI mess hall. It also looked like one. The line of people coming in through the side door helped themselves to tin trays and silverware, then moved slowly past a row of huge pots from which white-coated men and women ladled out food. At the end of the serving line stood Cheeky McFerson, splendid in purple velvet. He was putting a piece of bubble gum on each tray.
On the other side of the room, opposite the servers, King Hector sat on a raised chair, crown on head, scepter in hand, nodding benevolently to anyone who looked at him. On each side of the king, sitting in lower chairs, were members of what must have been his court. Professor Osbert Garet was one of them, and Maynard Rubach, president of the Cavalier Institute of Applied Sciences, was another.
"Oh, dear, there's Father," Alis said in dismay. "What is that silly hat he's wearing? It makes him look like Merlin."
"But Civek doesn't look a bit like King Arthur," Bendy said. "Let's go pay our respects. Straight faces, now."
"Ah, my dear," the king said when he saw Alis. "And gentlemen. Welcome to our court. May we introduce two of our associates? Sir Osbert Garet, Royal Astronaut, and Lord Rubach, Minister of Education."
"Father!" Alis spoke sharply to the Royal Astronaut. "How silly can you get?"
"Now, now, child," the king said reprovingly. "You must not risk our displeasure. For the time being our rule must be absolute—until the safety of our kingdom has been assured. Sir Osbert," he said, "we trust that at a more propitious time you will have a serious talk with your charming but impetuous daughter."
"My liege, I shall deal with her," the Royal Astronaut said, glowering at Alis. "As Your Majesty has so wisely observed, she is but a slip of a girl."
Her father's apparent sincerity left Alis speechless. She looked from Bendy to Don, but they seemed to consider discretion and masklike faces the better part of candor.
"Well spoken, Sir Osbert," the king said. He clapped his hands and a servant jumped. "Dinner for these three. Find a table, my friends, and you will be served."
Don firmly guided Alis away. She had seemed about to explode. They found an empty table out of earshot of the king, and three footmen looking like refugees fromAlice in Wonderlandimmediately began to serve them.
Bendy spread a napkin over his lap. "Let's curb our snickers and fill our stomachs," he said, "and later we can go out behind the barn and laugh our heads off. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open."
They were eating meat loaf and potatoes. The meat loaf was so highly spiced that it could have been almost anything.
"I wonder where His Worship got all the grub," Alis said.
"I don't know," Don said, "but it certainly doesn't look as if he needs any foreign aid."
Alis put down her fork suddenly and her eyes got big. She said, "You don't suppose—"
"Suppose what?" Bendy said, spearing a small potato.
"I just had a horrible thought." She laughed feebly. "It's ridiculous, of course, but I wondered if by any chance we were eating Joe Negus."
"Don't be silly," Don said, but he put down his fork too.
"Of course it's ridiculous," Bendy said. "Hector only put Negus to sleep. He didn't kill him. Besides, Joe Negus wouldn't stretch far enough to feed this crowd."
"Is that why you're not eating any more?" Alis asked him.
"Why, no," Bendy said. "It's merely that I've had enough. It's true that Hector could have used his scepter on other transgressors, but—no, I refuse to admit that he's turned cannibal."
"Heisn't eating," Don pointed out.
"I'll guarantee you he has, though. I've never known Hector to miss a meal. No. Hector may be a fool and a dupe, and power-hungry to boot, but he's not a cruel man, or a deranged one."
"No?" Alis said. "I dare you to ask him what's in the meat loaf."
"All right." Bendy got up. "I'll ask to see the kitchen—to compliment the chef. Want to come?"
"No, thanks. I might be mean to Father again."
She and Don watched Doc Bendy go to the improvised throne and talk to Civek. The king laughed and stood up and he and Bendy crossed the room. They went through a door behind the line of servers.
Don pushed his plate away. "You've certainly spoiled my appetite."
"I'm sorry," Alis said. "Maybe it's hereditary. Look at Father in that idiot hat. Sir Osbert! Honestly, Don, if we ever get back to Earth I'm going to get out of Superior as fast as I can. What's it like in Washington?"
"Dull," he said. "Humid in the summer. And when you've exhausted the national monuments there's nothing to do."
"Nothing? Don't tell me you don't have a girl friend back there. No,don'ttell me—I don't want to know. Oh, Don, what a terribly boring place this must be for you."
"Boring!" he said. "I've never had such a wild, crazy time in my life. Furthermore," he said, "there's nobody like you back in Washington."
She beamed. "I'd kiss you right here, only Doc Bendy's coming back. Heck, I'll kiss you anyway."
She did.
"Ahem," said Bendy. "Also cough-cough. If you two can spare the time, there's someone I'd like you to meet."
"We're through, for now," Alis said. "Who?"
"One of our hosts. The power behind the shaky throne of Hector the First. I think you'll like him. He has a magnificent tail."
"Hector was very co-operative," Doc Bendy said. "I guess he figured he couldn't keep it a secret for long anyhow, so he decided to be frank. After all, half the town saw them take him away."
"You mean Civek admits he's only a figurehead?" Don asked.
"Oh, he wouldn't admit that. His story is that it's a working arrangement—a treaty of sorts. He's absolute monarch as far as the human inhabitants are concerned, but the kangaroos control Superior as a piece of geography."
"I knew Father couldn't have done it," Alis murmured.
They went down a flight of stairs off the main hall to a basement room. It was luxuriously furnished, as every room in the mansion must have been. There was a rug over inlaid linoleum and a blazing fireplace. A huge round mahogany table stood in the center of the room.
Hector Civek sat in one of the half-dozen leather armchairs drawn up to the table. In another sat a furry, genial-looking blue-gray kangaroo.
Only it wasn't really a kangaroo, Don realized. It was more human than animal in several ways. Its bearing, for instance, had dignity, and its round eyes had intelligence. A thick tail at least three feet long stuck through a space under the backrest of the armchair. As Doc Bendy had said, the tail was magnificent.
Civek nodded and smiled, apparently willing to forget his flare-up at Alis. "I'll introduce you," Civek said. "I meanwe'llintroduce you. Oh, the hell with the royal 'we,' as long I'm among friends. This is Gizl, and what I'm trying to say is that he doesn't speak English. Doesn't talk at all, as far as I can tell. But he understands the language and he can read and write it. That's why all this."
He indicated the letter and number squares on the table. They were from sets of games—Scrabble, Anagrams, I-Qubes, Lotto and poker dice.
"My granddaughter met Gizl, you'll recall," Doc Bendy said. "Either this one or one like him. We don't know yet whether Gizl is a personal name or a generic one."
"Let's find out," Don said. He sat down at the table and began to form squares into a question.
"Wait a minute." Doc Bendy broke up Don's sequence. "The amenities first. Spell out 'Greetings,' or some such things. Manners, boy."
"Sorry." Don started over. He spelledGreetings, thenAlis Garet, thenDon Cort, and pointed from the squares to Alis and himself. "I assume you've already introduced yourself?" he asked Bendy.
Bendy nodded and the kangaroo-like creature inclined his furry head in acknowledgment to Alis and Don. Then he—Don had already stopped thinking of the creature as an "it"—formed two words with his tapering, black-nailed fingers.
Pleasant, he communicated. "Gizl." And he tapped his chest.
Don turned to Bendy. "Now can I ask him?"
"With His Majesty's permission," Bendy said solemnly.
Hector nodded. Don left the three names intact, distributing the rest, then put three squares together to spellMan. He pointed to the word and then to Civek, Bendy, Alis and himself, excluding the creature.
"Well, I like that!" Alis said. "Do I look like a man?"
"Let's keep it simple, woman," Don said.
The creature nodded and pointed again toGizl, then to himself, "He doesn't understand," Don said.
"It's quite possible his people don't have individual names," Bendy said. "Let's call him Gizl for now and go on."
"Okay." Don thought for a moment, then formed a question. "Might as well get basic," he said.
Q.Are you from earth.
A.No.
At the risk of irritating the others, Don repeated the questions and answers aloud for the benefit of his eavesdropper in the Pentagon.
Q.Are you from solar system
A.Not yours
Q.When did you reach earth
A.1948 your calendar
Q.Why
A.Friendship