How could they think? What sort of creatures could they be? Herb's imagination shrank from the task. It was one thing to hate the Oligarchy, but it was quite another to favor the end of the Universe.
The rustle of voices diminished. They were after him. They would get him.
Herb thought: Perhaps with this one action I have saved the Universe. When this becomes known on Brionimar, when it is learned how I, single handed, exposed the menace, then they will....
But suppose William was right?
Never before had such a thought even fought for recognition, and now, without warning, it erupted in naked completeness. It was an electric shock.
No! he shrieked,no!
He was sitting erect. He was clammy with icy perspiration. His whole body was suddenly silent and listening, every muscle and nerve strained in the direction of the hunt.
He lay back.
No, he thought.
The next day the Oligarch called him in.
"I want to thank you again, Herb." He watched his words sink into naked flesh. "If you had not told me, I would never have suspected. But for you, he—he might have succeeded."
Herb refused to look into the Oligarch's face. I did right, he thought. I did what I had to do, what anyone would have done.
"I know it has been a shock," the Oligarch said. "You were very fond of William."
Herb's lips twisted silently.
"I want to tell you a story," the Oligarch said. "Listen, listen carefully. It is about a man called Bud and what he did."
Herb was not listening; and then suddenly he was listening. The Oligarch told the story, and when he was done, leaned forward, waiting. It was as if Herb had just heard the most important story in the world.
"His brother's head," the Oligarch whispered, "he traded his brother's head for power...."
There was something about the idea that reached deep into the ancient folk shadows of Herb's mind and stood as a symbol. But he did not understand about symbols: only their compulsive effects. All his rage and frustration and guilt crystalized around Bud. If he could only see Bud fall and gasp and die, he would have vindicated morality and done all that he could do in the name and cause of justice.
"You may go," the Oligarch said. "Think about what I've told you."
CHAPTER VIII
Norma missed Herb. There was the glamor of the unknown about him and the appeal of the familiar. He was two individuals, a little boy, confused and puzzled and mute and needing her, and a man, strong and wise and belonging to a strange world she could not enter as she had entered all too easily the masculine world of Earth.
She was with Frank when Bud made his television announcement.
Bud beamed happily in the glare of uncounted millions of dollars of publicity. "At my invitation," he said, "the starmen have consented to return."
Frank winced to see what he thought to be a decent cause advancing the personal fortunes of a fool, a hypocrite, and a coward.
Bud—it was a little difficult to imagine (without having heard it) how he managed it—at the high point of his speech inserted a few remarks about home, mother, and the virtues of honesty and hard work. He was, he explained, a poor but honest man, holding certain principles dear to his heart. He was at a loss to account for the fact that he had been chosen to lead this great crusade for the starmen. "We can thank All Mighty God that they have consented to return.They will return.I do not believe there are enough Communists in the country today to prevent it."
Frank shuddered to think what might happen now. Suppose Bud should—God, no!—become President out of all this; suppose the people, in gratitude, or the politicians seeking a popular hero, contrived his election.
Frank felt that he might have erred in using bad means to gain good ends. For Bud, hunting subversives, socialists, liberals, and critics, could rapidly reduce the country to conformism and with native ingenuity, pervert starscience into a political weapon.
The first radio message, on Earth frequency, to the President requested that Bud be given the job of handling all negotiations. If, it said, Senator Council finds it in his heart to accept the responsibility.
Many people did not understand the last.
Bud did.
The morning of the day the starmen returned, Norma came into Bud's office. She was practically bursting with excitement. Thoughts of what their knowledge would contribute to Earth, the marvelous advances in medicine, in physics, in art that hovered just within reach....
On her way through the secretary's office, she passed a slight, nattily dressed man wearing a hat.
For a puzzled second she furrowed her brow. Then memory came. He had been investigated by the Senate Crime Committee. She bit her lip in exasperation. Why would Bud be willing to see someone like that?
"Wasn't that—?" she demanded, bursting into Bud's office.
He got up with quick awkwardness. His face was bloodless. "Ohhhhhh," he sighed. "I didn't expect—Hello, Sis."
"Wasn't that—?" she began again.
"It's, it's, it's, he, he...." Bud indicated the box on his desk. "From an old friend."
"What's wrong? Don't you feel well, Bud?"
"Fine, fine," Bud said. "I feel fine.... I'm very busy just now."
Norma sat down. The box rested on the desk between them. Warily Bud sank into his chair. She saw his face framed above the box, almost as if the head were hanging suspended and bodiless, and she felt an unaccountable tremor of superstitious fear.
"You poor dear," she said. "You've been worrying so much about the starmen.... You're losing weight. Have Frank give you a checkup, Bud; you ought to take things easier."
"... I will. I've been intending to.... I'll have him look me over. Where is he; do you know where he is?"
"He went out last night. I expect him back any time."
He stood up. He was calmer now. He rested one hand on the box. "Yes, I wouldn't worry. He'll show up. I am tired, terribly tired. You saw the Secret Service men out there? They're out to kill me, Norma!Senator Stilson is hiring them!"
Norma started to protest.
"I tell you, they are. If the Secret Service weren't out there to protect me, I'd be dead right now. But God has given me a job to do. I can't let them kill me until I have done His will."
"Bud, you're just overworked. Nobody's trying to do a thing like that. Frank says it's just publicity, and I thought...."
"Ahhhhh," Bud said darkly. "Would the President have assigned me a body guard if it weren't true?Would he?There are extremists in this country—Communists and Socialists—who stop at nothing to prevent the starmen from coming back. Even Frank...."
Norma's face grew a shade paler. "But he's the one...."
"You can never tell! But I'll tell you this. I pray every night, Sis. I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will let me live long enough." Bud's mind suddenly flashed back to his childhood, and he remembered praying that God would let him assassinate Stalin. God needed only to arm him and transport him to the Kremlin. He could have done the rest. He shook his head darkly again. "You don't understand the dangers." He felt courageous. It tookgutsto face the Communist menace.
She wanted to run. She clenched her fists. This is Bud, your brother, she thought. He's just upset. "I just wanted to see you for a moment," she said. "It wasn't about anything important."
Bud rubbed his hand caressingly over the box. "Yes?"
"I'll let you get back to work."
She stood up and started for the door.
"Don't worry about Frank!" Bud said sharply. "He's all right. Nothing's happened to him."
Norma was gone.
Bud began to cry, and looking at the box, he whispered, "It's all your fault. You made me do it. You did,you made me!"
CHAPTER IX
Herb knew, even before the spider ships touched ground, that he was going to murder Bud.
The ships were motionless. Slowly suspense mounted. At last one ship opened its port. The landing ladder spun away.
Down came the Oligarch, alone, dressed simply in a solid color double breasted suit. A businessman's suit. There was something reassuring and normal about him. There was initial silence, and then the cheer rose and thundered.
He went directly to the platform. President Wilkerson advanced to meet him. Their hands joined, and a pleasantry passed unheard beneath the cheering. The Oligarch surveyed the welcoming party of Congressmen, foreign diplomats, and government officials. He saw Bud. He crossed to him.
The cheer became deafening.
They exchanged a few whispered words. Lip readers might have caught the question and the assent. Then, smiling, they turned to the public. Nodding, waving, Bud (visibly upset about something) tried to give the impression of recognizing each face individually. The Oligarch bowed his head modestly.
Herb watched from the port of the spider ship. He clenched his fists angrily. If only he had a weapon of some sort.
The President spoke briefly.
Then, as the Oligarch moved toward the speaker's platform, Herb dropped swiftly down the ladder. His feet touched the ground.
The Oligarch watched from the corner of his eye. Herb moved toward the crowd. The crowd leaned forward to catch the Oligarch's every word.
And he was cleansed. He was free of all responsibility: it was now between Herb and Bud. If Herb succeeded....
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began.
They were hushed.
"Thank you for your reception. I stand today before...." His voice translated into a billion volts, blanketed the world with supersonic vibrations made audible by millions of loudspeakers.
He needed pay no attention to his speech. His mind was floating free, and his body was light and youthful. There were only a few more things to be done, and then his role would be finished.
"On this momentous occasion," the Oligarch continued.
Herb was free of the worst of the crowd. He resisted an impulse to run. He, too, was wearing a businessman's suit. It was the same one he had worn for the hearings. In it, he was indistinguishable from an Earthman. He pulled his hat lower over his face and pushed his way outward. Faces turned, eyes alerted with curiosity, shoulders shrugged, faces turned away. Herb did not know that Norma had seen him and was now trying to fight her way free of humanity to follow him.
The Oligarch continued his speech. His grim and gloomy reflections vanished. He peered out at the Earth faces with genuine benevolence.It's not in my hands any longer, he wanted to tell them.One of your Senators will make the ultimate decision, unless one of my starmen kills him first.
And then inwardly he chuckled. Or perhaps, he could have said,my starman will experience some incident, perhaps even a trivial one, that will awaken him to the fact that the universe is not in danger. In which event, he will not be able to convince you of the danger to Earth. For in due time, I will announce his escape as a dangerous lunatic.
Herb's feet moved rhythmically against the sidewalk. For one moment, there was a sense of freedom and impending loss. No more dream forms, his feet seemed to echo.
No
more
dream
forms....
And coloring it, the perception of the world around him, the bright air, the hot sun, the colors and the gentle wind. Perhaps the colors were most startling, for on Brionimar there was universal drabness that approached decay. The Oligarchy struck out at all frivolity, sensing danger to itself in all sensuous pleasure.
And then the beauty, the sheer, heart-stopping beauty of freedom and color burst on him; his conditioning collapsed. Earth knowledge surged across his memories.
It must not die, he thought, forgetting hatred in beauty. It must not, because there is so much that is good, that is noble, that is sad and mighty....
"Hello," Norma said breathlessly.
He whirled. For an instant he was terrified. He saw that she was alone.
He relaxed. Warmth grew within him. "Hello." Until now, it had not occurred to him that he might have been followed.
"Why did you—?"
A radio was blaring somewhere, and as he looked at her, both of them half laughing, they both heard the announcement that would be headlined shortly in the papers, as:
RENEGADE STARMAN ESCAPES SHIP. FEAR INSANE, SAYS GEORGE.
EARTH AUTHORITIES ALERTED. (Full description of escapee on page two.)
THIS MAN IS ARMED AND DANGEROUS.
CHAPTER X
Herb hunched his shoulders as if to ward off a suspected blow. Norma's eyes mirrored fright and uncertainty, and she moved half a step from him.
Grasping her arm at the elbow, he said, "We have to get off the streets."
Norma wanted to twist away from him and run.
"You've got to help me hide!" The pressure seemed threatening.
"Let me go!"
He dropped his hand instantly. "You've got to help me."
From the expression on his face, she knew that she had nothing to fear. She felt ashamed of herself.
"We can go to my hotel," she said.
Once in the hotel, Herb's eyes darted around the four walls of the living room.
"There are no microphones," Norma said.
They stood just inside the door. Norma turned and walked decisively to the divan. She sat down. "I think you'd better explain."
"I ... I need some money," Herb said. "There's something I have to get."
"What is it?"
"I.... Please trust me,please," he said.
She hesitated; then: "How much do you need?"
"A ... hundred dollars. Could you let me have—loan me—that much?"
Norma knew he was not insane; there was something here that she did not understand, but it was not insanity. Her emotions went out to him. She saw the present situation only in personal terms, their own relationship. She saw no wider implications. Intuition, she would have called it. Decisively, she phoned for the bellboy and when he came, gave him a check for the management to cash.
While they were waiting for the money, she said, "Won't you tell me—?"
"I can't. I can't. I wish I could. Please, if you'll—" he hesitated, and then, with sickness and loathing, said, "trust me...."
The money came.
"I'll try to pay you back; make it up to you some way...."
"That's all right. Where are you going? What are you going to buy?"
Perhaps it was the desire to shock her, to destroy her faith in him, perhaps and more probably, it was the need to confess (and hope for absolution) that he said: "I want to buy a gun."
"Why do you want a gun?"
Herb, still standing, tried to memorize her face. He was acutely aware of his isolation. He wanted to go to her side, to talk rapidly, to reveal the cruel and horrible compulsion that was driving him—and most of all, to enlist her aid and her understanding. He needed to know that one single individual in the whole Universe could appreciate his attempt to meet his own standard of truth and morality.
"Tell me. Maybe Bud will be able to help you out of your trouble.... He's my brother...."
The complexity of emotions that burst upon him was almost impossible to understand. He had thought of her—if he had actually thought of the connection at all—as an employee of Bud's, perhaps, but no more than that. He asked incredulously: "Frank was your brother?"
"You mean ... is my brother?"
"Yes ... I, yes, of course."
"What did you mean: was my brother?" Uneasiness settled deep inside her. "Has something happened to him?"
"No. No. It was a grammatical error." Herb thought the sentence too stiff for credence. But she seemed reassured.
"I'll get Bud to help you. And Frank, too. Perhaps the three of us can get you out of any trouble you're in. I'm sure the starmen will be fair. If it's something you've done...."
"No! Don't talk to Bud! Don't tell him you've seen me. You mustn't!"
"Herb, you're being silly." She stood up. "You make it sound like I've got something to be afraid of from my own brother."
Herb bit his lips in anguish and ran from the room.
Norma heard his feet on the carpet, running, running....
The empty room became a thing of terror. She was entangled in something beyond her understanding, and the world seemed less secure than at any time since her parents had died. Should she go after Herb, or...?
She started toward the telephone, stopped, turned away—and then turned back.
She got the switchboard.
"Get me Senator Council's office.... Hello, oh, hello, John. Norma. Is Bud in yet? Oh, still. Have him call me as soon as he—oh. All right. I'll be over in an hour then. And John: have you heard anything from Frank? I'm beginning to get worried about him. He isn't in yet...."
She hung up slowly, wondering if she had done the proper thing.
She was early for the appointment with Bud, and she was waiting in the outer office when he came in. His two guards nodded recognition and Bud said, "What is it, Norma?" His tone was irritable, and she wanted to cry.
"Please, may I talk to you a minute?"
Bud shifted his weight nervously.
"Please, Bud!"
"Come on. I haven't got all day." Letting her enter the main office before him, he said. "What's it about this time?"
He drew the door to his private office closed after them, and went to his desk where he picked up a letter and pretended to read it. "Well? Well?"
"I've talked to Herb."
Bud's face sagged. The letter began to tremble ever so slightly. Norma did not notice. He did not look up. How much did Herb know? About Frank? Did he know? "Yes?"
He felt weakness dissolve his arm muscles and dissolve the muscles of his thighs and calves. He was afraid that he was about to suffer a heart attack. He had difficulty breathing. "What—what did he have to say?"
"He wanted me to buy a gun for him."
"What for? What for? What did he want a gun for?"
Norma twisted her hands nervously. "I don't know. He wouldn't say. He's in trouble. I thought maybe we could help him."
"He didn't say anything else?" Bud demanded sharply, feeling the fear fade. "He didn't tell you, he didn't say anything else?"
"No, just that he needed a gun—"
"Where is he now?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know? You don't know? He's trying to get a gun, and you don't know where he is?"
"I—I—"
"No telling what kind of a crazy fool idea he's got. No telling what kind of lies he'd tell about me!"
"He's in trouble, Bud. We ought to—"
"You listen to me! You do what I say! Don't pay any attention to anything he says. If you see him again, you call me!"
"I think I'd better talk to Frank about it, Bud. Have you seen him?"
Bud was on his feet and around the desk. He grabbed her shoulders and began to shake her. Her face drained of color. His nostrils flared white.
"Bud! Bud! What's got into you?"
"Frank's all right!" Bud cried. "Now, get out, get out, GET OUT!" He shoved her away from him. "Get out," he sobbed.
Half dazed, she backed away, opened the door, and disappeared.
Trembling, Bud sank into his chair. It was a long time before his breathing returned to normal. He counted his pulse with intense concentration, feeling it flutter like a wounded bird beneath his finger tips.
CHAPTER XI
Herb had no real hope of eluding capture. After he fled from Norma, he pulled his hat low over his face and hurried down the street. At the first hotel, he entered and registered and was shown his room.
He fell on the bed; the room was fuzzy and dull. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. His mind was such a searing agony of doubt that he had to escape from it. He curled up warmly and nestled against the softness of the mattress and closed his eyes, trying to drive all thought from him, and he slept....
When he awoke, the room was heavy with darkness and silence, and he lay still, trying to feel the vibration of the ship's motors. The memory of a formless dream clung to his mind, and he tried to clarify it for the dream form.
Awareness of his location came. He relaxed, wanted to sleep again, thought: no more dream forms, no more.... Other memories stirred and returned, and he was uneasily awake. He opened his eyes, growing tense.
He held his breath. The dark around him concealed unknown dangers. He was still fully clothed, and he stood up. He found the light switch.
With the bright flame of electricity he became aware of how heavy his head was; how incoherent his thoughts were; and there was a sour taste in his mouth. He blinked his eyes. The room was reassuringly normal.
He went back to bed and lay down. His thoughts whirled. Beyond thought there was a great, tugging emptiness in his stomach, a sense of despair that seemed to dwell in every tiny muscle and radiate outward from every tiny blood vessel. The light made him naked, and he could not face his own nakedness.
He turned out the light and returned to the bed. The dark was protective and reassuring now, and he closed his eyes.
Bit by bit the sense of unreality fled.
Dawn came.
The TV set sat squatly on the table across the room. Morning sunshine fell brightly through the Venetian blinds. Herb turned on the set to discover the latest news of his pursuit.
The screen lighted and on its surface formed the deadly trinity of the starships. It was a long shot from a sound truck, and the camera panned an expanse of desert beyond to focus briefly on the Arizona sunrise.
An announcer was commenting on the riot of color that was quite obvious to the viewer: the flame of dawn in the sky and the blood red of the prairie flowers that covered the desert.
Herb watched and listened.
The starships were in place. Their cutting beams lanced out, there were puffs of destruction, and the tubings struck into the ground.
The camera near one of the ships observed the operation intently. A scientist was commenting on the technology of the starmen. "The information inherent in one of these ships alone," he said (characteristically underestimating the pace of advancement), "would be enough to thrust Earth a hundred years—in terms of scientific knowledge—into the future."
A shudder spun through Herb's body. He paced the room restlessly. Somewhere at a distance a clock struck the hour. Outside the open window, English sparrows chattered shrill, imperative commands.
Herb was hungry. He phoned the desk and ordered breakfast. He was in the bath room when the bellboy arrived; he called, "The money's on the dresser." For fear of being recognized, he remained hidden until the bellboy left.
He came out. The tray was on the night table. Eating, he continued to watch the progress of the starships.
The voice of the Oligarch now came from the TV. He fabricated plausible details about what they were discovering of Earth's early physical history.
Sweaty faces advanced and receded from the cameras. The three tubes continued into the Earth, going deeper by the minute.
A sense of urgency and desperation filled Herb. He must hurry to kill Bud. By noon the desert operation would be completed. Earth would be a mined planet. Destruction could then be accomplished by the flick of a switch.
He looked at his face in the mirror. Black stubble pricked his skin in a thousand places, and he ran his hand across his cheek. He shrugged and found his hat.
Until sunset, he told himself, he would have until sunset to accomplish his self-imposed assignment.
Bud, he thought (and revulsion mounted in him), is her brother, and she, his sister; and Frank, Frank is dead and forgotten and hidden somewhere, as soon will be now the Earth and all its beauty.
He was in the street. The sunshine was bright. He walked.
A gun, he thought, for a hand that is hungry for—and he thought: To cup the hand behind Norma's head, and stroke her hair, and look deeply into her eyes. He looked at his hands; strange, hungry hands, he thought. He felt them tighten against the metallic iciness of a gun....
"You can't," the man behind the counter said, "buy a pistol without a permit. You'll have to get a police permit before I can sell you a gun." His eyes shifted uneasily from Herb's face, and Herb thanked the man and started back toward the sunshine.
"Wait a minute!" the man said.
The harsh command froze Herb. He turned. He found himself looking into reward-hungry eyes. The hand below them held an automatic. The hand was trembling with greed.
"You're that starman," the proprietor said.
Herb caught his breath. He jerked to his left and spun around. He ran.
The harsh roar of the automatic burst behind him. The proprietor had taken flight for an admission of identity; but perhaps latent uncertainty had carried the bullet high. It smashed into the window pane above Herb's head, and glass fragments erupted upon the pavement.
"Stop him! Stop him!" cried the proprietor as Herb fled.
The sunlight was bright. Herb bolted across an intersection, narrowly missed being run down by a car, dodged around a heavy truck and ran to the left.
There was no more shooting. There was a hub-hub behind him. A policeman's whistle sounded.
Herb jerked around another corner. There was the sound of pursuit.
He ran a block, doubled back, entered a department store, lost himself in the crowd, took the elevator up to the third floor.
He tried to look interested in the merchandise. Each second cost him an extra heart beat. He left a counter and went to the stairs. He became inconspicuously preoccupied with distant thoughts. He was once more on the ground floor. He left the building by the opposite entrance.
He hailed a taxi. His heart beat desperately.
Once settled in the rear seat, he felt almost secure. The worst was over. He told the driver, "Down town."
After a dozen blocks, he got out. When the cab was gone, he walked back the way he had come. He found a hotel, registered, and was shown his room.
He stood at the window. A police car cruised by. For a moment, he was afraid it would stop.
I must get a gun, he thought. Time seemed to be falling swiftly in the bright air.
I must, I must.
He went to the television set and switched it on.
The starships were still occupying the screen. The sun was slanting its rays across the desert.
An announcer spoke in a dryly excited voice.
Herb sat down, and when at length one starship lumbered into the center of the triangle and its beam struck out, weariness and futility possessed him. They were planting the atomic seed. Within an hour there would be no hope of reprieve. There was none now; and yet it seemed, doom was not irreversible until this last act was accomplished and the seed in place.
Herb spun the selector. He did not want to witness the climactic moment.
What was the name of Norma's hotel?
He remembered.
He went to the telephone....
When Norma arrived in answer to the call, she found an unshaven Herb nervously pacing the floor.
"Where have you been?" she asked breathlessly.
He seated himself on the bed and wrinkled the coverlet in his hands, working with it furiously.
"They're going to blow up the world," he said.
"Who—What?"
"I helped them. It's my fault. I was a fool. I couldn't know, you see that? I couldn'tknow...."
Norma was ashen.
Herb stood up and crossed to her side and looked down at her. "Out in the desert, they have just finished planting the charge. That's what they came here for. They're going to blow up the world."
"The starmen?"
"Yes."
Norma was on her feet. She was too terrified to ask why. She did not question....It was true!
"We've got to stop them!"
"We can't, it's too late," Herb said.
"Why not, why is it?"
"It's too late."
"We've got to stop them."
"It's too late. There's nothing we can do. Listen. Get me a gun. I want to—"
He loomed wild-eyed above her. She didn't understand what he intended to do: only that some impossible fury was driving him. "You've got to help me stop them. There must be some way."
"Get me a gun! Get me a gun!" Every atom of his being cried out to her: he had to have the gun. His thoughts were warped and twisted. With the gun everything would be clear in his mind. Everything would follow step by step. The gun could spout a great, purifying flame.
He was alone in the room. He looked down. She had dropped her purse, and it had spilled open. He walked to the gun that had fallen from it.
Norma ran, wild and terrified. To whom could she turn?
Frank! Where was he?
Frank....
Bud?
No. No, not Bud. He—
There was no one else. Bud. Her breath was fire. He would have to do something. Bud.
She hailed a cab.
"Bud!" she called as she opened the car door. "The Senate Office Building! Hurry!" Bud, she sobbed under her breath. He can do something to stop it.
Herb examined the gun carefully. He weighed it in his hand. It would do nicely. He pocketed it.
He would need only an instant. A taxi from here to the Senator's office. A trip in the elevator. Perhaps a slight wait: and then Senator Council framed in the doorway. He had—how long? Several hours, he told himself.
He touched the gun again. No hurry. No real hurry.
Several hours.
Norma was hysterical when she burst into Bud's office. One of Bud's hands darted for the drawer where he had taken to keeping an automatic. The hand stopped.
Norma's lips were trembling uncontrollably. "Bud!" she gasped. "Bud, they're planning to blow up the world!"
"What are you talking about?" he demanded angrily. "What do you mean?"
"The starmen! I saw Herb. He told me. I had to come to you, Bud. You've got to make them stop it!"
"Nonsense," Bud said. "You're out of your mind. You're crazy." He surged to his feet. "Where is Herb? I told you to come see me if you found him. Where is he?"
"It's true!" Norma cried. "I know it's true! They've been lying to us. They spy on each other. They have hidden microphones everywhere. They want to destroy the world, Bud! Oh, please, please, please, you've got to believe me...."
Bud came toward her. She was insane, of course. It was astonishing how many people were insane. Sometimes Bud thought he was the only sane person left. "Now, now, you just tell me where Herb is, and I'll go have a nice long talk with him." He pocketed the automatic.
"You don't believe me."
"Oh, I do. Dear, I do, of course, I do. They're going to blow up the world.... I'd like to see Herb and talk it over with him." He made soothing motions with his hands.
Bud's face, round and smiling and vacant, peered down. She wanted to throw something at it. She wanted to launch herself upon him and shake him and make him listen to her. He was a monolithic caricature of stupidity. She had to force herself into his mind and make himsee.
Bud came no closer to her. "Now, now, everything's going to be all right," he said. "Now, now, brother's little sister is...." He took a half step backward.
She was able to see him for the first time as Frank saw him. A little sense of horror was born and began to grow. She stared at him with slowly vanishing disbelief. How could someone like this be her brother? He was some cold, unfeeling, insensitive thing, wrapped up in a world that embraced no one but himself.
"What have you done to Frank?" she demanded. "Bud,what have you done to my brother?"
Bud half snarled.
And the Oligarch stepped out of the little room to the left. "I think it's about time I take over."
Norma felt her heart pulse and stop cold. Ice filled the air.
Bud said, staring at her with fascination, "She's going crazy, George."
Norma turned to the Oligarch. "What did you make him do to Frank?"
"Not here," Bud said softly. "Don't kill her yet. She knows where Herb is."
Norma wanted to scream. She only half opened her mouth when the Oligarch's hand slapped sharply against her neck. Her knees buckled and she dropped unconscious to the heavy carpet.
"She knows where Herb is," Bud said again. "We've got to find him before he tells someone—tells someone else about Frank."
"She was telling the truth," the Oligarch said. "We are going to blow up the world. That's what I came back to Washington to tell you."
Herb arrived at the new Senate Office Building. He paid his fare and dismissed the cab. No one noticed him as he entered the lobby. He took the elevator to Senator Council's office. He was taking his time; he had several hours.
The secretary, John, was behind his desk. The reception room was empty. Herb felt his stomach muscles tighten, and his hands clenched the pocketed gun tightly and grew damp.
"Yes?"
"I want to see the Senator."
"What is the nature of your business?"
"I want to talk about, about some private matters. I can wait until he can see me." Herb felt the gun, heavy and reassuring.
"The Senator isn't in right now. Perhaps I can help you?"
"No," Herb said sharply. "My business is with him. It's just between the two of us."
"He just left with his sister and George, the starman."
Herb bent forward intently. Time telescoped. An hour was no longer a practical infinity. "Where did they go?"
"I don't know, sir."
To the spider ship, Herb thought. They came back to Washington. They came back—to give Bud his reward for betrayal....
Herb was at the door. He almost tore it from the hinges when he jerked it open.
John picked up his telephone and placed a call to the C.I.D. "The starman, Herb," he said, "has just left Senator Council's office. You can pick him up outside. If you hurry."
Bud dismissed his bodyguard, and he and George supported Norma between them as they left the building by private elevator and subway to the garage. Bud's face was grey, his lips bloodless.
The Oligarch had presented him with a choice. Tomorrow morning, some high government official would receive in the mail Frank's head, along with Bud's signed confession. If Bud did not, before then, speak the key words that would blow up the planet. Bud, in the first stunned instant, cried: "Take me with you!" But even as he spoke, he knew that he was doomed. Knowledge did not prevent appeal, but it helped develop resignation. Bud thrust out with entreaties and debased himself with cowardly promises, and seeing them fail, tried threats which failed equally. His mind splintered into a thousand shards and reality became abstracted fragments of himself: the world ceased then to exist for him, and he lived in a phantom land, and his ego seized upon icebergs that drifted across the chill sea of thought.
He became noble.
Norma came to consciousness as the car, driven inexpertly by the Senator, rolled toward the airport. Early afternoon sunlight slanted down across the Capitol.
She lay very quiet in the back seat, listening to the hiss of the tires. Her neck was swollen and throbbing.Don't kill her yet, her own brother had said, and then, out of the silence of the car, came his own voice again, contradicting what had gone before.
"Dearer to me than all gold," Bud said. "Child of my beloved mother."
"We will take her with us," the starman answered soothingly, reassuringly.
"She's all that's left," Bud said.
Norma lay quiet, unmoving, not daring to open her eyes.
"You can't know what she means to me," Bud said. "You must tell her that. You must promise to tell her."
"I will do it. I promise you."
Bud said intently, "You must promise, I must know."
"I promise."
"Nothing will happen to her? She's all I have left. All. Child of my beloved mother."
Tension accumulated between Bud and the starman. Norma realized that her brother was no longer sane.
The car slowed and stopped. Still Norma did not move. She was too terrified. They came to her door and opened it.
George pulled her roughly from the seat. She moaned but she did not open her eyes. His hard muscles against her were deadly and threatening, and her knees were so weak that, had she wanted to, she could not have supported herself.
She heard a starman's feet on the steel ladder that descended from the spider ship. She felt herself scooped up and dropped over his shoulder. In the background she heard her brother's voice, "Child of...." The agony of the voice was almost unendurable. "You must tell her what I did to save her."
And she was jolted harshly upon the starman's shoulder as he swung her up the ladder.
George's feet clanged behind her on the steel, and she heard the sharp, laboring hiss of the breath of the man carrying her.
They were at the port. They entered, and the starman dropped her roughly to the floor, and George clanged the door.
"You attended to the other ships?" George asked in the alien tongue of Brionimar.
"Yes," the starman said. "They will both explode shortly after takeoff."
"The others are all aboard? We are the only ones on this one?"
"Yes."
"Good. I will remember this. You have done a good day's work. You follow instructions well. I won't forget."
"Thank you."
"Watch the girl. I'll give the signal to leave."
"What do we do with her?"
"Dump her out as soon as we hit open space."
George's feet went forward. It was over, he was done. The issue lay between Bud and himself and between Bud and Herb, an exciting and dangerous situation that held, in its solution, the Oligarch's (and the Oligarchy's) fate: the fate of two worlds. The stakes were high. The Oligarch, thinking how free he was of the final responsibility, went first to wash the Earth germs from his contaminated hands.
Norma had not understood the conversation that muttered above her. But her terror was replaced by a sense of desperation. She moaned and opened her eyes.
The starman, looking down at her with a cold, impersonal gaze, grunted something unintelligible.
Norma struggled to her feet. He made no move to prevent or assist her. She steadied herself against the wall. Near her hand, in a clip holder, was a short, steel fire extinguishing rod. When the starman drew back his hand to hit her, she cringed away. Instinctively she found the rod and jerked it loose. Before she was aware of the action with her conscious mind, the starman sank to the floor, and the bar clattered from her nerveless fingers.
Heart racing, she turned for the door. A moment later, she was outside, clambering down the ladder.
There were no taxis in sight. A jeep, driven by a uniformed messenger, drew to the curb. Herb, holding his breath, crossed to it. The driver cut the motor and got out. When he disappeared in the building across the street, Herb slipped behind the wheel. He was a technician. He began to experiment. Recently acquired knowledge came to his aid.
After what seemed a timeless heat and an endless exposure, he had the motor running.
The C.I.D. man, who had come over on the subway from the House, stepped out into the sunshine. He surveyed the street with a practiced eye.
Herb spun the jeep away from the curb and sent it careening erratically toward the airport. The C.I.D. man (fairly confident of his identification of Herb) fired twice. Herb heard one of the bullets make an explosive pop as it passed near his ear. He hunched over the wheel and gunned the motor.
Norma stumbled from the ladder and started to run. The spider ships loomed menacingly behind her. An army guard started forward to question her, and a jeep leaped suddenly into sight from around the corner of the Administration Building. A heart beat later the jeep skewed around beside her, and Herb, his face twisted with hate and fury cried, "Where's Bud?"
One of the spider ships behind them became airborne; and then a second leaped away.
CHAPTER XII
George was at the controls of the ship. As his hand hovered at the firing stud, he heard someone enter behind him. He turned.
It was the starman. His hair was matted with blood. There was a wild, rebellious glint in his eyes. He snarled like an animal.
"She hit me!" he cried. And then he smashed a fist into George's face. George went down and the starman stepped across him to the control panel. His resentment had been accumulating for a life time. He had just sabotaged two ships and sent his fellow starmen to death at the orders of the Oligarch; and he must have known (even if he told himself otherwise) that he, too, would not return to Brionimar: that alone of all who had been on the surface of Earth, the Oligarch would survive. But even in this knowledge, he had still remained loyal, caught like Herb, like his whole civilization, by the specter of chaos and held helpless. But now, thinking the destruction of Earth a certainty, his resentment rechanneled, he was able to strike—even kill, if necessary—the Oligarch in order to revenge himself upon the Earth girl who had struck him.
He snapped on the scanner and searched the airport. He saw Norma climb into the jeep. He sent the spider ship lumbering toward her. The jeep began to run.
The spider legs moved faster, and the ship, like a drunk, lurched awkwardly across the runway in pursuit. He was no pilot, but his hands jerked levers and twisted wheels and the ship moved. He sighted the underbelly heat ray.
Just as he depressed the firing lever, the ship stumbled across a transport plane that lay passively interdicting its path. The ship veered sharply to the left, throwing the sighting off target and causing the ray to turn the ground molten short of the speeding car.
The starman struggled to right his vehicle.
George found his weapon. He was numb and horrified.If Norma were actually killed ... if Bud found out...!
George moved his weapon slowly so as not to attract the starman's attention. He was terribly, desperately frightened and unsure of himself.
The starman reached again for the firing lever. George shot twice. The starman's hand fluttered as if in indecision, and George shot again. The starman fell backwards, and the ship shuddered to a stop.
George rolled to his feet. If Norma were not already dead, he must recapture her.
The C.I.D. man arrived in time to see the fantastic sight of a red and silver, tri-legged Leviathan from space stumbling after a surplus jeep. He slammed his car to a halt before the army guard station and cried, "Shoot him! Shoot him!" Demonstrating, he fired wildly in the direction of the jeep. "C.I.D.!" he cried. "Shoot, damn it!"
Herb heard the sinister pop of the hand gun and, glancing out of the corner of his eye, saw the rifles aligning themselves in his direction. He huddled lower over the wheel and screamed to Norma, "Hold on!"
Norma was transfixed with terror. The huge spider ship seemed almost upon them.
Herb was going too fast for the quick turn he attempted. The steering wheel was wrenched from his hand, and the jeep, like a tripped animal, twisted and threw itself to the ground and rolled over.
At the first bone shattering crash, Norma slammed into Herb, and his head cracked the steering wheel solidly.
Far to the west, the sky flashed dull red as the first spider ship exploded in flight. The sky flashed red again. Soldiers were running toward the wreck when the first shock wave rolled in.
In giant strides, George brought his own ship to the overturned jeep. It straddled the wreck like a defiant parent and seemed to challenge the advancing soldiers. George hurried to the port.
He slammed the door back and cried, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" The outer ladder fell away at the touch of his hand, and a second later his feet were hurrying down it.
Once on the ground, he was at the jeep in a heart beat. There was no blood, but both figures were very still. "Help me!" he cried to the arriving soldiers.
Two came forward, laid aside their guns, and together, with gentle hands, lifted Norma and then Herb free of the wreckage.
When they were stretched out on the ground, George knelt. Perspiration wetted his upper lip. He poised above Norma, seeking some sign of life, and he was aware of Herb stirring uneasily to his rear. Norma's eyelids fluttered, and a wave of relief and exultation enveloped George.
"She's all right," George said loudly. "Make sure the newspapers carry that. The girl is all right."
"Who is she?"
"She's one of ours," the Oligarch said with nice possessiveness. Bud would know better: that was all that mattered. He would know that the girl was Norma and that the girl was safe. The delicate equation of his decision was once more in balance. "Help me get them aboard the ship."
A small crowd was gathering, and an Army major pushed his way forward. The C.I.D. man, over-awed by the Oligarch's presence, and uncertain of what to do now, held back watching.
"What's this?" the major demanded. "What's this?"
George stood up. "It's our personal problem. This renegade—"
"Is he the one who escaped from you? The nutty one?"
"Yes," George said.
"What about your other two ships? They exploded. They just exploded."
Instantly the surrounding Earthmen rustled suspiciously.
"He—" George said.... "It was sabotage. He is responsible. Terrible. Terrible. I'm stunned. We haven't any time to waste. I've got to get this girl back to our big ship out there in space for medical attention."
"We've sent for a doctor," the major said stiffly.
"We have doctors. For God's sake, man, help me get them aboard. There's no time to stand here talking. We have advanced techniques, if I can only get there in time, that may mean the difference between life and death...."
The major hesitated. "All right. You two soldiers—take the girl up the ladder."
"Herb, too," the Oligarch said. "If he survives, he will be tried."
The major grunted at two more soldiers.
George followed them up the ladder. He greeted the capture of Herb with bitterness. The game was over; he had been denied the excitement of it being played out. And yet there was relief: although he had once more been thrust into a role of player, it was not of his own volition. The conspiracy of events had released him from free choice. It was not his fault that it was necessary to remove Herb prematurely from the arena. He was uncomfortably aware that the major was following him.
Inside the ship, George directed the soldiers to put their burdens in the first compartment to the left. Then he turned to the major. "Your prompt action may well have saved her life." He was tense and frightened. Now that he was sure it would be reported that a girl had been returned to the ship and hurried to medical attention, it was of paramount importance to get the soldiers and the major out of the ship. If Norma were unexpectedly to recover and begin to talk, the major might prove difficult to handle.
The crush of danger hung upon him. An instant, in which he wished to surrender and confess, was transplanted by dedication to victory. The sense of mission returned.
"I don't think I should permit you to leave, sir," the major said politely. "I've thought it over."
"Sir?"
"In view of what happened to the other two ships. How do you know this one hasn't been sabotaged, too? In your understandable anxiousness to get this girl...."
"I'm sure," George said evenly. "I tell you this ship is all right."
"Well, how do you know? Obviously, you knew the other two ships were all right, too; only they weren't...."
The Oligarch restrained an impulse to command. "This is too important a matter to delay with explanations."
The four soldiers clustering around the major seemed ominous.
"Our doctor will be here in a moment. Immediate aid can be given the girl."
George's hands trembled with rage and maddening anxiety. "I am going to takeoff immediately. Explanations can come later when the girl has been treated. I will hold you personally responsible for any further delay." He went toward the control room.
The major started to follow.
The Oligarch whirled to face him. "You will be responsible for her death. I am going to leave. If necessary, I will take all of you with me. You will have to use force to stop me."
The major stood with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. There was silence. The fists slowly unclenched.
"I would advise you to get off the ship at once," George said. He turned once more. This time he did not look back.
A thrill of uncertainty grew within the major. He swallowed stiffly and then snapped angrily to the waiting soldiers, "All right, get the lead out! Let's go! Let's go, let's go!" He seemed to want to push them physically toward the exit.
The Oligarch was in the control room by the time they dropped off the ladder to the ground. A flick of the switch, and the ladder retreated. The ship trembled. A savage jab, and the ship became airborne. It was too late now for them to stop him. He had made a successful escape. He was weak with reaction. A few moments more....
He studied the dials. Earth fell away.
He could hurry. He only need save enough fuel for a tie in. He waited impatiently for altitude. Earth shrank. The features of her surface blurred. A cloud occluded her face completely. The air resistance lessened. Gravity weakened. He was able to pour the fuel into the space jets. He fired the first and second banks. Fuel gauges descended. Acceleration pressed against him like a hand. More jets. He was in a hurry. His mission was accomplished. Within two hours he would be out of the danger area of the Earth explosion. But he was not overly worried about that. He did not expect it until an hour or so after sunrise over Washington.
He locked the ship on automatic. Time enough later to finish computing the trajectory.
He was now free to dispose of Herb and Norma.
The sense of elation increased as he left the control room. He fingered his hand weapon and smiled to himself. Less than a minute later, he stepped into the doorway of the room containing the two people, his gun raised.
CHAPTER XIII
Herb had regained consciousness.
Herb shot, and flame leaped toward the Oligarch. The room roared with the explosion.