Once she got Walt inside her room, she breathed a sigh of relief. She released the distortion field. He was visible again.
She removed the top sheet from the bed. She wrestled his body onto the bed.
She ripped the sheet into strips. She worked rapidly. She was still able to hold off fatigue; she felt no need of sleep. She was ravenously hungry.
With the strips of sheet, she tied Walt securely. She used a knot that would require cutting to be undone. She pulled the strips tight. They did not interfere with free circulation, but there was no possibility of them being slipped. She had no intention of not finding Walt there when she came back.
She surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction.
Whistling softly she left the room and walked down the corridor. She stopped whistling abruptly and glanced around in embarrassment. She had remembered the old adage: 'A whistling girl and a crowing hen are sure to come to some bad end'.
There seemed to be somethingindecentabout whistling in public.
The fact that she had, colored her emotions with uneasiness.
She realized that there might be a million such superstitions—many of them not recognized as superstitions at all—buried in her personality. Her brain might be highly efficient, but was it efficient enough to overcome all the emotional biases implanted by twenty-four years of environment? Was even her knowledge of the real nature of the world—was mankind's—sufficient to overcome such biases?
Perhaps, she thought, I'm not as smart as I thought I was. There may be deep and illogical currents in me. Perhaps I'm not, notmatureenough for such power as I've been given.
Annoyed, she took out a cigarette, and in defiance of cultural tradition, lit it there in the corridor while she waited for the elevator.
The operator did not approve of women smoking in public. He said so.
She ate in the coffee shop.
After the meal, she took a cab to the offices of the morning paper.
In the entranceway to the building, sure that no one was watching, she became invisible.
Half an hour later, possessed of the information she had come after (harvested from the back files of the paper) she was once again in the street.
In her room, she went to the telephone. She placed a long distance call to a Boston hospital.
The news had not been widely reported. She found most of the names in brief paragraphs stating that Mr. and Mrs. such and such had settled their suit against the so and so hospital out of court. In the three cases where the confinements had been in private homes, there had been kidnapping stories in the paper. In one of the cases, a man had later been convicted and executed—although the body of the child had never been recovered from the pond into which the prosecution contended it had been thrown.
She talked to the switch board operator at the Boston hospital. She was given the superintendent. He—impressed by the fact that she was calling from the Pacific coast—sent his secretary to rummage the files for the hospital's copy of the birth certificate.
Julia waited.
"Yes, I have it."
"It's on the child of Mr. and Mrs. George Temple?"
"That's right."
Julia concentrated as hard as she could.
"You have it in your hand?"
"Yes."
"Would you look at it closely?"
"... what?"
"Look at it closely, please."
"Young lady—"
"Please, sir."
"All right. I am. Now what information did you want? It reads—What the hell! Where did that go? Say, how did you—"
Julia hung up. She looked at the birth certificate lying by the telephone. She picked it up. It was none the worse for teleportation.
She put it on the dresser and returned to the phone.
By the time Tuesday was well into the afternoon, when the cool rays of the winter sun lay slanting upon the murmuring crest outside, she had nine birth certificates on the dresser. Nine times the bell boy had come to her room to collect for the telephone charges. The last time, she forgot to make Walt invisible. The bell boy said nothing.
Julia was annoyed by her carelessness. The bell boy's foot-falls died in the carpet of the corridor. She went to the door and looked out. He was gone.
She closed the door and crossed to the bed. She had exhausted her list of names. She set about rousing Walt.
He's handsome, she thought.
His eyelids flickered.
He opened his eyes. Memory slowly darkened his irises. He glared up at her.
He surged at his bonds, striving to rip free and throw himself upon her. He tugged at his right hand. His fingers writhed. A frown passed over his face. He jerked his right hand savagely.
"You have been deprived of your power," Julia said.
Stunned, he lay back. "I, I don't understand."
"You thought you were a Lyrian," Julia said. "You were wrong. You're an earthman. I am an earthwoman."
"That's a lie! I'm not an earthman!"
"You are now. How are you different?"
"That's a lie. I'm, I'm...." He fought against the tentacle-like strips of sheet.
"Is it a lie, Walt?"
He continued to struggle.
Smiling, she taunted him: "When I was a little girl, I used to get mad and throw rocks.... It never did any good. Lie still."
I shouldn't tease him, she thought contritely.
She felt very sorry for him. How frustrated he must feel! How hurt and puzzled and helpless and betrayed!
He's like Samson shorn.
"I know how you feel," she said softly. "I felt that way when you were chasing me. You're going to listen to me. After I'm through talking to you, maybe I'll let you up."
Glaring hotly, he relaxed.
"I saved your life," Julia said. "Don't forget that. You could thank me."
"You had a reason then. You're a traitor. You had your reasons to."
She slipped to the end of the bed. Gently she unlaced his shoes and slipped them off.
His face purpled with impotent anger.
She peeled off his socks.
Then, one by one, Julia compared the footprints on the birth certificates with Walt's feet.
Hot tears of defeat brimmed up within Walt; indignant rage filled his eyes.
Julia turned to put the birth certificates back on the dresser.
None of them corresponded to his prints.
Walt wanted to bite down on something. He gritted his teeth. Then, as Julia was turning away from him, he felt once again the weird blending of his mind with Calvin's. He realized that it was some exclusive power given to Calvin that caused the blending: he was not even any longer a, a Lyrian!
Joy vibrated in his body. Drawing on the new power in his mind, he hurled a picture from the wall at the back of Julia's unprotected head.
She half turned. The heavy wooden frame hit her in the temple. With a little despairing sigh of surprise she sank to the carpet.
I'll kill her this time, Walt thought. He displaced the binding from his right hand.
And Calvin's mind withdrew.
Walt tried desperately to tear loose his other hand; the knot would not yield. He tried to reach Julia. He tried to reach something to throw at Julia. He could not. He let out a roar of baffled rage.
Julia was struggling to her feet.
Standing uncertainly, she shook her head. Her eyes cleared. She let out her breath. The recuperative powers of a mutant were in action. "That was an awful wallop," she said calmly. "How did you manage it?"
Walt said nothing.
Julia wrinkled her forehead. Her mind was steady and alert. "I felt another mind just before I turned. Someone called Calvin, wasn't it?"
Walt was sweating.How smart is she? Can she guess everything?
"Somehow he gains rapport with you." Her fingers tapped restlessly on the dresser top. "If you could maintain contact with his mind all the time, you would; that's obvious, isn't it? He must make contact with yours, then. You don't know just when he's going to contact you, do you?"
Walt licked his lips.
"He must be abnormal. A normal mutant couldn't do that. I'll have to find some way to seal his mind off from yours, I guess. I'll have to interfere with that sort of thing. In the meantime, I'll have to keep a sharp eye on you."
Walt glared at her. "Damn you," he said.
"Why don't the aliens do the fighting for themselves?"
The question was unexpected. "You got it wrong," he said automatically. "They are helping Lyrians out of the goodness of their hearts." It was as if he were speaking to Calvin; it made him feel, momentarily, superior to her. He grasped the opportunity with pathetic gratefulness. "They're afraid!" he cried triumphantly. "We're not that far advanced yet!"
Julia paused to consider this. "Yes, that figures," she said. "But suppose for a minute that you're not a Lyrian. Suppose they're using you to fight forthem."
"No," Walt said.
"But why not?"
"No," he repeated. He tried to keep doubt out of his voice. His anger was gone. He felt uncertain and confused. He could not think clearly.
"You're a mutant," Julia said. "Like I am. Our parents were earthlings. The aliens are using mutants. The aliens changed our parents' genes—"
"I don't understand that word."
Julia smiled twistedly. "Think how ignorant they kept you, Walt. Isn't that proof enough for you?"
Walt said nothing.
"... Genes are the substances which transmit characteristics from generation to generation. If you wish to change hereditary characteristics, you must change the genes. The aliens changed our genes so we would be able to use all of our brains. The normal earthling is just like you are right now: unable to use more than one sixth of his brain. The aliens collected all the mutants; all of them but me. They overlooked me."
Walt twisted uncomfortably.
"But they still control us," Julia said. "There is a bridge that is held closed by a special frequency. That's why we've just recently been able to use our full powers. They just recently turned the frequency on."
"But—"
"The frequency that controls my bridge is different from the one controlling yours. There are two groups of mutants on the ship. The female you saw, the one you thought was a Lyrian, was a mutant from the other group. I'm on the frequency of that group. It's the group that's going to attack Earth first. They are the ones that are going to cause the war your Forential told you about."
Walt's mouth was dry. Stop! he wanted to cry to her. Please, stop!
"... keep birth records," Julia continued. Walt had missed some of it. "No two sets of prints can be identical. A group of babies vanished during the last big flying saucer scare.You were one of them.I was trying to find your birth certificate. If I could find it...."
Julia talked on. Her voice was sincere and intense and compelling. As he listened, Walt felt the case against the aliens grow stronger.
Can't think clearly, he told himself. Trust Forential.
No.
He did lie about the war.
Forential lied about that.
He'd lie about ... about other things?
They kept me in ignorance, he thought. Perhaps they really were afraid I'd discover my real nature.
I don't know; I can't think; I can'tthink!
As he watched Julia, the female who had (the truth of this slowly dawned on him) actually saved his life, he felt the first stirrings of an emotion he was not prepared to cope with. How pretty she looked, standing before him, her eyes serious and her face intent. He wanted to nestle her.
The footprints, he thought. She couldn't find mine among the birth certificates she had. She could have faked a set if she'd wanted to. Does the fact she didn't mean she's not lying?
I think I'm sorry I threw the picture at her.
"If you could have heard Mrs. Savage on the phone," Julia said, "you'd understand better. She lost her son—had himstolen—and she was still saving the birth certificate, after this long. She told me she knew she'd find him some day."
Mrs. Savage sounds just like Forential, Walt thought.
"She's been waiting all these years," Julia said. "She's never given up hope."
Still waiting for her ... son, Walt thought. Still waiting, still needing her son.
Walt had never thought much of his parents until now. They were obscured by Forential; they existed somewhere on Lyria. But suppose Julia were telling the truth? Would they have been more fond of him than Forential? Could they have been?
There were so many things he did not understand. He must ask Forential about the process by which babies are created; what was the connection between parent and child? It was all sopuzzling.
... why not ask Julia?
"Wait a minute," Walt interrupted. "I understand so very little. How are babies made?"
And there was a harsh, peremptory knock on the door. The manager's angry voice came booming through the paneling:
"The bell boy tells me you've got a man tied to the bed in there! We can't have that sort of thing in this hotel! Open the door, you hear me? Open the door!"
"Oh, oh," Julia whispered. "You keep your mouth shut, Walt."
She projected a distortion field around him.
The bed now appeared untenanted.
Walt was silent.
Julia opened the door. The manager stormed in.
"You, you creature!" he cried. "Tying a defenseless man on the bed for God knows what evil pur—oh. Hummm," he stared at the bed.
"Oh," he said.
"There's no one here but me."
"The bell boy—"
The manager searched the room. He looked in the closet. He looked in the shower. His face slowly began to take on color.
Foolishly he got down on his knees and peered under the bed.
"Well," he said, dusting off his trousers as he stood up, "well ... oh.... Is the service all right, Miss? Do you have any complaints? Plenty of towels? Soap? Did the bell boy raise the window—yes, I see he did. There's enough heat? I, I seemed to have—I was on the wrong floor entirely. You see—"
His face grew even more puzzled. "There's a woman on the, on theninthfloor I guess it is—how could I ever have made such a mistake? this is the seventh floor, isn't it?—has a man in her bed." His face got redder. He waved his hands. "Tiedto the bed."
"Oh, my," Julia said.
"Yes, isn't it. Now, if you want anything, don't hesitate to ring. I'm sorry about this mistake. Silly of me. This is theseventhfloor ... isn't it?"
"Yes, this is the seventh floor."
The manager left.
Julia locked the door behind him.
She dissolved the distortion field.
"Whew!" she said. "He was mad, wasn't he?"
Walt tried to sit up.
"No—wait. I think I'll take a chance. I'm going to leave you alone to think over what I've said. Then I'm going to come back and untie you. You're going to help me, Walt."
"I, I don't know what to think."
"Here's one thing I want you to remember when you're thinking everything out.People can be convinced of anything as long as they have no way of checking beliefs against facts.Remember that. Forential had complete control over you. You believed what he told you to. Now you've had a chance to see for yourself. You're just like an earthling. There is no war. Things like that. Think for yourself, Walt."
"How long will you be gone?"
Julia gathered up her handbag. She folded the birth certificates and stored them in it. "I don't know. I've got to convince someone of some facts that are going to be very hard to believe." She paused at the door. "I won't forget you, Walt. I'll be back soon." She smiled almost shyly. "If Calvin contacts you again, don't go away. I'll just have to hunt you down."
After she had gone, Walt relaxed. His body was still weak. He lay staring at the ceiling. Outside, the sun's rays slanted even more. A breeze, chill with approaching night, rustled the curtain.
There were shadows along the far wall.
I've been an instrument, Walt thought, a piece of metal, to be used as Forential saw fit: if she were not lying. My parents are somewhere down here on this planet, the third from the sun. They are not on Lyria. I might have killed them during the invasion. That would be worse than killing Forential, even. If Julia weren't lying to me. Forential has been raising me to fight my own people!
Forential. Saucer eyed. Tentacled. Moist and slippery. Breathing in labored gasps under high gravity. Air bubbling in his throat. Tentacles caressing, fondling—not with affection (if Julia is right) but with calculating design: to fashion my personality to his purpose....
Walt closed his eyes.
Forential, he thought.
Forential was far away in space; every second he was growing farther away in time. I've lost him, Walt thought. So much has happened, so much, so fast, since last I saw him, that I'm changing away from him every minute.
Earthlings aren't so bad. They're—they're not too much different from Lyrians, from ...mutants.
I'm a mutant?
I'm not a Lyrian?
FORENTIAL!
But Forential could not hear him.
I'll have to think for myself, Walt decided. Julia said I couldn't be fooled if I just looked at the facts.
Earthlings aren't like Forential always told us they were. They're pleasant enough. In their way. I don't see how they can menace Lyria (if there is such a place).I don't think they've even got space travel!
He tossed restlessly on the bed.
And Julia, he thought. Well, she's nice. She's all right.
She's....
Again the new emotion troubled him. He missed her. He wished she would hurry back.
Julia!
... and whydidshe lose her powers if she's a Lyrian? Why did I? Lyrians shouldn't lose their powers.
What about the machines on the ship?
Can there really be another compartment of—mutants?
Is that why the walls of the ship were impenetrable?
Is that why we were never permitted in more than a fraction of the overall space of the ship?
I don't think, I don't think I like Forential any more.
Julia consulted a phone directory for the address of the local F. B. I. office.
It was four thirty when she arrived, and only one man was still in the office. He had his feet propped up on the desk; he was smoking a pipe and reading a law book.
"Yes?" he said, standing up as Julia came forward.
"You better sit back down," she said.
"Well, now.... And who are you?" He said it not unkindly.
Julia gave her name. Gravely he shook hands with her.
"Sit over there, Julia," he said.
When she was seated, he sat down. He bent forward and cleared his throat.
Oh, dear, how can I start? she thought. How can I ever start? "What, what was the page you were reading in your book?"
He ignored the question. His eyelids drooped wearily. He took out a notebook. He unscrewed his pen cap.
"I suppose you want to report on the family next door?" he said.
"Well, as a matter of fact, no," Julia said. "I wanted—" And again her resolve faltered.
"Yes?" the F.B.I. man asked.
His law book floated from the table behind him and drifted over his shoulder. It opened itself before his face. The pages riffled.
"What page?" Julia asked intently.
The F.B.I. man took his pipe out of his mouth and looked at it. "Page one hundred and fifteen," he said.
The book fell open to that page.
The F.B.I. man plucked it out of the air. He felt all around it. He put it in his lap. His eyelids were no longer weary.
"I think I underestimated you," he said. "I believe I'm going to sit right here and take down every word you say." He gestured with his pipe. "Start talking."
Julia spoke slowly. She gave the F.B.I. man all the information she had. His pen skimmed rapidly, making short hand squiggles over the white pages of his notebook.
When she had finished, he looked up. He tossed the law book toward the desk. She caught it and let it down gently, so that it landed without a sound.
"Julia," the man said, "put yourself in my position. What would you do if someone came to you with a story like this?"
"I'd send that person to Washington, where she could talk to somebody."
"I'd like a little more proof."
Julia passed her hand through the back of the chair. "I should certainly be investigated: just on the basis of being able to do that, shouldn't I?"
The F.B.I. man nodded. "Do that again."
Julia did.
"Excuse me a minute," he said. He swiveled to his desk. He picked up his phone and dialed. He waited. "... Peggy? This is me. I won't be home for dinner tonight. A case just came in...." He hung up.
He turned back to Julia.
"Now, about this space station. How is it we haven't seen it?"
"I assume it has a distortion field around it. It's invisible."
"Hummmm." He entered that in his notebook. "Is there any way we could detect it?"
"I.... If I were able to talk to a physicist, he might be able to build detection equipment. It would take time."
"I see. Now, about this Walt. How dangerous would you say he is?"
"I disconnected the bridge in his mind."
"Bridge?"
"I call it that. It's what makes us different. It could be built into a normal human being, I think."
"You mean," he said, "I could be fixed up to do the things you can do? Teleportation? Telepathy?"
"If I were a surgeon, I think I could change your brain to our pattern. I can see how it should be done. But I'd have to train to be able to. Surgery is a skill; it takes practice to master it."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
"How long until the invasion?"
"I don't know that either. I don't know whether or not I can find out from Walt. I doubt if he has enough information to tell me. Very soon now. Less than a month. Maybe even tomorrow."
"There's no time, then," he said. He chewed his lip. "I see.... The Air Force still has its saucer files. I'm going to refer you to it."
"We haven't much time. Remember that."
The F.B.I. man looked at his watch. "There's a plane to Washington in three hours. I'll get you reservations on it. I'll phone the head office there. There'll be somebody from the Air Force to meet you."
"I'll leave at eight, is that right?"
"From the city airport. Just a minute. I'm going to assign a man to you. I don't want anything happening between now and then."
"I can look out for myself," Julia said. "I'll pick up my ticket and Walt's at the reservation booth. 'Bye."
The F.B.I. man blinked his eyes. She had vanished. He got up and searched the office carefully. The door had not opened.
But she was gone.
Sweating, he went to the phone.
In less than two minutes, he was talking to Washington. When he recradled the phone, he was shaking. He took out his pipe, filled it, lit it, walked to the window.
He looked out at the twilight city. A lone star sparkled in the sky. He stared upwards.
"My God," he said softly to himself.
He crossed to the teletype, switched the current on. He began typing his notes on it for the benefit of Washington.
Back in the hotel room, Julia released Walt. Free, he stood up uncertainly.
"I think you'll help me," she said levelly. "I disconnected the bridge in your mind; I'm going to leave it that way. I can't afford not to. But am I right, Walt?"
"I'm not sure. I, I'll have to see."
"We're going to fly to Washington tonight."
"Washington?"
"The seat of the government. You clean up in the bathroom, now. But hurry. We'll have to catch a plane out of here at eight o'clock. It's after six."
"All right."
While she was waiting, she studied herself despairingly in the mirror. I look, she thought, like something the cat dug up.
When Walt came back, she took his arm possessively.
"I'm hungry," he said.
"Oh?" Julia said. "We'll have time to eat, I guess. I wish we didn't have to eat hotel food, though. I'm a good cook." She led Walt to the door. "You'll see what I mean, if we can get this invasion stopped. I'm going to make you invisible, now."
After they ate, Julia drove her car to the airport. The reservations were waiting. So was the F.B.I. man.
"I teletyped my report to them. They wanted me to accompany you."
He introduced himself to Walt.
Walt shook his hand. Walt no longer recoiled from the touch of an earthling.
In the plane, the F.B.I. man ordered cocktails. Walt had never tasted alcohol before. It was an unpleasant taste. But once it was down, it was not objectionable.
He forced himself to drain the glass. He felt himself relaxing.
"Ugh," he said.
The F.B.I. man ordered another round. Julia declined. Walt accepted.
Walt said, "I feelwarm."
The F.B.I. man kept glancing out the window of the plane, up at the stars. Clouds hung below; moonlight played over them.
Walt found that he was very ... fond ... of Julia. If only, he thought, she weren't so damned superior!
The alcohol filtered through his body. The compartment of the airplane danced not unpleasantly. He longed to feel Julia very close to him. He wanted to reach out and touch her uncovered skin.
Faintly, far off, barely heard was the sound of the others talking.
He grew heavy and sleepy. He closed his eyes.
He awakened once, and Julia was not beside him. He moved his tongue. It felt fuzzy and thick.
He wanted Julia.
"Julia!" he cried.
"I'm just up here," she called softly.
Disturbed passengers muttered their annoyance.
The stewardess came to Walt's seat.
"I don't want you!" Walt said. "Julia!" he shouted.
Julia came back to him.
"Sit down beside me," he commanded. And when she did, he went promptly back to sleep.
It was after three o'clock Wednesday morning when their plane set down wheels on the Washington airport runway.
A sleepy-eyed Air Force colonel was waiting at the gate. The F.B.I. man approached him. "Here they are."
"Okay."
The colonel crossed to them. "You're to come along with me."
"All right."
Walt shook his head to clear the sleep from his eyes.
They followed the colonel to the waiting, olive drab passenger car. The F.B.I. man had departed.
The colonel helped Julia in.
"We've got rooms for you downtown."
"Whatever you've decided," Julia said.
The colonel gave his driver the address.
Half an hour later, Julia and Walt and the colonel reached their destination.
"I must be a mess," Julia apologized. "I haven't had time to change clothes or anything."
"I'll order you some," the colonel said.
They went immediately to the third floor.
"This is your room," the colonel told Walt, opening the door.
"I want to stay with Julia," Walt said.
"This is your room," the colonel said stiffly. He signaled the guard lounging at the end of the corridor. The guard came.
"This is your man," the colonel told the guard.
The guard nodded.
"He's not to leave."
Walt planted his feet. "I'm not—"
"Go on in, Walt," Julia said.
Walt hesitated.
"Goon."
Reluctantly, Walt entered the room. The guard pulled the door closed.
"You're to come here," the colonel said. He led the way.
Once in her room, he said, "I know you're tired...."
Julia realized that she was tired. Even her mutant powers could not keep fatigue out of her body forever. Her muscles ached. The strain and excitement had sapped her energy to a greater extent than she had realized.
"I am, a little. A few hours rest—"
"Would you sign this first?" the colonel asked. "It's a transcript of your conversation with the F.B.I. man. To make it official. It's all we need for the moment."
Julia flipped through it. It was very accurate.
The colonel produced a pen.
Julia signed.
"Now, one last thing. What sort of clothing did you want? I'll have my secretary buy the things in the morning."
Using hotel stationery, Julia made a list.
The colonel took it. "We'll call you in sometime tomorrow morning to get your testimony."
"I better give you some money for the list."
The colonel smiled. "You're a guest of the Air Force. We'll take care of it." At the door he said, "Oh, by the way, don't try to leave this room."
He closed the door softly behind him.
Julia undressed quickly.
She fell into bed.
Six hours later, at ten o'clock in the morning, she awoke with a start. Someone was knocking.
"Yes?"
"A package for you."
She drew the bed clothes around her. "Just set it inside the door."
The sentry complied.
Julia got up. She felt completely refreshed. She showered.
Opening the package, she was delighted with the clothing the colonel's secretary had selected.
She dressed and combed her hair.
When she tried to leave the hotel room, the sentry barred her way.
"What about breakfast?"
"Order whatever you want from room service," the man told her.
Julia closed the door. I should show him—! she thought.
But then: Where could I go if I did go out? Suppose they come for me and I'm gone?
She phoned for breakfast.
The guard stood by while it was brought in. To keep me, she thought, from talking to the waiter.
By noon she still had received no word from the government.
She was growing annoyed.
It was after two o'clock when the colonel—the same one who had met them at the airport last night—came for her. "Sorry to keep you so long," he said. "They're ready to see you now."
"I'm ready."
"We're going over to the Pentagon."
"Let's go."
They stopped to pick up Walt.
He had gotten a razor from somewhere; the stubble on his face was gone. His skin was smooth and boyish. He was dressed in a single breasted, brown suit. His white shirt was open at the neck.
Julia's heart caught in her throat with pride when she saw him. She blushed.
"He's been pacing the floor for the last hour," the guard said.
"We're going to talk to some government official," Julia said. She smiled up at him. "How do you feel, Walt?"
"I'm fine. Fine. Nervous. But I feel fine."
"They're waiting," the colonel said. "We better hurry."
Julia took Walt's hand. "It's all right. You don't need to be afraid."
"I'm not afraid," he said.
The same olive drab car was waiting for them outside the hotel. They got in—the colonel in front with the driver, Walt and Julia in back.
The car moved into Washington traffic.
Bleak, harsh winter lay over the town; the very air seemed weary and exhausted. Julia stared out the window at the passing buildings.
The invasion, she thought. Flying saucers settling down upon such a commonplace, solid scene as this. Terrified faces in the streets. Crys. The whine of a police car. An air raid warning, wailing like a lost night express. Brick and cement buckling and exploding. Walls crashing. Smoke billowing up. The helpless, ironic chuckle of a machine gun seeking a target. The drone of a plane....
Suppose the government won't believe our story after all! she thought.
"You're going to help us all you can, aren't you, Walt?" she whispered. Her fingers plucked nervously at her dress.
"This morning, I had a long talk with the man at my door. I'll help you all I can. He'd never even heard of Lyria; he—"
The colonel swiveled his head. "We consulted with the President this morning."
Julia felt herself grow tense. "Yes?"
"He instructed us to have the two of you interviewed by some of the best authorities we could round up on such short notice. You will be required to demonstrate this ability you seem to have to teleport objects."
"I'll do everything I can."
The colonel grunted and turned back to watching the road.
The Tidal Basin lay to one side of the car; the Washington Channel to the other. Off the highway, the rotunda dome of the white marble Jefferson Memorial glistened in the weak sunlight; the cherry trees around it were naked with winter.
Julia listened to her own breathing; she forced herself to relax. I've got to convince them, she thought.
In spite of her superiority, she felt like a little girl venturing into a big, unfamiliar world.
Shortly, the car drew up at the huge Pentagon building.
Inside it, army men—officers and enlisted men—were scurrying about, up and down ramps, in and out of the endless maze of corridors. There was a brisk hum of voices; it was like a giant bee hive. The high heeled shoes of female personnel chattered efficiently from room to room.
"Stay close," the colonel said. "It's easy to get lost."
All the noises of the building were swallowed up when the colonel closed the office door on the third floor. The elderly female receptionist at the desk looked up.
"They're waiting, Colonel Robertson. Go right in."
"Right through here," the colonel said.
Walt and Julia followed.
He opened the door, and they issued into the conference room. Talking broke off; faces swung to confront them.
"Gentlemen," the colonel said, "this is the girl, and this—this is the man from the space station."
The audience around the table rustled.
"You'll sit right here," the colonel told them. He helped Julia to her chair. When they were both seated, the colonel withdrew.
Chairs scraped and squeaked.
One of the men across from Julia cleared his throat. He was in civilian clothes. He was slightly stooped and partly bald. He wiped his glasses nervously. "We would like a demonstration of your—your, um, um unusual propensities." He adjusted his glasses.
The glasses disengaged themselves from his ears and floated toward Julia. Julia stood up and walked through the table toward them.
She reached out. Both she and the glasses vanished.
One of the general officers made a check mark on his note book. "I'd say our report is substantially correct."
The other civilian in the room, a youngish blonde woman, lit another cigarette. The ash tray before her was overflowing. Her fingers were nicotine stained. "Very extraordinary."
Julia materialized back in her chair. She replaced the glasses.
The conferees began to whisper softly.
The blonde nodded her head. She turned to Julia. "About this space station—"
"This is Doctor Helen Norvel," one of the general officers told Julia.
Dr. Norvel ignored him. "Is there some way we could detect it?"
"I'd like to try to explain the nature of the distortion field surrounding it to a physicist."
"Dr. Norvel," someone said, "is one of our better experimental physicists."
"Oh?"
"Gentlemen," Dr. Norvel said, "let me talk to her in the next room while you question this man."
The bald civilian said, "Go right ahead, Doctor."
The doctor stood up. Lighting another cigarette, she said, "We'll go right in there, if you don't mind."
Julia got to her feet.
When they had gone, a lieutenant sitting beside the civilian looked up from a sheaf of papers in front of him. "Walt Johnson, isn't it?"
Walt gulped. He felt clammy and frightened.
"I'm supposed to interrogate you—ask you some questions."
"All, all right," Walt said nervously.
"Now, Mr. Johnson, if you'll just tell us—take it slowly; take your time—about life on this space station. Any details you can remember will prove helpful. Describe your quarters, the nature of the aliens—anything at all."
Walt twisted in the seat. He looked around at the waiting faces. A general lit a cigarette. The heating system hummed softly.
Walt began to talk.
From time to time, someone interrupted him with a question.
It seemed to go on forever.
"About this focus rod?"
"It sends out a, a radiation. Something. I don't understand too well. It's lethal."
"What is the radius of destruction?"
"I don't know; I don't remember."
Pens scribbled.
"Please continue," the lieutenant said.
Walt's throat grew dry as he talked. Someone got him a drink of water.
"Could you estimate the number of mutants in this other compartment?"
"I couldn't say. I couldn't swear that there is another compartment."
"A hundred? Five hundred?"
"I couldn't say."
"I see."
"About," a general asked, "how much of the total area of the ship would you say your compartment occupied?"
On and on.
"Let's go over the description of that machine again. Did you ever see this Fierut disassemble any part of it?"
Walt was limp and exhausted. His mind was dulled by the effort of concentrating continuously. "Yes." "No." "To understand that...." "I don't know." "No, no more than that.... Please. I'm getting confused."
"You've been very helpful, Mr. Johnson," the lieutenant said. "Gentlemen, I'm afraid he's getting a little tired. Shall we postpone further questioning?"
"I believe we better. Would you call in Dr. Norvel, please."
Walt slumped down in his seat.
The conferees whispered among themselves and compared notes.
Julia and the doctor came back.
"It took longer than I thought," Dr. Norvel said. "I had to teach her quite a bit of math."
"What's your opinion?" the bald civilian asked.
"I believe her, gentlemen. She has just shown me how to build some electronic equipment. I'll have a picture of that space station for you within two weeks."
"That will be all, then, for right now," the civilian said. He nodded at Walt and Julia. "The colonel is waiting to take you back to your hotel."
"You're not to talk to anyone about this," one of the generals said.
Thursday. They came for Walt and Julia at nine o'clock. The hotel was aswarm with the military.
"Security measures," the colonel explained as they waited for the elevator. "If any information about this leaks out, the whole country will be thrown into a panic."
Julia nodded.
"We've evacuated the civilians to another hotel," the colonel said.
Two guards with rifles stood at the street doorway.
"It's going to be a hard day for you both," the colonel said once they were in the car. "You're scheduled to meet representatives of some foreign countries at ten o'clock. And after that, we'll spend the rest of the day picking both your brains as clean as we know how."
"That's the way it's got to be," Julia said. "I understand."
It was after midnight when she returned to her hotel. Surprisingly, she was able to sleep until dawn. She arose and showered in the first sunlight and dressed and ordered breakfast. The sergeant on duty at the desk downstairs went out himself to get it for her.
At nine (this was Friday morning) she and Walt were back in the Pentagon. Walt's face was puffy, his eyes were red. "I'm tired," he murmured as an officer hurried him toward a meeting with the Ordnance Section. For a moment Julia considered restoring his mutant bridge. But she was not completely certain that she could trust him; even the tiniest doubt was an excuse not to—since there was no overwhelming advantage to be gained from having two mutants instead of one in the Pentagon.
A few minutes later, Julia was ushered into the office of one of the very high ranking general officers. He rose to greet her, and then returned to his desk. Julia sat down across from him and he pushed stacks of reports to one side until he located his cigarette box.
Julia took a cigarette.
"Julia? I may call you that?"
"Please do."
He bent across the desk to light her cigarette. He pushed an ash tray toward her.
"I expect you'd like to know what we've done so far?"
"Very much."
"I'm preparing a report for the President. I hope to have it for him by noon." He glanced at his watch. "I want to verify with you everything that goes into it."
The smoke made Julia dizzy. She cleared her brain. It was a relief to hear someone else talking for a change.
"... we're preparing an atomic rocket to intercept their space station," he said. "I understand from this report that your mutant powers aren't infinite. It says in here somewhere that it would be impossible to stop by, by teleportation you call it, don't you? an object as large as a rocket?"
"It's mostly a question of inertia. There's a mass-speed-time ratio involved. The greater the first two, the more time required to divert the missile from its path. The mass-speed must be sufficient to create a greater diversion period than exists between the time of detection and the time of impact."
"You would say that the rocket could get through?"
"If the same rule holds for the aliens as for us, I don't think they would have time to teleport it away."
"That's what I wanted."
"Just a minute, though. How long will it take you to complete it?"
"Give us another week," the general said. "That's one of the things I wanted to see you about. It will take Doctor Norvel longer than that to plot the orbit of the station. I want you to plot that orbit for us—"
"I'm sorry, General. This is in your reports somewhere, too. I can't. Not until Doctor Norvel can locate it. It's too far out for me to locate. I'd have to have an, ananchoron that end—something I could contact—before I could center on it. And I don't have. I can't evenfeelit, if you see what I mean. There's, nothing to get ahold of. If I could ... I could just teleport an atom bomb there, and we wouldn't need to worry with the rocket at all." She snubbed out her cigarette.
"Couldn't you get a fix on this frequency that controls your mutant powers and locate the space station that way?"
"Neither Dr. Norvel nor I could detect it with the available equipment: we tried. There's no way of knowing what equipment's required. It's probable the frequency is displaced from normal space; if it is, we can't even tell the increment of displacement. It's just a hopeless task."
"Well, it will take us two weeks or more, then...." He crossed out something on the paper before him.
"Suppose they attack before that?"
"I'm coming to that possibility.... I see you say here that mutants can be destroyed by bomb concussions because they can't displace sufficiently far without teleporting. What do you mean there?"
"It's complicated. If the bomb has too much inertia to be teleported off target, they have to remove themselves from the blast area. And they can't remove themselves far enough—not in space, but in relation to space; so they'd have to teleport, and that would be fatal."
"Ummm. Bullets?"
"They could displace themselves far enough to avoid a bullet."
The general wrote something down. "How large an explosion would suffice?"
"I believe Dr. Norvel has those figures. I didn't stay long enough to see the results of her computations. She figured it out. They rushed me off somewhere else."
"I'll have to ask her.... Now. I'm counting on there being five hundred saucer ships in the first wave. With luck, our Air Force will get a few of them. You say—ah, yes, right here: 'If hit in the air, the pilots cannot displace out of the ship because they would be killed by the fall to Earth.' That's correct, isn't it?"
Julia nodded. "Yes."
"But I expect we'll have to destroy the majority of them after they land; luck only goes so far."
"If they scatter all over the planet?" Julia asked.
"We have bombers alerted."
"Suppose they land in a city? You'd have to bomb immediately. You'd have to destroy the whole area before they could escape. You wouldn't have any time to evacuate the population. But even so, they could destroy the bomber crews with their focus rods before the planes were over the target—"
"Automatic bombers," the general said. "I hope we've got enough of them. As for the populations, I hope they don't land in our cities." He puckered his lips. "I've alerted all our ground forces. We'll have our whole supply of atomic artillery available. Whenever we discover a focus rod in operation, we intend to hit the center of the area of destruction with everything we've got."
"What do you honestly think?" Julia asked.
He shuffled papers, thinking. He looked up from the report. "... it will take us over a week to get even partially ready. If they strike before that, we'll be able to kill some of them. If they give us a week, we might even hope to kill half of them—half of the first wave—before we're destroyed.... I was hoping you might offer us an alternative, or a supplement; or something."
Julia took another cigarette. She fumbled in her handbag for a match. She lit the cigarette. "No," she said.
"I rather thought not," he said. "I expected you'd have already told us."
"I've thought about it every way I know how.... I thought about displacing all of them when they land; keeping them displaced, where they couldn't reach us.... But there'll be too many of them. I might be able to hold one mutant in displacement, even if he resisted me. I know more than he does. But five hundred?" She shook her head.
"Could we build a machine to do that job?"
"You'd have the rocket done much sooner."
"... I expect that's right. I hope they just give ustime."
"If I think of anything else—"
"Oh, I wanted to mention that," the general said. "I want to give you a phone number. You can reach me any time, day or night, through it." He wrote it on a piece of paper.
Julia memorized it at a glance.
The general made a few more notes. He glanced at his watch again. "I guess that's the size of it, Julia."
In the space station, the aliens were readying for the invasion.
Lycan had just finished issuing clothing to the mutants in the larger compartment. Once dressed, they were indistinguishable from earthlings. And more important, when the larger transmitter was eventually cut off, Forential's mutants would easily mistake them for earthlings.
Forential had finished assigning sectors of Earth to his own charges. Each was to cover a given area. They were told that the war on the planet was nearing its conclusion; destruction was everywhere. There would be no opposition to bother them. (In reality, Lycan's mutants, the first wave, having taken care ofthat.) They could clean up their assigned sectors slowly, thoroughly, methodically. Forential instructed them in all the details of detecting and tracking down earthlings. A month after their arrival, they would be, Forential said, the only survivors.
**It is,** the Elder commented covetously, **one of the prettiest little planets I've ever seen. We will be well rewarded for our work.**
Julia awakened with a start very early Saturday morning. It was not yet three o'clock. Washington lay silent beyond her window. The dark, chill air of the room was motionless.
I forgot to seal Walt's mind off from Calvin's! she thought in blind terror.
She fumbled her bed clothes off and swung her feet to the carpet.
But once she was standing, the effects of the nightmare began to dissipate. She was surprised to find herself trembling. She laughed nervously. She had dreamed that Walt was crossing the carpet toward her bed, walking in silent invisibility. He had raised a knife to plunge it into her heart—had raised a great rock to smash her skull—had aimed a pistol at her brain—while she lay in chill terror, waiting, helpless.
The cold made goose pimples on her naked skin. But her own laugh reassured her.
A second of concentration and blood flowed skin-ward, warming her.
She found the light switch.
When the light came on, she heard the guard outside the door shuffle restlessly.
She began to dress. She needed no more sleep. She was anxious to get back on the job—trying to stop the invasion; although now, in spite of her mutant powers, now that the course of action was outlined, she seemed more in the way than of assistance.
Now why, she thought, would it suddenly seem so important that I should seal off Walt's mind? Yesterday, when he was so tired, I almost gave him back his mutant powers. I do trust him, don't I? Of course. After all the help he's given us, I know—there's not the tiniest doubt, really—that he's completely on our side.
Now why—?
Seal ... off ... mind....
She tried to ignore the thought. It isn't that important, she argued with herself.
Seal ... off ... mind....
Whoa! she thought.
Seal offminds!
Minds.
Harmonics ... powerful signal ... transmit ... blanket....
Pulling her blouse hastily over her head, she realized that it might be remotely possible!
As she reached for the phone, she tried to see the mathematics involved. I'll have to consult Dr. Norvel, she thought.
She dialed. Her hand began to tremble with eagerness.
The phone rang in her ear. Once. Twice. Three times.
"Hello?"
"Hello, this is Julia. Let me speak to the general. Hurry!"
Whoever was on the other end of the line moved quickly. Julia could hear a phone ringing in the receiver.
"Yes?" the general said, sleepy-voiced.
"Julia, General."
"Yes?"
"IthinkI've got something for you."
"Yes?"
"If we can transmit a powerful enough signal, we might be able to create harmonics that would interfere throughout the possible displacement area. Interfere with the frequency that closes our bridges, I mean. It's the same principle as concussion affecting the displacement area."
"Wait a minute. Okay, go on. I'm recording this, now."
"If our television and radio transmitters will handle the signal, we can blanket the whole planet with interference. Any mutant that hits it will automatically be deprived of his mutant powers."
"What...?"
"Look. We can make the whole first wave human normals. The Army can round them up and keep them unconscious while we adjust our interference to meet the second wave."
"I see, vaguely. What do you need?"
"Dr. Norvel."
"I'll phone her."
"A laboratory. An electronics laboratory."
"I'll get it."
"Enough time."
"All I can do on that score is hurry as fast as I can. As soon as I get your laboratory, I'll send a car around for you."
"Right."
"I've got calls to make, then. You give me the details later."
"Goodby."
Julia hung up.
She felt elation. She went to the window and breathed deeply. The air was exciting.
Two hours later, she was in a staff car speeding toward an experimental laboratory on the outskirts of town.
She was hustled inside the building by a sergeant and a colonel; gray, cloudy dawn hovered in the east.
Dr. Norvel was already waiting.
"Let's go to work," the doctor said.
"Right."
"What do you propose? The general said something about interfering with the frequency controlling your mind. How? We can't even detect it."
"We don't need to. We generate a signal, vary the frequency until I lose my mutant powers—and that's it! We generate as strong a signal as we can. Then we have every transmitter in the country put on a direct line to us. When the radar spots the first saucer, we let go with every kilowatt of power we've got."
"Good, good, good," Dr. Norvel said excitedly. "See if you can find some good coffee, you there, with the bird on your shoulder."
The colonel said, "Yes, ma'm."
"I'll try to get some electronics men in to help," Dr. Norvel said. "We may need plenty of help."
"Is there a technical library around?" Julia asked. "I better read up on electronics."
"There's one in there," the puzzled night watchman said.
"I want you to get me somebody from the Army that can get me equipment, and fast," Dr. Norvel told the sergeant. He was standing helplessly by the door.
"I—"
"Hurry up, damn it!"
The sergeant shrugged in resignation. "All right, but they won't like it. I'm the one you should have sent for the coffee."
After, the sergeant was gone, the colonel came back.
By noon, the laboratory was alive with activity.
By six o'clock, the signal generator was beginning to grow.
Julia supervised the crew laying cable. The cable would be connected to the nearest radio transmitter.
"Your transmitter will handle our signal?" Julia asked.
"You give it to us, and we'll tell you."
A general interrupted Julia. "I'm from General Tibbets. How's it going?"
"Can't tell."
"We're trying to scatter paratroops—detachments of them. All over. How long do we have?"
"It's up tothem," Julia said. "I don't know when we'll be finished here."
"Our men should be stationed by morning."
"I hope we're through that early."
"You disarm these damned mutants, and we'll capture them."
"Hope to."
In the yard, a crew was unloading a new power supply.
"Knock a hole in the east wall and take it inside!" a harried officer bawled hoarsely.
"Some ass of a newspaper man did a report on unusual activity in the Pentagon and around Washington," Dr. Norvel said. "He hinted it had something to do with the flying saucer reports of twenty some years ago."
"How in hell did it leak?"
"... the Pentagon's issuing a denial."
By midnight, Julia was superintending the construction of a second signal generator. Work on the first one was temporarily stalled; the technicians were waiting for a special transformer.
Dr. Norvel was waving an inked-in schematic diagram before the face of a gray haired man in an apron. "No, no, no," she said. "It's got to bethisway to set up the right harmonics."
A major came up and tugged apologetically at Julia's arm. "Are you in charge here?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
"Well, if you are—please, Miss, my men have to rest. Can I let them go now?"
"We're not quitting 'til we finish—I'm sure of that."
The major went away, looking for someone else in authority.
Walt, his mutant bridge restored, was inspecting the second signal generator with interest. With it, the technicians would determine the signal that interfered with his frequency. They would set it to throb out that signal.
One section of the transmitter cable ran to each signal generator. A sergeant had just finished installing a switch that would control the signal being fed into the output line. After the first mutant wave had been captured, the switch would be thrown to the left. The signal covering Walt's powers would then be transmitted to the same network of radio and television stations that had carried the one covering Julia's; and the second wave would be reduced to earth normal.
It was dawn before the first signal generator began operation. It was Sunday.
Julia sat at a desk, sipping coffee, holding a book suspended in front of her, six inches from the desk top. The last twenty-four hours had left a strain on her face. When the book fell, her mutant powers would be gone.
Smoking cigarette after cigarette, Dr. Norvel watched. After nearly fifteen minutes, she pleaded, "Drop, damn you,drop!"
Work on the second generator continued. It was at least half a day away from completion. There was a continual mutter of conversation about it in the background.
An hour later, sweat covered Julia's face. The book was still suspended.
"Put in the next frequency range unit," Dr. Norvel said wearily.
A general bustled in. "General Tibbets wants to know how we're doing here."
Silence greeted him.
"The paratroopers are ready," the general said defensively.
Lycan bustled about, making last minute preparations in the larger compartment. His faceted eyes gleamed with excitement. Now and then he spoke to a mutant.
"You ready, Fred?"
"Yes, Lycan. I'm nervous, but I'm ready."
"It's natural," Lycan reassured.
The mutants shuffled their feet and cleared their throats and wiped their palms. They smiled uneasily.
"Form a line!" the Elder called. "We're ready to load you."
The mutants complied. They spoke in hushed undertones. Their focus rods, like tall staffs, bristled unevenly above their heads.
Lycan led them up the ladder to the second level. Led them down the long corridor. Led them past gleaming, whirring machinery.
In the huge, open launching area, the other aliens made last minute adjustments on the saucer ships.
The Elder sent the first group forward. They boarded their ships. The aliens withdrew.
A section of the wall unfolded. Air hissed away, expelling the saucer ships out into space. The mutants worked their simple controls. The saucer ships floated together as if for protection. On signal, they plunged earthward.
The section of the wall folded back. Air entered. The aliens rushed out and unloaded more saucer ships from the storage compartments.
Mutants entered and boarded. The aliens withdrew. The wall unfolded. A second group of saucer ships plunged earthward. The wall folded back. It was as if the space station had opened its mouth; as if the mouth had breathed flying saucers.
Down they came.
Early Sunday sunlight burst across the eastern part of the North American continent.