The Silkie Read online

  Baxter was in a distracted state, but presently his return thought came. 'Nat, yours is just about the best idea we've had. And you're right. This could be dangerous.'

  There was a pause. Baxter must have got his message through to other of the Special People, for Cemp began to record a general Silkie warning. 'To all Silkies: It would be unwise for too many of you to concentrate at one time in one place. So divide into ten groups on the secret-number system, plan G. Group One only, approach and land. All others disperse until called.'

  In the sky near Cemp, Silkies began to mill around. Cemp, who, by the designated number system, was in group three, veered off, climbed to the upper atmosphere, and darted a thousand miles over, to his home in Florida.

  En route, he talked mentally to his wife, Joanne. And so by the time he walked naked into the house, she had clothes laid out for him and knew as much as he about what had happened.

  As Cemp dressed, he saw that she was in a womanly state of alarm, more concerned than he. She accepted that there was a Silkie nation and that this meant there would also be Silkie women.

  'Admit it!' she said tearfully. 'That thought has already crossed your mind, hasn't it?'

  'I'm a logical person,' Cemp defended. 'So I've had fleeting thoughts about all possibilities. But being sensible, I feel that a lot of things have to be explained before I can reject what we know of Silkie history. And so until we have proof of some thing different, I shall go on believing that Silkies are the result of biological experiments' with DNA and DNP and that old Sawyer did it there on Echo Island.'

  'What's going to become of our marriage?' Joanne said in an anguished voice.

  'Nothing will change.'

  She sobbed. 'I'm going to seem to you like a native woman of three hundred years ago who is married to a white man on a South Sea Island — and then white women begin arriving on the island.'

  The wildness of her fantasying astounded Cemp. 'It's not the same,' he said. 'I promise complete loyalty and devotion for the rest of our lives.'

  'Nobody can promise anything in personal relations,' she said. But his words seemed to reassure her after a moment. She dried her eyes and came over to him and allowed herself to be kissed.

  It was an hour before a phone call came from Charley Baxter. The man was apologetic for the delay but explained that it was the result of a conference on Cemp's future actions.

  'It was a discussion just about you in all this,' Baxter said.

  Cemp waited.

  The final decision was to continue to not let Cemp intermingle with other Silkies — 'for reasons that you know,' Baxter said significantly.

  Cemp surmised that the reference was to the secret knowledge he had gained from the Kibmadine Di-isarinn and that this meant they would continue to send him on special missions that kept him away from other Silkies.

  Baxter now produced the information that only four hundred Silkies had been approached by alter egos. 'The number actually reported in,' he said, 'is three hundred and ninety-six.'

  Cemp was vaguely relieved, vaguely contemptuous. U-Brem's claim that all Silkies were targets was now proved to be propaganda. He had already shown himself to be an inept Silkie. The lie added one more degrading touch.

  'Some of them were pretty poor duplicates,' said Baxter. 'Apparently, mimicking another body is not a great skill with them.'

  However, he admitted, even four hundred was more than enough to establish the existence of a hitherto unknown group of Silkies.

  'Even if they are untrained,' he said, 'we've absolutely got to find out who they are and where they come from.'

  'Is there no clue?' Cemp asked.

  No more than he already knew.

  'They all got away?' Cemp said, astounded. 'No one did any better than I did?'

  'On the average, not as well,' said Baxter.

  It seemed that most Silkies had made no effort to hold the strange Silkies who confronted them; they had simply reported in and asked for instructions.

  'Can't blame them,' said Baxter.

  He continued, 'But I might as well tell you that your fight and your reasons for fighting make you one of the two dozen Silkies we feel we can depend on in this matter. So here are your instructions .

  He talked for several minutes and, concluded, 'Take Joanne with you, but go at once!'

  **

  The sign said, ALL THE MUSIC IN THIS BUILDING IS SILKIE MUSIC.

  Cemp, who had never 1istened for long to any other kind, saw the faint distaste come into his wife's face. She caught his look and evidently his thought, for she said, 'All right, so it sounds dead level to me, as if it's all the same note — well, any way, the same few notes, close together, repeated in various sickening combinations.'

  She stopped, shook her beautiful blonde head, and said, 'I guess I'm tense and afraid and need something wild and clashy.'

  To Cemp, who could hear harmonies in the music that were beyond the reach of ordinary human ears, her outburst was but a part of the severe emotional reactions to things that Silkies married to human women had to become accustomed to. The wives of Silkies had a hard time making their peace with the realities of the relationship.

  As Joanne had put it more than once, 'There you are with this physically perfect, beautiful male. But all the time you're thinking, "This is not really a man. It's a monster that can change in a flash into either a fishlike being or a creature of space." But of course, I wouldn't part with him for anything.'

  The music sign was soon behind them, and they walked on into the interior of the museum. Their destination was the original laboratory, in which the first Silkie was supposed to have been produced. The lab occupied the center of the building; it had been moved there from the West Indies a hundred and ten years before, according to a date on a wall plaque at the entrance.

  It had seemed to Baxter that a sharper study should be made of the artifacts of Silkie history. The entire structure of that history was now being questioned for the very first time.

  This task, of reevaluating the past data, had been assigned to Cemp and Joanne.

  The lab was brightly lighted. It had only one visitor; a rather plain young woman with jet-black hair but no makeup, wearing ill-fitting clothes, was standing at one of the tables beside the far doorway.

  As Cemp came in, a thought not his own touched his mind. He started to turn to Joanne, taking it for granted that she had communicated with him on that level. He took it for granted, that is, for several seconds.

  Belatedly, realisation came that the thought had arrived on a magnetic carrier wave — Silkie level.

  Cemp swung around and stared at the black-haired woman. She smiled at him, somewhat tensely, he noted, and then her thought came, unmistakably: 'Please don't give me away. I was stationed here to convince any doubting Silkie.'

  She didn't have to explain what she meant. The thunder of it was pouring through Cemp's mind.

  According to his knowledge, there had never been any female Silkies. All Silkies on Earth were males, married to women of the Special People like Joanne.

  But this black-haired, farm-woman type was a female Silkie! That was what she was letting him know by her presence. In effect, by being here, she was saying, 'Don't bother to search dusty old files. I'm living proof that Silkies were not produced in somebody's laboratory two hundred and thirty years ago.'

  Suddenly Cemp was confused. He was aware that Joanne had come up beside him, that she must have caught his thought, that she was herself dismayed. The one glimpse he had of her face showed that she had become very pale.

  'Nat!' her voice came sharply. 'You've got to capture her!'

  Cemp started forward, but it was a half-hearted movement. Yet in spite of the uncertainty in his actions, he was already having logical thoughts.

  Since only hours had gone by since the moment he first saw U-Brem, she must have been stationed here in advance. She would therefore have had no contact with the others. And so she wouldn't know that to a trained Silki
e like himself, she was as vulnerable as an unarmed civilian opposed by a soldier.

  The black-haired woman must have suddenly had some doubt of her own. Abruptly she stepped through the door near which she had been standing and closed it after her.

  'Nat!' Joanne's voice, high-pitched, sounded mere inches behind him. 'You can't let her get away!'

  Cemp, who had emerged from his brief stasis, projected a thought after the female Silkie. 'I'm not going to fight you, but I'm going to stay close to you until I have all the information we want.'

  'Too late!' A magnetic carrier wave, human-Silkie level brought her thought. 'You're already too late.'

  Cemp didn't think so. He arrived at the door through which she had disappeared, was slightly disconcerted to find that it was locked, smashed it with a single jagged lightning thrust of electrical force, stepped through its smoking remains — and saw the woman in the act of entering a gap in the wall made by a sliding door.

  She was not more than three dozen feet away, and she had half-turned to look back in his direction. What she saw was evidently a surprise, for a startled look came into her face.

  Hastily, her hand came up to something inside the aperture, and the door slid shut. As it closed, Cemp, who was running toward it, had a glimpse of a gleaming corridor beyond. The existence of such a secret passageway had too many implications for Cemp to consider immediately.

  He was at the wall, fumbling for the hidden door. When he could not find it after several long moments, he stepped back and burned it down with the two energy flows from his brain, which, when they came together outside his body, created an intense electrical arc. It was the only energy weapon available to him as a human being. but it was enough.

  A minute later, he stepped through the smoking opening into a narrow corridor.

  * * *

  XI

  THE CORRIDOR in which Cemp found himself was made of concrete and slanted gently downward. It was dimly lighted and straight, and he could see the young woman in the near distance ahead — about two hundred feet away.

  She was running, but as a woman wearing a dress runs — not very fast. Cemp broke into his own high-speed lope and in a minute had cut the distance between them in half. Abruptly, the concrete ended. Ahead was a dirt cave, still lighted, but the lights were set farther apart.

  As she reached this point, the young woman sent him a message on a magnetic force line. 'If you don't stop chasing me, I'll have to use the [something not clear to Cemp] power.'

  Cemp remembered the energy that had lifted U-Brem into the sky. He took the threat seriously and instantly modified a magnetic wave to render her unconscious.

  It was not so cruel an act as it would have been earlier. Now she fell like a stone — which was the unfortunate characteristic of the unconsciousness gestalt — but she fell on dirt and not on cement. The motion of her body was such that she pitched forward on her knees, then slid down on her right shoulder. It didn't look too severe for her — so it seemed to Cemp as he came closer to where she was lying.

  He had slowed to a walk. Now, still wary, he approached the prostrate body, determined not to let any special 'power' remove her from him. He felt only slightly guilty at the violent method he had used. His reasoning had permitted no less control over her. The 'sleep' shut-off on U-Brem had not prevented that individual from turning on the force field — so Cemp considered it to be — that had saved him. Quite simply, he couldn't let her get away.

  Because it was an untried situation, he acted at once. At this moment, he had her; there were too many unknowns for him to risk any delay. He knelt beside her. Since she was Unconscious and not asleep, her sensory system was open to exterior stimulation. But for her to answer, she would have to be switched to sleep, so that the shut-off interior perception could flow.

  So he sat there, alternately manipulating her unconsciousness center, when he wanted to ask a question, and her sleep center, for her reply. It was like ancient ham radio with each party saying 'over' when his message was completed.

  And of course, in addition, he had to make sure that she did reply to his queries. So he asked one question after another, and with each question he modified a magnetic wave with a message to the brain-cell gestalt that responded to hypnotic drugs. The result was a steady mental conversation.

  'What is your name?'

  'B-Roth.'

  'Where do you come from?'

  'From home.'

  'Where is home?'

  'In the sky.' A mental image came of a small stone body in space; Cemp's impression was of a meteorite less than twenty miles in diameter. 'About to go around the sun, inside the first planet's orbit.'

  So she had come to Earth in advance. So they were all far from 'home' and had apparently had no preliminary knowledge that they were outskilled by Earth Silkies. As a result, he was now obtaining this decisive information.

  'What is its orbit?' Cemp asked.

  'It goes as far out as the eighth planet.'

  Neptune! What a tremendous distance — nearly thirty astronomical units.

  Cemp asked quickly, 'what is its mean speed?'

  Her answer was in terms of Mercury's year. Converted to Earth time, it came to a hundred and ten years per orbit.

  Cemp whistled softly. An immediate association had leaped into his mind. The first Silkie baby had been born to Marie Lederle slightly more than two hundred and twenty years before, according to the official history. The time involved was approximately twice as long as the orbital period of the little Silkie planetoid.

  Cemp ended that train of speculation abruptly and demanded from B-Roth exactly how she would again find the planetoid, which surely must be one of thousands of similar bodies.

  The answer was one that only a Silkie could operate from. She had in her brain a set of relationships and signal-recognition images that identified for her the location of the Silkie home.

  Cemp made an exact mental copy of these images. He was about to begin questioning her for details on other matters — when an inertia phenomenon effected his body.

  He was flung backward.... It was as if he were in a vehicle, his back to the forward motion, and the vehicle stopped suddenly, but he went on.

  Because he always had protection against sudden falls, he had been moved less than eight feet before he triggered his magnetic field, his only screening mechanism as a human.

  The field he set up could not stop the pull of gravity directly, but it derived from the Earth's magnetic force and gained its power from the force lines that passed through this exact space.

  As Cemp modulated the lines now, they attached themselves to flexible metal bands that were woven into his clothes, and they held him. He hung there a few feet above the floor. From this vantage point he was able to examine his situation.

  At once, the phenomenon was shown as completely fantastic. He detected in the heart of the gravity field a tiny molecule complex. What was fantastic about it was this: Gravity was an invariable, solely dependent on mass and square of distance. Cemp had already calculated the gravity pull on him to be the equivalent of three times that of Earth at sea level. And so, by all the laws of physics, that incredibly small particle must have an equivalent mass to three Earths!

  Impossible, of course.

  It was by no means a complex of one of the large molecules, as far as Cemp could determine, and it was not radioactive.

  He was about to abandon his study of it and to turn his attention to his own situation, when he noticed that the gravity field had an even more improbable quality. Its pull was limited to organic matter. It had no effect on the surrounding dirt walls, and in fact — his mind poised in a final amazement — the woman's body was not influenced by it.

  The gravity was limited to one particular organic configuration — himself! One body, one human being only — Nat Cemp — was the sole object toward which it was oriented.

  He found himself remembering how he had been untouched by the field that had lifted U-Brem.
He had sensed the presence of a field but only by the way the magnetic lines that passed through his head were affected by it. Even in his Silkie form, as he pursued the hurtling body of his alter ego, that, and merely that, had been true.

  This was for him a personal gravitational field, a small group of molecules that 'knew' him.

  As these flashing awarenesses came to him, Cemp turned his head and gazed back at the young woman. He was not surprised at what he saw. His attention had been forcibly removed from her, so the pressure on the unconsciousness valve in her brain was released. She was stirring, coming to,

  She sat up, looked around, and saw him.

  She came to her feet quickly, with an athletic ease. She evidently did not remember what had happened while she was unconscious, did not realise how completely she had given away basic secrets, for her face broke into a smile.

  'You see?' she said. 'I told you what would happen. Well, goodbye.'

  Her spirits visibly high, she turned, walked off into the cave, and presently disappeared as it gradually curved off to the left.

  After she was gone, Cemp turned his attention back to the gravity field. He assumed that it would eventually be with drawn or fade out, and he would be free. He had the distinct conviction that he might have only minutes in which to examine it and discover its nature.

  He thought unhappily, If I could change into my Silkie form, I could really examine it.

  But he dared not, could not. At least, he couldn't do it and simultaneously maintain his safe position.

  Silkies had one weakness, if it could be called that. They were vulnerable when they changed from one form to another. Considering this, Cemp now conducted his first mental conversation with Joanne. He explained his predicament, described what he had learned, and ended, 'I think I can stay here all day and see what comes of this, but I should probably have another Silkie stand by for emergencies.'

  Her anxious reply was, 'I'll have Charley Baxter contact you.'

  * * *

  XII