The Secret Galactics Page 8

  ‘But,’ said Marie, finally discovering her voice, and uttering the big thought that had been quivering all these moments at the tip of her tongue, ‘what did Mr. Gannott mean, conquest of earth?’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Carl, dismissingly. ‘Being taken over by Deea simply means that Paul Gannott becomes sort of an ambassador-extraordinary with the power to interfere in all this nationalist nonsense that’s going on on this planet, and put a stop to that finally and forever. There’ll be a little trouble at first, but that doesn’t mean anything. But even so, the safest place will be aboard the conquering ship. You see that, don’t you? Okay, goodbye.’

  There was the click of disconnection.

  Chapter Nine

  LOST PROTECTION

  For Marie—

  At the moment that she hung up, after the fantastic phone call, a mental mistiness descended on her. She stood; literally, she just stood, almost blank.

  Vaguely, she was aware of the wonderful room: she called it her office-sitting room. Years ago, after the disaster to her marriage, she had surrounded herself with beautiful objects. The desk was a gleaming Italian antique of such breathtaking splendor that it lifted her spirit each time she looked at it, or even each time she glanced past it. The great, old, Italian effect was all around her: chairs that were worth thousands of dollars each, and a marvelous bureau for which she had paid nineteen thousand dollars of Carl’s money. It had always given her a special pleasure to pay a lot for something: the look on Carl’s face when he saw the bill was all by itself worth the price. Though he never actually said anything, he had once estimated aloud that her ‘little’—the word was his; it wasn’t exactly little—apartment, which consisted of the sitting room and the bedroom, had been furnished at an expense of more than three hundred thousand dollars.

  As the vague recollection of that brought a tiny surge of the old pleasure, she was momentarily freed from fear. Abruptly, a thought. She grabbed the intercom phone. Several frantic moments later she was talking to the F.B.I. man who was temporarily monitoring the main gate. Through him she contacted the agent in charge of the investigation of the night-time attack.

  The agent, whose name was Caulfield, came over to the house, a sturdy individual of about forty. He listened to the tape recording of her conversation with Paul Gannott and Carl. When it was finished, he looked at her helplessly.

  ‘I really don’t know what to make of that,’ he said. He made a baffled gesture. ‘This ship—’ He stopped; and Marie jumped in verbally with an incoherent account of what she had read about a ship in the morning paper headline.

  The F.B.I. agent waited politely for her to finish, then he said, ‘I’ll send somebody in here to make a tape copy of that conversation, and I’ll relay it immediately to our headquarters in Washington. Locally, we’ll check on Gannott.’

  He broke off, ‘By the way, the only things missing seem to be your, uh, husband’s brain and that van your people tell me he was just starting to drive around in. Apparently, they loaded both him and it on a big truck, and drove off.’

  The smallness of the damage seemed to reassure him, suddenly. His tone changed once more, became firm, ‘Now, don’t you worry. We’ll have a welcoming committee here for anybody that comes by tomorrow night to pick up you and your luggage. But he shrugged, becoming matter-of-fact—‘the whole thing sounds to me like some kind of a practical joke.’

  His was an unfortunate choice of a word. The one thing Marie was sure of was that what was happening was not a ‘joke’. If Caulfield’s purpose in describing it that way was intended to make her feel better, it failed miserably.

  The agent seemed not to realize his error, for he departed without any further attempt to reassure her. And there she was alone again. Marie sat down. And sat there. And sat. She kept swallowing. Mostly, she was blank. But periodically a rapid argument would go on inside her. In the argument she used the word, joke. As if by echoing it over and over it would take on meaning.

  After each argument, blankness descended once more. It enveloped her mind like a mask without eyeholes or breathholes.

  After a while, the phone rang. It was the F.B.I. man reporting that Paul Gannott, the banker, was neither at his office nor at his home address.

  ‘I’ve advised Washington,’ he said. ‘But they don’t know either what to make of this ship. Except for the report from the astronaut, nobody has seen it. Which he added hastily—‘doesn’t mean it isn’t there. At those distances, you really have to know where things are, to spot them.’

  Caulfield’s voice as he spoke had a faraway, impersonal sound. He finished, ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

  Plainly in her ears came the sound of his phone disconnecting; that startled her. She had intended to say something. A question in her mind was, exactly how did the F.B.I. propose to protect her the following night. She needed details. Suddenly, panic. She had the feeling that nobody was thinking about her. Or cared. Or was really interested.

  Instantly, she had a strong impulse to Call both Dr. MacKerrie and Philip Nicer. Her hands darted toward the phone. And then drew back.

  The awful thought flickered that she had burned those bridges.

  Resentment seethed … Damn those male rats! Doesn’t a man ever have a human feeling for a woman? Is it all just sex?—

  The rage ran its course; and she acknowledged within herself that both men were actually good-natured, and they even meant well in some obscure male fashion. In retrospect, she had an unhappy conviction that she had been extremely rude to Mac and tricky with Nicer.

  But what can a woman do? she thought. There’s always this pressure … At times she had the feeling that a man never had anything else on his mind.

  It seemed to her finally, wearily, that what she had said to MacKerrie in breaking with him, was irrevocable. But that what she had said to Nicer had left the door open; and—well to remember—Nicer had given her a number to phone in case of need,

  Okay, she decided, I’ll call and tell him I give in—in exchange for …

  Pause. For what?

  What could he do?

  It was not a question, she realized presently, that she could afford to analyze. She needed somebody who had a personal interest in her. An individual who would not merely—like the F.B.I. agent—be around in a formal way. She craved an interest closer than that.

  As that decision finally surged, she reached for and lifted the phone receiver.

  There was a knock on the door. Mrs. Gray peered in. ‘Dr. MacKerrie is here.’

  Even as she spoke, the physician came into view beyond the housekeeper. ‘Marie,’ he called to her, ‘I must talk to you.’

  Marie replaced the receiver, and stood up. ‘Thank you, Mrs. Gray. Come in Mac.’

  She felt vague. The visit was a surprise; but not desperately so. MacKerrie was the genius who had salvaged Carl’s brain from his destroyed body. For the most part he lived in one of the little cottages on the other side of the laboratory building.

  As he came across the room toward her, it occurred to Marie, watching the deliberateness of his walk, that he was the perfect surgeon in his life as well as in the operating room. Not a single unnecessary motion. Every cut planned in advance.

  It required several moments for her to shake off the effect of his … automaticness (that was her term for it.) During those moments, MacKerrie reached her, and took her hand.

  The action had its own reality.

  This was a man and a woman who for whatever reason had had sex with each other. That knowledge would always be in their eyes if their glances met, or in their fingers or palms if they touched.

  MacKerrie had not been one of those unfaithful male types who cause a woman to feel grief. Also, it was he who unmistakably wanted their intimacy to continue. So there was nothing that she could be mad about or take special offense at.

  True, he had taken advantage of her. But it was not, and never had been, rape. She had’ resented him, but she had for her own reasons held sti
ll for what he did.

  What had happened between them gave her the right now to reach over—which she did—and gently but firmly remove his hand from her arm. And it gave him the awareness that her act was not a mortal insult.

  Moreover, he had the experience of a man of forty who was also a doctor, who understood that her act of withdrawal was the kind of thing that women did. It was also real to him that a woman could be absolutely obnoxious to a man, and still at some later time accept hint back. With that intent in mind, he parted his lips—

  And the phone rang.

  The sound broke the peculiar tension of this first meeting after her break with him. Relieved, Marie said, ‘I’ll be with you in a moment.’

  She picked up the receiver and sat down in the magnificent desk chair. She gestured for MacKerrie to be seated, also. ‘It’s Walter,’ she whispered. ‘Long distance.’

  The physician sat, and idly listened to her end of the conversation. The monologue was purely laboratory business, of no interest to him. And so MacKerrie was about to turn his attention back to his own thoughts—when he realized something: Marie’s voice projected a husky richness.

  He was instantly electrified, and stunned. It was to him, who had so much awareness, the voice of a woman who was sexually compatible with someone.

  Marie’s decision to surrender to Nicer was so swiftly perceivable by a trained observer. What was to her an unnoticed relaxing, and an unmonitored but immediate erotic stimulation, and more—it was all suddenly audible in her voice, in the way she held herself, and subtly many otherwises.

  MacKerrie did not give Walter a thought in connection with Marie’s radiant state. From the beginning, the pretense of the chief physicist (that he was also having an affair with Marie) was obvious to him. He understood it perfectly. He used it coolly to keep Marie off balance. At all times he had known full well that Walter was impotent, and that he (MacKerrie) had full possession of the woman.

  The harmonic overtones of her voice were so unexpected that it overwhelmed him instantly—just as Marie hung up, and said, ‘Walter has several important orders from a number of universities, but he’ll be delayed in his return.’ By the time those words were spoken, MacKerrie was trembling with an awful jealousy.

  ‘Who is the man?’ he half-yawned. ‘Who are you dating?’

  It was so abrupt, and unanticipated, that she could only gaze at him, all the while shrinking inside. Her thought of course immediately jumped to the possibility that he had spied on her the night before, and knew about Nicer.

  After a moment, it struck her that there was really nothing to know. She began to recover. ‘Are you out of your mind?’ she said. ‘There’s been no one.’

  If he heard her, it didn’t seem to affect him. He was visibly in a state. Perspiration was on his forehead. Eyes were widened. Face was contorted. He leaned tensely forward.

  Suddenly, it was apparent that he had heard. He leaned back. He sighed. Then muttered, ‘What’s going on? I tried to phone you this morning, and was told the phones were disconnected. What?—’

  It was the opportunity to divert him from what he had, in his fashion, so accurately detected. Quickly, she summarized the events of the night. Then she played the tape of her phone conversation with Paul Gannott and Carl.

  She was slightly startled to realize that his extreme jealousy had given her an odd sense of security. It was better (said that feeling) to have an insane personal interest from someone than to have none at all from anybody.

  Consciously, she argued against the irrational reaction. But it remained with her all the while she watched him as he listened to the recording. What he had heard seemed to irritate him.

  When the tape had been replayed, when all the words had been re-spoken once more, MacKerrie said impatiently, ‘Marie, I really don’t know what to do about Carl.’

  In a frustrated voice, he described what Carl had confided in him about his two trips. MacKerrie continued, ‘His foolishness in seeking out this dangerous group of wealthy cultists has jeopardized the Brain Foundation’s costly experiment with him. As things stand, it looks as if I made a mistake, also. I immobilized him to stop further hare-brained adventures, and that worked against him last night. Presumably, he might have escaped if I hadn’t done that. Still, the alternative could be that he might have killed one or more persons. Then what? Would he be arrested, and tried for murder?’ The surgeon shook his head angrily. ‘Damn it, Carl assured me he had given them the slip; and since he is normally a cool-minded super-science type, I believed him. But he was evidently wrong.’

  It scarcely seemed like the moment for Marie to explain that a Colonel Philip Nicer had given away Carl’s identity and location. And that she believed Nicer had been motivated by a personal interest in her.

  MacKerrie went on, ‘My advice is, pay no attention to this so-called message. Don’t prepare for a fictitious journey into space. Advise the police and the F.B.I., and let them take over.’

  ‘I’ve already informed the F.B.I.’ Swiftly, she summarized that information. Having given it, she expressed her Big Doubt. ‘Why would Carl have talked the way he did?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Marie MacKerrie was impatient again—‘the poor guy is under pressure. There he is with these nuts, and he realizes he’s got to play along with their delusion. Can’t you see, he’s fighting for time? And you know he always was one of the world’s best actors.’

  Of course, thought Marie.

  Pause. Then: ‘What did you say this woman’s name was, that Carl told you about?’

  ‘Silver.’

  The name, so unusual, seemed to fit the situation. With that, the utter madness of it all penetrated. And—just like that—she was grateful to MacKerrie.

  The physician, who had been watching, waiting, hoping, saw the change in her. At once, he was on his feet, and over to her. ‘Marie, my poor darling. What a strain this must be!’

  It was one of those moments that no man will ever appreciate.

  For MacKerrie, Marie’s sudden relaxation signaled that he could now lead her into the bedroom and they would engage in the sex act.

  Such a thought did not even cross Marie’s mind.

  For her part, she was aware of his hand closing over hers. Aware of being drawn to her feet by his strength. Except, it wasn’t quite like that. In that moment of relief and gratitude she parted her lips, and said urgently, ‘Mac, you’re the only one that can free Carl. You’ve-got to go to Gannon’s house, and somehow

  She stopped, vague. But the feeling was that, as a man, he would know what to do.

  There are words, and words, and words. The particular specimens that she had used penetrated MacKerrie’s ears, and pinged into a part of his brain in a way that actually weakened him physically. His fingers, so strong moments before, became limp. He sort of let her go, and sort of drifted back away from her. And stood there helpless before her female mental machinery.

  It was the male to-hell-with-it reaction to a woman when she was like this, that presently rescued him. MacKerrie braced that firm, well-exercised physician’s body. He said, trying to make his voice matter-of-fact. ‘I have to go now. I’ll think about what to do for Carl, and this whole business, and call you later.’

  Something in his tone brought Marie an awareness of his disappointment, and her first dim realization that maybe she understood what he wanted. She dismissed that partial insight instantly, because it was ridiculous, Mac was a gentleman. Obviously, he wouldn’t expect a woman like her in broad daylight, with all the daylight possibilities of interruption—

  MacKerrie was turning toward the door. ‘I’ll call you later,’ he said in an almost formal tone.

  ‘B-but began Marie, startled.

  The physician seemed not to hear. And moments later the corridor door had opened and closed. And he was gone.

  Marie stood rigid. Inside her was an emotional dilemma, unsolvable. There was a need to have MacKerrie around without paying the price, and the simultaneo
us need to send him to rescue Carl—or at least do something.

  ‘B-but she echoed now, blankly.

  Silence answered.

  It was not clear what had happened. MacKerrie’s yelling had done something negative. The feeling of willingness to surrender to Nicer had turned off.

  And of the personal interest that she had craved so desperately—and which MacKerrie’s presence had seemed to represent, and which Nicer’s attitude seemed to promise—there was not a shred now perceivable.

  A stunned Marie actually went into her bedroom, and slept for a while.

  Chapter Ten

  THE SLEELE STRIKES

  Earlier.

  After Marie’s taxi drove off, Colonel Philip Nicer walked to a cab that was parked a short distance down the street. He got in with only a greeting to the driver. The man seemed to know what he wanted and who he was. He started his machine in motion immediately.

  At first, no words were exchanged. The driver, a young man in his twenties, kept his attention on the traffic and the street. Nicer sat like a passenger in the rear seat, with a faint frown on his face reading the news account of the large spaceship, the presence of which had been reported by the human astronaut.

  Finally, he nodded, folded the paper, let it drop on his lap, and said, ‘Anything you wish to say or report?’

  The conversation that resulted from that question in a way meant what it said, and in another way didn’t. It was designed to take account of, of all things, passing mind readers.

  ‘Only a question. What do you think the Deeans are up to?’

  ‘Another ship has come,’ said Nicer. ‘Their third in a hundred years.’

  ‘Do we care?’

  ‘Not basically.’

  ‘Suppose this time it’s conquest?’

  ‘It probably is a combination,’ said Nicer thoughtfully. ‘The mathematics of it goes something like this. Each ship is about fifty years en route. So the first one left Deea one hundred and fifty years ago. The second was dispatched when the first was arriving in the solar system. However, this third one was probably not sent until the first actually returned to Deea with the information that the initial landing had taken place, and that the several thousand embryos it carried here had been successfully transformed by the Luind method into human males, and safely landed, and hidden in private orphanages. With that information, they could decide on conquest as being feasible for this trip.’ He shook his head regretfully. ‘Too bad. We Luinds are trying by our devious methods to civilize these various aggressive races. We gave them all, to begin with, our method of converting one life form into any other at the embryo level. That enables the new arrivals to mingle unseen and unsuspected. It also often has a psychological effect on the transformed embryos when they reach adulthood. But most important—and that was our purpose in releasing the technique—it has definitely influenced them to send in an advance force to infiltrate the prospective victim planet.’