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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/24436-8.txt b/24436-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd7c61b --- /dev/null +++ b/24436-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7037 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Anything You Can Do ..., by Gordon Randall Garrett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Anything You Can Do ... + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Release Date: January 26, 2008 [EBook #24436] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... + + + + + DARREL T. LANGART + + + _anything you + can do ..._ + + + 1963 + _Doubleday & Company, Inc._ + _Garden City, New York_ + + + + +A shorter version of this work appeared in _ANALOG Science Fact--Science +Fiction_. + + _All of the characters in this book + are fictitious, and any resemblance + to actual persons, living or dead, + is purely coincidental._ + + LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 62-7710 + COPYRIGHT © 1963 BY DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC. + COPYRIGHT © 1962 BY THE CONDÉ NAST PUBLICATIONS, INC. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + FIRST EDITION + + +Transcriber's Note: + + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + For + + _mon cher ami_ + + Frère Gascé + + a man whom I may truly call ... + ... my brother + + + + +_[1]_ + + +Like some great silver-pink fish, the ship sang on through the eternal +night. There was no impression of swimming; the fish shape had neither +fins nor a tail. It was as though it were hovering in wait for a member +of some smaller species to swoop suddenly down from nowhere, so that it, +in turn, could pounce and kill. + +But still it moved and sang. + +Only a being who was thoroughly familiar with the type could have told +that this particular fish was dying. + +In shape, the ship was rather like a narrow flounder--long, tapered, and +oval in cross-section--but it showed none of the exterior markings one +might expect of either a living thing or a spaceship. With one +exception, the smooth silver-pink exterior was featureless. + +That one exception was a long, purplish-black, roughened discoloration +that ran along one side for almost half of the ship's seventeen meters +of length. It was the only external sign that the ship was dying. + +Inside the ship, the Nipe neither knew nor cared about the +discoloration. Had he thought about it, he would have deduced the +presence of the burn, but it was by far the least of his worries. + +The ship sang, and the song was a song of death. + +The internal damage that had been done to the ship was far more serious +than the burn on the surface of the hull. It was that internal damage +which occupied the thoughts of the Nipe, for it could, quite possibly, +kill him. + +He had, of course, no intention of dying. Not out here. Not so far, so +very far, from his own people. Not out here, where his death would be so +very improper. + +He looked at the ball of the yellow-white sun ahead and wondered that +such a relatively stable, inactive star could have produced such a +tremendously energetic plasmoid, one that could still do such damage so +far out. It had been a freak, of course. Such suns as this did not +normally produce such energetic swirls of magnetohydrodynamic force. + +But the thing had been there, nonetheless, and the ship had hit it at +high velocity. Fortunately the ship had only touched the edge of the +swirling cloud--otherwise the ship would have vanished in a puff of +incandescence. But it had done enough. The power plants that drove the +ship at ultralight velocities through the depths of interstellar space +had been so badly damaged that they could only be used in short bursts, +and each burst brought them closer to the fusion point. Even when they +were not being used they sang away their energies in ululations of +wavering vibration that would have been nerve-racking to a human being. + +The Nipe had heard the singing of the engines, recognized it for what it +was, realized that he could do nothing about it, and dismissed it from +his mind. + +Most of the instruments were powerless; the Nipe was not even sure he +could land the vessel. Any attempt to use the communicator to call home +would have blown his ship to atoms. + +The Nipe did not want to die, but, if die he must, he did not want to +die foolishly. + +It had taken a long time to drift in from the outer reaches of this +sun's planetary system, but using the power plants any more than was +absolutely necessary would have been foolhardy. + +The Nipe missed the companionship his brother had given him for so long; +his help would be invaluable now. But there had been no choice. There +had not been enough supplies for two to survive the long inward fall +toward the distant sun. The Nipe, having discovered the fact first, had, +out of his mercy and compassion, killed his brother while the other was +not looking. Then, having disposed of his brother with all due ceremony, +he had settled down to the long, lonely wait. + +Beings of another race might have cursed the accident that had disabled +the ship, or regretted the necessity that one of them should die, but +the Nipe did neither, for, to him, the first notion would have been +foolish and the second incomprehensible. + +But now, as the ship fell ever closer toward the yellow-white sun, he +began to worry about his own fate. For a while, it had seemed almost +certain that he would survive long enough to build a communicator, for +the instruments had already told him and his brother that the system +ahead was inhabited by creatures of reasoning power, if not true +intelligence, and it would almost certainly be possible to get the +equipment he needed from them. Now, though, it looked as if the ship +would not survive a landing. He had had to steer it away from a great +gas giant, which had seriously endangered the power plants. + +He did not want to die in space--wasted, forever undevoured. At least, +he must die on a planet, where there might be creatures with the +compassion and wisdom to give his body the proper death rites. The +thought of succumbing to inferior creatures was repugnant, but it was +better than rotting to feed monocells or ectogenes, and far superior to +wasting away in space. + +Even thoughts such as these did not occupy his mind often or for very +long. Far, far better than any of those thoughts were thoughts connected +with the desire and planning for survival. + +The outer orbits of the gas giants had been passed at last, and the Nipe +fell on through the Asteroid Belt without approaching any of the larger +pieces of rock-and-metal. That he and his brother had originally elected +to come into this system along its orbital plane had been a mixed +blessing. To have come in at a different angle would have avoided all +the debris--from planetary size on down--that is thickest in a star's +equatorial plane, but it would also have meant a greater chance of +missing a suitable planet unless too much reliance were placed on the +already weakened power generators. As it was, the Nipe had been +fortunate in being able to use the gravitational field of the gas giant +to swing his ship toward the precise spot where the third planet would +be when the ship arrived in the third orbit. Moreover, the planet would +be retreating from the Nipe's line of flight, which would make the +velocity difference that much the less. + +For a while the Nipe had toyed with the idea of using the mining bases +that the local life-form had set up in the Asteroid Belt as bases for +his own operations, but he had decided against it. Movement would be +much freer and more productive on a planet than it would be in the Belt. + +He would have preferred using the fourth planet for his base. Although +much smaller, it had the same reddish, arid look as his own home +planet, while the third planet was three quarters drowned in water. But +there were two factors that weighed so heavily against that choice that +they rendered it impossible. In the first place, by far the greater +proportion of the local inhabitants' commerce was between the asteroids +and the third planet. Second, and even more important, the fourth world +was at such a point in its orbit that the energy required to land would +destroy the ship beyond any doubt. + +It would have to be the third world. + +As the ship fell inward, the Nipe watched his pitifully inadequate +instruments, doing his best to keep tabs on every one of the ships that +the local life-form used to move through space. He did not want to be +spotted now, and even though the odds were against these beings having +any instrument highly developed enough to spot his own craft, there was +always the possibility that he might be observed optically. + +So he squatted there in his ship, a centipede-like thing about five feet +in length and a little less than eighteen inches in diameter, with eight +articulated limbs spaced in pairs along his body, each limb ending in a +five-fingered manipulatory organ that could be used equally well as hand +or foot. His head, which was long and snouted, displayed two pairs of +violet eyes that kept a constant watch on the indicators and screens of +the few instruments that were still functioning aboard the ship. + +And he waited as the ship fell toward its rendezvous with the third +planet. + + + + +_[2]_ + + +Wang Kulichenko pulled the collar of his uniform coat up closer around +his ears and pulled the helmet and face-mask down a bit. It was only +early October, but here in the tundra country the wind had a tendency to +be chill and biting in the morning, even at this time of year. Within a +week or so, he'd have to start using the power pack on his horse to +electrically warm his protective clothing and the horse's wrappings, but +there was no necessity for that yet. He smiled a little, as he always +did when he thought of his grandfather's remarks about such "new-fangled +nonsense." + +"Your ancestors, son of my son," he would say, "conquered the tundra and +lived upon it for thousands of years without the need of such womanish +things. Are there no men any more? Are there none who can face nature +alone and unafraid without the aid of artifices that bring softness?" + +But Wang Kulichenko noticed--though out of politeness he never pointed +it out that the old man never failed to take advantage of the electric +warmth of the house when the short days came and the snow blew across +the country like fine white sand. And Grandfather never complained about +the lights or the television or the hot water, except to grumble +occasionally that they were old and out of date and that the mail-order +catalog showed that much better models were available in Vladivostok. + +And Wang would remind the old man, very gently, that a paper-forest +ranger only made so much money, and that there would have to be more +saving before such things could be bought. He did not--_ever_--remind +the old man that he, Wang, was stretching a point to keep his +grandfather on the payroll as an assistant. + +Wang Kulichenko patted his horse's rump and urged her softly to step up +her pace just a bit. He had a certain amount of territory to cover, and +although he wanted to be careful in his checking he also wanted to get +home early. + +Around him, the neatly-planted forest of paper-trees spread knotty, +alien branches, trying to catch the rays of the winter-waning sun. +Whenever Wang thought of his grandfather's remarks about his ancestors, +he always wondered, as a corollary, what those same ancestors would have +thought about a forest growing up here, where no forest like this one +had ever grown before. + +They were called paper-trees because the bulk of their pulp was used to +make paper--they were of no use whatever as lumber--but they weren't +really trees, and the organic chemicals that were leached from them +during the pulping process were of far more value than the paper pulp. + +They were mutations of a smaller plant that had been found in the +temperate regions of Mars and purposely changed genetically to grow in +the Siberian tundra country, where the conditions were similar to, but +superior to, their natural habitat. They looked as though someone had +managed to crossbreed the Joshua tree with the cypress and then +persuaded the result to grow grass instead of leaves. And the +photosynthesis of those grasslike blades depended on an iron-bearing +compound that was more closely related to hemoglobin than to +chlorophyll, giving them a rusty red color instead of the normal green +of Earthly plants. + +In the distance, Wang heard the whining of the wind increase, and he +automatically pulled his coat a little tighter, even though he noticed +no increase in the wind velocity around him. + +Then, as the whine became louder, he realized that it was not the wind. + +He turned his head toward the sound and looked up. For a long minute he +watched the sky as the sound increased in volume, but he could see +nothing at first. Then he caught a glimpse of motion, a dot that was +hard to distinguish against the cloud-mottled gray sky. + +What was it? An air transport in trouble? There were two transpolar +routes that passed within a few hundred miles of here, but no air +transport he had ever seen made a noise like that. Normally they were so +high up as to be both invisible and inaudible. Must be trouble of some +sort. + +He reached down to the saddle pack without taking his eyes from the +moving speck and took out the radiophone. He held it to his ear and +thumbed the call button insistently. + +_Grandfather!_ he thought with growing irritation as the seconds passed. +_Wake up! Come on, old dozer, rouse yourself from your dreams!_ + +At the same time, he checked his wrist compass and estimated the +direction of flight of the dot and its direction from him. He'd at least +be able to give the airline authorities some information if the ship +fell. He wished there were some way to triangulate its height, velocity, +and so on, but he had no need for that kind of thing, so he hadn't the +equipment. + +"Yes? Yes?" came a testy, dry voice through the earphone. + +Quickly Wang gave his grandfather all the information he had on the +flying thing. By now the whine had become a shrill roar and the thing in +the air had become a silver-pink fish shape. + +"I think it's coming down very close to here," Wang concluded. "You call +the authorities and let them know that one of the aircraft is in +trouble. I'll see if I can be of any help here. I'll call you back +later." + +"As you say," the old man said hurriedly. He cut off. + +Wang was beginning to realize that the thing was a spaceship, not an +airship. By this time, he could see the thing more clearly. He had never +actually seen a spacecraft, but he'd seen enough of them on television +to know what they looked like. This one didn't look like a standard type +at all, and it didn't behave like one, but it looked and behaved even +less like an airship, and Wang knew enough to be aware that he did not +necessarily know every type of spaceship ever built. + +In shape, it resembled the old rocket-propelled jobs that had been used +for the first probings into space more than a century before, rather +than the fat ovoids he was used to. But there were no signs of rocket +exhausts, and yet the ship was very obviously slowing, so it must have +an inertia drive. + +It was coming in much lower now, on a line north of him, headed almost +due east. He urged the mare forward in order to try to keep up with the +craft, although it was obviously traveling at several hundred miles an +hour--hardly a horse's pace. + +Still, it was slowing rapidly very rapidly. Maybe ... + +He kept the mare moving. + +The strange ship skimmed along the treetops in the distance and +disappeared from sight. Then there was a thunderous crash, a tearing of +wood and foliage, and a grinding, plowing sound. + +For a few seconds afterward, there was silence. Then there came a soft +rumble, as of water beginning to boil in some huge but distant samovar. +It seemed to go on and on and on. + +And there was a bluish, fluctuating glow on the horizon. + +_Radioactivity?_ Wang wondered. Surely not an atomic-powered ship +without safety cutoffs in this day and age. Still, there was always the +possibility that the cutoffs had failed. + +He pulled out his radiophone and thumbed the call button again. + +This time there was no delay. "Yes?" + +"How are the radiation detectors behaving there, Grandfather?" + +"One moment. I shall see." There was a silence. Then: "No unusual +activity, young Wang. Why?" + +Wang told him. Then he asked: "Did you get hold of the air transport +authorities?" + +"Yes. They have no missing aircraft, but they're checking with the space +fields. The way you describe it, the thing must be a spaceship of some +kind." + +"I think so too. I wish I had a radiation detector here, though. I'd +like to know whether that thing is hot or not. It's only a couple of +miles away--maybe a little more--and if that blue glow is ionization +caused by radiation, it's much too close for comfort." + +"I think any source that strong would register on our detectors here, +young Wang," said the old man in his dry voice. "However, I agree that +it might not be the pinnacle of wisdom to approach the source too +closely." + +"Clear your mind of worry, Grandfather," Wang said. "I accept your words +of wisdom and will go no nearer. Meanwhile, you had best put in a call +to Central Headquarters Fire Control. There's going to be a blaze if I'm +any judge unless they get here fast with plenty of fire equipment." + +"I'll see to it," said his grandfather, cutting off. + +The bluish glow in the sky had quite died away by now, and the distant +rumbling was fading, too. And, oddly enough, there was not much smoke in +the distance. There was a small cloud of gray vapor that rose, +streamer-like, from where the glow had been, but even that was +dissipated fairly rapidly in the chill breeze. Quite obviously there +would be no fire. After several more minutes of watching, he was sure of +it. There couldn't have been much heat produced in the explosion--if it +could really be called an explosion. + +Then Wang saw something moving in the trees between himself and the spot +where the ship had come down. He couldn't see quite what it was, there +in the dimness under the hanging, grasslike red strands from the trees, +but it looked like someone crawling. + +"Halloo, there!" he called out. "Are you hurt?" + +There was no answer. Perhaps whoever it was did not understand Russian. +Wang's command of English wasn't too good, but he called out in that +language. + +Still there was no answer. Whoever it was had crawled out of sight. + +Then he realized it couldn't be anyone crawling. No one could even have +run the distance between himself and the ship in the time since it had +hit, much less crawled. + +He frowned. A wolf, then? Possibly. They weren't too common, but there +were still some of them around. + +He unholstered the heavy pistol at his side. + +And as he slid the barrel free, he became the first human being ever to +see the Nipe. + +For an instant, as the Nipe came out from behind a tree fifteen feet +away, Wang Kulichenko froze as he saw those four baleful violet eyes +glaring at him from the snouted head. Then he jerked up his pistol to +fire. + +He was much too late. His reflexes were too slow by far. The Nipe +launched himself across the intervening space in a blur of speed that +would have made a leopard seem slow. Two of the alien's hands slapped +aside the weapon with a violence that broke the man's wrist, while +other hands slammed at the human's skull. + +Wang Kulichenko hardly had time to be surprised before he died. + + + + +_[3]_ + + +The Nipe stood quietly for a moment, looking down at the thing he had +killed. His stomachs churned with disgust. He ignored the fading +hoofbeats of the slave-animal from which he had knocked the thing that +lay on the ground with a crushed skull. The slave-animal was +unintelligent and unimportant. + +This was--had been--the intelligent one. + +But so slow! So incredibly slow! And so weak and soft! + +It seemed impossible that such a poorly equipped beast could have +survived long enough on any world to become the dominant life-form. + +Then again, perhaps it was not the dominant form. Perhaps it was merely +a higher form of slave-animal. He would have to do more investigating. + +He picked up the weapon the thing had been carrying and examined it +carefully. The mechanism was unfamiliar, but a glance at the muzzle told +him it was a projectile weapon of some sort. The spiraling grooves in +the barrel were obviously intended to impart a spin to the projectile, +to give it gyroscopic stability while in flight. + +He tossed the weapon aside. Now there was a certain compassion in his +thoughts as he looked again at the dead thing. It must surely have +thought it was faced with a wild animal, the Nipe decided. Surely no +being would carry a weapon for use against members of its own or +another intelligent species. + +He examined the rest of the equipment on the thing. There was very +little further information. The fabric in which it wrapped itself was +crude, but ingeniously put together, and its presence indicated that the +being needed some sort of protection against the temperature. It +appeared to have a thermal insulating quality. Evidently the creature +was used to a warmer climate. That served as additional information to +help substantiate his observation from space that the areas farther +south were the ones containing the major centers of population. The tilt +of this planet on its axis would tend to give the weather a cyclic +variation, but it appeared that the areas around the poles remained +fairly cold even when the incidence of radiation from the primary was at +maximum. + +It would have been good, he decided, if he had stopped the slave-animal. +There had been more equipment on the thing's back which would have given +him more information upon which to base a judgment as to the level of +civilization of the dead being. That, however, was no longer +practicable, so he dismissed the thought from his mind. + +The next question was, what should he do with the body? + +Should he dispose of it properly, as one should with a validly slain +foe? + +It didn't seem that he could do anything else, and yet his stomachs +wanted to rebel at the thought. After all, it wasn't as if the thing +were really a proper being. It was astonishing to find another +intelligent race; none had ever been found before, although the +existence of such had been postulated. There were certain criteria that +must be met by any such beings, however. + +It must have manipulatory organs, such as this being very obviously did +have--organs very much like his own. But there were only two, which +argued that the being lacked dexterity. The organs for walking were +encased in protective clothing too stiff to allow them to be used as +manipulators. + +He ripped off one of the boots and looked at the exposed foot. The thumb +was not opposed. Obviously such an organ was not much good for +manipulation. + +He pried open the eating orifice and inspected it carefully. Ah! The +creature was omnivorous, judging by its teeth. There were both rending +and grinding teeth. That certainly argued for intelligence, since it +showed that the being could behave in a gentlemanly fashion. Still, it +was not conclusive. + +If they _were_ intelligent, it was most certainly necessary for him to +show that he was also civilized and a gentleman. On the other hand, the +slowness and lack of strength of this particular specimen argued that +the species was of a lower order than the Nipe, which made the question +even more puzzling. + +In the end, the question was rendered unnecessary for the time being, +since the problem was taken out of his hands. + +A sound came from the ground a few yards away. It was an insistent +buzzing. Cautiously, the Nipe approached the thing. + +_Buzz-buzz! Buzz-buzz-buzzzzzz!_ + +It was an instrument of some kind. He recognized it as the device that +he had seen the dead being speak into while he, himself, had been +watching from the concealment of the undergrowth, trying to decide +whether or not to approach. The device was obviously a communicator of +some kind, and someone at the other end was trying to make contact. + +If it were not answered, whoever was calling would certainly deduce that +something had gone wrong at this end. And, of course, there was no way +for it to be answered. + +It would be necessary, then, to leave the body here for others of its +kind to find. Doubtless they would dispose of it properly. + +He would have to leave quickly. It was necessary that he find one of +their centers of production or supply, and he would have to do it alone, +with only the equipment he had on him. The utter destruction of his ship +had left him seriously hampered. + +He began moving, staying in the protection of the trees. He had no way +of knowing whether investigators would come by air or on the +slave-animals, and there was no point in taking chances. + +His sense of ethics still bothered him. It was not at all civilized to +leave a body at the mercy of lesser animals or monocells in that +fashion. What kind of monster would they think he was? + +Still, there was no help for it. If they caught him, they might think +him a lower animal and shoot him. He would not have put an onus like +that upon them. + +He moved on. + + + + +_[4]_ + + +Government City was something of a paradox. It was the largest capital +city, in terms of population, that had ever been built on Earth, and +yet, again in terms of population, it was nowhere near as large as Tokyo +or London. The solution to the paradox lies in discovering that the term +"population" is used in two different senses, thus exposing the logical +fallacy of the undistributed middle. If, in referring to London or +Tokyo, the term "population" is restricted to those and only those who +are actively engaged in the various phases of actual government--as it +is when referring to Government City--the apparent paradox resolves +itself. + +Built on the slagged-down remains of New York's Manhattan Island, which +had been destroyed by a sun bomb during the Holocaust nearly a century +before, Government City occupied all but the upper three miles of the +island, and the population consisted almost entirely of men and women +engaged, either directly or indirectly, in the business of governing a +planet. There were no shopping centers and no entertainment areas. The +small personal flyer, almost the same size as the old gasoline-driven +automobile, could, because of its inertia drive, move with the +three-dimensional ability of a hummingbird, so the rivers that cut the +island off from the mainland were no barrier. The shopping and +entertainment centers of Brooklyn, Queens, and Jersey were only five +minutes away, even through the thickest, slowest-moving traffic. It was +the personal flyer, not the clumsy airplane, that had really eliminated +distance along with national boundaries. + +The majority of the government officers' homes were off the island, too, +but this commuting did not cause any great fluctuation of the island's +population. A city that governs a planet must operate at full capacity +twenty-four hours a day, and there was a "rush hour" every three hours +as the staggered six-hour shifts changed. + +Physically the planet still revolved about the sun; politically, Earth +revolved around Government City. + +In one of the towering buildings a group of men sat comfortably in a +medium-sized room, watching a screen that, because of the +three-dimensional quality and the color fidelity of the scene it showed, +might have been a window, except that the angle was wrong. They were +looking down from an apparent height of forty feet on a clearing in a +paper-tree forest in Siberia. + +The clearing was not a natural one. The trees had been splintered, +uprooted, and pushed away from the center of the long, elliptical area. +The center of the area was apparently empty. + +One of the men, whose fingers were touching a control panel in the arm +of his chair, said: "That is where the ship made its crash landing. As +you can see from the relatively light damage, it was moving at no great +speed when it hit. From the little information we have--mostly from a +momentary radar recording made when the incoming vessel was picked up +for a few seconds by the instruments of Transpolar Airways, when it +crossed the path of one of their freight orbits--it is estimated that +the craft was decelerating at between fifteen and seventeen gravities. +The rate of change of acceleration in centimeters per second cubed is +unknown, but obviously so small as to be negligible. + +"This picture was taken by the fire prevention flyers that came in +response to an urgent call by the assistant of the forest ranger who was +in charge of this section." + +"There was no fire?" asked one of the other men, looking closely at the +image. + +"None," said the speaker. "We can't yet say what actually happened to +the ship. We have only a couple of hints. One of our weather observers, +orbiting at four hundred miles, picked up a tremendous flash of hard +ultraviolet radiation in the area around the three thousand Ångstrom +band. There must have been quite a bit of shorter wavelength radiation, +but the Earth's atmosphere would filter most of it out. + +"A recording of the radiophone discussion between the ranger and his +assistant is the only other description we have. The ranger described a +bluish glow over the site. Part of that may have been due to actual +blue light given off by the--well, call it 'burning'; that word will do +for now. But some of the blue glow was almost certainly due to +ionization of the air by the hard ultraviolet. Look at this next +picture." + +The scene remained the same, and yet there was a definite change. + +"This was taken three days later. If you'll notice, the normal rust-red +of the foliage has darkened to a purplish brown in the area around the +crash site. Now a Martian paper-tree, even in the mutated form, is quite +resistant to U-V, since it evolved under the thin atmosphere of Mars, +which gives much less protection from ultraviolet radiation than Earth's +does. Nevertheless, those trees have a bad case of sunburn." + +"And no heat," said a third man. "Wow." + +"Oh, there was some heat, but not anywhere near what you'd expect. The +nearer trees were rather dry, as though they'd been baked, but only at +the surface, and the temperature probably didn't rise much above +one-fifty centigrade." + +"How about X rays?" asked still another man. "Anything shorter than a +hundred Ångstroms detected?" + +"No. If there was any radiation that hard, there was no detector close +enough to measure it. We doubt, frankly, whether there was any." + +"The 'fire', if you want to call it that, must have stunk up the place +pretty badly," said one of the men dryly. + +"It did. There were still traces of ozone and various oxides of nitrogen +in the air when the fire prevention flyers arrived. The wind carried +them away from the ranger, so he didn't get a whiff of them." + +"And this--this 'fire'--it destroyed the ship completely?" + +"Almost completely. There are some lumps of metal around, but we can't +make anything of them yet. Some of them are badly fused, but that +damage was probably done before the ship landed. Certainly there was not +enough heat generated after the crash to have done that damage." His +hand moved over the control panel in the armrest of his chair, and the +scene changed. + +"This was taken from the ground. Those lumps you see are the pieces of +metal I was talking about. Notice the fine white powdery ash, which +caused the white spot that you could see from the air. That is evidently +all that is left of the hull and the rest of the ship. None of it is +radioactive. + +"Random samplings from various parts of the area show that the ash +consists of magnesium, lithium, and beryllium carbonates." + +"You don't mean oxides?" said one of the others. + +"No. I mean carbonates. And some silicate. We estimate that the +remaining ash could not have constituted more than ten percent of the +total mass of the hull of the ship. The rest of it vaporized, apparently +into carbon dioxide and water." + +"Some kind of plastic?" hazarded one of the men. + +"Undoubtedly, if you want to use a catchall term like 'plastic'. But +what kind of plastic goes to pieces like that?" + +That rhetorical question was answered by a silence. + +"There's no doubt," said one of them after a moment, "that +circumstantial evidence alone would link the alien with the ship. But +have you any more conclusive evidence?" + +The hand moved, and the scene changed again. It was not a pretty scene. + +"That, as you can see, is a closeup of the late Wang Kulichenko, the +forest ranger who was the only man ever to see the alien ship before it +was destroyed. Notice the peculiar bruises on the cheek and ear--the +whole side of the head. The pattern is quite similar on the other side +of the head." + +"It looks--umm--rather like a handprint." + +"It is. Kulichenko was slapped--_hard!_--on both sides of his head. It +crushed his skull." There was an intake of breath. + +"This next picture--" The scene changed. "--shows the whole body. If +you'll look closely you'll see the same sort of prints on the ground +around it. All very much like handprints. And that ties in very well +with the photographs of the alien itself." + +"There's no doubt about it," said one of the others. "The connection is +definitely there." + +The lecturer's hand moved over the control panel again, and suddenly the +screen was filled with the image of an eight-limbed horror with four +glaring violet eyes. In spite of themselves, a couple of the men gasped. +They had seen photographs before, but a full-sized three-dimensional +color projection is something else again. + +"Until three weeks ago, we knew of no explanation for the peculiar +happenings in northern Asia. After eight months of investigation, we +found ourselves up against a blank wall. Nothing could account for that +peculiar fire nor for the queer circumstances surrounding the death of +the forest ranger. The investigators suspected an intelligent alien +life-form, but--well, the notion simply seemed too fantastic. Attempts +to trail the being by means of those peculiar 'footprints' failed. They +ended at a riverbank and apparently never came out again. We know now +that it swam downstream for over a hundred miles. Little wonder it got +away. + +"Even those investigators who suspected something non-human pictured the +being as humanoid, or, rather, anthropoid in form. The prints certainly +suggest those of an ape. There appeared to be four of them, judging by +the prints--although frequently there were only three and sometimes only +two. It all depended on how many of his 'feet' he felt like walking +on." + +"And then the whole herd of them dived into a river and never came up +again, eh?" remarked one of the listeners. + +"Exactly. You can see why the investigators kept the whole thing quiet. +Nothing more was seen, heard, or reported for eight months. + +"Then, three weeks ago, a non-vision phone call was received by the +secretary of the Board of Regents of the Khrushchev Memorial Psychiatric +Hospital in Leningrad. An odd, breathy voice, speaking very bad Russian, +offered a meeting. It was the alien. He managed to explain, in spite of +the language handicap, that he did not want to be mistaken for a wild +animal, as had happened with the forest ranger. + +"The secretary, Mr. Rogov, felt that the speaker was probably deranged, +but, as he said later, there was something about that voice that didn't +sound human. He said he would make arrangements, and asked the caller to +contact him again the next day. The alien agreed. Rogov then--" + +"Excuse me," one of the men interrupted apologetically, "but did he +learn Russian all by himself, or has it been established that someone +taught him the language?" + +"The evidence is that he learned it all by himself, from scratch, in +those eight months." + +"I see. Excuse my interruption. Go on." + +"Mr. Rogov was intrigued by the story he had heard. He decided to check +on it. He made a few phone calls, asking questions about a mysterious +crash in the paper forests, and the death of a forest ranger. Naturally +those who _did_ know were curious about how Mr. Rogov had learned so +much about the incident. He told them. + +"By the time the alien made his second call, a meeting had been +arranged. When he showed up, those of the Board who were still of the +opinion that the call had been made by a crank or a psychosis case +changed their minds very rapidly." + +"I can see why," murmured someone. + +"The alien's ability to use Russian is limited," the speaker continued. +"He picked up vocabulary and grammatical rules very rapidly, but he +seemed completely unable to use the language beyond discussion of +concrete objects and actions. His mind is evidently too alien to enable +him to do more than touch the edges of human communication. + +"For instance, he called himself 'Nipe' or 'Neep', but we don't know +whether that refers to him as an individual or as a member of his race. +Since Russian lacks both definite and indefinite articles, it is +possible that he was calling himself 'a Nipe' or 'the Nipe'. Certainly +that's the impression he gave. + +"In the discussions that followed, several peculiarities were noticed, +as you can read in detail in the reports that the Board and the +Government staff prepared. For instance, in discussing mathematics the +Nipe seemed to be completely at a loss. He apparently thought of +mathematics as a _spoken_ language rather than a _written_ one and could +not progress beyond simple diagrams. That's just one small example. I'm +just trying to give you a brief outline now; you can read the reports +for full information. + +"He refused to allow any physical tests on his body, and, short of +threatening him at gunpoint, there was no practicable way to force him +to accede to our wishes. Naturally, threats were out of the question." + +"Couldn't X rays have been taken surreptitiously?" asked one of the men. + +"It was discussed and rejected. We have no way of knowing what his +tolerance to radiation is, and we didn't want to harm him. The same +applies to using any anesthetic gas or drug to render him unconscious. +There was no way to study his metabolism without his co-operation +unless we were willing to risk killing him." + +"I see. Naturally we couldn't harm him." + +"Exactly. The Nipe had to be treated as an emissary from his home +world--wherever that may be. He has killed a man, yes. But that has to +be allowed as justifiable homicide in self-defense, since the forester +had drawn a gun and was ready to fire. Nobody can blame the late Wang +Kulichenko for that, but nobody can blame the Nipe, either." + +They all looked for a moment in silence at the violet eyes that gazed at +them from the screen. + +"For nearly three weeks," the speaker went on, "humans and Nipe tried to +arrive at a meeting of minds, and, just when it would seem that such a +meeting was within grasp, it would fade away into mist. It was only +three days ago that the Russian psychologists and psychiatrists realized +that the reason the Nipe had come to them was because he had thought +that the Board of Regents of the hospital was the ruling body of that +territory." + +Someone chuckled, but there was no humor in it. + +"Now we come to yesterday morning," said the speaker. "This is the +important part at this very moment, because it explains why I feel we +must immediately take steps to tell the public what has happened, why I +feel that it is necessary to put a man like Colonel Walther Mannheim in +charge of the Nipe affair and keep him in charge until the matter is +cleared up. Because the public is going to be scared witless if we don't +do something to reassure them." + +"What happened yesterday morning, Mr. President?" one of the men asked. + +"The Nipe got angry, lost his temper, went mad--whatever you want to +call it. At the morning meeting he simply became more and more +incomprehensible. The psychologists were trying to see if the Nipe had +any religious beliefs, and, if so, what they were. One of them, a Dr. +Valichek, was explaining the various religious sects and rites here on +Earth. Suddenly, with no warning whatever, the Nipe chopped at +Valichek's throat with an open-hand judo cut, killing him. He killed two +more men before he leaped out of the window and vanished. + +"No trace of him was found until late last night. He killed another man +in Leningrad--we have since discovered that it was for the purpose of +stealing his personal flyer. The Nipe could be anywhere on Earth by +now." + +"How was the man killed, Mr. President? With bare hands, as the others +were?" + +"We have no way of knowing. Identification of the body was made +difficult by the fact that every shred of flesh had been stripped away. +It had been gnawed--literally _eaten_--to the bone!" + + + + +_FIRST INTERLUDE_ + + +The big man with the tiny child on his shoulder pushed through the air +curtain that kept the warm humid air out of the shop. + +"There," he said to the little boy softly, turning his head to look up +into the round, chubby, smiling face. "There. Isn't that nicer, huh? +Isn't that better than that hot old air outside?" + +"Gleefle-ah," said the child with a grin. + +"Oh, come on, boy. I've heard you manage bigger words than that. Or is +it your brother?" He chuckled and headed toward the drug counter. + +"Hey, Jim!" + +The big man brought himself up short and turned--carefully, so as not to +jiggle the baby on his shoulder. When he saw the shorter, thinner man, +he grinned hugely. "Jinks! By God! Jinks! Watch it! Don't shake the hand +too hard or I'll drop this infant. God damn, man, I thought you were in +Siberia!" + +"I was, Jim, but a man can't stay in Siberia forever. Is that minuscule +lump of humanity your own?" + +"Yup, yup. So I've been led to believe. Say hello to your Uncle Jinks, +young 'un. C'mon, say hello." + +The child jammed the three fingers of his left hand into his mouth and +refused to say a word. His eyes widened with an unfathomable +baby-emotion. + +"Well, he's got your eyes," said the thinner man. "Fortunately, he's +going to look like his mother instead of being ugly. He _is_ a he, isn't +he?" + +"That's right. Mother's looks, father's plumbing. I got another just +like him, but his mother's taking the other one to the doctor to get rid +of the sniffles. Don't want this one to catch it." + +"Twins?" + +"Naw," said the big man sarcastically, "Octuplets. The Government took +seventy-five percent for taxes." + +"Ask a silly question, get a silly answer," the smaller man said +philosophically. + +"Yup. So how's the Great Northern Wasteland, Jinks?" + +"Cold," said Jinks, "but it's not going to be a wasteland much longer, +Jim. Those Martian trees are going to be a big business in fifteen +years. There'll be forests all over the tundra. They'll make a hell of a +fine income crop for those people. We've put in over five thousand +square miles in seedlings during the past five years. The first ones +will be ready to harvest in ten years, and from then on, it will be as +regular as clockwork." + +"That's great. Great. How long'll you be in town, Jinks?" + +"About a week. Then I've got to head back to Siberia." + +"Well, look, could you drop around some evening? We could kill off a few +bottles of beer after we eat one of Ellen's dinners. How about it?" + +"I'd love to. Sure Ellen won't mind?" + +"She'll be tickled pink to see you. How about Wednesday?" + +"Sure. I'm free Wednesday evening. But you ask Ellen first. I'll give +you a call tomorrow evening to make sure I won't get a chair thrown at +me when I come in the door." + +"Great! I'll let her do the inviting, then." + +"Look," Jinks said, "I've got half an hour or so right now. Let me buy +you a beer. Or don't you want to take the baby in?" + +"No, it's not that, but I've got to run. I just dropped in to get a +couple of things, then I have to get on out to the plant. Some piddling +little thing came up, and they want to talk to me about it." He patted +the baby's leg. "Nothing personal, pal," he said in a soft aside. + +"You taking the baby into an atomic synthesis plant?" Jinks asked. + +"Why not? It's safe as houses. You've still got the Holocaust Jitters, +my friend. He'll be safer there than at home. Besides, I can't just +leave him in a locker, can I?" + +"I guess not. Just don't let him get his genes irradiated," Jinks said, +grinning. "So long. I'll call tomorrow at twenty hundred." + +"Fine. See you then. So long." + +The big man adjusted the load on his shoulder and went on toward the +counter. + + + + +_[5]_ + + +Two-fifths of a second. That was all the time Bart Stanton had from the +first moment his supersensitive ears heard the first faint whisper of +metal against leather. + +He made good use of the time. + +The noise had come from behind and slightly to the left of him, so he +drew his left-hand weapon and spun to the left as he dropped to a +crouch. He had turned almost completely around, drawn his gun, and fired +three shots before the other man had even leveled his own weapon. + +The bullets from Stanton's gun made three round spots on the man's +jacket, almost touching each other, and directly over the heart. The man +blinked stupidly for a moment, looking down at the spots. + +"My God," he said softly. + +Then he returned his own weapon slowly to its holster. + +The big room was noisy. The three shots had merely added to the noise of +the gunfire that rattled intermittently around the two men. And even +that gunfire was only a part of the cacophony. The tortured molecules of +the air in the room were so besieged by the beat of drums, the blare of +trumpets, the crackle of lightning, the rumble of heavy machinery, the +squawks and shrieks of horns and whistles, the rustle of autumn leaves, +the machine-gun snap of popping popcorn, the clink and jingle of falling +coins, and the yelps, bellows, howls, roars, snarls, grunts, bleats, +moos, purrs, cackles, quacks, chirps, buzzes, and hisses of a myriad of +animals, that each molecule would have thought that it was being shoved +in a hundred thousand different directions at once if it had had a mind +to think with. + +The noise wasn't deafening, but it was certainly all-pervasive. + +Bart Stanton had reholstered his own weapon and half opened his lips to +speak when he heard another sound behind him. + +Again he whirled, his guns in his hands--both of them this time--and his +forefingers only fractions of a millimeter from the point that would +fire the hair triggers. + +But he did not fire. + +The second man had merely shifted the weapons in his holsters and then +dropped his hands away. + +The noise, which had been flooding the room over the speaker system, +died instantly. + +Stanton shoved his guns back into place and rose from his crouch. "Real +cute," he said, grinning. "I wasn't expecting that one." + +The man he was facing smiled back. "Well, Bart, perhaps we have proved +our point. What do you think, Colonel?" The last was addressed to the +third man, who was still standing quietly, looking worried and surprised +about the three spots on his jacket that had come from the special +harmless projectiles in Stanton's gun. + +Colonel Mannheim was four inches shorter than Stanton's five-ten, and +was fifteen years older. But in spite of the differences, he would have +laughed if anyone had told him five minutes before that he couldn't +outdraw a man who was standing with his back turned. + +His bright blue eyes, set deep beneath craggy brows in a tanned face, +looked speculatively at the younger man. + +"Incredible," he said gently. "Absolutely incredible." Then he looked at +the other man, a lean civilian with mild blue eyes a shade lighter than +his own. "All right, Farnsworth; I'm convinced. You and your staff have +quite literally created a superman. Anyone who can stand in a +noise-filled room and hear a man draw a gun twenty feet behind him is +incredible enough. The fact that he could and did outdraw and outshoot +me after I had started--well, that's almost beyond comprehension." + +He looked back at Bart Stanton. "What's your opinion? Do you think you +can handle the Nipe, Stanton?" + +Stanton paused imperceptibly before answering, while his ultrafast mind +considered the problem before arriving at a decision. Just how much +confidence should he show the colonel? Mannheim was a man with +tremendous confidence in his own abilities, but who was nevertheless +capable of recognizing that there were men who were his superiors in one +field or another. + +"If I can't dispose of the Nipe," Stanton said, "no one can." + +Colonel Mannheim nodded slowly. "I believe you're right," he said at +last. His voice was firm with inner conviction. He shot a glance at +Farnsworth. "How about the second man?" + +Farnsworth shook his head. "He'll never make it. In another two years we +can put him into reasonable shape again, but his nervous system just +couldn't stand the gaff." + +"Can we get another man ready in time?" + +"Hardly. We can't just pick a man up off the street and turn him into a +superman. Even if we could find another subject with Bart's genetic +possibilities, it would take more time than we have to spare." + +"No way at all of cutting the time down?" + +"This isn't magic, Colonel," Farnsworth said. "You don't change a nobody +into a physical and mental giant by saying _abracadabra_ or by teaching +him how to pronounce _shazam_ properly." + +"I'm aware of that," said the colonel without rancor. "It's just that I +keep feeling that five years of work on Mr. Stanton should have taught +you enough to be able to repeat the process in less time." + +Farnsworth repeated the head-shaking. "Human beings aren't machines, +Colonel. They require time to heal, time to learn, time to integrate +themselves. Remember that, in spite of our increased knowledge of +anesthesia, antibiotics, viricides, and obstetrics, it still takes nine +months to produce a baby. We're in the same position, if not more so. +After all, we can't even allow for a premature delivery." + +"I know," said Mannheim. + +"Besides," Dr. Farnsworth continued, "Stanton's body and nervous system +are now close to the theoretical limit for human tissue. I'm afraid you +don't realize what kind of mental stability and organization are +required to handle the equipment he has now." + +"I'm sure I don't," Colonel Mannheim agreed. "I doubt if anyone besides +Stanton himself _really_ knows." He looked at Bart Stanton. "That's it +then, son. You're it. You're the only answer we've found so far. And the +only answer visible in the foreseeable future to the problem posed by +the Nipe." + +The colonel's face seemed to darken. "Ten years," he said in a low +voice. "Ten years that inhuman monster has been loose on Earth. He's +become a legend. He's replaced Satan, the Bogeyman, Frankenstein's +monster, and Mumbo Jumbo, Lord of the Congo, in the public mind. Read +the newsfacs, watch the newscasts. Take a look at popular fiction. He's +everywhere at once. He can do anything. He's taken on the attributes of +the djinn, the vampire, the ghoul, the werewolf, and every other horror +and hobgoblin that the mind of man has conjured up in the past half +million years." + +"That's hardly surprising, Colonel," Bart Stanton said with a wry smile. +"If a human being had gone on a ten-year rampage of robbery and murder, +showing himself as callously indifferent to human life and property as +you and I would be to the life and property of a cockroach, and if, in +addition, he proved impossible to catch, such a person would be looked +upon as a demon too. And if you add to that the fact that the Nipe is +_not_ human, that he is as frightening in appearance as he is in +actions, what can you expect?" + +"I agree," said Dr. Farnsworth. "Look at Jack the Ripper and consider +how he terrorized London a couple of centuries ago." + +"I know," said Colonel Mannheim. "There have been human criminals whose +actions could be described as 'inhuman', but the Nipe has some touches +that few human criminals have thought of and almost none would have the +capacity to execute. If he has time to spare, his victims become an +annoying problem in identification when they're found. He leaves nothing +but well-gnawed bones. And by 'time to spare', I mean twenty or thirty +minutes. The damned monster has a very efficient digestive tract, if +nothing else. He eats like a shrew." + +"And if he doesn't have time, he beats them to death," Bart Stanton said +thoughtfully. + +Colonel Mannheim frowned. "Not exactly. According to the evidence--" + +Dr. Farnsworth interrupted him. "Colonel, let's go into the lounge, +shall we? Aside from the fact that standing around in an empty chamber +like this isn't the most comfortable way to discuss the fate of mankind, +this room is scheduled for other work." + +Colonel Mannheim grinned, caught up by the touch of lightness that the +biophysicist had injected into the conversation. "Very well. I could do +with some coffee, if you have some." + +"All you want," said Dr. Farnsworth, leading the way toward the door of +the chamber and opening it. "Or, if you'd prefer something with a little +more power to it...." + +"Thanks, no," said Mannheim. "Coffee will do fine. How about you, +Stanton?" + +Bart Stanton shook his head. "I'd love to have some coffee, but I'll +leave the alcohol alone. I'd just have the luck to be finishing a drink +when our friend, the Nipe, popped in on us. And when I do meet him, I'm +going to need every microsecond of reflex speed I can scrape up." + +They walked down a soft-floored, warmly lit corridor to an elevator +which whisked them up to the main level of the Neurophysical Institute +Building. + +Another corridor led them to a room that might have been the common room +of one of the more exclusive men's clubs. There were soft chairs and +shelves of books and reading tables and smoking stands, all quietly +luxurious. There was no one in the room when the three men entered. + +"We can have some privacy here," Dr. Farnsworth said. "None of the rest +of the staff will come in until we're through." + +He walked over to a table, where an urn of coffee radiated soft warmth. +"Cream and sugar over there on the tray," he said as he began to fill +cups. + +The cups were filled and the three men sat down in a triangle of chairs +before any of them spoke again. Then Bart Stanton said: + +"I made the remark that if the Nipe doesn't have time to eat his victims +he just beats them to death, and you started to say something, Colonel." + +Colonel Mannheim took a sip from his cup before he spoke. "Yes. I was +going to say that, according to the evidence we have, he _always_ beats +his victims to death, whether he manages to eat them or not." + +"Oh?" Stanton looked thoughtful. + +"Oh, he's not cruel about it," the colonel said. "He kills quickly and +neatly. The thing is that he never, under any circumstances, uses any +weapons except the weapons that nature gave him--hands or feet or claws +or teeth. He never uses a gun or a knife or even a club. Dr. Yoritomo +has some theories about that which I won't go into now. He'll tell you +about them pretty soon." + +Stanton thought about the Japanese scientist and smiled. "I know. Dr. +Yoritomo has threatened to tell me all kinds of theories." + +"And believe me he will," said Mannheim with a soft chuckle. He took +another sip of his coffee and then looked up at Stanton. "You've been +through five years of hell, Mr. Stanton. In addition, you've been pretty +much isolated here. Dr. Farnsworth, here, has tried to keep you +informed, but, as I understand it, it has only been during the last few +months that you've actually been able to absorb and retain information +reliably. At least, that's the report I get. How do you feel about it?" + +Bart Stanton thought for a moment. It was true that he'd been out of +touch with what had been going on outside the walls of the Neurophysical +Institute for the past five years. In spite of the reading he'd done and +the newscasts he'd watched and the TV tapes he'd seen, he still had no +real feeling for the situation. + +There had been long hazy periods during that five years. He had +undergone extensive glandular and neural operations of great delicacy, +many of which had resulted in what could have been agonizing pain +without the use of suppressors. As a result of those operations, he +possessed a biological engine that, for sheer driving power and nicety +of control, surpassed any other known to exist or to have ever existed +on Earth--with the possible exception of the Nipe. But those five years +of rebuilding and retraining had left a gap in his life. + +Several of the steps required to make the conversion from man to +superman had resulted in temporary insanity; the wild, swinging +imbalances of glandular secretions seeking a new balance, the erratic +misfirings of neurons as they attempted to adjust to higher +nerve-impulse velocities, and the sheer fatigue engendered by cells that +were acting too rapidly for a lagging excretory system, all had +contributed to periods of greater or lesser abnormality. + +That he was sane now, there was no question. But there were holes in his +memory that still had to be filled. + +He admitted as much to Colonel Mannheim. + +"I see." The colonel rubbed one hand along the angle of his jaw, +considering his next words. "Can you give me, in your own words, a +general summary of the type of thing the Nipe has been doing?" + +"I think so," Stanton said. + +His verbal summary was succinct and accurate. The loot that the Nipe had +been stealing had, at first, seemed to be a hodgepodge of everything. It +was unpredictable. Money, as such, he apparently had no use for. He had +taken gold, silver, and platinum, but one raid for each of these +elements had evidently been enough, with the exception of silver, which +had required three raids over a period of four years. Since then, he +hadn't touched silver again. + +He hadn't yet tried for any of the radioactives except radium. He'd +taken a full ounce of that in five raids, but hadn't attempted to get +his hands on uranium, thorium, plutonium, or any of the other elements +normally associated with atomic energy. Nor had he tried to steal any of +the fusion materials--the heavy isotopes of hydrogen or any of the +lithium isotopes. Beryllium had been taken, but whether there was any +significance in the thefts or not, no one knew. + +There was a pattern in the thefts and robberies, nonetheless. They had +begun small and had increased. Scientific and technical +instruments--oscilloscopes, X-ray generators, radar equipment, maser +sets, dynostatic crystals, thermolight resonators, and so on--were +stolen complete or gutted for various parts. After a while, he had gone +on to bigger things--whole aircraft, with their crews, had vanished. + +That he had not committed anywhere near all the crimes that had been +attributed to him was certain; that he _had_ committed a great many of +them was equally certain. + +There was no doubt at all that his loot was being used to make +instruments and devices of unknown kinds. He had used several of them on +his raids. The one that could apparently phase out any electromagnetic +frequency up to about a hundred thousand megacycles--including +sixty-cycle power frequencies--was considered a particularly cute item. +So was the gadget that reduced the tensile strength of concrete to about +that of a good grade of marshmallow. + +After he had been operating for a few years, there was no installation +on Earth that could be considered Nipe-proof for more than a few +minutes. He struck when and where he wanted and took whatever he needed. + +It was manifestly impossible to guard against the Nipe, since no one +knew what sort of loot might strike his fancy next, and there was +therefore no way of knowing where or how he would hit next. + +Nor could he ever be found after one of his raids. They were plotted and +followed through with diabolical accuracy and thoroughness. He struck, +looted, and vanished. And he wasn't seen again until his next strike. + +Colonel Mannheim, who had carefully puffed a cigar alight and smoked it +thoughtfully during Stanton's recitation, dropped the remains of the +cigar into an ash receptacle. "Accurate but incomplete," he said +quietly. "You must have made some guesses. I'd like to hear them." + +Stanton finished the last of his coffee and glanced at Dr. Farnsworth. +The biophysicist was thoughtfully looking down at his own cup, his +expression unreadable. + +_All right_, Stanton thought, _he's looking for something. I'll let him +have both barrels and see if I hit the target_. + +"I've thought about it," he admitted. He got up, went over to the coffee +urn, and refilled his cup. "I've got a pet theory of my own. It's just a +notion, really. I wouldn't dare reduce it to syllogistic form, because +it might not hold much water, logically speaking. But the evidence seems +conclusive enough to me." + +He walked back to his seat. Colonel Mannheim was watching him, a look of +interest on his face, but he said nothing. + +"To me," Stanton said, "it seems incredible that the combined +intelligence and organizational ability of the UN Government is +incapable of finding anything out about one single alien, no matter how +competent he may be. Somehow, somewhere, someone must have gotten a line +on the Nipe. He must have a base for his operations, and someone should +have found it by this time. + +"I may be faster and stronger and more sensitive than any other living +human being, but that doesn't mean I have superhuman powers, or that I'm +a magician. And I'm quite certain that you, Colonel, don't credit me +with such abilities. You don't believe that I can do in a short time +what the combined forces of the Government couldn't do in ten. Certainly +you wouldn't rely too heavily on it. + +"And yet, apparently, you are. + +"To me, that can only mean that you have another ace up your sleeve. You +_know_ we're going to get the Nipe fairly quickly. You either have a +sure way of tracing him, or you already know where he is. + +"Which is it?" + +Colonel Mannheim sighed. "We know where he is," he said. "We have known +for six years." + + + + +_[6]_ + + +The Nipe prowled around the huge underground room, carefully checking +his alarms. If anyone entered the network of tunnels at any point, the +instruments would register that fact. They had to be adjusted, of +course, for the presence of the small, omnivorous quadrupeds that ran +through the tunnels in such numbers, but anything larger than they would +be noted immediately. + +He did not like to leave this place. Here, over a period of ten +revolutions of this planet about its primary, he had built himself a +nest that was almost comfortable. Here, too, were his workshops and his +storehouses. He had reason to believe that he was safe here, screened +and protected as he was, but each time he left or entered he ran the +chance of being observed. + +Still, there was no help for it. Thus far, he had been hampered by +technical problems. There were things he needed that he could not make +for himself. Even his own vast memory, with its every bit of information +instantly available, could only contain what had been acquired over a +lifetime, and even his long life had not been long enough to acquire +every bit of knowledge he needed. + +His work had been long and tedious. There were many things that could +neither be made in his workshops nor obtained from the natives, things +he did not know how to make and which the local species had not yet +evolved in their own technology. Or, more likely, which had not been +allowed them. In such cases, he had had to make do with other, lesser +techniques, which added to the complexity of his job. + +But now another problem had intruded itself into his schedule. + +He had a name. Colonel Walther Mannheim. The meaning of the verbal +symbolism was unknown to him. The patterns of the symbolism were even +more evasive than the patterns of the language itself. "Colonel" seemed +simple enough. It indicated a certain sociomilitary class that was +rigidly defined in one way and very hazy in another. But the meanings +and relationships of both "Walther" and "Mannheim" were beyond him. What +difference, for instance, was there between a "Walther" and a "William"? +Did a "Mannheim" outrank a "Mandeville", or the other way around? What +functions differentiated a "John Smith" from a "Peter Taylor"? He knew +what a "john" was and what a "smith" was, but "John Smith" was not, +apparently, necessarily associated with sanitary plumbing. The meaning +of some other names eluded him entirely. + +But that made little difference at the moment. The meaning of Colonel +Walther Mannheim's symbolic nomenclature was secondary in comparison +with his known function. + +That required that the Nipe must eventually find and confront Colonel +Walther Mannheim. + +It meant time lost, of course. It meant that precious time, which should +be given to building his communicator, must be given over to what was +merely a protective action. + +But there was nothing to do but go on. It would never have occurred to +the Nipe to give up, for to quit meant to die. And to die--here, +now--was unthinkable. + +His alarms were all functioning, his defenses all set. He could now +leave his hideaway knowing that if it were broken into while he was away +he would be warned in time. But he had no real fear of that. He had done +everything he could do. And no intelligent creature, to the Nipe's way +of thinking, would waste time worrying about a situation he could not +improve upon. + +Taking with him the equipment he needed for the job he had to do, he +entered the tunnel that ran southward from his base of operations. Once, +as he moved along, one of the little quadrupeds approached him, its +teeth bared. With an almost negligent flip of one powerful, superfast +hand, he slammed it against a nearby wall. It dropped and lay still. +Another of its kind approached it cautiously. The Nipe noticed the +approach with approval. The quadrupeds had no real intelligence, but +they had the proper instincts. + +At last the Nipe came to another of the many places where the tunnels +met with others of the network. He crossed through several rooms, all +very large and cluttered with the dusty, long-dead bones of hundreds of +the local intelligent life-form--if (and he was not sure in his own mind +of this) they could actually be called intelligent. But he moved +carefully, stepping over the human bones and the empty, staring skulls. +They had apparently been properly devoured, although he could not be +sure whether it had been done by their own kind or by the little +quadrupeds. Nonetheless, he would not willingly disturb their repose. + +He went on into the tunnel that led westward and followed it as it began +to angle down. Finally he came to the water's edge. + +To a human being, the cold expanse of water that gleamed like ink in the +light of the Nipe's illuminator would have been a barricade as +impenetrable as steel. But to the Nipe the tidal pool was simply another +of his defenses, for it concealed the only entrance he ever used. He +went in after adjusting his scuba mask and began swimming toward the +opening that led to the estuary of the sea, his eight strong limbs +working in unison in a way that would have been the envy of a rowing +team. + +At the jagged hole in the tunnel wall, the gap that led into open water, +he paused to check his instruments. Only after he was certain that there +were no sonar or other detector radiations did he propel himself onward, +out into the estuary itself. + +An hour later, he was warily circling the spot where his little +submarine was hidden. He pressed a button on a small device in his hand, +and a signal was sent to the submarine. The various devices within it +all responded properly. Nothing had been disturbed since the Nipe had +set those devices weeks before. + +This was the touchiest part of any of his expeditions. There was always +the chance, unlikely as it might be, that some one of the bipedal +natives had found his machine. He dared not use it too close to his base +because of the possibility of its drive vibrations being detected in the +narrow estuary. Out here in the open sea there was far less likelihood +of that, but leaving his submarine concealed out here increased the +danger he exposed himself to every time he left his hidden nest. + +Satisfied that the machine was just as he had left it, he entered it and +started its engines. He moved slowly and cautiously until he was well +out to sea, well away from the continental shelf and over the ocean +deeps. Then and only then did he accelerate to full cruising speed. + + * * * * * + +The full moon was in the west, hiding behind an array of low, scudding +clouds, revealing its radiance in fitful bursts of silvery splendor that +died again as another clotted cloud moved before the face of the white +disk. The shifting light, shining through the breeze-tossed leaves of +the palm trees on the beach below, made strange shadows on the sand, +ever-changing patterns of gray and black on a background of white, +moonlit sand. + +But the strangest shadow of all was one that did not change as the +others did--a great centipede-like shape that seemed to wash slowly +ashore on the receding tide. For a short while, it remained at the +water's edge, apparently unmoving in the wash of the waves. + +Then, keeping low and balancing himself on his third pair of limbs, the +Nipe moved in across the beach. The specially constructed sandals he +wore left behind them a set of very human-looking footprints--prints +that would remain unnoticed among the myriad of others that were already +on the beach, left there by daytime bathers. + +It required more time yet to reach the city, and still more time to find +the place he was looking for. It was almost dawn before he managed to +find a storm sewer in which to hide for the day. + +It was partly his difficulty in finding a given spot in a city--almost +any city--that had convinced the Nipe that the pseudo-intelligence of +the bipeds of this planet could not really be called true intelligence. +There was no standardized method of orienting oneself in a city. Not +only were no two cities alike in their orientation systems, but the same +city would often vary from section to section. Their co-ordinate systems +meant almost nothing. Part of a given co-ordinate might be a number, and +the rest of it a name, but the meanings of the numbers and names were +never the same. It was as though some really intelligent outside agency +had given them the basic idea of a co-ordinate system, and they, not +having the intelligence to use it properly, had simply jumbled the whole +thing up. + +That the natives themselves had no real understanding of any such system +had long been apparent to him. The dwellers in any one area would +naturally be familiar with it; they would know where each place was, +regardless of what meaningless names and numbers might be attached to +it. But strangers to that area would not know, and could not know. The +only thing they could possibly do would be to ask directions of a local +citizen--which, the Nipe had learned, was exactly what they did. + +Unfortunately, it was not that simple for the Nipe. There was no way for +him to walk up to a native and inquire for an address. He had to prowl +unseen through the alleys and sewers of a city, picking up a name here, +a number there, by eavesdropping on street conversations. He had found +that every city contained certain uniformed individuals whose duty it +was to direct strangers, and by focusing a directional microphone on +such men and listening, it was possible to glean little bits of +knowledge that could eventually be co-ordinated into a whole +understanding of the city's layout. It was a time-consuming process, but +it was the only way the job could be done. Reconnaissance took a +tremendous amount of time away from his serious work, but that work +could not proceed without materials to work with, and to get those +materials required reconnaissance. The dilemma was unavoidable. + +And, being what he was, the Nipe accepted the unavoidable and pursued +his course with phlegmatic equanimity. + +Overhead, the city was beginning to waken. The volume of sound began to +increase. + + * * * * * + +Police Patrolman John Flanders relieved his fellow officer, Patrolman +Fred Pilsudski, at a few minutes of eight in the morning. + +It was a beautiful day, even for Miami. In the east, the morning sun +shone brightly through the hard, transparent pressure glass that covered +the street, making the smooth, resilient surface of the street itself +glow with warm light. Overhead, Patrolman Flanders could see the aircars +in their incessant motion--apparently random, unless one knew what the +traffic pattern was and how to look for it. It was Patrolman Flanders' +immediate ambition to be promoted to traffic patrol, so that he could be +in an aircar above the city instead of watching pedestrians down here on +the streets. + +"Morning, Fred," he said to his brother officer. "How'd the night go?" + +"Hi, Johnny. Pretty good. Not much excitement." He looked at his +wristwatch. "You're a couple minutes early yet." + +"Yeah. The baby started singing for his breakfast at a God-awful hour. +Harriet woke up to feed him, which woke me up, so here I am. If you want +to give me the call button, I'll take over. You can go get yourself a +cup of coffee." + +"I'm up to here with coffee," Pilsudski said, indicating a point just +below his left ear. "I'll have a beer instead." + +He touched a switch at his belt and said: "Area 37 HQ, this is 13392 +Pilsudski." + +A voice in his helmet phones said: "37 HQ, go ahead, Pilsudski." + +"Time: 0758 hours. I am being relieved by 14278 Flanders." + +"Right. Go ahead." + +Pilsudski took off the light, strong helmet, reached inside it, opened a +small sliding panel, and took out an object the size and shape of an +aspirin tablet--the sealed unit that permitted him to understand the +conversation over the police wave band. Without it, the police calls +would have been gibberish. + +Flanders accepted the little gadget from the other officer and inserted +it in his own helmet. Then he replaced the helmet on his head. "Area 37 +HQ, this is 14278 Flanders. I am relieving 13392 Pilsudski." + +"37 HQ," said the voice in his ears. "Okay, Flanders. Transfer +recorded." + +Police Patrolman John Flanders, Badge Number 14278, was now officially +on duty. + +He looked up into the sky. "Now there's the place to be on a day like +this, Fred. Traffic patrol." + +"Not me," said Pilsudski. "Too damn dull. I was on it for six months. +Damn near drove me nuts. Nobody to talk to but another cop--same cop, +day after day. He was a nice guy, don't get me wrong, but Christ! +Nothin' to do but watch for people breakin' traffic pattern. Can't even +pull over to the side and watch the traffic go by. It's dull, I'm +tellin' you, Johnny. I asked for a transfer back to a beat so's I could +see some people again." + +"Maybe," said Flanders. "I'd still like to try it." + +"Ever'body to their own taste, I guess. Mitchell and Warber were in luck +last night, though. Excitement." He sounded as though he meant the word +to be sarcastic. + +"What happened?" Flanders asked. + +"Some boob was having a fight with his wife and his air intake was +goofing off at the same time. So, while she's yelling at him, he puts +his aircar on hover." He pointed upward. "Right up there, in Level Two. +He opens the window of his aircar, mind you. His air intake ain't +workin', like I said. Mitchell, in Car 87, spots him and heads for him, +figuring there's trouble." + +"But no trouble?" asked Flanders. + +"Trouble enough. The driver's old lady throws a wrench at him, an' it +goes out the window." He chuckled. "First I heard about it was when that +damn wrench comes down and bounces off the pressure glass, then up to +the side of the building there, and back to the pressure glass. Then it +slides off into the rain gutter." + +Flanders looked up at the curve of hard, tough, almost invisible +pressure glass that covered the street. "With all the cars overhead that +we got in this city," Flanders said philosophically, "something like +that's bound to happen every so often. That's why that glass is up +there, besides for keepin' the rain off your head." + +"Yeah," Pilsudski said. "Anyway, Mitchell and Warber got there just as +she tossed the wrench. Arrested both of 'em. Now, wasn't that exciting?" + +Flanders grinned. "Fred, if the rest of their tour of duty was as dull +as you say it was, then I reckon that must have been real exciting." + +"Hah." Pilsudski shrugged. "Well, I'm for that beer. See you tomorrow, +Johnny." + +"Right. Take care o' yourself." + +As Pilsudski walked away, Flanders put his hands behind his back, +grasping the left in the right. He spread his feet slightly apart. In +that time-honored position of the foot patrolman, he surveyed his beat, +up and down both sides of the street. Everything looked perfectly +normal. Another working day had begun. + +He had no idea that he was standing only a few yards from the most hated +and feared killer on the face of the Earth. + +The only clue that he could possibly have had to that killer's presence +was a small ovoid the size and shape of a match head, a dark, dull gray +in color, which protruded slightly from a sewer grating six feet away, +supported on a hair-thin stalk. In one end was a tiny dark opening, and +that opening was pointed directly at Officer Flanders' head. When he +began walking slowly down the street, the little ovoid moved, turning +slowly on its stalk to keep that dark hole pointed steadily. It was so +small, that ovoid, and so inconspicuous, that no one, even looking +directly at it, would have noticed it. + +The Nipe could see and hear without being either seen or heard himself. + +All morning long the tiny ovoid remained in place, watching, listening. + +At 11:24 a woman in a cherry-pink dress walked up to Officer Flanders +and said: "Pardon me, Officer. Could you tell me where I could find the +Donahue Building?" + +And while the policeman told her, the Nipe listened carefully. Now he +knew what street he was on and its location in respect to two other +streets. He also had a number. He remembered them all, accurately and +completely. It was a good beginning, he decided. It would not be too +long before he would have enough to enable him to locate the address he +was looking for. After that, there would only remain the job of +observing and making plans to get what he wanted at that address. + +He settled himself to wait for more information. He knew that it would +be a long wait. + +But he was prepared for that. + + + + +_SECOND INTERLUDE_ + + +The woman's eyes were filled with tears, for which the doctor was +privately thankful. At least, he thought to himself, the original shock +has worn off. + +"And there's nothing we can do?" she asked. "Nothing?" There was anguish +in her voice. + +"I'm afraid not," the doctor told her gently. "Not yet. There are +research men working on the problem, and one day ... perhaps ..." Then +he shook his head. "But not yet." He paused. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stanton." + +The woman sat there in the comfortable chair and looked at the +specialist's diploma on the doctor's wall--and yet, she really didn't +see the diploma at all. She was seeing something else--a kind of dream +that had been shattered. + +After a moment, she began to speak, her voice low and gentle, as though +the dream were still going on and she were half afraid she might waken +herself if she spoke too loudly. + +"Jim and I were so glad they were twins. Identical twin boys. He said +... I remember, he said, 'We ought to call them Ike and Mike.' And he +laughed a little when he said it, to show he didn't mean it." + +The doctor said nothing, waiting for her to go on. + +"I remember, I was propped up in the bed, the afternoon after they were +born, and Jim brought me a new bed jacket, and I said I didn't need a +new one because I'd be going right home the very next day, and he said, +'Hell, kid, you don't think I'd buy a bed jacket just for hospital use, +now do you? This is for breakfasts in bed, too.' + +"And that's when he said he'd seen the boys and said we ought to name +them Ike and Mike." + +The tears were coming down Mrs. Stanton's cheeks heavily now, and the +grief made her look older than her twenty-four years, but the doctor +said nothing, letting her spill out her emotions in words. + +"We'd talked about it before, you know--soon as the obstetrician found +out that I was going to have twins. And Jim ... Jim said that we +shouldn't name them alike unless they were identical twins or mirror +twins. If they were fraternal twins, we'd just name them as if they'd +been ordinary brothers or sisters or whatever. You know?" She looked at +the doctor, her eyes pleading for understanding. + +"I know," he said. + +"And Jim was always kidding. If they were girls, he said, we ought to +call them Flora and Dora, or Annie and Fanny, or maybe Susie and +Floozie. He was always kidding about it. You know?" + +"I know," said the doctor. + +"And then ... and then when they _were_ identical boys, he was very +sensible about it. He was always so sensible. 'We'll call them Martin +and Bartholomew,' he said. 'Then if they want to call themselves Mart +and Bart, they can, but they won't be stuck with any rhyming names if +they don't want them.' Jim was always very thoughtful that way, Doctor. +Very thoughtful." + +She seemed suddenly to realize that she was crying and took a +handkerchief out of her sleeve to dab at her eyes and face. + +"I'll have to quit crying," she said, trying to sound very brave and +very strong. "After all, it could have been worse, couldn't it? I mean, +the radiation could have killed my boy, too. Jim's dead, yes, and I've +got to get used to that. But I still have two boys to take care of, and +they'll need me." + +"Yes, Mrs. Stanton, they will," said the doctor. "They'll both need you +very much. And you'll have to be very gentle and very careful with both +of them." + +"How ... how do you mean that?" she asked. + +The doctor settled back in his chair and chose his words carefully. +"Identical twins tend to identify with each other, Mrs. Stanton. There +is a great deal of empathy between people who are not only of the same +age, but genetically identical. If they were both completely healthy, +there would normally be very little trouble in their education at home +or in school. Any of the standard texts on psychodynamics in education +will show you the pitfalls to avoid when dealing with identical +siblings. + +"But your sons are no longer identical, Mrs. Stanton. One is normal, +healthy, and lively. The other is ... well, as you know, he is slow, +sluggish, and badly co-ordinated. The condition may improve with time, +but, until we know more about such damage than we do now, he will remain +an invalid." + +He had been watching her for further signs of emotional upset. But she +seemed to be listening calmly enough. He went on. + +"That's the trouble with radiation damage, Mrs. Stanton. Even when we +can save the victim's life, we cannot always save his health. + +"You can see, I think, what sort of psychic disturbances this might +bring about in such a pair. The ill boy tends to identify with the well +one, and, oddly enough, the reverse is also true. If they are not +properly handled during their formative years, Mrs. Stanton, both can be +badly damaged emotionally." + +"I ... I think I understand, Doctor," the young woman said. "But what +sort of thing should I look out for? What sort of things should I +avoid?" + +"First off, I suggest you get a good man in psychic development," the +doctor said. "I, myself, would hesitate to prescribe. It's out of my +field. But I can say that, in general, most of your trouble will be +caused by a tendency for the pair to swing into one of two extremes. + +"At one extreme, you will have mutual antagonism. This arises when the +ill child becomes jealous of the other's health, while, on the other +hand, the healthy one becomes jealous of the extra consideration that is +shown to his crippled brother. + +"At the other extreme, the healthy boy may identify so closely with his +brother that he feels every slight or hurt, real or imagined, which the +ill boy is subjected to. He becomes extremely over-solicitous, +over-protective. At the same time, the invalid brother may come to +depend completely on his healthy twin. + +"In both these situations there is a positive feedback that constantly +worsens the condition. It requires a great deal of careful observation +and careful application of the proper educational stimuli to keep the +situation from developing toward either extreme. You'll need expert help +if you want both boys to display the full abilities of which they are +potentially capable." + +"I see," the woman said. "Could you give me the name of a good man, +Doctor?" + +The doctor nodded and picked up a book on his desk. "I'll give you the +names of several. You can pick the one you like best, the one with whom +you seem to be most comfortable. Try several or all of them before you +decide. They're all good men. There are many good women in the field, +too, but in this case I think a man would be best. Of course, if one of +them thinks a woman is indicated, that's up to him. As I said, that +isn't my field." + +He opened the small book and riffled through it to find the names he +wanted. + + + + +_[7]_ + + +The image of the Nipe on the glowing screen was clear and finely +detailed. It was, Stanton thought, as though one were looking through a +window into the Nipe's nest itself. Only the tremendous depth of focus +of the lens that had caught the picture gave the illusion a feeling of +unreality. Everything--background and foreground alike--was sharply in +focus. + +Like some horrendous dream monster, the Nipe moved in slow motion, +giving Stanton the eerie feeling that the alien was moving through a +thicker, heavier medium than air, in a place where the gravity was much +less than that of Earth. With ponderous deliberation, the fingers of one +of his hands closed upon the handle of an oddly shaped tool and lifted +it slowly from the surface upon which he worked. + +"That's our best-placed camera," said Colonel Mannheim, "but some of the +others can always get details that this one doesn't. The trouble is +that we'll never really have enough cameras in there--not unless we stud +the walls, ceilings, and floors with them, and even then I'm not so sure +we'd get everything. It isn't the same as having a trained expert on +camera who is _trying_ to demonstrate what he's doing. An expert plays +to the camera and never obstructs any of his own movements. But the +Nipe ..." He left the sentence unfinished and shook his head sadly. + +Stanton narrowed his eyes at the image. To his own speeded-up perceptive +processes, the motion seemed intolerably slow. "Would you mind speeding +it up a little?" he asked the colonel. "I want to get an idea of the way +he moves, and I can't really get the feeling of it at this speed." + +"Certainly." The colonel turned to the technician at the controls. +"Speed the tape up to normal. If there's anything Mr. Stanton wants to +look at more closely, we can run it through again." + +As if in obedience to the colonel's command, the Nipe seemed to shake +himself a little and go about his business more briskly, and the air and +gravity seemed to revert to those of Earth. + +"What's he doing?" Stanton asked. The Nipe was performing some sort of +operation on an odd-looking box that sat on the floor in front of him. + +The colonel pointed. "He's got a screwdriver that he's modified to give +it a head with an L-shaped cross section, and he's wiggling it around +inside that hole in the box. But what he's doing is a secret between God +and the Nipe at this point," Colonel Mannheim said glumly. + +Stanton glanced away from the screen for a moment to look at the other +men who were there. Some of them were watching the screen, but most of +them seemed to be watching Stanton, although they looked away as soon as +they saw his eyes on them. All, that is, except Dr. George Yoritomo, +who simply gave him a smile of confidence. + +_Trying to see what kind of a bloke this touted superman is_, Stanton +thought. _Well, I can't say I blame 'em._ + +He brought his attention back to the screen. + +So this was the Nipe's hideaway. He wondered if it were furnished in the +fashion that a Nipe's living quarters would be furnished on whatever +planet the multilegged horror had come from. Probably it had the same +similarity as Robinson Crusoe's island home had to a middle-class +nineteenth-century English home. + +There was no furniture in it at all, as such. Low-slung as he was, the +Nipe needed no tables or workbenches; all his work was spread out on the +floor, with a neatness and tidiness that would have surprised many human +technicians. For the same reason, he needed no chairs, and, since true +sleep was a form of metabolic rest he evidently found unnecessary, he +needed no bed. The closest thing he did that might be called sleep was +his habit of stopping whatever he was doing and remaining quiet for +periods of time that ranged from a few minutes to a couple of hours. +Sometimes his eyes remained opened during these periods, sometimes they +were closed. It was difficult to tell whether he was sleeping or just +thinking. + +"The difficulty was in getting cameras in there in the first place," +Colonel Mannheim was saying. "That's why we missed so much of his early +work. There! Look at that!" His finger jabbed at the image. + +"The attachment he's making?" + +"That's right. Now, it looks as though it's a meter of some kind, but we +don't know whether it's a test instrument or an integral and necessary +part of the machine he's making. The whole machine might even be only a +test instrument for something else he's building. Or perhaps a machine +to make parts for some other machine. After all, he had to start out +from the very beginning--making the tools to make the tools to make the +tools, you know." + +Dr. Yoritomo spoke for the first time. "It's not quite as bad as all +that, eh, Colonel? We must remember that he had our technology to draw +upon. If he'd been wrecked on Earth two or three centuries ago, he +wouldn't have been able to do a thing." + +Colonel Mannheim smiled at the tall, lean man. "Granted," he said +agreeably, "but it's quite obvious that there are parts of our +technology that are just as alien to him as parts of his are to us. +Remember how he went to all the trouble of building a pentode vacuum +tube for a job that could have been done by transistors he already had +had a chance to get and didn't. His knowledge of solid-state physics +seems to be about a century and a half behind ours." + +Stanton listened. Dr. Yoritomo was, in effect, one of his training +instructors. _Advanced Alien Psychology_, Stanton thought; _Seminar +Course. The Mental Whys & Wherefores of the Nipe, or How to Outthink the +Enemy in Twelve Dozen Easy Lessons. Instructor: Dr. George Yoritomo._ + +The smile on Yoritomo's face was beatific, but he held up a warning +finger. "Ah, ah, Colonel! We mustn't fall into a trap like that so +easily. Remember that gimmick he built last year? The one that blinded +those people in Baghdad? It had five perfect emeralds in it, connected +in series with silver wire. Eh?" + +"That's true," the colonel admitted. "But they weren't used the way we'd +use semiconducting materials." + +"Indeed not. But the thing _worked_, didn't it? He has a knowledge of +solid-state physics that we don't have, and vice versa." + +"Which one would you say was ahead of the other?" Stanton asked. "I +don't mean just in solid-state physics, but in science as a whole." + +"That's a difficult question to answer," Dr. Yoritomo said thoughtfully. +"Frankly, I'd put my money on his technology as encompassing more than +ours--at least, insofar as the physical sciences are concerned." + +"I agree," said Colonel Mannheim. "He's got things in that little nest +of his that--" He stopped and shook his head slowly, as though he +couldn't find words. + +"I will say this," Yoritomo continued. "Whatever his great technological +abilities, our friend the Nipe has plenty of good, solid guts. And +patience." He smiled a little, and then amended his statement. "From our +own point of view." + +Stanton looked at him quizzically. "How do you mean? I was just about to +agree with you until you tacked that last phrase on. What does point of +view have to do with it?" + +"Everything, I should say," said Yoritomo. "It all depends on the +equipment an individual has. A man, for instance, who rushes into a +building to save a life, wearing nothing but street clothes, has +courage. A man who does the same thing when he's wearing a nullotherm +suit is an unknown quantity. There is no way of knowing, from that +action alone, whether he has courage or not." + +Stanton thought he saw what the scientist was driving at. "But you're +not talking about technological equipment now," he said. + +"Not at all. I'm talking about personal equipment." He turned his head +slightly to look at the colonel. "Colonel Mannheim, do you think it +would require any personal courage on Mr. Stanton's part to stand up +against you in a face-to-face gunfight?" + +The colonel grinned tightly. "I see what you mean." + +Stanton grinned back rather wryly. "So do I. No, it wouldn't." + +"On the other hand," Yoritomo continued, "if you were to challenge Mr. +Stanton, would that show courage on your part, Colonel?" + +"Not really. Foolhardiness, stupidity or insanity--but not courage." + +"Ah, then," said Yoritomo with a beaming smile, "neither of you can +prove you have guts enough to fight the other. Can you?" + +Mannheim smiled grimly and said nothing. But Stanton was thinking the +whole thing out very carefully. "Just a second," he said. "That depends +on the circumstances. If Colonel Mannheim, say, knew that forcing me to +shoot him would save the life of someone more important than +himself--or, perhaps, the lives of a great many people--what then?" + +Yoritomo bowed his head in a quick nod. "Exactly. That is what I meant +by viewpoint. Whether the Nipe has courage or patience or any other +human feeling depends on two things: his own abilities and exactly how +much information he has. A man can perform any action without fear if he +knows that it will not hurt him--or if he does _not_ know that it +_will_." + +Stanton thought that over in silence. + +The image of the Nipe was no longer moving. He had settled down into his +"sleeping position"--unmoving, although the baleful violet eyes were +still open. "Cut that off," Colonel Mannheim said to the operator. +"There's not much to learn from the rest of that tape." + +As the image blanked out, Stanton said, "Have you actually managed to +build any of the devices he's constructed, Colonel?" + +"Some," said Colonel Mannheim. "We have specialists all over the world +studying those tapes. We have the advantage of being able to watch every +step the Nipe makes, and we know the materials he's been using to work +with. But, even so, the scientists are baffled by many of them. Can you +imagine the time James Clerk Maxwell would have had trying to build a +modern television set from tapes like this?" + +"I can imagine," Stanton said. + +"You can see, then, why we're depending on you," Mannheim said. + +Stanton merely nodded. The knowledge that he was actually a focal point +in human history, that the whole future of the human race depended to a +tremendous extent on him, was a realization that weighed heavily and, at +the same time, was immensely bracing. + +"And now," the colonel said, "I'll turn you over to Dr. Yoritomo. He'll +be able to give you a great deal more information than I can." + + + + +_[8]_ + + +The girl moved with the peculiar gliding walk so characteristic of a +person walking under low-gravity conditions, and the ease and grace with +which she did it showed that she was no stranger to low-gee. To the +three men from Earth who followed her a few paces behind, the gee-pull +seemed so low as to be almost nonexistent, although it was actually a +shade over one quarter of that of Earth, the highest gravitational pull +of any planetoid in the Belt. Their faint feeling of nausea was due +simply to their lack of experience with _really_ low gravity--the +largest planetoid in the Belt had a surface gravity that was only one +eighth of the pull they were now experiencing, and only one +thirty-second of the Earth gravity they were used to. + +The planetoid they were on--or rather, _in_--was known throughout the +Belt simply as Threadneedle Street, and was nowhere near as large as +Ceres. What accounted for the relatively high gravity pull of this tiny +body was its spin. Moving in its orbit, out beyond the orbit of Mars, it +turned fairly rapidly on its axis--rapidly enough to overcome the feeble +gravitational field of its mass. It was a solid, roughly spherical mass +of nickel-iron, nearly two thirds of a mile in diameter and, like the +other inhabited planetoids of the Belt, honeycombed with corridors and +rooms cut out of the living metal itself. But the corridors and rooms +were oriented differently from those of the other planetoids; +Threadneedle Street made one complete rotation about its axis in +something less than a minute and a half, and the resulting centrifugal +force reversed the normal "up" and "down", so that the center of the +planetoid was overhead to anyone walking inside it. It was that fact +which added to the queasiness of the three men from Earth who were +following the girl down the corridor. They knew that only a few floors +beneath them yawned the mighty nothingness of infinite space. + +The girl, totally unconcerned with thoughts of that vast emptiness, +stopped before a door that led off the corridor and opened it. "Mr. +Martin," she said, "these are the gentlemen who have an appointment with +you. Mr. Gerrol. Mr. Vandenbosch. Mr. Nguma." She called off each name +as the man bearing it walked awkwardly through the door. "Gentlemen," +she finished, "this is Mr. Stanley Martin." Then she left, discreetly +closing the door. + +The young man behind the desk in the metal-walled office stood up +smiling as the three men entered, offered his hand to each, and shook +hands warmly. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, gesturing toward three +solidly built chairs that had been anchored magnetically to the +nickel-iron floor of the room. + +"Well," he said genially when the three had seated themselves, "how was +the trip out?" + +He watched them closely, without appearing to do so, as they made their +polite responses to his question. He was acquainted with them only +through correspondence; now was his first chance to evaluate them in +person. + +Barnabas Nguma, a very tall man whose dark brown skin and eyes made a +sharp contrast with the white of the mass of tiny, crisp curls on his +head, smiled when he spoke, but there were lines of worry etched around +his eyes. "Pleasant enough, Mr. Martin. I'm afraid that steady one-gee +acceleration has left me unprepared for this low gravity." + +"Well," said Stefan Vandenbosch, "it really isn't so bad, once you get +used to it. As long as it's steady, I don't mind it." He was a rather +chubby man of average height, with blond hair that was beginning to gray +at the temples and pale blue eyes that gave his face an expression of +almost childlike innocence. + +Arthur Gerrol, the third man, was almost as light-complexioned as +Vandenbosch. His thinning hair was light brown, and his eyes were a deep +gray-blue, and the lines in his hard, blocky face gave him a look of +grim determination. "I agree, Stefan. It isn't the low gravity _per se_. +It's the doggone surges. We went from one gee to zero when the ship came +in for a landing at the pole of Threadneedle Street. Then, as we came +back down here, the gravity kept going up, and that ... what do you call +it? Coriolis force? Yeah, that's it. It made my head feel as though the +whole room was spinning." Then, realizing what he'd said, he laughed +sharply. + +The man behind the desk laughed with him. "Yes, it is a bit +disconcerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull to make a man +feel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's one of the reasons why +Threadneedle Street was picked. As the financial center of the Belt, we +have a great many visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a lot +easier to get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at the +others and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London help you?" + +He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making it awkward +for them to bring up the subject they had on their minds. + +It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, Mr. Martin, we +have come to put our case before you in person. It is not Lloyd's we +want--it is you." + +"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. Nguma?" + +"Exactly. We feel--" + +The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, do you have any +further information?" He looked as though such news would be welcome but +that it would not change his mind in the least. + +"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know whether our +little bits and dribbles of information are worth anything." + +The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. "I see," he said +softly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, Mr. Nguma?" + +Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, sir! You are +acknowledged as the greatest detective in the Solar System--bar none. We +need you, Mr. Martin! _Earth_ needs you! That inhuman monster has been +killing and robbing for ten years! Men, women, and children have been +slaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've _got_ to help +us find that God-awful thing!" + +Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned forward earnestly +and said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent businessmen who have been +robbed. We also represent hundreds and hundreds of people who have had +friends and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr. +Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror of a +superhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and goods lost--it's +a matter of _lives_ lost. Human lives, Mr. Martin." + +"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," Vandenbosch broke +in. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, more will die. Who knows how +long a beast like that may live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!" +He waved a hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for another +century--maybe more--killing, killing, killing." + +The detective looked at them for a moment in silence. These three men +represented more than just a group of businessmen who had grown uneasy +about the Government's ability to catch the Nipe; they represented more +than a few hundred or even a few thousand people who had been directly +affected by the monster's depredations. They represented the growing +feeling of unrest that was making itself known all over Earth. It was +even making itself felt out here in the Belt, although the Nipe had not, +in the past decade, shown any desire to leave Earth. Why hadn't the +beast been found? Why couldn't it be killed? Why were its raids always +so fantastically successful? + +For every toothmark that inhuman thing had left on a human bone, it had +left a thousand on human minds--marks of a fear that was more than a +fear. It was a deep-seated terror of the unknown. + +The number of people killed in ordinary accidents in a single week was +greater than the total number killed by the Nipe in the last decade, but +nowhere were men banding together to put a stop to that sort of death. +Accidental death was a known factor, almost a friend; the Nipe was stark +horror. + +The detective said: "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but what I said in my last +letter still goes. I can't take the job. I will not go to Earth." + +Every one of the three men could sense the determination in his voice, +the utter finality of his words. There was no mistaking the iron-hard +will of the man. They knew that nothing could shake him--nothing, at +least, that they could do. + +But they couldn't admit defeat. No matter how futile they knew it to be, +they still had to try. + +Nguma took a billfold from his jacket pocket, opened it, and took out an +engraved sheet of paper with an embossed seal in one corner. He put it +on the desk in front of the detective. + +"Would you look at that, Mr. Martin?" he asked. + +The detective picked it up and looked at it. The expression on his face +did not change. "Two hundred and fifty thousand," he said, in a voice +that showed only polite interest. "A cool quarter of a million. That's a +lot of money, Mr. Nguma." + +"It is," said Nguma. "As you can see, that sum has just been deposited +here, in the Belt branch of the Bank of England. It will be transferred +to your account immediately, as soon as you agree to come to Earth to +find and kill the Nipe." + +The detective looked up from his inspection of the certificate. He had +known that the three men had made a visit to the Bank's offices, and he +had been fairly sure of their purpose when he had received the +information. He had not known the sum would be quite so large. + +"A quarter of a million, just to take the job?" he asked. "And what if I +don't catch him?" + +"We have faith in you, Mr. Martin," Nguma said. "We know your +reputation. We know what you've done in the past. The Government police +haven't been able to do anything. They're completely baffled, and have +been for ten years. They will continue to be so. This alien's mind is +too devilishly sharp for the kind of men in Government service. We know +that when you take this job the finest brain in the Solar System will be +searching for that horror. If you can't find him ..." He spread his +hands in a gesture that was partly a dismissal of all hope and partly an +appeal to the man whose services he wanted so desperately. + +The detective put the certificate down on the desk top and pushed it +toward Nguma. "That's very flattering, sir. Really. And I wish there +were some more diplomatic way of saying no--but that's all I can say." + +"There will be a like sum deposited to your account as soon as you +either kill or capture the Nipe, or, discovering his hideout, enable the +Government officials to kill or capture him," said Nguma. + +"That's half a million in all," Gerrol put in. "We've worked hard to +raise that money, Mr. Martin. It should be enough." + +The detective kept his temper under icy control, allowing just enough of +his anger to show to make his point. "Mr. Gerrol ... it is not a +question of money. Your offer is more than generous." + +"It's our final offer," Gerrol said flatly. + +"I hope it is, Mr. Gerrol," the detective said coldly. "I sincerely hope +it is. For the past six months, you and your organization have been +trying to get me to take this job. I appreciate the sincerity of your +efforts, believe me. And, as I said, I am honored and flattered that you +should think so highly of me. On the other hand, your method of going +about it is hardly flattering. I turned down your first offer of twenty +thousand six months ago. Since then, you have been going up and up and +up until you have finally reached twenty-five times the original +amount. You seem to think I have been holding out for more money. I have +attempted to disabuse you of that notion, but you would not read what I +put down in my communications, evidently. If I had wanted more money +than you offered at first, I would have said so. I would have quoted you +a price. I did not. I gave you an unqualified refusal. I give it to you +still. _No._ Flatly, absolutely, and finally ... _no_." + +Nguma was the only one of the three who could find his tongue +immediately. "I should think," he said somewhat acidly, "that you would +consider it your duty to--" + +The detective cut him off. "My duty, Mr. Nguma, is, at this moment, to +my employers. I am a paid investigator for Lloyd's of London, Belt +branch. I draw a salary that is more than adequate for my needs and +almost adequate for my taste in the little luxuries of life. I am, for +the time being at least, satisfied with my work. So are my employers. +Until one or the other of us becomes dissatisfied, the situation will +remain as it is. I will not accept any outside work of any kind except +at the instructions of, or with the permission of, my employers. I have +neither. I want neither at this time. That is all, gentlemen. Good day." + +"But the money ..." Nguma said. + +"The money should be withdrawn from the bank and returned to Earth. I +suggest you return it to the people who have donated it to your +organization. If that is impossible, I suggest you donate it to the +Government officials who are working so hard to do the job you want +done. I assure you, they are much more capable than I of dealing with +the Nipe. Good day, Mr. Nguma, Mr. Vandenbosch, Mr. Gerrol." + +They looked hurt, bewildered, and angry. Only Mr. Barnabas Nguma looked +as if he might have some slight understanding of what had happened. He +was the only one who spoke. "Good day, Mr. Martin. I am sorry we have +disturbed you. Thank you for your valuable time," he said with dignity. +And then the three men walked out the door, closing it behind them. + +The detective sat behind his desk, looking at the door, almost as if he +could see the men beyond it as they moved down the corridor. Several +minutes later, when his secretary opened the door again, he was still +staring thoughtfully at it. She thought he was staring at her. + +"Something the matter, Mr. Martin?" she asked. + +"What? Oh. No, no. Nothing, Helen; nothing. Just wool-gathering. Did you +see our visitors out all right?" + +She glided in and closed the door behind her. "Well, none of them fell +and broke a leg, if that's what you mean. But that Mr. Gerrol looked as +though he might break a blood vessel. I take it you turned them down +again?" + +"Yes. For the last time, I think. It's a shame they had to travel out +here, all that distance, to be turned down. They looked on me as their +great white hope. They couldn't really believe I would turn them down. +Couldn't let themselves believe it, I guess. They're scared, +Helen--bright green scared." + +"I know. But if it weren't for the fact that I have certain pretensions +to being a lady, I would have booted that Gerrol into orbit without a +spacesuit." + +"Oh?" + +"He implied," Helen said angrily, "that you were a coward. That you were +afraid to face the Nipe." + +The detective chuckled. "I hope you didn't say anything." + +"I wanted to," she admitted. "I wanted to tell him that guns were easy +to buy, that all he had to do was buy one and go after the Nipe himself. +I would like to have seen his face if I'd asked him how scared _he_ was +of the beast. But I didn't say a word. They weren't talking to me, +anyway; they were talking to each other." + +"I'd almost be willing to bet that Nguma disagreed with Gerrol. Nguma +didn't think I was a physical coward; he thought I was a moral coward." + +"How'd you know?" + +"Intuition. Just from the way he talked and acted. He felt the failure +more than the others because he felt that there was no hope left at all. +He was quite certain that I, myself, did not believe the Nipe could be +caught--by me or anyone else. He thinks that I turned down the job +because I know I'd fail and I don't want to have a failure on my record. +Not _that_ big a failure." + +"That's ridiculous, of course," the girl said angrily. + +The detective noticed a faint note in her voice. _She thinks the same as +Nguma_, he thought, _but she doesn't want to admit it to herself_. He +massaged his closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. _Maybe she's +right_, he thought. _Maybe they're both right._ Aloud, he said, "Well, +we've had our little diversion. Let's get back to work." + +"Yes, sir. You want the BenChaim file again?" + +"Yes. I've got to figure that tricky line down to a T, or we may never +see that boy again. We haven't much time, either--two weeks at most." + +She went over to the file cabinet and took out several heavy folders. +"Imagine," she said, almost to herself, "imagine them trying to get you +away from here when you have a kidnap case to solve. They must be out of +their minds." + +_There was no kidnap case six months ago_, the detective thought. _She +knows that's not the reason. She's only trying to convince herself. Why +did I turn them down?_ + +His mind veered away from the dangerous subject, and for a moment his +mental processes refused to focus on anything at all. + +The girl put the files down on his desk. + +"Thanks, Helen. Now, let's see ..." _I'll work on this_, he thought. _I +won't even think about the other at all._ + + + + +_[9]_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim tapped with one thick finger the map that +glowed on the wall before him. "That's his nest," he said firmly. "Right +there, where those tunnels come together." + +Bart Stanton looked at the map of Manhattan Island and at the gleaming +colored traceries that threaded their various ways across it. "Just what +was the purpose of all those tunnels?" he asked. + +"The majority of them were for rail transportation," said the colonel. +"The island was hit by a sun bomb during the Holocaust and was almost +completely leveled and slagged down. When the city was completely +rebuilt afterwards, there was naturally no need for such things, so they +were simply all sealed off and forgotten." + +"He's hiding directly under Government City," Stanton said. +"Incredible." + +"It used to be one of the largest seaports in the world," Colonel +Mannheim said, "and it very probably still would be if the inertia drive +hadn't made air travel cheaper and easier than seagoing." + +"How did he find out about those tunnels?" Stanton asked. + +The colonel pointed at the north end of the island. "After the +Holocaust, the first returnees to the island were wild animals which +crossed over from the mainland to the north. The Harlem River isn't very +wide at this point, as you can see. There was a bridge right at about +this point here--the very tip of the island. It had collapsed into the +water, but there was enough of it to allow animals to cross. Because of +the rocky hills at this end of the island, there were places which were +spared the direct effects of the bomb, and grasses and trees began +growing there. That's why it was decided that section should be left as +a game preserve when the Government built the capital on the southern +part of the island." His finger moved down the map. "The upper three +miles of the island, down to here, where it begins to widen, are all +game preserve. There's a high wall at this point which separates it from +the city, which keeps the animals penned in, and the ruins of the +bridges which connected with the mainland have been removed, so animals +can't get across any more. + +"Two years after he arrived, the Nipe was almost caught. He had managed +to get here from Asia by stealing a flyer in Leningrad. According to Dr. +Yoritomo and the other psychologists who have been studying the Nipe, he +apparently does not believe that human beings are anything more than +trained animals. He was looking then--as he is apparently still +looking--for the 'real' rulers of Earth. He expected to find them, of +course, in Government City. Needless to say," said the colonel with a +touch of irony, "he failed." + +"But he was seen?" asked Stanton. + +"He was seen. And pursued. But he got away easily, heading north. The +whole island was searched, from the southern tip to the wall, and the +police were ready to start an inch-by-inch combing of the game preserve +by the end of the third day after he was seen. But he hit and robbed a +chemical supply house in northern Pennsylvania, killing two men, so the +search was called off. + +"It wasn't until two years later, after an exhaustive analysis of the +pattern of his raids had given us enough material to work with, that we +determined that he must have found an opening into one of the tunnels up +here in the game preserve." He gestured again at the map. "Very likely +he immediately saw that no human being had been down there in a long +time and that there wasn't much chance of a man coming down there in the +foreseeable future. It was a perfect place for his base." + +"How does he move in and out?" Stanton asked. + +"This way." The colonel traced a finger down one of the red lines on the +map, southward, until he came to a spot only a little over two miles +from the southernmost tip of the island. The line turned abruptly toward +the western shore of the island, where it stopped. "There are tunnels +that go underneath the Hudson River at this point and emerge on the +other side, over here, in New Jersey. The one he uses is only one of +several, but it has one distinct advantage that the others do not. All +of them are flooded now; the sun bomb caved them in when the primary +shock wave hit the surface of the water. The tunnel he uses has a hole +in it big enough for him to swim through. + +"In spite of his high rate of metabolism, the Nipe can store a +tremendous amount of oxygen in his body and can stay underwater for as +long as half an hour without breathing apparatus, if he conserves his +energy. When he's wearing his scuba mask, he's practically a +self-contained submarine. The pressure doesn't seem to bother him much. +He's a tough cookie." + +"I'll remember that," said Stanton somberly. "I won't try to race him +underwater." + +"No," said Colonel Mannheim. "No, I wouldn't do that if I were you." + +They both knew that there was a great deal more to it than that. In +spite of the near miracle that the staff of the Neurophysical Institute +had wrought upon Stanton's nerves and muscles and glands, they could +only go so far. They could only improve the functioning of the equipment +that Stanton already had; they could not add more. + +His lungs could be, and had been, increased tremendously in efficiency +of operation, but the amount of air they could actually hold could only +be increased slightly. There was no way to add much extra volume to them +without doing so at the expense of other organs. In a breath-holding +contest, the Nipe would win easily, since his body had evolved organs +for oxygen storage, while the human body had not. + +You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear if you are limited to +the structures and compounds found in sows' ears. The best you can do is +make a finer, stronger, more sensitive sow's ear. + +"I understand that the Nipe has his hideout pretty well bugged with all +kinds of alarms," Stanton said. "How did you get your own bugs in there +without setting off his?" + +"Well, at first we didn't know for sure what he was up to; we weren't +even sure he was actually down in those tunnels. But we suspected that +if he was he'd have alarms set all over the place--perhaps even alarms +of types we couldn't recognize. But we had to take that chance. We _had_ +to watch him." + +He walked over to the nearby table and opened a box some twelve inches +long and five-by-five inches in cross-section. + +"See this?" he said, as he took a furry object from the box. + +It looked like a large rat. Dead, stiff, unmoving. + +"Our spy," said Colonel Mannheim. + + * * * * * + +The rat moved along the rusted steel rail that ran the length of the +huge tunnel. To a human being, the tunnel would have seemed to be in +utter darkness, but the little eyes of the rat saw the surroundings as +faintly luminescent, glowing from the infra-red radiations given out by +the internal warmth of the cement and steel. The main source of the +radiations was from above, where the heat of the sun and the warmth from +the energy sources in the buildings on the surface seeped through the +roof of the tunnel. But here and there were even brighter spots of +warmth, spots that moved about on glowing feet and sniffed blindly at +the air with tiny glowing noses. Rats. + +On and on moved the rat, its little pinkish feet pattering almost +silently on the oxidized metal surface of the rails. Its sensitive ears +picked up the movements and the squeals of other rats, but it paid them +no heed. Several times it met other rats on the rail, but most of them +sensed the alienness of _this_ rat and scuttled out of its way. + +Once, it met a rat who did not give way. Hungry, perhaps, or perhaps +merely yielding to the paranoid fury that was a normal component of the +rattish mind, it squealed its defiance to the rat that was not a rat. It +advanced, baring its rodent teeth in a yellow-daggered snarl of hate. + +The rat that was not a rat became suddenly motionless, its sharp little +nose pointed directly at the oncoming enemy. There came a noise, a tiny +popping hiss, like that of a very small drop of water striking hot +metal. From the left nostril of the not-rat, a tiny, glasslike needle +snapped out at bullet speed. It struck the advancing rat in the center +of the pink tongue that was visible in the open mouth. Then the not-rat +scuttled backward faster than any real rat could have moved. + +For a second the real rat hesitated, and it may be that the realization +penetrated into its dim brain that rats did not fight this way. Then, as +the tiny needle dissolved in its bloodstream, it closed its eyes and +collapsed, rolling limply off the rail to the rotted wooden tie +beneath. + +The rat might come to before it was found and devoured by its +fellows--or it might not. The not-rat moved on, not caring either way. +The human intelligence that looked out from the eyes of the not-rat was +only concerned with getting to the Nipe. + + * * * * * + +"That's how we found the Nipe," Colonel Mannheim said, "and that's how +we keep tabs on him now. We have over seven hundred of these +remote-control robots hidden in strategic spots throughout those tunnels +now, and we can put more in whenever we want, but it took time to get +everything set up this way. Now we can follow the Nipe wherever he goes, +so long as he stays in those tunnels. If he went out through the one +open-air exit up in the northern part of the island, we could have him +followed by bird-robots. But"--he shrugged wryly--"I'm afraid the +underwater problem still has us stumped. We can't get the carrier wave +for the remote-control impulses to go very far underwater." + +"How do you get your carrier wave underground to those tunnels?" Stanton +asked. "And how do you keep the Nipe from picking up the radiation?" + +The colonel grinned widely. "One of the boys dreamed up a real cute +gimmick. Those old steel rails themselves act as antennas for the +broadcaster, and the rat's tail is the pickup antenna. As long as the +rat is crawling right on the rail, only a microscopic amount of power is +needed for control, not enough for the Nipe to pick up with his +instruments. Each rat carries its own battery for motive power, and +there are old copper power cables down there that we can send direct +current through to recharge the batteries. And, when we need them, the +copper cables can be used as antennas. It took us quite a while to work +the system out, but it's running smoothly now." + +Stanton rubbed his head thoughtfully. _Damn these gaps in my memory!_ he +thought. It was sometimes embarrassing to ask questions that any +schoolboy should know the answers to. + +"Aren't there ways of detecting objects underwater?" he asked after a +moment. + +"Yes," said the colonel, "several of them. But they all require beamed +energy of some kind to be reflected from the object we want to look at, +and we don't dare use anything like that." He sat down on one corner of +the table, his bright blue eyes looking up at Stanton. + +"That's been our big problem all along," he said seriously. "We have to +keep the Nipe from knowing he's being watched. In the tunnels +themselves, we've only used equipment that was already there, adding +only what we absolutely had to--small things. A few strands of wire, a +tiny relay, things that can be hidden in out-of-the-way places and can +be made to look as though they were a part of the original old +equipment. After all, he has his own alarm system in that maze of +tunnels, and we have deliberately kept away from his detecting devices. +He knows about the rats and ignores them. They're part of the +environment. But we don't dare use anything that would tip him off to +our knowledge of his whereabouts. One slip like that, and hundreds of +human beings will have died in vain." + +"And if he stays down there too long," Stanton said levelly, "millions +more may die." + +The colonel's face was grim as he looked directly into Stanton's eyes. +"That's why you have to know your job down to the most minute detail +when the time comes to act. The whole success of the plan will depend on +you and you alone." + +Stanton's eyes didn't avoid the colonel's. _That's not true_, he +thought, _I'll be only one man on a team. And you know that, Colonel +Mannheim. But you'd like to shove all the responsibility off onto +someone else--someone stronger. You've finally met someone that you +consider your superior in that way, and you want to unload. I wish I +felt as confident as you do ... but I don't._ + +Aloud, he said: "Sure. Nothing to it. All I have to do is take into +account everything that's known about the Nipe and make allowances for +everything that's not known." Then he smiled. "Not," he added, "that I +can think of any other way to go about it." + + + + +_THIRD INTERLUDE_ + + +Mrs. Frobisher touched the control button that depolarized the window in +the breakfast room, letting the morning sun stream in through the now +transparent sheet of glass. Her attention was caught by something across +the street, and she said, in a low voice, "Larry, come here." + +Larry Frobisher looked up from his morning coffee. "What is it, hon?" + +"The Stanton boys. Come look." + +Frobisher sighed. "Who are the Stanton boys, and why should I come +look?" But he got up and came over to the window. + +"See--over there on the walkway toward the play area," his wife said. + +"I see a boy pushing a wheeled contraption and three girls playing with +a skip rope," Frobisher said. "Or do you mean that the Stanford boys are +dressed up as girls?" + +"_Stanton_," she corrected him. "They just moved into the apartment on +the first floor." + +"Who? The three girls?" + +"No, silly! The two Stanton boys and their mother. One of them is in +that 'wheeled contraption'. It's called a therapeutic chair." + +"Oh? So the poor kid's been hurt. What's so interesting about that, +aside from morbid curiosity?" + +The boy pushing the chair went around a bend in the walkway, out of +sight, and Frobisher went back to his coffee while his wife spoke. + +"Their names are Mart and Bart," she said. "They're twins." + +"I should think," Frobisher said, applying himself to his breakfast, +"that the mother would get a self-powered chair for the boy instead of +making the other boy push it." + +"The poor boy can't control the chair, dear," said Mrs. Frobisher, still +looking out the window after the vanished twins. "There's something +wrong with his nervous system. I understand that he was exposed to some +kind of radiation when he was only two years old. That's why the chair +has to have all those funny instruments built into it. Even his +heartbeat has to be controlled electronically." + +"Shame," said Frobisher, spearing a bit of sausage. "Kind of rough on +both of 'em, I'd guess." + +"How do you mean, dear?" + +"Well, I mean, like ... well, for instance, why are they going over to +the play area? Play games, right? So the one that's well has got to push +his brother over there. Can't just get out and go; has to take the +brother along, too. Kind of a burden, see?" + +Mrs. Frobisher turned away from the window. "Why, Larry! I'm surprised +at you. Really! Don't you think the boy _should_ take care of his +brother?" + +"Oh, now, honey, I didn't mean that. It's hard on _both_ of 'em. The kid +in the chair has to sit there and watch his brother play baseball or +jai alai or whatever, while he can't do anything himself. Like I say, +kind of rough on both of 'em." + +"Well, yes, I suppose it must be. Want some more coffee?" + +"Thanks, honey. And another slice of toast, hunh?" + + + + +_[10]_ + + +Like some horrendous, watchful gargoyle, the Nipe crouched motionlessly +on the shadowed roof of the low building. A short projection from the +air-conditioning intake was wide enough to keep him from being seen from +the air, and the darkness of the roof prevented anyone on the street +from seeing the four violet eyes that kept a careful account of all that +went on in the store across the way from his observation post. + +The lights were still on inside the shop, shedding their glareless +brightness through the transparent display windows to fall upon the +street outside in large luminous pools. The Nipe knew exactly what each +man remaining inside was doing, and approximately what each would be +doing for the next few minutes, and he watched with the expectation that +his prophecies would be fulfilled. + +He had watched long and made a thorough study of this establishment, and +tonight he expected to attain the goal for which he had worked so +patiently. + +This raid was important in two ways. There were pieces of equipment he +had to get, and they were in that shop. On the other hand, this raid +was, and would be, basically a diversionary tactic. Now that he had +located his real target, it was time to create a diversion that would +draw his enemy's attention away from his immediate surroundings. This +would be a raid that Colonel Walther Mannheim could not ignore! + +Two men came out the front door. They spoke to someone still inside. "So +long." "See you tomorrow." Then they walked down the street together, +conversing in low tones. + +The Nipe waited. + +Not until a fifth man stopped after he opened the door and flipped a +switch on the inside did the Nipe make any motion. Then he flexed his +four pairs of limbs in anticipation--but it wasn't quite time to act +yet. + +The interior lights of the shop went out. Then the man carefully locked +the front door, setting the alarms within the shop. Then, serene in the +belief that his establishment was thoroughly protected from burglars, +he, too, went down the street. + +The Nipe waited a few minutes longer before he left his observation +post. All was normal, he decided. The time for action had come. + + * * * * * + +The Nipe moved cautiously along the alley toward the rear of the +building that was his target. The night watchman had returned to his +cubicle, as he always did after his preliminary inspection of the +building's alarm system. He would not leave for some time yet, if he +followed his habits. And the Nipe saw no reason why he should not. + +Carefully he approached the rear door of the little optical shop. + + + + +_[11]_ + + +The two massive objects floating in space looked very much like deeply +pitted pieces of rock. The larger one, roughly pear-shaped and about a +quarter of a mile in its greatest dimension, was actually that--a huge +hunk of rock. The smaller--_much_ smaller--of the two was not what it +appeared to be. It was a phony. Anyone who had been able to conduct a +very close personal inspection of it would have recognized it for what +it was--a camouflaged spaceboat. + +The camouflaged spaceboat was on a near-collision course with reference +to the larger mass, although their relative velocities were not great. + +At precisely the right time, the smaller drifted by the larger, only a +few hundred yards away. The weakness of the gravitational fields +generated between the two caused only a slight change of orbit on the +part of both bodies. Then they began to separate. + +But, during the few seconds of their closest approach, a third body +detached itself from the camouflaged spaceboat and shot rapidly across +the intervening distance to land on the surface of the floating +mountain. + +The third body was a man in a spacesuit. As soon as he landed, he sat +down, stock-still, and checked the instrument case he held in his hands. + +No response. Thus far, then, he had succeeded. + +He had had to pick his time precisely. The people who were already on +this small planetoid could not use their detection equipment while the +planetoid itself was within detection range of Beacon 971, only two +hundred and eighty miles away. Not if they wanted to keep from being +found. Radar pulses emanating from a presumably lifeless planetoid would +be a dead giveaway. + +Other than that, they were mathematically safe. Mathematically safe they +would be if--and only if--they depended upon the laws of chance. No ship +moving through the Asteroid Belt would dare to move at any decent +velocity without using radar, so the people on this particular lump of +planetary flotsam would be able to spot a ship's approach easily, long +before their own weak detection system would register on the pickups of +an approaching ship. + +The power and range needed by a given detector depends on the relative +velocity--the greater that velocity becomes, the more power, the greater +range needed. At one mile per second, a ship needs a range of only +thirty miles to spot an obstacle thirty seconds away; at ten miles per +second, it needs a range of three hundred miles. + +The man who called himself Stanley Martin had carefully plotted the +orbit of this particular planetoid and had let his spaceboat coast in +without using any detection equipment except the visual. It had been +necessary, but very risky. + +The Asteroid Belt, that magnificently useful collection of stone and +metal lumps revolving about the sun between the orbits of Mars and +Jupiter, is somewhat like the old-fashioned merry-go-round. If every +orbit in the Belt were perfectly circular, the analogy would be more +exact. If they were, then every rock in the Belt would follow every +other in almost exactly the way every merry-go-round horse follows every +other. (The gravitational attraction between the various bodies in the +Belt can be neglected. It is much less, on the average, than the +gravitational pull between any two horses on a carousel.) If every orbit +of those millions upon millions of pieces of rock and metal were +precisely circular, then they would constitute the grandest, biggest +merry-go-round in the universe. + +But those orbits are not circular. And even if they were, they would not +remain so long. The great mass of Jupiter would soon pull them out of +such perfect orbits and force them to travel about the sun in elliptical +paths. And therein lies the trouble. + +If their paths were exactly circular, then no two of that vast number of +planetoids would ever collide. They would march about the sun in precise +order, like the soldiers in a military parade, except that they would +retain their spacing much longer than any group of soldiers could +possibly manage to do. + +But the orbits are elliptical. There is a chance that any two given +bodies _might_ collide, although the chance is small. The one +compensation is that if they do collide they won't strike each other +very hard. + +The detective was not worried about collision; he was worried about +observation. Had the people here seen his boat? If so, had they +recognized it in spite of the heavy camouflage? And, even if they only +suspected, what would be their reaction? + +He waited. + +It takes nerve and patience to wait for thirteen solid hours without +making any motion other than an occasional flexing of muscles, but he +managed that long before the instrument case that he held waggled a +meter needle at him. The one tension-relieving factor was the low +gravity; the problem of sleeping on a bed of nails is caused by the +likelihood of the sleeper accidentally throwing himself off the bed. The +probability of puncture or discomfort from the points is almost +negligible. + +When the needle on the instrument panel flickered, he got to his feet +and began moving. He was almost certain that he had not been detected. + +Walking was out of the question. This was a silicate-alumina rock, not a +nickel-iron one. The group of people that occupied it had deliberately +chosen it that way, so that there would be no chance of its being picked +out for slicing by one of the mining teams in the Asteroid Belt. +Granted, the chance of any given metallic planetoid's being selected was +very small--but they had not wanted to take even that chance. + +Therefore, without any magnetic field to hold him down, and with only a +very tiny gravitic field, the detective had to use different tactics. + +It was more like mountain climbing than anything else, except that there +was no danger of falling. He crawled over the surface in the same way +that an Alpine climber might crawl up the side of a steep slope--seeking +handholds and toeholds and using them to propel himself onward. The only +difference was that he covered distance a great deal more rapidly than a +mountain climber could. + +When he reached the spot he wanted, he carefully concealed himself +beneath a craggy overhang. It took a little searching to find exactly +the right spot, but when he did, he settled himself into place in a +small pit and began more elaborate preparations. + +Self-hypnosis required nearly ten minutes. The first five or six minutes +were taken up in relaxing from his exertions. Gravity notwithstanding, +he had had to push his hundred and eighty pounds over a considerable +distance. When he was completely relaxed and completely hypnotized, he +reached up and cut down the valve that fed oxygen into his suit. + +Then--of his own will--he went cataleptic. + +A single note, sounded by the instruments in the case at his side, woke +him instantly. He came fully awake, as he had commanded himself to do. + +Immediately he turned up his oxygen intake, at the same time glancing at +the clock dial in his helmet. He smiled. Nineteen days and seven hours. +He had calculated it almost precisely. + +He wasn't more than an hour off, which was really pretty good, all +things considered. + +He consulted his instruments again. The supply ship was ten minutes +away. The smile stayed on his face as he prepared for further action. + +The first two minutes were conscientiously spent in inhaling oxygen. +Even under the best cataleptic conditions, the human body tended to slow +down too much. He had to get himself prepared for violent movement. + +Eight minutes left. + +He climbed out of the little grotto where he had concealed himself and +moved toward the spot where he knew the airlock to the caverns +underneath the planetoid's surface was hidden. + +Then again he concealed himself and waited, while he continued to +breathe deeply of the highly oxygenated air in his suit. Five minutes +before the ship landed, he swallowed eight ounces of the nutrient +solution from the tank in the back of his helmet. The solution of amino +acids, vitamins, and honey sugar also contained a small amount of +stimulant of the dexedrine type and one percent ethanol. + +He waited for another minute for the solution to take effect, then he +unholstered his gun. + +The supply ship wasn't a big one. He had known it wouldn't be. It was +only a little larger than the one he had used to come out here. It +dropped down to the surface of the small planetoid only ten meters from +the hidden trapdoor that led to the airlock beneath the surface. + +Suddenly he could hear voices in the earphones of his helmet. + +_Lasser?_ + +_Yeah. It's me, Fritz. I got all the supplies and a nice package of good +news._ + +The airlock trapdoor opened, and a spacesuited figure came out. _How +about the deal?_ + +_That's the good news_, said the second suited figure as it came from +the airlock of the grounded spaceboat. _Another five million._ + +The detective, hidden behind the nearby crag of rock, listened and +watched for a minute or so while the two men began unloading cases of +foodstuffs from the spaceboat. Then, satisfied that it was perfectly +safe, he aimed his gun and shot twice in rapid succession. + +The range was almost point-blank, and there was, of course, no need to +take either gravity or air resistance into account. + +The pellets of the shotgun-like charge that blasted out from the gun +were small, needle-shaped, and massive. They were oriented point-forward +by the magnetic field along the barrel of the weapon. Of the hundreds of +charges fired, only a few penetrated the spacesuits of the targets, but +those few were enough. The powerful drug in the needle-pointed head of +each tiny crystal went directly into the bloodstream of each target. + +Each man felt an itching sensation. He had less than two seconds to +think about it before unconsciousness overtook him and he slumped +nervelessly. + +Gun in hand, the detective ran across the intervening space quickly, his +body only a few degrees from the horizontal, and his toes paddling +rapidly to propel him over the rough rock. + +He braked himself to a halt and slapped air patches over the areas where +his charges had struck the men's suits, sealing the tiny air leaks, and, +at the same time, driving more of the tiny needles into their skins. +They would be out for a long time. + +Neither of them had yet fallen to the ground. That would take several +minutes under this low gravity. He left them to drop and headed toward +the open airlock. + +This was what he had been waiting for all those nineteen days in +cataleptic hypnosis. He couldn't have cut his way into the hideout from +the outside; he had had to wait until it was opened, and that time had +come only with the supply ship. + +Once in the airlock, he touched the control stud that would close the +outer door, pump air into the waiting room, and open the inner door. +Here was his greatest point of danger--greater, even, than the danger of +coming to the planetoid itself, or the danger of waiting nineteen days +in a cataleptic trance for the coming of the supply ship. If the ones +who remained within suspected anything--anything at all!--then his +chances of coming out of this alive were practically nil. + +But there was no reason why they should suspect. They should think that +the man coming in was one of their own. The radio contact between the +men outside had been limited to a few micromilliwatts of +power--necessarily, since radio waves of very small wattage can be +decoded at tremendous distances in open space. The men inside the +planetoid certainly should not have been able to pick up any more than +the beginning of the early conversation before it had been cut +completely off by the intervening layers of solid rock. + +The chamber he entered was a high-speed airlock. Unlike the soundless +discharge of his special gun in the outer airlessness, the blast of air +that came into the waiting chamber was like a hurricane in noise and +force. The room filled with air in a very few seconds. + +The detective held on to the handholds tightly while the brief but +violent winds buffeted him. He turned as the inner door opened. + +His eyes took in the picture in a fraction of a second. In an even +smaller fraction, his mind assimilated the picture. + +The woman was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and muscular. Her mouth was wide +and thick-lipped beneath a large nose. + +The man was leaner and lighter, bony-faced, and beady-eyed. + +The woman said: "Fritz, what--?" + +And then he shot them both with gun number two. + +No needle charges this time. Such shots would have blown them both in +two, unprotected as they were by spacesuits. The small handgun merely +jangled their nerves with a high-powered blast of accurately beamed +supersonics. While they were still twitching, he went over and jabbed +them with a drug needle. + +Then he went on into the hideout. + +He had to knock out one more man, whom he found asleep in a small room +off the short corridor. + +It took a gas bomb to get the two women who were guarding the kid. + +He made sure that the BenChaim boy was all right, then he went to the +little communications room and called for help. + + + + +_[12]_ + + +St. Louis hadn't been hit during the Holocaust. It still retained much +of the old-fashioned flavor of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, +especially in the residential districts. The old homes, some of them +dating clear back to the time of Sam Clemens and the paddle-wheel +steamboat, still stood, warm and well preserved. + +Bart Stanton liked to walk along those quiet streets of an evening, just +to let the placid peacefulness seep into him. + +And, knowing it was rather childish, he still enjoyed the small +Huckleberry Finn pleasure of playing hooky from the Neurophysical +Institute. + +Technically, he supposed, he was still a patient there. More, now that +he had completely accepted Colonel Walther Mannheim's assignment, he was +presumably under military discipline. He assumed that if he had asked +permission to leave the Institute's grounds he would have been given +that permission without question. + +But, like playing hooky or stealing watermelon, it was more fun if it +was done on the sly. The boy who comes home feeling deliciously wicked +and delightfully sinful after staying away from school all day can have +his whole day ruined completely by being told that it was a holiday and +the school had been closed. Bart Stanton didn't want to spoil his own +fun by asking for permission to leave the grounds when it was so easy +for a man with his special abilities to get out without asking. + +Besides, there _was_ a chance--a small one, he thought--that permission +might be refused for one reason or another, and Stanton was fully aware +that he would not disobey a direct request--to say nothing of a direct +order--that he stay within the walls of the Institute. + +He didn't want to run any risk of losing his freedom, small though it +was. After five years of mental and physical hell, he felt a need to get +out into the world of normal, ordinary, everyday people. + +His legs moved smoothly, surely, and unhurriedly, carrying him aimlessly +along the resilient walkway, under the warm glow of the streetlights. +The people around him walked as casually and with seemingly as little +purpose as he did. There was none of the brisk sense of urgency that he +felt inside the walls of the Institute. + +But he knew he could never get away from that sense of urgency +completely, even out here. There were times when it seemed that all he +had ever done, all his whole life, was to train himself for the one +single purpose of besting the Nipe. + +If he wasn't training physically, he was listening to lectures from Dr. +George Yoritomo or from Colonel Mannheim. If he wasn't working his +muscles, he was laying plans and considering possibilities for the one +great goal that seemed to be the focal point of his whole life. + +What would happen if he failed? + +What would happen if he, the great hyped-up superman, found that the +Nipe had only been working at half his normal potential? What would +happen if that alien horror simply slashed out with one ultrafast hand +and showed Colonel Mannheim and all his watching technicians that they +had completely underestimated his alien ability? + +What would happen? + +Why, Bart Stanton would die, of course, just as hundreds of other human +beings had died in the past ten years. Stanton would become another +statistic. And then Mannheim's Plan Beta would go into effect. The Nipe +would be killed eventually. + +But what if he, Stanton, won? Then what? + +The people around him were not a part of his world, really. Their +thoughts, their motions, their reactions, were slow and clumsy in +comparison with his own. Once the Nipe had been conquered, what purpose +would there be in the life of Bartholomew Stanton? He was surrounded by +people, but he was not one of them. He was immersed in a society that +was not his own because it was not, could not be, geared to his +abilities and potentials. But there was no other society to turn to, +either. + +He was not a man "alone, afraid" in a world he had never made. He was a +man who had been made for a world, a society, that did not exist. + +Women? A wife? A family life? + +Where? With whom? + +He pushed the thoughts from his mind, the questions unanswered and +perhaps unanswerable. In spite of the apparent bleakness of the future, +he had no desire to die, and there was, psychologically, the possibility +that too much brooding of that kind would evoke a subconscious reaction +that could slow him down or cause a wrong decision at a vital moment. A +feeling of futility could operate to bring on his death in spite of his +conscious determination to win the coming battle with the Nipe. + +The Nipe was his first duty. When that job was finished, he would +consider the problem of himself. Just because he could not now see the +answer to that problem did not mean that no answer existed. + +He suddenly realized that he was hungry. He had been walking through +Memorial Park, past the museum--an old, worn edifice that was still +called the Missouri Pacific Building. There was a small restaurant only +a block away. + +He reached into his pocket and took out the few coins that were there. +Not much, but enough to buy a sandwich and a glass of milk. Because of +the trust fund that had been set up when he had started the treatment at +the Neurophysical Institute, he was already well off, but he didn't have +much cash. What good was cash at the Institute, where everything was +provided? + +He stopped at a newsvendor, dropped in a coin, and waited for the +reproducing mechanism to turn out a fresh paper. Then he took the folded +sheets and went on to the restaurant. + +He rarely read a newssheet. Mostly, his information about the world that +existed outside the walls of the Institute came from the televised +newscasts. But, occasionally, he liked to read the small, relatively +unimportant little stories about people who had done small, relatively +unimportant things--stories that didn't appear in the headlines or the +newscasts. + +The last important news story that he had heard had come two nights +before. The Nipe had robbed an optical products company in Miami. The +camera had shown the shop on the screen. Whatever had been used to blow +open the vault had been more effective than necessary. It had taken the +whole front door of the shop and both windows, too. The bent and twisted +paraglass that had lain on the pavement showed how much force had been +applied from within. + +And yet, the results had not been those of an explosion. It was more as +though some tremendous force had _pushed_ outward from within. It had +not been the shattering shock of high explosive, but some great thrust +that had unhurriedly, but irresistibly, moved everything out of its way. + +Nothing had been moved very far, as it would have been by a blast. It +appeared that everything had simply fallen aside, as though scattered by +a giant hand. The main braces of the storefront were still there, bent +outward a little, but not broken. + +The vault door had been slammed to the floor of the shop, only a few +feet from the front door. The vault itself had been farther back, and +the camera had showed it standing wide open, gaping. Inside, there had +been pieces of fragile glass standing on the shelves, unmoved, unharmed. + +The force, whatever it had been, had moved in one direction only, from a +point within the vault, just a few feet from the door, pushing outward +to tear out the heavy door as though it had been made of paraffin or +modeling clay. + +Stanton had recognized the vault construction type: the Voisier +construction, which, by test, could withstand almost everything known, +outside of the actual application of atomic energy itself. In a +widely-publicized demonstration several years before, a Voisier vault +had been cut open by a team of well-trained, well-equipped technicians. +It had taken twenty-one hours for them to breach the wall, and they had +had no fear of interruption, or of making a noise, or of setting off the +intricate alarms that were built into the safe itself. Not even a +borazon drill could make much of an impression on a metal which had been +formed under millions of atmospheres of pressure. + +And yet the Nipe had taken that door out in a second, without much +effort at all. + +The crowd that had gathered at the scene of the crime had not been +large. The very thought of the Nipe kept people away from places where +he was known to have been. The specter of the Nipe evoked a fear, a +primitive fear--fear of the dark and fear of the unknown--combined with +the rational fear of a very real, very tangible danger. + +And yet, there _had_ been a crowd of onlookers. In spite of their fear, +it is hard to keep human beings from being curious. It was known that +the Nipe didn't stay around after he had struck, and, besides, the area +was now full of armed men. So the curious came to look and to stare in +revulsion at the neat pile of gnawed and bloody bones that had been the +night watchman, carefully killed and eaten by the Nipe before he had +opened the vault. + +_Thus curiosity does make fools of us all, and the native hue of caution +is crimsoned o'er by the bright red of morbid fascination._ + +Stanton went through the door of the automatic restaurant and walked +over to the vending wall. The big dining room was only about three +quarters full of people, and there were plenty of seats available. He +fed coins into the proper slots, took his sandwich and milk over to a +seat in one corner and made himself comfortable. + +He flipped open the newspaper and looked at the front page. + +And, for a moment, his brain seemed to freeze. + +The story itself was straightforward enough: + + BENCHAIM KIDNAPPERS NABBED! + + STAN MARTIN DOES IT AGAIN! + + CERES, June 3 (_Interplanetary News Service_)--The three men and + three women who allegedly kidnapped 10-year-old Shmuel BenChaim were + brought to justice today through the single-handed efforts of + Stanley Martin, famed investigator for Lloyd's of London. The boy, + held prisoner for more than ten weeks on a small planetoid, was + reported in good health. + + According to Lt. John Vale of the Planetoid Police, the kidnap gang + could not have been taken by direct assault on their hideout because + of fear that the boy might be killed. + + "The operation required a carefully planned one-man infiltration of + their hideout," Lt. Vale said. "Mr. Martin was the man for the job." + + Labeled "the most outrageous kidnapping in history", the affair was + conceived as a long-term method of gaining control of Heavy Metals + Incorporated, controlled by Moishe BenChaim, the boy's father. The + details ... + +But Bart Stanton wasn't interested in the details. After only a glance +through the first part of the article, his eyes returned to the picture +that had caught his attention. The line of print beneath it identified +the picture as being that of a man named Stanley Martin. + +But a voice in Bart Stanton's brain said: _Not Stan Martin! The name is +Mart Stanton!_ + +And Bartholomew felt a roar of confusion in his mind--because he didn't +know who Mart Stanton was, and because the face in the picture was his +own. + + + + +_[13]_ + + +He was walking again. + +He didn't quite remember how he had left the automat, and he really +didn't even try to remember. + +He was trying to remember other things--further back--before he had ... + +Before he had _what_? + +Before the Institute. Before the beginning of the operations. + +The memories were there, all right. He could sense them, floating in +some sort of mental limbo, just beyond the grasp of his conscious mind, +like the memories of a dream after one has awakened. Each time he would +try to reach into the darkness to grasp one of the pieces, it would +shatter into smaller bits. The big patterns were too fragile to +withstand the direct probing of his conscious mind, and even the +resulting fragments did not want to hold still long enough to be +analyzed. + +And, while a part of his mind probed frantically after the elusive +particles of memory, another part of it watched the process with +semi-detached amusement. + +He had always known there were holes in his memory (_Always? Don't kid +yourself, pal!_), but it was disconcerting to find an area that was as +full of holes as a used machine-gun target. The whole fabric had been +punched to bits. + +No man's memory is completely available at any given time. Whatever the +recording process is, however completely every bit of data may be +recorded during a lifetime, much of it is unavailable. It may be +incompletely cross-indexed, or, in some instances, labeled DO NOT SCAN. +Or, metaphorically, the file drawer may be locked. It may be that, in +many cases, if a given bit of data remains unscanned for a long enough +period, it fades into illegibility, never reinforced by the scanning +process. Sensory data, coming in from the outside world as it does, is +probably permanent. But the thought patterns originating within the mind +itself, the processes that correlate and cross-index and speculate on +and hypothesize about the sensory data, these are much more fragile. A +man might glance once through a Latin primer and have each and every +page imprinted indelibly on his recording mechanism and still be unable +to make sense out of _Nauta in cubitu cum puella est_. + +Sometimes a man is aware of the holes in his memory. ("What _was_ the +name of that fellow I met at Eddie's party? Can't remember it for the +life of me.") At other times, a memory may lay dormant and completely +unremembered, leaving no apparent gap, until a tag of some kind brings +it up. ("That girl with the long hair reminds me of Suzie Blugerhugle. +My gosh! I haven't thought of her in years!") Both factors seemed to be +operating in Bart Stanton's mind at this time. + +Incredibly, he had never, in the past year at least, had occasion to try +to remember much about his past life. He had known who he was without +thinking about it particularly, and the rest of his knowledge--language, +history, social behavior, politics, geography, and so on--had been +readily available for the most part. Ask an educated man to give the +product of the primes 2, 13, and 41, or ask him to give the date of the +Norman Conquest, and he can give you the answers very quickly. He may +have to calculate the first, which will make him pause for a second +before answering, but the second will come straight out of his memory +records. In neither case does he have to think of where he learned the +process or the fact, or who taught it to him, or when he got the +information. + +But now the picture and the name in the paper had brought forth a +reaction in Stanton's mind, and he was trying desperately to bring the +information out of oblivion. + +Did he have a mother? Surely. But could he remember her? _Yes!_ +Certainly. A pretty, gentle, rather sad woman. He could remember when +she died, although he couldn't remember ever having actually attended +the funeral. + +What about his father? + +Try as he might, he could find no memory whatever of his father, and, at +first, that bothered him. He could remember his mother--could almost see +her moving around in the apartment where they had lived in ... in ... in +Denver! Sure! And he could remember the big building itself, and the +block, and even Mrs. Frobisher, who lived upstairs! And the school! And +the play area! A great many memories came crowding back, but there was +no trace of his father. + +And yet ... + +Oh, of _course_! That was it! His father had been killed in an accident +when Martinbart were very young. + +_Martinbart!_ + +The name flitted through his mind like a scrap of paper in a high wind, +but mentally he reached out and grasped it. + +Martinbart. Martin-Bart. Mart 'n' Bart. Mart _and_ Bart. + +The Stanton Twins. + +It was very curious, he thought, that he should have forgotten his +brother. And even more curious that the name in the paper had not +brought him instantly to mind. + +Martin, the cripple. Martin, the boy with the poor, weak, +radiation-shattered nervous system. The boy who had had to stay in a +therapeutic chair all his life because his efferent nerves could not +control his body. The boy who couldn't speak. Or, rather, _wouldn't_ +speak because he was ashamed of the gibberish that resulted. + +Martin. The nonentity. The nothing. The nobody. + +The one who watched and listened and thought, but could do nothing. + +Bart Stanton stopped suddenly and unfolded the newspaper again under the +glow of the streetlamp. His memories certainly didn't jibe with _this_! + +His eyes ran down the column of type: + + Mr. Martin has, in the years since he has been in the Belt, run up + an enviable record, both as an insurance investigator and as a + police detective, although his connection with the Planetoid Police + is, necessarily, an unofficial one. Probably not since Sherlock + Holmes has there been such mutual respect and co-operation between + the official police and a private investigator. + +There was only one explanation, Stanton thought. Martin, too, had been +treated by the Institute. His memory was still blurry and incomplete, he +knew, but he did suddenly remember that a decision had been made for +Martin to take the treatment. + +He chuckled a little at the irony of it. It looked as though they hadn't +been able to make a superman of Martin, but they _had_ been able to make +a normal and extraordinarily capable human being of him, he thought. Now +it was Bart who was the freak, the odd one. + +_Turn about is fair play_, he thought. But somehow it didn't seem quite +fair. + +He crumpled the newspaper, dropped it into a nearby waste chute, and +walked on through the night toward the Neurophysical Institute. + + + + +_FOURTH INTERLUDE_ + + +"You understand, Mrs. Stanton," said the psychiatrist, "that a great +part of Martin's trouble is mental as well as physical. Because of the +nature of his ailment, he has withdrawn, pulled himself away from +communication with others. If these symptoms had been brought to my +attention earlier, the mental disturbance might have been more easily +analyzed and treated." + +"I suppose so. I'm sorry, Doctor," said Mrs. Stanton. Her manner +betrayed weariness and pain. "It was so ... so difficult. Martin could +never talk very well, you know, and he just talked less and less as the +years went by. It was so slow and so gradual that I never really noticed +it." + +_Poor woman_, the doctor thought. _She's not well, herself. She should +have married again, years ago, rather than force herself to carry the +whole burden alone. Her role as a doting mother hasn't helped either of +the boys to overcome the handicaps that were already present._ + +"I've honestly tried to do my very best with Martin," Mrs. Stanton went +on unhappily. "And so has Bart, I know. When they were younger, Bart +used to take him out all the time. They went everywhere together. Of +course, I don't expect Bart to do that so much any more. He has his own +life to live. He can't take Martin out on dates or things like that. He +has interests outside the home now, like other boys his age. That's only +normal. But when he's at home, Bart helps me with Martin all the time." + +"I understand," said the psychiatrist. _This is no time to tell her that +Bartholomew's tests indicate that he has subconsciously resented +Martin's presence for a long time_, he thought. _She has enough to worry +about._ + +"_I_ don't understand," said Mrs. Stanton, breaking into sudden tears. +"I just don't understand why Martin should behave this way! Why should +he just sit there with his eyes closed and ignore everybody? Why should +he ignore his mother and his brother? Why?" + +The doctor comforted her in a warmly professional manner, then, as her +tears subsided, he said, "We don't understand all the factors ourselves, +Mrs. Stanton. At first glance, Martin's reactions appear to be those one +would expect of schizophrenic withdrawal. But there are certain aspects +of the case that make it unusual. His behavior doesn't quite follow the +pattern we usually expect from such cases as this. His extreme physical +disability has drastically modified the course of his mental +development, and, at the same time, made it difficult for us to make any +analysis of his mental state." _If only_, he added to himself, _she had +followed the advice of her family physician, years ago. If she had only +put the boy under the proper care, none of this would have happened._ + +"Is there _any_thing we can do, Doctor?" she asked. + +"We don't know yet," he said gently. He considered for a moment, then +said: "Mrs. Stanton, I'd like for you to leave both of the boys here +for a few days, so that we can perform further tests. That will help us +a great deal in evaluating the circumstances, and help us get at the +root of Martin's trouble." + +She looked at him with a little surprise. "Why, yes, of course--if you +think it's necessary. But ... why should Bart stay?" + +The doctor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. + +"Bart will be what we call a 'control', Mrs. Stanton. Since the boys are +genetically identical, they should have been a great deal alike, in +personality as well as in body, if it hadn't been for Martin's accident. +In other words, our tests of Bart will tell us what Martin _should_ be +like. That way, we can tell just how much and in what way Martin +deviates from what he should ideally be. Do you understand?" + +"Yes. Yes, I see. All right, Doctor--whatever you say." + +After Mrs. Stanton had left, the psychiatrist sat quietly in his chair +and stared thoughtfully at his desk top for several minutes. Then, +making his decision, he picked up a small book that lay on his desk and +looked up a number in Arlington, Virginia. He punched out the number on +his phone, and when the face appeared on his screen he said, "Hello, +Sidney. Busy right now?" + +"Not particularly. Not for a few minutes. What's up?" + +"I have a very interesting case out here that I'd like to talk to you +about. Do you happen to have a telepath who's strong enough to take a +meshing with an insane mind? If my suspicions are correct, I will need a +man with an absolutely impregnable sense of identity, because he's going +to get into the weirdest situation I've ever come across." + + + + +_[14]_ + + +The Nipe squatted, brooding, in his underground nest, waiting for the +special crystallization process to take place in the sodium-gold alloy +that was forming in the reactor. + +_How long?_ he wondered. He was not thinking of the complex +crystallization reaction; he knew the timing of that to a fraction of a +second. His dark thoughts were, instead, focused inwardly, upon himself. + +How long would it be before he would be able to construct the +communicator that would span the light-years of intervening distance and +put him in touch with his own race again? How long would it be before he +could again hold discourse with reasonable beings? How much longer would +he have to be stranded on this planet, surrounded by an insane society +composed of degraded, insane beings? + +The work was going incredibly slowly. He had known at the beginning that +his knowledge of the basic arts required to build a communicator was +incomplete, but he had not realized just how painfully inadequate it +was. Time after time, his instruments had simply refused to function +because of some basic flaw in their manufacture--some flaw that an +expert in that field could have pointed out at once. Time after time, +equipment had had to be rebuilt almost from the beginning. And, time +after time, only cut-and-try methods were available for correcting his +errors. + +Not even his prodigious and accurate memory could hold all the +information that was necessary for the work, and there were no reference +tapes available, of course. They had all been destroyed when his ship +had crashed. + +He had long since given up any attempt to understand the functioning of +the mad pseudo-civilization that surrounded him. He was quite certain +that the beings he had seen could not possibly be the real rulers of +this society, but he had no inkling, as yet, as to who the real rulers +were. + +As to _where_ they were, that question seemed a little easier to answer. +It was highly probable that they were out in space, on the asteroids +that his instruments had detected when he was dropping in toward this +planet so many years before. He had made an error then in not landing in +the Belt, but at no time since had he experienced the emotion of regret +or wished he had done differently; both thoughts would have been +incomprehensible to the Nipe. He had made an error; the circumstances +had been checked and noted; he would not make that error again. + +What further action could be taken by a logical mind? + +None. The past was immutable and unchangeable. It existed only as a +memory in his own mind, and there was no way to change that indelible +record, even had the Nipe wished to do so insane a thing. + +Surely, he thought, the real rulers must know of his existence. He had +tried, by his every action, to show that he was a reasoning, +intelligent, and civilized being. Why, then, had they taken no action? + +There was, of course, the possibility that the rulers cared very little +for their subjects here on Earth, that they ignored what went on most of +the time. Still, it would seem that they would recognize the actions of +one of their own kind and take steps to investigate. + +He was still not absolutely certain about Colonel Walther Mannheim. Was +he a Real Person or merely an underling? The information on the man was +pitifully small. It would, of course, be possible to wait, to see how +Colonel Walther Mannheim behaved if and when he discovered the Nipe's +nest. But if he had not discovered it after all these years--and the +information indicated that he had been looking almost since the +first--then it was unlikely that he was a Real Person. In which case, it +would be dangerous to allow him to find the nest. + +No, the best plan of action would be to go to Colonel Walther Mannheim +first. + + + + +_[15]_ + + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The action around the handball court was beautiful to watch. The robot +mechanism behind Bart Stanton would fire out a ball at random intervals +ranging from a tenth to a quarter of a second, bouncing them off the +wall in a random pattern. Stanton would retrieve the ball before it hit +the ground and bounce it off the wall again to strike the target on the +moving robot. Stanton had to work against a machine; no ordinary human +being could have given him any competition. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok!_ PLUNK. + +"One miss," Stanton said to himself. But he fielded the next one nicely +and slammed it home. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The physical therapist who was standing to one side, well out of the way +of those hard-slammed, fast-moving drives, glanced at his watch. It was +almost time. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The machine, having delivered its last ball, shut itself off with a smug +click. Stanton turned away from the handball court and walked toward the +physical therapist, who was holding out a robe for him. + +"That was good, Bart," he said. "Real good." + +"One miss," Stanton said as he shrugged into the robe. + +"Yeah. Your timing was off a shade there, I guess. It's hard for me to +tell till I look at the slow-motion photographs. Your arms and hands are +just blurs to me when they're moving that fast. But you managed to chop +another ten seconds off your previous record, anyway." + +Stanton looked at him. "You reset the timer again," he said accusingly. +But there was a grin on his face. + +The P.T. man grinned back. "Yup. Come on, step into the mummy case." He +waved toward the narrow niche in the wall of the court, a niche just big +enough to hold a standing man. Stanton stepped in, and various +instrument pickups came out of the walls and touched him at various +points on his body. Hidden machines recorded his heartbeat, his blood +pressure, his brain activity, his muscular tension, his breathing, and +several other factors. + +After a minute the P.T. man said, "Okay, Bart, that's it. Let's hit the +steam box." + +Stanton stepped out of the niche and accompanied the therapist to +another room, where he took off the robe again and sat down on the small +stool inside an ordinary steam box. The box closed, leaving his head +free, and the box began to fill with steam. + +"Did I ever tell you just what it is that I don't like about that +machine?" Stanton asked as the therapist draped a heavy towel around his +head. + +"Nope. Didn't know you had any gripe. What is it?" + +"You can't gloat after you beat it. You can't walk over and pat it on +the shoulder and say, 'Well, better luck next time, old man.' It isn't a +good loser, and it isn't a bad loser. The damned thing doesn't even know +it lost, and even if it did, it wouldn't care." + +"Yeah, I see what you mean," said the P.T. man, chuckling. "You beat the +pants off it and what d'you get? Nothing. Not even a case of the sulks +out of it." + +"Exactly. And what's worse, I know perfectly good and well that it's +only half trying. The stupid gadget could beat me easily if you just +turned that knob over a little more." + +"Yeah, sure. But you're not competing against the machine, anyway," the +therapist said. "What you're doing, you're competing against yourself, +trying to beat your own record." + +"I know. And what happens when I can't do _that_ any more, either?" +Stanton asked. "I can't just go on getting better and better forever. +I've got limits, you know." + +"Sure," said the therapist easily. "So does anybody. So does a golf +player, for instance. You take a golf player, he goes out and practices +by himself to try to beat his own record." + +"Bunk! Hogwash! The real fun in _any_ game is beating someone else! The +big kick in golf is winning over the other guy in a twosome." + +"How about crossword puzzles or solitaire?" + +"When you solve a crossword puzzle, you've beaten the guy who made up +the puzzle. When you play solitaire, you're playing against the laws of +chance, and that can become pretty boring unless there's money on it. +And, in that case, you're actually trying to beat the guy who's betting +against you. What I'd like to do is get out on the golf course with +someone else and do my best and then lose. Honestly." + +"With a handicap ..." the therapist began. Then he grinned weakly and +stopped. On the golf course, Stanton was impossibly good. It had taken +him a little while to get the knack of it, but as soon as he got control +of his club and knew the reactions of the ball, his score started +plummeting. Now it was so low as to be almost ridiculous. One long drive +to the green and one putt to the cup. An easy thirty-six strokes for +eighteen holes! An occasional hole-in-one sometimes brought his score +down below that; an occasional wormcast or stray wind sometimes brought +it up. + +"Sure," said Stanton. "A handicap. What kind of a handicap do you want +me to give you to induce you to make a fifty-dollar bet on a handball +game with me?" + +The physical therapist could imagine himself trying to get under one of +Stanton's lightning-like returns. The thought of what would happen to +his hand if he were accidentally to catch one made him wince. + +"We wouldn't even be playing the same game," said Stanton. + +The therapist stepped back and looked at Stanton. "You know," he said +puzzledly, "you sound bitter." + +"Sure I'm bitter," Stanton said. "All I ever get is just exercise. All +the fun has gone out of it." He sighed and grinned. There was no point +in upsetting the P.T. man. "I guess I'll just have to stick to cards and +chess if I want competition. Speed and strength don't help anything if +I'm holding two pair against three of a kind." + +Before the therapist could say anything, the door opened and a tall, +lean man stepped into the foggy air of the room. "You are broiling a +lobster?" he asked the P.T. man blandly. + +"Steaming a clam," the therapist corrected. "When he's done, I'll pound +him to chowder." + +"Excellent. I came for a clambake." + +"You're early, then, George," Stanton said. He didn't feel much in the +mood for lightness, and the appearance of Dr. Yoritomo did nothing to +improve his humor. + +George Yoritomo beamed broadly, crinkling up his narrow, heavy-lidded +eyes. "Ah! A talking clam! Excellent! How much longer does this fine +specimen of clamhood have to cook?" he asked the P.T. man. + +"About twenty-three more minutes." + +"Excellent!" said Dr. Yoritomo. "Would you be so good as to return at +the end of that time?" + +The therapist opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, and +said: "Sure, Doc. I can get some other stuff done. I'll see you in +twenty-three minutes. But don't let him out of there till I get back." +He went out through the far door. + +After the door closed, Dr. Yoritomo pulled up a chair and sat down. +"There have been new developments," he said, "as you may have surmised." + +The physical therapist, like many other of the personnel around the +Institute, knew of Stanton's abilities, but he didn't know the purpose +of the long series of operations that had made him what he was. Such +persons knew about Stanton himself, but they knew nothing of any +connection with the Nipe, although they might suspect. And all of them +kept their knowledge and their suspicions to themselves. + +"I guessed," Stanton said. "What is it, George?" He flexed his muscles +under the caress of the hot, moist currents in the box. + +He wondered why it was so important that the psychologist interrupt him +while he was relaxing after strenuous exercise. Yoritomo looked excited +in spite of his attempt to be calm. And yet Stanton knew that, whatever +it was, it wasn't anything tremendously urgent or Dr. Yoritomo would be +acting a great deal differently. + +Yoritomo leaned forward in his chair, his thin lips in an excited smile, +his black-irised eyes sparkling. "I had to come tell you. The sheer, +utter beauty of it is too much to contain. Three times in a row was +almost absolute, Bart. The probability that our hypotheses were correct +was computed as straight nines to seven decimals. But now! The fourth +time! Straight nines to _twelve_ decimals!" + +Stanton lifted an eyebrow. "Your Oriental calm is deserting you, George. +I'm not reading you." + +Yoritomo's smile became broader. "Ah! Sorry. I refer to the theory we +have been discussing. About the peculiar mentality of our friend, the +Nipe. You remember?" + +Stanton remembered. After six years of watching the recorded actions of +the Nipe, Dr. Yoritomo had evolved a theory about the kind of mentality +that lay behind the four baleful violet eyes in that snouted alien head. +In order that his theory be validated, it was necessary that the theory +be able to predict, in broad terms, the future actions of the Nipe. +Evidently that proof had now come. The psychologist was smiling and +rubbing his long, bony hands together. For Dr. George Yoritomo, that was +almost the equivalent of hysterical excitement. + +"We have been able to predict the behavior of the Nipe!" he said. "For +the fourth time in succession!" + +"Great," Stanton said. "Congratulations, George. But how does that fit +in with the rule you once told me about? You know, the one about +experimental animals." + +"Ah, yes," Yoritomo said, nodding his head agreeably. "The Harvard Law +of Animal Behavior. 'A genetically standardized strain, under precisely +controlled laboratory conditions, when subjected to carefully calibrated +stimuli, will behave as it damned well pleases.' Yes. Very true." + +He held up a cautionary finger. "But an animal could not do otherwise, +could it? Only as it pleases. Could it do anything else? It could not +please to behave as something it is not, could it?" + +"Draw me a picture," Stanton said. + +"What I mean," Yoritomo said, "is that any organism is limited in its +choice of behavior. A hamster, for example, cannot choose to behave in +the manner of a rhesus monkey. A dog cannot choose to react as a mouse +would react. If I prick a white mouse with a needle, it may squeal or +bite or jump--but it will not bark. Never. Nor will it, under any +circumstances, leap to a trapeze, hang by its tail, and chatter curses +at me. Never." + +Stanton chuckled, but he didn't comment. + +"By observing an organism's reactions," the psychologist continued, "one +can begin to see a pattern. After long enough observation, the pattern +almost approaches certainty. If, for instance, I tell you that I put an +armful of hay into a certain animal's enclosure, and that the animal +trotted over, ate the hay, and brayed, then you will be able to tell me +with reasonable certainty whether or not the animal had long ears. Do +you see?" + +"Sure. But you haven't been able to pinpoint the Nipe's activities that +easily yet, have you?" Stanton asked. + +"Ah, no," said Yoritomo. "Not at all. That was merely an analogy, and we +must not make the mistake of carrying an analogy too far. The more +intelligent a creature is, the greater, in general, is its scope of +action. The Nipe is far from being so simple as a monkey or a hamster. +On the other hand--" He smiled widely, showing bright, white teeth. +"--he is not so bright as a human being." + +"_What?_" Stanton looked at him skeptically. "I wouldn't say he was +exactly stupid, George. What about all those prize gadgets of his?" He +blinked. "Wipe the sweat off my forehead, will you? It's running into my +eyes." + +Dr. Yoritomo wiped with the towel as he continued. "Ah, yes. He is quite +capable in that respect, my friend. Quite capable. That is because of +his great memory--at once his finest asset and his greatest curse." + +He draped the towel around Stanton's head again and stepped back, his +face unsmiling. "Imagine having a near-perfect memory, Bart." + +Stanton's jaw muscles tightened a little before he spoke. "I think I'd +like it," he said. + +Yoritomo shrugged slightly. "Perhaps you would. But it would most +certainly not be the asset you think. Look at it very soberly, my +friend. + +"The most difficult teaching job in the world is the attempt to teach an +organism something that that organism already knows. True? Yes. If a man +already knows the shape of the Earth, it will do you no good to teach +him. If he _knows_, for example, that the Earth is flat, but round like +a pancake, your contention that it is round like a ball will make no +impression upon his mind whatever. He _knows_, you see. He _knows_. + +"Now. Imagine a race with a perfect memory--a memory that never fades. A +memory in which each bit of data is as bright and as fresh as the moment +it was imprinted, and as readily available as the data stored in a +robot's mind. It is, in effect, a robotic memory. + +"If you put false data into the memory banks of a mathematical +computer--such as telling it that the square of two is five--you cannot +correct that error simply by telling it the true fact that the square of +two is four. No. First you must remove the erroneous data. Not so?" + +"Agreed," Stanton said. + +"Very good. Then let us look at the Nipe race, wherever it was spawned +in this universe. Let us look at the race a long time back--way back +when they first became _Nipe sapiens_. Back when they first developed a +true language. Each little Nipe child, as it is born or hatched or +budded--whatever it is they do--is taught as rapidly as possible all +the things it must know in order to survive. And once a little Nipelet +is taught a thing, it _knows_. That knowledge is there, and it is +permanent, and it can be brought instantly to the fore. And if it is +taught a falsehood, then it cannot be taught the truth. You see?" + +Stanton thought about it. "Well, yes. But eventually there are going to +be cases where reality doesn't jibe with what he's been taught, aren't +there? And wouldn't cold reality force a change?" + +"Ah. In some cases, yes. In most, no," said Yoritomo. "Look: Suppose one +of these primordial Nipes runs across a tiger--or whatever large +carnivore passes for a tiger on their home planet. This Nipe, let us +say, has never seen a tiger before, so he does not observe that this +particular tiger is old, ill, and weak. It is, as a matter of fact, on +its last legs. Our primordial Nipe hits it on the head, and it drops +dead. He drags the body home for the family to feed upon. + +"'How did you kill it, Papa?' + +"'Why, it was the simplest thing in the world, my child. I walked up to +it, bashed it firmly on the noggin, and it died. That is the way to kill +tigers.'" + +Yoritomo smiled. "It is also a good way to kill Nipes. Eh?" He took the +towel and wiped Stanton's brow again. + +"The error," he continued, "was made when Papa Nipe made the +generalization from _one_ tiger to _all_ tigers. If tigers were rare, +this erroneous bit of lore might be passed on for many generations +unchecked and spread through the Nipe community as time passed. Those +who did learn that most tigers are _not_ conquered by walking up to them +and hitting them on the noggin undoubtedly died before they could pass +this new bit of information on. Then, perhaps, one day a Nipe survived +the ordeal. His mind now contained conflicting information which must be +resolved. He _knows_ that tigers are killed in this way. He also +_knows_ that this one was not so obliging as to die. What is wrong? Ha! +He has the solution! Plainly, _this_ particular beast _was not a +tiger_!" + +"How does he explain that to the others?" Stanton asked. + +"What does he tell his children?" Yoritomo asked rhetorically. "Why, +first he tells them how tigers are killed. You walk up to one and bash +it on the head. But then he warns his little Nipelets that there is an +animal around that looks _just like_ a tiger, but it is _not_ a tiger. +One should not make the mistake of thinking it _is_ a tiger or one will +get oneself badly hurt. Now, since the only way to tell the true tiger +from the false is to give it a hit on the head, and since that test may +prove rather injurious, if not absolutely fatal, to the Nipe who tries +it, it follows that one is better off if one scrupulously avoids all +animals that look like tigers. You see?" + +"Yeah," said Stanton. "Some snarks are boojums." + +"Exactly! Thank you for that allusion," Yoritomo said with a smile. "I +must remember to use it in my report." + +"It seems to me to follow," Stanton said musingly, "that there would +inevitably be some things that they'd never learn the truth about, once +they had gotten the wrong idea into their heads." + +"Ah! Indeed. Absolutely true. It is precisely that which led me to +formulate my theory in the first place. How else are we to explain that +the Nipe, for all his tremendous technical knowledge, is nonetheless a +member of a society that is still in the ancient ritual-taboo stage of +development?" + +"A savage?" + +Yoritomo laughed softly. "As to his savagery, I think no one on Earth +would disagree. But they are not the same thing. What I do mean is that +the Nipe is undoubtedly the most superstitious and bigoted being on the +face of this planet." + +There was a knock on the door of the steam room. + +"Yes?" said Dr. Yoritomo. + +The physical therapist stuck his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but the +clam is done. I'll have to give him a rubdown, Doc." + +"Perfectly all right," Yoritomo said. "We had almost finished. Think +over what I have said, eh, Bart?" + +"Yeah, sure, George," Stanton said abstractedly. Yoritomo left, and +Stanton got up on the rubdown table and lay prone. The therapist, seeing +that his patient was in no mood for conversation, proceeded with the +massage in silence. + +Stanton lay on the table, his head pillowed in his arms, while the +therapist rubbed and kneaded his muscles. The pleasant sensation formed +a background for his thoughts. For the first time, Stanton was seeing +the Nipe as an individual--as a person--as a thinking, feeling being. + +_We have a great deal in common, you and I_, he thought. _Except that +you're a lot worse off than I am._ + + * * * * * + +_I'm actually feeling sorry for the poor guy_, Stanton thought. _Which, +I suppose, is a hell of a lot better than feeling sorry for myself. The +only real, basic difference between us freaks is that you're more of a +freak than I am. "Molly O'Grady and the Colonel's lady are sisters under +the skin."_ + +_Where'd that come from? Something I learned in school, no doubt--like +the snarks and the boojums._ + + _He would answer to_ Hi! _or to any loud cry, + Such as_ Fry me! _or_ Fritter my wig! + +_Who was that? The snark? No. The snark had a flavor like that of +will-o'-the-wisp. And I must remember to distinguish those that have +feathers, and bite, from those that have whiskers, and scratch._ + +Damn _this memory of mine!_ + +_Or can I even call it mine when I can't even use it?_ + +_"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I +know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."_ + +_Another jack-in-the-box thought popping up from nowhere._ + +_The only way I'll ever get all of this stuff straightened out in my +mind is to get more information. And it doesn't look as though anyone is +going to give it to me on a platter, either. The Institute men seem to +be awfully chary about giving information away, even to me. George even +had to chase away old rub-and-pound (That feels good!) before he would +talk about the Nipe. Can't blame 'em for that, of course. There'd be +hell to pay for everyone around if the general public ever found out +that the Nipe has been kept as a pet for six years._ + +_How many people has he killed in that time? Twenty? Thirty? How much +blood does Colonel Mannheim have on his hands?_ + + _Though they know not why, + Or for what they give, + Still, the few must die, + That the many may live._ + +_I wonder whether I read all that stuff complete or just browsed through +a copy of Bartlett's_ Quotations. + +_Fragments._ + +_We've got to get organized around here, brother. Colonel Mannheim's +puppet is going to have to cut his strings and do a Pinocchio._ + + + + +_[16]_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim unlocked the door of his small suite of rooms +in the Officers' Barracks. God! he was tired. It wasn't so much physical +exhaustion as mental and emotional release from the tension he had been +under for the preceding few hours. Or had it been years? + +He dropped his heavy briefcase on a nearby chair, took off his cap and +dropped it on the briefcase. + +He stood there for a moment, looking tiredly around. Everything was in +order, as usual. He seldom came to Government City any more. Twenty or +so visits in the last ten years, and only a dozen of them had been long +enough to force him to spend the night in his old suite at the World +Police Headquarters at the southern end of the island. He didn't like to +stay in Government City; it made him uneasy, being this close to the +Nipe's underground nest. The Nipe had too many taps into government +communication channels, too many ways of seeing and hearing what went on +here in the nerve center of civilization. + +One of the most difficult parts of this whole operation had been the +careful balancing of information flow through those channels that the +Nipe had tapped. To stop using them would betray immediately to that +alien mind that his taps had been detected. The information flow must go +on as usual. There was no way to censor the information, either, +although it was known that the Nipe relied on them for planning his +raids. But since there was no way of knowing, even after years of +observation, what sort of thing the Nipe would be wanting next, there +was no way of knowing which information should be removed from the +tapped channels. + +And, most certainly, removing _all_ information about every possible +material that the Nipe might want would make him even more suspicious +than simply shutting down the channels altogether. To shut them down +would only indicate that the human government had detected his taps; to +censor them heavily would indicate that a trap was being laid. + +It was even impossible to censor out news about the Nipe. That, too, +would have invited suspicion. So a special corps of men had been set up, +a group whose sole job was to investigate every raid of the Nipe. Every +raid produced a flurry of activity by this special group. They rushed +out to look over the scene of the raid, prowled around, and did +everything that might be expected of an investigative body. Their +reports were sent in over the usual channels. All the actual data they +came up with was sent straight through the normal channels--but the +conclusions they reached from that data were not. Always, in spite of +everything, the messages indicated that the police were as baffled as +before. + +All other information relating to the Nipe went through special channels +known to be untapped by the Nipe. + +And yet, there was no way to be absolutely certain of the sum total of +the information that the Nipe received. Believing, as he did, in the +existence of Real People, he would necessarily assume that _their_ +communication systems were hidden from him, and the more difficult they +were to find, the more certain he would be that they existed. And it was +impossible to know what information the Nipe picked up when he was out +on a raid, away from the spying devices that had been hidden in his +tunnels. + +Mannheim walked across the small living room to the sideboard that stood +against one wall and opened a door. Fresh ice, soda, and a bottle of +Scotch were waiting for him. He took one of the ten-ounce glasses, +dropped in three of the hard-frozen cubes of ice, added a precisely +measured ounce and a half of Scotch, and filled the glass to within an +inch of the brim with soda. Holding the glass in one hand, he walked +around the little apartment, checking everything with a sort of +automatic abstractedness. The air conditioner was pouring sweet, cool, +fresh air into the room; the windows--heavy, thick slabs of paraglass +welded directly into the wall--admitted the light from the courtyard +outside, but admitted nothing else. There was no need for them to open, +because of the air conditioning. A century before, some buildings still +had fire escapes running down their outsides, but modern fireproofing +had rendered such anachronisms unnecessary. + +But his mind was only partly on his surroundings. He went into the +bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, took a long drink from the +cold glass in his hand, and then put it on the nightstand. Absently he +began pulling off his boots. His thoughts were on the Executive Session +he had attended that afternoon. + +_"How much longer, do you think, Colonel?"_ + +_"A few weeks, sir. Perhaps less."_ + +_"There was another raid in Miami, Colonel. Another man died. We could +have prevented that death, Colonel. We could have prevented a great many +deaths in the past six years."_ + +And what answer was there to that? The Executive Council knew that the +deaths were preventable in only one way--by killing the Nipe. And they +had long ago agreed that the knowledge in that alien mind was worth the +sacrifice. But, as he had known would happen when they made the decision +six years before, there were some of them who had, inevitably, weakened. +Not all--not even a majority--but a minority that was becoming stronger. + +It had been, to a great degree, Mannheim's arguments that had convinced +them then, and now they were tending to shift the blame for their +decision to Mannheim's shoulders. + +Most of the Executives were tough-minded, realistic men. They were not +going to step out now unless there were good reason for it. But if the +subtle undercutting of the vacillating minority weakened Mannheim's own +resolve, or if he failed to give solid, well-reasoned answers to their +questions, then the whole project would begin to crumble rapidly. + +He had not directly answered the Executive who had pointed out that many +lives could have been saved if the Nipe had been killed six years ago. +There was no use in fighting back on such puerile terms. + +_"Gentlemen, within a few weeks, we will be ready to send Stanton in +after the Nipe. If that fails, we can blast him out of his stronghold +within minutes afterwards. But if we stop now, if we allow our judgment +to be colored at this point, then all those who have died in the past +six years will have died in vain."_ + +He had gone on, exploring and explaining the ramifications of the plans +for the next few weeks, but he had carefully kept it on the same level. +It had been an emotional sort of speech, but it had been purposely so, +in answer to the sort of emotionalism that the weakening minority had +attempted to use on him. + +Men had died, yes. But what of that? Men had died before for far less +worthwhile causes. And men, do what they will, will die eventually. In +the back of his mind, he had recalled the battle-cry of some sergeant of +the old United States Marines during an early twentieth-century war. As +he led his men over the top, he had shouted, "_Come on, you sons of +bitches! Do you wanna live forever?_" + +But Mannheim hadn't mentioned it aloud to the Executive Council. + +Nor had he pointed out that ten thousand times as many people had died +during the same period through preventable accidents. That would not +have had the effect he wanted. + +These particular men had died for this particular purpose. They had not +asked to die. They had not known they were being sacrificed. None of +them could be said to have died a hero's death. They had died simply +because they were in a particular place at a particular time. + +They had been allowed to die for a specific purpose. To abort that +purpose at this time would be to make their deaths, retroactively, +murder. + +Mannheim put his head on the pillow and lifted his feet up on the bed. +All he wanted was a few minutes of relaxation. He'd get ready for sleep +later. He pressed the control button on the bedframe that lifted the +head of the bed up so that he was in a semi-reclining position. He +picked up his drink and took a second long pull from it. + +Then he touched the phone switch and put the receiver to his ear. + +"Beta-beta," he said when he heard the tone. + +He heard the hum, and he knew that the ultraprivate phone on the desk of +Dr. Farnsworth, in St. Louis, was signaling. Then Farnsworth's voice +came over the linkage. + +"_F_ here." + +"_M_ here," Mannheim replied. Then he asked guardedly, "Any sign of our +boy?" + +"None." + +"Keep on him," Mannheim said. "Let me know immediately." + +"Will do. Any further?" + +"No. Carry on." Mannheim cut off the phone. + +Where the hell had Stanton disappeared to, and why? He had wanted to +bring the young man to Government City to show him off before the +Executives. It would have helped. But Stanton had disappeared. + +Mannheim was well aware that Stanton had been in the habit of leaving +the Institute for long walks during the evenings, but this was the first +time he had been gone for twenty-four hours. And even Yoritomo, that +master psychologist, had been unable to give any solid reason for +Stanton's disappearance. + +"You must remember, my dear Colonel," Yoritomo had said, "our young Mr. +Stanton is a great deal more complex in his thinking than is our friend +the Nipe." + +_A hell of a job for a police officer_, Mannheim thought to himself. _I +know where the criminal is, but I have to hunt for the only cop on Earth +who can arrest him._ + +He drained his glass, put it on the nightstand, and closed his eyes to +think. + + * * * * * + +An operator on duty at the spy screens that watched every move of the +Nipe while he was in the tunnels underneath Government City thumbed down +a switch and said, "All stations alert. Subject is moving southward +toward exit, carrying raiding equipment." + +It was all that was necessary. The Nipe could not be followed after he +left his lair, but the proper groups would be standing by. Somewhere, +the Nipe would hit and raid again. Somewhere, there were human lives in +danger. + +All anyone could do was wait. + + * * * * * + +Cautiously and carefully, the Nipe lifted his head out of the cool salt +water of the Hudson River, near the point where it widened into New York +Harbor--still so called after the city that had been the greatest on the +North American continent before the violence of a sun bomb had +demolished it forever. + +He looked around carefully to get his bearings, then submerged again. +The opening into the ancient sewer was nearby. Once into that network, +he would know exactly where he was heading. It had taken weeks to find +his way around within the unexplored maze of the old sewers, and he had +been uncertain whether they would lead him to the place he intended to +visit, but luck had been with him. + +Now he knew exactly where he wanted to go, and exactly what he would +find there. + +He had avoided Government City itself since his first appearance there, +shortly after his arrival, just as he had, as much as possible, avoided +ever striking in the same place more than once. But now that it had +become necessary, he went about his work with the same cool +determination that had always marked his activities. + +He knew his destination, too. He knew the two rooms thoroughly, having +explored them carefully and gone away undetected. And now that he knew +the one he sought was in those rooms, he was ready to make his final +investigation of the man. + +He swam on through the utter blackness of the brackish water until his +head broke surface again. Then he went on along the great conduits that +were above the level of the sea. + + * * * * * + +Captain Davidson Greer sat in the gun tower that overlooked the +Officers' Barracks and the courtyard surrounding the five-story +building. He was a tall, solidly built man in his early thirties, with +dark gray-green eyes and dark blond hair. He didn't particularly care +for gun-tower duty, but this sort of thing couldn't be left to anyone +who was not in on the secret of the Nipe. As long as Colonel Mannheim +was here in Government City, there would be special officers guarding +him instead of the usual guard contingent. + +Not that Captain Greer was actually expecting the Nipe to make any +attempt on the colonel's life; that was too remote to be worried about. +But the gun towers had been erected fifty or more years before because +there were always those who wanted to attempt assassination. Officers of +the World Police had not enjoyed great popularity during the +reconstruction period after the Holocaust. The petty potentates who had +set themselves up as autocratic rulers in various spots over the Earth +had quite often decided that the best way to get the WP off their backs +was to kill someone, and quite often that someone was a Police officer. +Disgruntled nationalists and fanatics of all kinds had tried at various +times to kill one officer or another. The protection was needed then. + +Even now there were occasional assassins who attempted to invade World +Police Headquarters, but they were usually stopped long before they got +into the enclosure itself. + +Still, there was always the chance. There had been, in the past few +years, an undercurrent of rebellion all over Earth because of the Nipe. +The monster hadn't been killed, and there were those who screamed that +the failure was due to the inefficiency of the Police. + +One attempt had already been made on the life of a Major Thorensen +because he had failed to get the Nipe after a raid in Leopoldville. The +would-be assassin had been cut down just before he threw a grenade that +would have killed half a dozen men. Captain Greer had been assigned to +make sure that no such attempt would succeed with Colonel Mannheim. + +He could see the length of the hallway that led to Colonel Mannheim's +suite. The hallway had been purposely designed for watching from the gun +tower. To one who was inside, it looked like an ordinary hallway, +stretching down the length of the building. But it was walled with a +special plastic that, while opaque to visible light, was perfectly +transparent to infra-red. To the ordinary unaided eye, the walls of the +building presented a blank face to the gun tower, but to the eye of an +infra-red scope, the hallways of all five floors looked as though they +were long, glass-enclosed terraces. And those walls were neither the +ferro-concrete of the main building nor the pressure glass of the +windows, but ordinary heavy-gauge plastic. To the bullets that could be +spewed forth from the muzzle of the heavy-caliber, high-powered machine +gun in the tower, those walls were practically nonexistent. + +Captain Greer surveyed the hallways with his infra-red binoculars. +Nothing. The halls were empty. He lowered the binoculars and lit a +cigarette. Then he put his eyes to the aiming scope of the gun and +swiveled the muzzle a little. The aiming scope showed nothing either. + +He leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Mannheim blinked and looked at the ceiling. It took him a minute +to re-orient himself. Then he grinned rather sheepishly, realizing that +he had dozed off with his clothes on. Even worse, the pressure at his +hip told him that he hadn't even bothered to take his sidearm off. He +sat up and swung his feet to the floor, then glanced at his wrist. Three +in the morning. + +_And the moral of that, my dear Walther_, he told himself, _is that a +tired man should put on his pajamas first, before he lies down and +drinks a Scotch_. + +He stood up. Might as well put his pajamas on and get to bed. He would +have to be back in St. Louis by ten in the morning, so he ought to get +as much sleep as possible. + +The phone chimed. + +He scooped it up and became instantly awake as he heard the voice of +Captain Greer from the gun tower that faced the outer wall. "Colonel, +the Nipe is just outside the wall of your apartment, in the hallway. I +have him in my sights." He was trying to stay calm, Mannheim could tell +by his voice, but he rattled the words off with machine-gun rapidity. + +Mannheim thought rapidly. Whatever the Nipe was up to, it wouldn't +include planting a bomb or anything that might kill anyone accidentally. +If there was a life in danger, it was his own, and the danger would come +from the Nipe's hands, not from any device or weapon. + +He was thankful that it was Captain Greer up in that tower, not an +ordinary guard who would have fired the instant he saw the alien through +the infra-red-transparent walls. Even so, he knew that the captain's +fingers must be tightening on those triggers. No human being could do +otherwise with that monster in his sights. + +Mannheim spoke very calmly and deliberately. "Captain, listen very +carefully. Do _not_--I repeat, do _not_, under any circumstances +whatever, fire that gun. Understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What's he doing?" + +"I can't tell, sir. He has some sort of gadget in his hands, but he just +seems to be squatting there." + +"At the door?" + +"No. To the left of it, at the wall." + +"You have your cameras going?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"All right. Get everything that happens. Under no circumstances shoot or +give the alarm--_even if he kills me_. Let him go. I don't think that +will happen, but if it does, let him go. I think I can talk to him. I +don't think there's much danger. I'm going to leave the phone open so +you can record everything, and--" + +There was a muffled noise from the living room. He heard Captain Greer's +gasp as he turned. He could see through the bedroom door to the wall of +the living room. A large section of the ferro-concrete wall had sagged +away and collapsed, having suddenly lost its tensile strength. On the +top of the rubble, frozen for a long instant, stood the Nipe, watching +with those four glowing violet eyes. + +Mannheim let go the phone and turned to face the monster, and in that +instant he realized his mistake. + + * * * * * + +The Nipe stared at the human being. Was this, at last, a Real Person? It +was surprising that the man should be awake. Only a minute before, the +instruments had shown him to be in the odd cataleptic state that these +creatures lapsed into periodically, similar to, but not identical with, +his own rest state. And yet he was now awake and fully dressed. Surely +that indicated-- + +And then the man turned, and the Nipe saw the weapon in the holster at +his waist. There was a blinding instant of despair as he realized that +his hopes had been shattered-- + +--and then he launched himself across the room. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Mannheim's hand darted toward the gun at his hip. It was purely +reflex action. Even as he did it, he was aware that he would never get +the weapon out in time to bring it to bear on the onrushing monster, and +he was content that it should be so. + + * * * * * + +Twenty-five minutes later, the Nipe, after carefully licking off the +fingers of his first pair of hands, went back into the hallway and +headed down toward the sewers again. + +The emotion he felt is inexpressible in human terms. Although he had not +wished to kill the man, it cannot be said that the Nipe felt contrition. +Although he had had no desire to harm the family, if any, of the late +Colonel Mannheim, it cannot be said that the Nipe felt sadness or +compassion. + +Nor, again, although his stomachs churned and his body felt sluggish +and heavy, can it be said that he felt any regret for what he had done. + +That is not to say that he felt _no_ emotion. He did. His emotions were +as strong and as deep as those of a very sensitive human being. His +emotions could bring him pain and they could bring him pleasure. They +could crush him or exalt him. His emotions were just as real and as +effective as any human emotions. + +But they were _not_ human emotions. + +They were emotions, but not _human_ emotions. + +It is impossible to render into any human terms the simple statement: +"The Nipe felt that he had properly rendered homage to a validly slain +foe." + +That cannot even begin to indicate the emotion the Nipe felt as he moved +down toward the sewer and escape. + + * * * * * + +Captain Davidson Greer, his eyes staring with glassy hatred through the +infra-red gunsight, was registering a very human emotion. His trigger +fingers were twitching spasmodically--squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. + +But his fingers were not on the triggers. + + + + +_[17]_ + + +"It is not your fault, Bart," said George Yoritomo softly. "You had a +perfect right to go." + +Bart Stanton clenched his fists and turned suddenly to face the Japanese +psychologist. "Sure! Hell, yes! We're not discussing my _rights_, +George! We're discussing my criminal stupidity! I had the right to leave +here any time I wanted to, sure. But I didn't have the right to +exercise that right--if that makes any sense to you." + +"It makes sense," Yoritomo agreed, "but it is not the way to look at it. +You could not have been with the colonel every minute of every day. +There was no way of knowing--" + +"Of course not!" Stanton cut in angrily. "But I should have been there +_this_ time. He wanted me there, and I was gone. If I'd been there, he'd +be alive at this moment." + +"Possibly," Yoritomo said, "and then again, possibly not. Sit down over +there on your bed, my young friend, and listen to me. Sit! That's it. +Take a deep breath, hold it, and relax. I want your ears functioning +when I talk to you. That's better. + +"Now. I do not know where you went. That is your business. All you--" + +"I went to Denver," Stanton said. + +"And you found?" + +"Nothing," Stanton said. "Absolutely nothing." + +"What were you looking for?" + +"I don't know. Something about my past. Something about myself. I don't +know." + +"Ah. You went to look up your family. You were trying to fill the holes +in your memory. Eh?" + +"Yes." + +"And you did not succeed." + +"No. No. There wasn't anything there that I didn't remember. In general, +I mean. I found the files in the Bureau of Statistics. I know how my +father died now, and how my mother died. And what happened to my +brother. But all that didn't tell me anything. I'm still looking for +something, and I don't know what it is. I was stupid to have gone. I +suppose I should have asked you or Dr. Farnsworth or the colonel." + +"But you thought we wouldn't answer," Yoritomo said. + +"I guess that's about it. I should have asked you." + +Yoritomo shook his head. "Not necessarily. It was actually better that +you looked for yourself. Besides, we could not have given you any answer +if you yourself do not know the question. We still can't." + +"I have a feeling," Stanton said, "that you know the question as well as +the answer." + +"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But there are some things that every man must +find out for himself. You were right to do as you did. If you had asked +Colonel Mannheim for permission, he would have let you go. He would not +have asked you to go to Government City with him. We--" + +"That's the whole damned trouble!" Stanton snapped. "I'm the star +boarder around here, the indispensable man. So I'm babied and I'm +coddled, and when I goof off I'm patted on the back." + +"And just how did you goof off?" Yoritomo asked. + +"I should have been here, ready to go with the colonel." + +"Very well. Suppose you had gone. Do you think you could have saved his +life? He could have saved his own life if he'd wanted to. Instead, he +specifically ordered the guard not to shoot under any circumstances. If +you had been there, the results would have been the same. He would have +forbidden you to do anything at all. The time is not yet ripe for you to +face the Nipe. You would not have been able to protect him without +disobeying his orders." + +"I might have done just that," said Stanton. + +Yoritomo was suddenly angry. "Then it is better that you were in Denver, +young fool! Colonel Walther Mannheim believed that no single human life +is worth the loss of the knowledge in that alien's mind! He proved that +by sacrificing his own life when that became necessary. I like to think +that I would have done the same thing myself. I am certain Dr. +Farnsworth would. We would rather _all_ be dead than allow that fund of +data to be lost to the rest of humanity!" + +"But--but who will carry on, with him dead?" Stanton asked. "He was the +one who co-ordinated everything. You and Farnsworth aren't cut out for +that sort of thing. Nor am I." + +"No," Yoritomo said. "But that has already been taken care of. Mannheim +had a replacement ready. A message is being sent out in Mannheim's name, +since we are keeping the colonel's death secret for the time being. +_You_ are the only indispensable man, Stanton. The rest of us can easily +be replaced. The lives of dozens of human beings have been +sacrificed--five years of your own life have been sacrificed--to put you +in the right place at the right time. And the job you are to do does not +and never has included acting as bodyguard for Colonel Mannheim or +anyone else. Understand?" + +Stanton nodded slowly. "I understand, George. I understand." + + + + +_[18]_ + + +The detective pushed his way out of the crowded courtroom before the +rest of the crowd started to move. The members of the jury were still +filing in, and he knew that no one else would leave the room until the +verdict was in. + +He didn't care. He knew what the verdict ought to be. He knew also that +juries had occasionally been swayed by histrionics on the part of the +defense counsel, and had been persuaded to free guilty men. He knew, +too, that prosecutors had railroaded innocent men. But such things as +that didn't happen often in the Belt. A man doesn't live too long in +the Belt unless he's capable of recognizing Truth when he sees it. + +But even if the wrong verdict had been brought in, there would have been +nothing he could do about it now. He had done his part. He had done +everything he could. He had brought them in. He had testified. All the +rest of it was up to the Jury and the Court--those two enigmatic halves +of Justice and Judgment. + +The point was that this was the perfect time to leave the courtroom. +When he reached his office, he could, if he wanted--and, he thought +ruefully, he probably _would_ want to, in spite of his pretended +indifference--call up to find out what the verdict had been. But, during +these few moments, all eyes were on the jury box. No one was watching +who left quietly by the side door of the big courtroom. + +He moved silently and with assurance in the fractional-gee field of the +planetoid. One of the uniformed guards looked at him and smiled, +throwing him an informal salute. + +The detective returned both. "If any of those news reporters ask which +way I went," he said amiably, "tell 'em I went thataway." He gestured +over his shoulder with a thumb. + +"I ain't even seen you, Mr. Martin," said the guard. + +The detective waved his thanks and kept going. It wasn't that he +disliked newsmen. Most of them were fairly intelligent, pleasant people. +But he didn't want to be asked any questions right now. He had given +them interviews aplenty during the trial, and they could use those, now +that the end of the trial had lifted the news ban. They had plenty of +quotations from Stan Martin without asking him what he thought of the +verdict itself. + +Ten minutes later, he was in his own office in the Lloyd's Area. Helen, +his secretary, was just cutting off the phone as he walked into the +outer office. She flashed him a big smile. + +"They just gave the verdict, Mr. Martin! Guilty all the way down the +line--conspiracy, extortion, kidnapping, and all the others. The only +'not guilty' verdict was a minor one. They decided that Hedgepeth wasn't +involved in the actual kidnapping itself, and therefore wasn't guilty of +the physical assault of the guard." + +"They're probably right," the detective said, "but, as you said, it's a +minor point. It doesn't much matter whether he was physically present at +the time the boy was taken or not; he was certainly in on the plot." He +paused, frowning. "That's over and done with, except for a possible +appeal. And it's unlikely that that would involve us, anyway. Get Mr. +Pelham on the phone, will you? I'll take it in my office." + +"The _Morton_ case?" she asked. + +"Yeah. There's something fishy about the wreck of the spaceship +_Morton_, and I want Pelham to let me work on it." + +He went on into his office and had barely sat down when the phone +hummed. "Yes?" he said, depressing the switch. + +"Mr. BenChaim would like to speak to you, sir," Helen said formally. + +"Oh?" In order to have gotten here so quickly, BenChaim, too, must have +left before the verdict was delivered. He was hardly more than a minute +behind the detective. And that was unusual in a man who was waiting at +the trial of the kidnappers of his own son. Still, Moishe BenChaim was +an unusual man. + +"Tell him to come right on in," the detective said. "Oh, and Helen ... +hold off on that Pelham call for a little while." He didn't want to be +talking business while BenChaim was in the office. + +"Yes, sir," she said. + +A few seconds later, the door opened, and Moishe BenChaim came in. He +was not a big man, but he was broad of shoulder and broad of girth, +built like a wrestler. He had a heavy, graying beard, and wore it with a +patriarchal air. He was breathing rather heavily as he came through the +door, and he stopped suddenly to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. He +began coughing--harsh, racking, painful coughs that shook his heavy +frame. + +"Sorry," he said after a moment. "Damn lungs. Shouldn't try to move so +fast." He wiped his lips and put the handkerchief away. + +The detective didn't say anything. He knew that Moishe BenChaim had +injured his lungs eighteen years before. An accident in space had +ruptured his spacesuit, and the explosive decompression that had +resulted had almost killed him. He had saved his own life by holding the +torn spot with one hand and turning up the air-tank valve full blast +with the other. The rough patch job had held long enough for him to get +back inside his ship, but his lungs had never been the same, and his +eyes were eternally bloodshot from the ruptured and distended +capillaries. + +"I noticed you'd slipped out of the courtroom," he went on. "I hope you +don't mind my following you." + +"Of course not, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said. "Sit down." + +BenChaim sat in the chair across the desk from the detective. "I didn't +wait for the verdict," he said. "I knew the conviction was certain after +you testified." + +"Thanks. My secretary got the news just before you came in. Guilty +straight across the board. But your son's testimony was a lot more +telling than mine." + +"Guilty," BenChaim repeated with satisfaction. "Naturally. What else? I +admit my son's testimony was good," he continued; "Little Shmuela told +his story like a little man up there in the witness-box. Never looked +scared, never got mixed up. But Shmuela's testimony was your testimony +too, Mr. Martin. If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't be here to +testify, for which I'm grateful to God." Then he leaned back and spread +his hands apart in a gesture of dismissal. + +"But that's all over and done with," he said. "I came about a different +matter." Again he paused, as if picking his words carefully. "Do you +know a man named Barnabas Nguma?" + +"Nguma? Yes; I met him once. Why?" + +"He was in the courtroom today. He came to see me just before court +convened." + +"Oh?" the detective said noncommittally. + +"Yes. He claims to represent an organization on Earth which has been +trying to hire you for a job there. Is that right?" + +"That's right," the detective said warily. "What did he want with you?" + +"Now, that's a funny thing," BenChaim said. "It seems that he's under +the impression that you turned down his job to take on this kidnapping. +Is that right?" + +"Not exactly," the detective said tightly. "I was working on your son's +case before he and a couple of other men came out here to talk to me. +But they'd written to me long before that." He wondered what BenChaim +was getting at. He didn't owe any explanations to the industrialist, +but, on the other hand, he couldn't be impolite to him. + +"I see," BenChaim said, nodding his head slowly. "Like most Earthies, +Mr. Nguma is suffering under a misapprehension. He seems to think that I +have some sort of hold over you, that I was the one who made you turn +down his job, so that you'd take _my_ case." + +"Oh? Was he angry because you'd put your own selfish interests ahead of +his unselfish ones?" the detective asked with a trace of hard sarcasm in +his voice. + +"Oh, no," said BenChaim. "Oh, no. Not at all. He said he understood +perfectly. But he wondered if, now that my boy had been returned safely, +I might not put a little pressure on you to get you to take his case." + +"And what did you say?" + +Moishe BenChaim scowled. "I told him exactly where he could head in. I +told him that I had no power over you whatever, that I hadn't hired you +at all, that I didn't even know that you were working on the case until +after you rescued Shmuel. I told him that even if I held the power of +life and death over you I would never lift so much as a finger against +you. I told him that it was just the other way around, in fact. I told +him that you have such a power over me because of what you did for +Shmuel that it is _I_ who will jump through _your_ hoop if ordered, not +the other way around. I was quite angry." BenChaim relaxed a little +before going on. "Actually, I'm sorry I blew up. He's a well-meaning +man, I think." + +"No doubt," the detective said. "Did he tell you what the job was?" + +"With most heart-rending particulars," said BenChaim. "I was told all +about how this Nipe has been killing and eating people, as if I didn't +know already. But it wasn't until I heard him talk that I realized how +scared people are back there on Earth. You know, Martin, we're insulated +out here. We don't feel that terror, even when we read about it or see +the reports on the newscasts. If everybody on Earth is as scared as that +Mr. Nguma is, it's a wonder they haven't all panicked and taken to +running around in circles." + +"As a matter of fact, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said levelly, "they +have begun to do just that. Mr. Nguma and his friends have been after me +for a long time to take their job. They have pulled every trick they can +think of--including this last one with you--to get me to go back to +Earth and find that monster. I have refused them so often and so firmly +that they are convinced I'm afraid to tackle the Nipe. They are +convinced that I know I'll fail. And yet they keep after me. If that +isn't running around in circles, it'll do until a better example comes +along." + +"They're out of their minds," BenChaim said flatly. "Of _course_ no man +in his right mind would try to face down that thing! It would be as +silly as trying to outrun a bullet or do arithmetic faster than a +computer. That's common sense. That's showing a healthy respect for the +Nipe--not fear. At least, not fear in the way that those men are +afraid." + +Suddenly the detective knew why the industrialist had come. He knew that +Moishe BenChaim wanted to reassure Stanley Martin, to tell him that he +was doing the sensible thing in turning down so dangerous an assignment. +He could almost have predicted word for word what BenChaim was going to +say next. + +"Nguma may be here at any minute," said the industrialist. "He told me +that he was going to come as soon as the trial was over. What are you +going to tell him this time? I know it's none of my business, but I'm +asking, just the same." + +"I'm going to tell him _no_," the detective said. "I will not return to +Earth for any reason whatever." + +"Good," said BenChaim. "Good. That's the smart thing to do. And don't +let him buffalo you. We know you out here in the Belt, Martin. I've been +out here for thirty years, and I know what kind of guts it takes to do +the things you've done. Those men don't understand space. Nobody +understands space until he's lived in it and worked in it, and had cold +death only a fraction of an inch away from his skin for hours and days +at a time. No matter what those Earthies say, we know you've got more +guts than anybody else in the Belt--to say nothing of those +stay-at-homes on Earth." + +"Thank you. I appreciate that," the detective said. But they were only +words. He knew that BenChaim meant exactly what he said--or thought he +meant it. But he also knew that BenChaim and others would always wonder +why he had turned the job down. + +_God!_ he thought, _I wish I knew!_ The thought was only momentary. +Then, as it had done so many times before, his mind veered away from the +dangerous subject. + +Moishe BenChaim stood up. "Well, that's all I had to say, Mr. Martin. I +just wanted to warn you that that man might be coming around and to tell +you how I felt. Remember what I said about jumping through a hoop. Any +time you need me, for anything at all, you just say so. Understand?" + +"I understand," the detective said, forcing a smile. He rose and shook +the industrialist's outstretched hand. "And thanks again," he added. + +After BenChaim had gone, the detective sat thinking, toying with a +pencil on his desk. Moishe BenChaim, like so many others in the Belt, +had come out with nothing but his brain and his two hands and the +equipment necessary to keep him alive. In thirty years, he had parlayed +that into one of the biggest fortunes in the Solar System. It was men +like that whose respect he valued, and, on the surface, he apparently +had that respect. But refusing the Nipe job would dull the bright sheen +of that respect, and he knew it. BenChaim had talked about how foolish +it would be to try to beat the Nipe in a face-to-face encounter, but he +hadn't meant it. He knew perfectly well that all Stanley Martin would be +expected to do would be to find out where the Nipe's hideout was. Once +that had been accomplished, men and machines--most especially +machines--could wipe the monster from the face of the Earth. One +well-placed bomb would do it, if the authorities only knew where to +place that bomb. If only-- + +Again his mind veered away, refusing to consider the Nipe too carefully +or too closely. + +The intercom on his desk hummed, and he pressed the switch. + +"Yes, Helen?" + +"That Mr. Nguma was here while Mr. BenChaim was with you, Mr. Martin. I +followed your instructions and told him that you would not see him." + +"Fine. Thanks, Helen." + +"Also, there's a radiogram for you from Earth." + +"If it's from one of Nguma's colleagues," the detective said, "I don't +want to see it. File it in the cylindrical file--under _W_." + +"I don't think it is," the secretary said doubtfully. "I can't make any +sense out of it. I'd better bring it in." + +"Okay. And then put that call through to Pelham. I want to get going on +that _Morton_ spaceship wrecking. I'm getting itchy for action." + +She brought in the radiogram and put it on his desk before calling +Pelham. She had already read it, of course. It was her job to read such +things. + +The detective picked up the sheet of paper and read it. + + THE OPERATION IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. I NEED + + THE OTHER HALF OF MY FORCEPS. COME HOME + + AND JOIN THE BIG PARADE. + + MANNHEIM + +It took a second for the words to really impress themselves on his mind. +He read them over again. + +And the veil began to drop from the closed-off part of his mind. + +Memories began to swarm back into his mind--memories that had been +walled off and kept away from his conscious mind by the hypnotic +suggestion implanted so long ago. + +Oddly, it did not surprise or shock him. He was an expert at hypnosis, +especially self-hypnosis. He recognized the message for exactly what it +was: a series of code phrases designed to break the blockage that had +been placed in his mind. + +His only reaction was to laugh aloud. "By God!" he said. "It worked! It +actually worked! Nearly six years, and I never suspected once!" + +The phone hummed. He switched it on. "Mr. Pelham is on the phone, Mr. +Martin," Helen said. + +He watched as the florid, smiling face of Pelham, his superior, appeared +on the screen. "What can I do for you, Martin?" he asked. + +"I have a favor to ask, Mr. Pelham." + +"Anything within reason," Pelham said. "After this BenChaim affair, +you're in good standing around here." He chuckled. + +"I want a leave of absence," the detective said. + +Pelham looked a little surprised. "Well, I guess you deserve it. You +need a rest, I imagine." + +"No," the detective said. "No, it isn't that. I'm going after bigger +game, is all." + +"What's that?" + +"I'm going to Earth to find the Nipe." + + + + +_[19]_ + + +From the very moment he had heard that "Stanley Martin" had arrived to +take charge of the project, Bart Stanton pushed all thoughts of his +brother out of his mind. He had fouled up once by thinking of himself +rather than thinking of what had to be done; he would not make that +mistake again. + +Nor, apparently, did Martin have any desire to meet Bart Stanton. He +took control of the project smoothly. Apparently Mannheim had taken into +account the possibility of his own death and had arranged things +accordingly. Although Martin was not a member of the World Police, his +own record showed that he had the ability to handle the job, and an +Executive Session had unanimously accepted Colonel Mannheim's wishes in +the matter. There was little else they could do; the very fact that +Mannheim had died in the way he had, ordering the guard to hold his +fire, had stilled those voices on the Executive Council who had been +wavering before. + +Martin had come in to Earth almost secretly, without fanfare, and the +general public was totally unaware that anything at all had happened. + +Special messages, going through the channels known to be tapped by the +Nipe, said that it would not be in the public interest to admit that the +Nipe could actually penetrate the defenses of World Police Headquarters, +so the Nipe was not surprised when the public news channels announced +quietly that Colonel Walther Mannheim, the man who had been decorated +twelve years before for the quelling of the Central Brazilian +Insurrection, had died peacefully in his sleep. The funeral was quiet, +but with full honors. + +Stanton stopped worrying about such things. Until he had done the job +that he had been rebuilt for, he was determined to make that goal his +sole purpose. As the weeks sped by, he kept determinedly to his regime, +exercising regularly to keep himself in top physical condition, and +studying the three-dimensional motion studies of the Nipe in action. + +Only one of these made him ill the first time he watched it, but it was +the only recording of the Nipe actually in the process of killing a +man, so he watched, over and over again, the shots taken from the gun +tower when the Nipe attacked Colonel Mannheim. + +A full-sized mockup of the Nipe's body had been built, with the best +approximation possible of the Nipe's bone structure and musculature, and +Stanton worked with it to determine what, if any, were the Nipe's +physical limitations. + +His only periods of relative relaxation occurred when he discussed the +psychological peculiarities of the Nipe mind with George Yoritomo. + +One afternoon, after a particularly strenuous boxing session, he walked +into Yoritomo's office with a grin on his face. "I've been considering +the problem of the apparent paradox of a high technology in a +ritual-taboo system." + +Yoritomo grinned back delightedly and waved Stanton to a chair. +"Excellent! It is always much better if the student thinks these things +out for himself. Now, while I fill this hand-furnace with tobacco and +fire up, you will please explain to me all about it." + +Stanton sat down and settled himself comfortably. "All right. In the +first place, there's the notion of religion. In tribal cultures, the +religion is usually--uh--animistic, I think the word is." + +Yoritomo nodded silently. + +"They believe there are spirits everywhere," Stanton said. "That sort of +belief, it seems to me, would grow up in any race that had imagination, +and the Nipes must have had plenty of that, or they wouldn't have the +technology that we know they do have. Am I on the right track?" + +"Very good. _Very_ good," Yoritomo said in approval. "But what evidence +have you that this technology was not given to them by some other, more +advanced race?" + +"I hadn't thought of that." Stanton stared into space for a moment, then +nodded his head. "Of course. It would take too long to teach them. It +wouldn't be worth all the trouble it would take to make them unlearn +their fallacies and learn the new facts. It would take generations to do +it unless this hypothetical other race killed off all the adult Nipes +and started the little ones off fresh. And that didn't happen, because +if it had, the ritual-taboo system would have died out, too. So that +other-race theory is out." + +"The argument is imperfect," Yoritomo said, "but it will suffice for the +moment. Go on about the religion." + +"Okay. Religious beliefs are not subject to pragmatic tests. That is, +the spiritual beliefs aren't. Any belief that _could_ be disproven by +such a test would eventually die out. But beliefs in ghosts or demons or +angels or life after death aren't disprovable by material tests, any +more than they are provable. So, as a race increases its knowledge of +the physical world, its religion would tend to become more and more +spiritual." + +"Agreed. Yes. It happened so among human beings," said Yoritomo. "But +how do you link this fact with ritual-taboo?" + +"Well, once a belief gains a foothold," Stanton said, "it is very +difficult to wipe it out, even among human beings. Among Nipes, it would +be well-nigh impossible. Once a code of ritual and of social behavior +had been set up, it became permanent." + +"For example?" Yoritomo urged. + +"Well, shaking hands, for example," Stanton said after a pause. "We +still do that, even if we don't have it fixed solidly in our heads that +we _must_ do it. I suppose it would never occur to a Nipe not to perform +such a ritual." + +"Just so," Yoritomo agreed vigorously. "Such things, once established in +the minds of the race, would tend to remain. But it is a characteristic +of a ritual-taboo system that it resists change. Change is evil. Change +is wrong. We must use what we know to be true, not try something that +has never been tried before. In a ritual-taboo system, a thing which is +not ritual is, _ipso facto_, taboo. How, then, can we account for their +high technological achievements?" + +"The pragmatic engineering approach, I imagine," Stanton said. "If a +thing works, then go ahead and use it. It is usable. If not, it isn't." + +"Approximately," said Yoritomo. "But only approximately. Now it is my +turn to lecture." He put his pipe in an ashtray and held up a long, bony +finger. "Firstly, we must remember that the Nipe is equipped with a +functioning imagination. Secondly, he has in his memory a tremendous +amount of data, all ready at hand. He is capable of working out theories +in his head, you see. Like the ancient Greeks, he finds no need to test +such theories--_unless_ his thinking indicates that such an experiment +would yield something useful. Unlike the Greeks, he has no aversion to +experiment. But he sees no need for useless experiment, either. + +"Oh, he would learn, yes. But once a given theory proved workable, how +resistant he would be to a new theory. Innovators, even in our own +culture, have a very hard time working against the great inertia of a +recognized theory. How much harder it would be in a ritual-taboo society +with a perfect memory! How long--how _incredibly_ long--it would take +such a race to achieve the technology the Nipe now has!" + +"Hundreds of thousands of years," said Stanton. + +Yoritomo shook his head briskly. "Puh! Longer! Much longer!" He smiled +with satisfaction. "I estimate that the Nipe race first invented the +steam engine not less than ten million years ago!" + +He kept smiling into the dead silence that followed. + +After a long minute, Stanton said: "What about atomic energy?" + +"At least two million years ago," Yoritomo said. "I do not think they +have had the interstellar drive more than some fifty thousand years." + +"No wonder our pet Nipe is so patient," Stanton said with a touch of awe +in his voice. "How long do you suppose their individual life-span is?" + +"Not so long, in comparison," said Yoritomo. "Perhaps no longer than our +own at the least, or perhaps as much as five hundred years. Considering +the tremendous handicaps against them, they have done quite well, I +think. Quite well, indeed, for a race of illiterate cannibals." + +"How's that again?" Stanton realized that the scientist was quite +serious. + +"Hadn't it occurred to you, my friend, that they must be cannibals?" +Yoritomo asked. "And that they must be very nearly illiterate?" + +"No," Stanton admitted, "it hadn't." + +"The Nipe, like man, is omnivorous," Yoritomo pointed out. +"Specialization tends to lead any race up a blind alley, and dietary +restrictions are a particularly pernicious form of specialization. A +lion would starve to death in a wheat field. A horse would perish in a +butcher shop full of steaks. A man will survive as long as there is +something around to eat--even if it's another man." + +Yoritomo picked up his pipe and began tapping the ashes out of it. +"Also," he went on, "we must remember that Man, early in his career of +becoming top dog on Earth, began using a method of removing the unfit. +Ritual traces of it remain today in some societies--the Jewish Bar +Mitzvah, for instance, or the Christian Confirmation. Before and +immediately after the Holocaust, there were still primitive societies on +Earth--in New Guinea, for instance--which still made a rather hard +ordeal out of the Rite of Passage, the ceremony whereby a boy becomes a +man--if he passes the tests." + +Yoritomo was filling his pipe, a look of somber satisfaction on his lean +face. "A few millennia ago, a boy who underwent those tests was killed +outright if he failed. And was eaten. He had not shown the ability to +overrule with reason his animal instincts. Therefore, he was not a human +being, but an animal. What better use for a young and succulent animal +than to provide meat for the common larder?" + +"And you think the same process must have been used by the Nipes?" +Stanton asked. + +Yoritomo nodded vigorously as he applied a match flame to the tobacco in +his pipe. "The Nipe race must, of necessity, have had some similar +ritualistic tests or they would not have become what they are," he said +when he had puffed the pipe alight. "And we have already agreed that +once the Nipes adopted something of that kind, it remained with them. +Not so? Yes. + +"Also, it can be considered extremely unlikely that the Nipe +civilization--if such it can be called--has any geriatric problem. No, +indeed. No old-age pensions, no old folks' homes, no senility. No, nor +any specialists in geriatrics, either. When a Nipe becomes a burden +because of age, he is ritually murdered and eaten with all due +solemnity." + +Yoritomo pointed his pipestem at Stanton. "Ah. You frown, my friend. +Have I made them sound heartless, without the finer feelings of which we +humans are so proud? Not so. When Junior Nipe fails his puberty tests, +when Mama and Papa Nipe are sent to their final reward, I have no doubt +that there is sadness in the hearts of their loved ones as the honored +T-bones are passed around the table." + +He put the pipe back in his mouth and spoke around it. "My own +ancestors, not too far back, performed a ritual suicide by disemboweling +themselves with a long, sharp knife. Across the abdomen--_so!_--and up +into the heart--_so!_ It was considered very bad form to faint or die +before the job was done. Nearby, a relative or a close friend stood with +a sharp sword, to administer the _coup de grace_ by decapitation. It was +all very sad and very honorable. Their loved ones bore the sorrow with +great pride." + +His voice, which had been low and tender, suddenly became very brisk. +"Thank goodness it has gone out of fashion!" + +"But how can you be _sure_ they're cannibals?" Stanton asked. "Your +argument sounds logical enough, but you can't be basing your theory on +that alone." + +"True! True!" Yoritomo jabbed the air twice with a rapid forefinger. +"Evidence for such a theory would be most welcome, would it not? Very +well, I give you the evidence. He eats human beings, our Nipe." + +"That doesn't make him a cannibal," Stanton objected. + +"Not _strictly_, perhaps. But consider. The Nipe is not a monster. He is +not a criminal. No. He is a gentleman. He always behaves as a gentleman. +He is shipwrecked on an alien planet. Around him, he sees evidence in +profusion that ours is a technological society. But that is a +contradiction! A paradox! + +"For _we_ are not civilized! No! We are not rational! We are not sane! +We do not obey the Laws; we do not perform the Rituals. We are animals. +Apparently intelligent animals, but animals nevertheless. How can this +be? + +"_Ha!_ says the Nipe to himself. These animals must be ruled over by +Real People. It is the only explanation. Not so?" + +"Colonel Mannheim mentioned that," Stanton said. "Are you implying that +the Nipe thinks there are other Nipes around, running the world from +secret hideouts, like the villains in a Fu Manchu novel?" + +"Not quite," said Yoritomo, laughing. "The Nipe is not at all incapable +of learning something new. In point of fact, he is quite good at it, as +witness the fact that he has learned many Earth languages. He picked up +Russian in less than eight months simply by listening and observing. +Like our own race, his undoubtedly evolved a great many languages during +the beginnings of its progress--when there were many tribes, separated +and out of communication with each other. It would not surprise me to +find that most of these languages have survived and that our distressed +astronaut knows them all. A new language would not bother him in the +least. + +"Nor would strangely shaped intelligent beings make him unhappy. His +race should be aware, by now, that such things must exist. But it is +very likely that he equates _true_ intelligence with technology, and I +do not think it likely that he has ever met a race higher than the +barbarian level before. Such races were not, of course, human--by his +definition. They showed possibilities, perhaps, but they had not by any +means evolved far enough. And, considering the time span involved in +their own progress toward a technological civilization, it is not at all +unlikely that the Nipe thinks of technology as something that evolves in +a race in the same way that intelligence does--or the body itself. + +"So it would not surprise him to find that the Real People of this +system were humanoid in shape instead of--ah--Nipoid? A bad word, but it +will do for the nonce. To find Real People of a different shape is +something new, but he can absorb it because it does not contradict +anything he _knows_. + +"_But--!_ Any truly intelligent being that did not obey the Law and +follow the Ritual _would_ be a contradiction in terms. For our Nipe has +no notion of a Real Person without those characteristics. Without those +characteristics, technology is, of course, utterly impossible. Since he +sees technology all around him, it follows that there must be Real +People around somewhere that have those characteristics. Anything else +is unthinkable." + +"It seems to me that you're building an awfully involved theory out of +pretty flimsy stuff," Stanton said. + +Yoritomo shook his head. "Not at all. Not at all. Every scrap and shred +of evidence we have points toward it. Why, do you suppose, does the Nipe +conscientiously devour his victims, often risking his own safety to do +so? Why do you suppose he never uses any weapon but his own hands to +kill with?" + +Yoritomo leaned forward and speared out at Stanton with a long, bony +forefinger. "Why? To tell the Real People that he is a gentleman!" + +He sat back with a satisfied smile and puffed complacently at his pipe, +remaining silent while Bart Stanton considered his last remark. + +"Just one thing," Stanton said after a minute. "It seems to me that he +would be able to judge that some races have different Laws and Rituals +than he does. Wouldn't they have a science comparable to our +anthropology?" + +Yoritomo grinned. "Nipology, shall we say? Well, he might, but it would +not tell him what our anthropology tells us. + +"Consider. How have we learned much of our knowledge of the early +history of Man? By the study of ritual-taboo cultures. The so-called +'primitive' cultures. It is from these tribes that we have learned the +multifarious ways in which a group of human beings can evolve a culture +and a society. But does the Nipe have any such other tribes to study?" + +"Why wouldn't he?" Stanton asked. + +"Because there are none," Yoritomo said. "How could there be? Consider +again. Once a race has evolved a fairly high technological level, it is +capable of wiping out races which have not achieved that level. If the +technologically advanced tribe is still at the ritual-taboo level, it +will consider that all tribes which do not use the same Laws and Rituals +as it does must be animals--dangerous animals that must be wiped out. +Take a look at the history of our own race. In a few short centuries, we +find that the technologically advanced civilization and culture of +Renaissance Europe has spread over the whole globe. By military, +economic, and religious conquest, it has, in effect, westernized the +majority of Mankind. + +"The same process would take place on the Nipe's world, only more +thoroughly. The weaker tribes would vanish, the stronger would +amalgamate." + +"That process would take a lot of time," Stanton said. + +"Indeed! Oh, yes, indeed," Yoritomo agreed. "But they have had the time, +have they not? Eh? What Western European Man has partially achieved in +less than a thousand years, surely the Nipe equivalent could have +achieved in ten thousand thousand. Eh?" + +"But I'd think that the Nipe would have realized, after ten years, that +there is no such race of Real People," Stanton said. "He's had access to +our records and books and such things. Or does he reject them all as +lies?" + +"Possibly he would, if he could read them," Yoritomo said. "Did I not +say he was illiterate?" + +"You mean he's learned to speak our languages, but not to read them?" + +The psychologist smiled broadly. "Your statement is accurate, my friend, +but incomplete. It is my opinion that the Nipe is incapable of reading +any written language whatever. The concept does not exist in his mind, +except vaguely." + +Stanton closed one eye and gave Yoritomo the glance askance. "Aw, come +_awwn_, George! A technological race without a written language? That's +impossible!" + +"Ah, no. No, it isn't. Ask yourself: What need has a race with a perfect +memory for written records? At least, in the sense that we think of +them. Certainly not to remember things. What would a Nipe need with a +memorandum book or a diary? All of their history and all of their +technology exists in the collective mind of the race. + +"Think, for a moment, of their history. If it is somewhat analogous to +human history--and, as we have seen, there is reason to believe that +this is so--then we can, in a way, trace the development of writing. +We--" + +"Wait a minute!" Stanton held up his hand. "I think I see what you're +driving at." + +"Ah. So?" Yoritomo nodded. "Very well. Then _you_ expound." + +"I can give it to you in two sentences," Stanton said. "One: Their first +writing was probably pictographic and was learned only by a select +priestly class. Two: It still is." + +"Ahhhh!" Yoritomo's eyes lit up. "Admirable! Most admirable! And +succinctly put, too. And, to top it off, almost precisely correct. That +is what happened here on Earth; are we wrong in assuming that such may +have happened elsewhere in the Universe? (Remembering always, my dear +Bart, that we must not make the mistake of thinking like our friend, the +Nipe, and assuming that everybody else in the Universe has to be like us +in all things.) + +"You are correct. That is why I hedged when I said he was _almost_ +illiterate. There is a possibility that a written symbology does exist +for Nipes. But it is used almost entirely for ritualistic purposes, it +is pictographical in form, and is known only to a very few. For others +to learn it would be taboo. + +"Remember, I said that there is only one society, one culture remaining +on the Nipe planet. And remember that history is a very late development +in our own culture, just as written language is. One important event in +every ten centuries of Nipe history would still give a Nipe historian +ten thousand events to remember just since the invention of the steam +engine. What, then, does Nipe history become? A series of folk chants, +of _chansons de geste_." + +"Why?" Stanton asked. "If they have perfect memories, why would +histories be distorted?" + +"Time, my dear boy. Time." Yoritomo spread his hands in a gesture of +futility. "When one has a few million years of history to learn, it +_must_ become distorted, even in a race with a perfect memory. +Otherwise, no individual would have a chance to learn it all in a single +lifetime, even a lifetime of five hundred years, much less to pass that +knowledge on to another. So only the most important events are reported. +And that means that each historian must also be an editor. He must +excise those portions which he considers unimportant." + +"But wouldn't that very limitation induce them to record history?" +Stanton asked. "Right there is your inducement to use a written +language." + +Yoritomo looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. "Why? _What good is +history?_" + +"Ohhh," said Stanton. "I see." + +"Certainly you do," Yoritomo said firmly. "Of what use is history to the +ritual-taboo culture? Only to record what is to be done. And, with a +memory that can _know_ what is to be done, of what use is a historian, +except to remember the _important_ things. No ritual-taboo culture looks +upon history as we do. Only the doings of the great are recorded. All +else must be edited out. Thus, while the memory of the individual may +be, and _is_, perfect, the memory of the race is not. _But they don't +know that!_" + +"What about communications, then?" Stanton asked. "What did they use +before they invented radio?" + +"Couriers," Yoritomo said. "And, possibly, written messages from one +priestly scribe to another. That last, by the way, has probably survived +in a ritualistic form. When an officer is appointed to a post, let's +say, he may get a formal paper that says so. The Nipes may use symbols +to signify rank and so on. They must have a symbology for the +calibration of scientific instruments. + +"But none of these requires the complexity of a written language. I dare +say our use of it is quite baffling to him. + +"For teaching purposes, it is quite unnecessary. Look at what television +and such have done in our own civilization. With such tools as that at +hand--recordings and pictures--it is possible to teach a person a great +many things without ever teaching him to read. A Nipe certainly wouldn't +need any aid for calculation, would he? We humans must use a piece of +paper to multiply two ten-digit numbers together, but that's because our +memories are faulty. A Nipe has no need for such aids." + +"Are you really positive of all this, George?" Stanton asked. + +Yoritomo shrugged. "How can we be absolutely positive at this stage of +the game? Eh? Our evidence is sketchy, I admit. It is not as solidly +based as our other reconstructions of his background, but it appears +that he thinks of symbols as being unable to convey much information. +The pattern for his raids, for instance, indicates that his knowledge of +the materials he wants and their locations comes from vocal +sources--television advertising, eavesdropping on shipping orders, and +so on. In other words, he cases the joint by ear. If he could understand +written information, his job would be much easier. He could find his +materials much more quickly and easily. And, too, we have never seen him +either read a word or write one. From this evidence, we are fairly +certain that he can neither read nor write any terrestrial language--or +even his own." He spread his hands again. "As I said, it is not proof." + +"No," Stanton agreed, "but I must admit that the whole thing makes for +some very interesting speculation, doesn't it?" + +"Very interesting, indeed." Yoritomo folded his hands in his lap, smiled +seraphically, and looked at the ceiling. "In fact, my friend, we are now +so positive of our knowledge of the Nipe's mind that we are prepared to +enter into the next phase of our program." + +"Oh?" Stanton distinctly felt the back of his neck prickle. + +"Yes," said Yoritomo. "Mr. Martin feels that if we wait much longer, we +may run into the danger of giving the Nipe enough time to complete his +work on his communicator." He looked at Stanton and chuckled, but there +was no humor in his short laugh. "We would not wish our friend, the +Nipe, to bring his relatives into this little tussle, would we, Bart?" + +"That's been our deadline all along," Bart said levelly. "The object all +along has been to let the Nipe work without hindrance as long as he did +not actually produce a communicator that would--as you put it--bring his +relatives into the tussle. Have things changed?" + +"They have," Yoritomo acknowledged. "Why wouldn't they? We have been +working toward that as a _final_ deadline. If it appeared that the Nipe +were actually about to contact his confederates out there somewhere, we +would be forced to act immediately, of course. Plan Beta would go into +effect. But we don't want that, do we?" + +"No," said Stanton. "No." He was well aware what a terrible loss it +would be for humanity if Plan Beta went into effect. The Nipe would have +to be literally blasted out of his cozy little nest. + +"No, of course not." Yoritomo chuckled again, with as little mirth as he +had before. "Within a very short while, if we are correct, we shall, +with your help, arrest the most feared arch-criminal that Earth has ever +known. I dare say that the public will be extremely happy to hear of his +death, and I know that the rest of us will be happy to know that he will +never kill again." + +Stanton suddenly saw the fateful day for which he had been so carefully +prepared and trained looming terrifyingly large in the immediate future. + +"How soon?" he asked in an oddly choked voice. + +"Within days." Yoritomo lowered his eyes from the ceiling and looked +into Stanton's face with a mild, bland expression. + +"Tomorrow," he said, "the propaganda phase begins. We will announce to +the world that the great detective, Stanley Martin, has come to Earth to +rid us of the Nipe." + + + + +_[20]_ + + +The arrival of the great Stanley Martin was a three-day wonder in the +public news channels. His previous exploits were recounted, with +embellishments, several times during the next seventy-two hours. The +"arrival" itself was very carefully staged. A special ship belonging to +the World Police brought him in, and he was met by four Government +officials in civilian clothes. The entire affair was covered live by +news cameras. No one on Earth suspected that he had been on Earth for +weeks before; a few _knew_ it, but it never even occurred to the rest. + +Later, a special interview was arranged. Philip Quinn, a news +interviewer who was noted for his deferential attitude toward those whom +he had the privilege of interviewing, was chosen for the job. + +Stanley Martin's dynamic, forceful personality completely overshadowed +Quinn. + +But in spite of all the publicity, not one word, not one hint about the +method by which Stanley Martin intended to bring the Nipe in was +released. There were all kinds of speculations, ranging from the +mystically sublime to the broadly comical. One self-styled archbishop of +a California nut cult declared that Martin was a saint appointed by God +to exorcise the Demon Nipe that had been plaguing Mankind and that the +Millennium was therefore due at any moment. He was, he said, sending +Stanley Martin a sealed letter which contained a special exorcism prayer +that would do the job very nicely. Why hadn't he used it himself? +Because if anyone other than a saint or an angel used it, it would +backfire on the user and destroy him. Naturally the archbishop did not +claim himself to be a saint, but he knew that Martin was because he had +plainly seen the halo around the detective's head when he saw him on TV. + +An inventor in Palermo, Sicily, solemnly declared that he had sent +Stanley Martin the plans for a device that would render him invisible to +the Nipe and therefore make the Nipe easy to conquer. No, there was no +danger that the device might fall into the wrong hands and be used by +human criminals, since it did not render a person invisible to human +eyes, only to Nipe eyes. + +The first item was played up big in the newscasts. The second was +quashed--fast!--for the very simple reason that the Nipe just might have +believed it. + +One note throbbed in the background of every interview with responsible +persons. It was the unobtrusive note of a soft clarinet played in a +great symphony, all the more telling because it was never played loudly +or insistently, but it was there all the same. Whenever the question of +the Nipe's actual whereabouts came up, the note seemed to ring a trifle +more clearly, but never more loudly. That single throbbing note was the +impression given by everyone who was interviewed, or who expressed any +views on the subject, that the Nipe was hiding somewhere in the +Amazonian jungles of South America. It was the last place on Earth that +had still not been thoroughly explored, and it seemed to be the only +place that the Nipe could hide. + +Only a small handful of the vast array of people who were dispensing +this carefully tailored propaganda knew what was going on. More than +ninety-nine percent of the newsmen involved in the affair thought they +were honestly giving the news as they saw it, and none of them saw the +invisible but very powerful hand of Stanley Martin shifting the news +just enough to give it the bias he wanted. + +The comedians on the entertainment programs let the whole story alone +for the most part. There were no clever skits, no farcical takeoffs on +the subject of Stanley Martin and the Nipe. One comedian, who was +playing the part of a henpecked husband, did remark: "If my wife gets +any meaner, I'm going to send Stan Martin after _her_!" But it didn't +get much of a laugh. And the Government organization had nothing to do +with that kind of censorship; it was self-imposed. Every one of the +really great comics recognized, either consciously or subconsciously, +that the Nipe was not a subject for humor. Such jokes would have made +them about as popular as the Borscht Circuit comedian who told a funny +story about Dachau in 1946. + +Aside from the subtle coloring given it by the small, Mannheim-trained +group of propaganda experts, the news went out straight. + +The detective himself, after that one single interview, vanished from +sight. No one knew where he was, though, again, there were all kinds of +speculations, all of them erroneous. Actually, he was a carefully +guarded and willing prisoner in a suite in one of the big hotels in +Government City. + +On the fourth day, the big operation began without fanfare. The actual +maneuvering to capture the alien that had terrorized a planet began +shortly after noon. + +At a few minutes before three that afternoon, the man whom the world +knew as Stanley Martin suddenly suffered a dizzy spell and nearly +fainted. + +Then, almost like a child, he began to weep. + + + + +_FINAL INTERLUDE_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim said: "It will take five years, Stanton." + +He was looking at the young man seated in one of the three chairs in the +small, comfortable room. There was a clublike atmosphere about the room, +but none of the three men were relaxed. + +"Five years?" said the young man. He looked at the third man. + +Dr. Farnsworth nodded. "More or less. More if it's a partial +failure--less if it's a complete failure." + +"Then there _is_ a chance of failure?" the young man asked. + +"There is always a chance of failure in any major surgical undertaking," +Dr. Farnsworth said. "Even in the most routine cases, things can go +wrong. We're only men, Mr. Stanton. We're neither magicians nor gods." + +"I know that, Doctor," the young man said. "Nobody's perfect, and I +don't expect perfection. Can you give me a--an estimate on the +chances?" + +"I can't even give you any kind of guess," said Farnsworth. He smiled +rather grimly. "So far, we have had no failures. Our mortality rate is a +flat zero. We have never lost a patient because we've never had one. As +I told you, this will be the first time the operation has ever been +performed on a human being. Or, rather," he corrected himself, "I should +say series of operations. This is not one single--er--cut-and-suture +job, like an appendectomy." + +"All right, then, call it a series of operations," the young man said. +"I assume each of them has been performed individually?" + +"Not exactly. Some of them have never been performed on any human being +simply because they require not only special conditions, but they +require that the steps leading up to them have already been performed." + +"You don't make things sound very rosy, Doctor." + +"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to give you the facts. Personally, I +think we have a better than ninety percent chance of success. I wouldn't +try it if I thought otherwise. With modern mathematical methods of +analyzing medical theory, we can predict success for such an intricate +series of operations. We can predict what will happen when massive doses +of hormones and enzymes and such are used. But medicine still remains +largely an art in spite of all that. + +"In parallel operations, performed on primates, our results were largely +successful. But remember that not even every human being has the genetic +structure necessary to undergo this particular treatment, and a monkey's +gene structure is quite different from yours or mine." + +"I'll just ask you one question," the young man said firmly. "If _you_ +were being asked to undergo this treatment, would you do it?" + +Dr. Farnsworth didn't hesitate. "All things considered, yes, I would." + +"What do you mean, 'All things considered'?" + +"The very fact that the Nipe exists, and that this is the only method of +dealing with him that is even remotely possible would certainly +influence my opinion," Farnsworth said. "I might not be so quick to go +through it, frankly, if it were not for the fact that the future of the +entire human race would depend upon my decision." He paused, then added: +"I would hesitate to go through with it if there were no Nipe threat, +not because I would be afraid that the operations might fail, but +because of what I would be afterward." + +"Um. Yes." The young man caught his lower lip between his teeth and +thought for a moment. "Yes, I see what you mean. Being a lone superman +in a world of ordinary people mightn't be so pleasant." + +Colonel Mannheim, who had been sitting silently during the discussion +between the two men, said: "Look, Stanton, I know this is tough. +Actually, it's a lot tougher on you than it is on your brother, because +_you_ have to make the decision. _He_ can't. But I want you to keep it +in mind that there's nothing compulsory in this. Nobody's trying to +force you to do anything." + +There was a touch of bitterness in the young man's smile as he looked at +the colonel. "No. You merely remind me of the fact and leave the rest to +my sense of duty." + +Colonel Mannheim, recognizing the slightly altered quotation, returned +his smile and gave him the next line. "'Your sense of duty!'" + +The bitterness vanished, and the young man's smile became a grin. +"'Don't put it on that footing!'" he quoted back in a melodramatic +voice. "'As I was merciful to you just now, be merciful to me! I implore +you not to insist on the letter of your bond just as the cup of +happiness is at my lips!'" + +"'We insist on nothing,'" returned the colonel; "'we content ourselves +with pointing out _your duty_.'" + +Dr. Farnsworth had no notion of what the two of them were talking about, +but he kept silent as he noticed the tension fading. + +"'Well, you have appealed to my sense of duty,'" the young man +continued, "'and my duty is all too clear. I abhor your infamous +calling; I shudder at the thought that I have ever been mixed up with +it; but duty is before all--at any price I will do my duty.'" + +"'Bravely spoken!'" said the colonel. "'Come, you are one of us once +more.'" + +"'Lead on. I follow.'" + +And the two of them broke out in laughter while Farnsworth looked on in +total incomprehension. His was not the kind of mind that could face a +grim situation with a laugh. + +Even after he quit laughing, the smile remained on the young man's face. +"All right, Colonel, you win. We'll go through with it, Martin and I." + +"Good!" Mannheim said warmly. "Do you have the papers, Dr. Farnsworth?" + +"Right here," Farnsworth said, opening a briefcase that was lying on the +table. He was glad to be back in the conversation again. He took out a +thick sheaf of papers and spread them on the table. Then he handed the +young man a pen. "You'll have to sign at the bottom of each sheet," he +said. + +The young man picked up the papers and read through them carefully. Then +he looked up at Farnsworth. "They seem to be in order. Uh--about Martin. +You know what's the matter with him--I mean, aside from the radiation. +Do you think he'll be able to handle his part of the job after--after +the operations?" + +"I'm quite sure he will. The operations, plus the therapy we'll give +him afterward should put him in fine shape." + +"Well." He looked thoughtful. "Five more years. And then I'll have the +twin brother that I never really had at all. Somehow that part of it +just doesn't really register, I guess." + +"Don't worry about it, Stanton," said Dr. Farnsworth. "We have a complex +enough job ahead of us without your worrying in the bargain. We'll want +your mind perfectly relaxed. You have your own ordeal to undergo." + +"Thanks for reminding me," the young man said, but there was a smile on +his face when he said it. He looked at the release forms again. "All +nice and legal, huh? Well ..." He hesitated for a moment, then he took +the pen and wrote _Bartholomew Stanton_ in a firm, clear hand. + + + + +_[21]_ + + +Captain Davidson Greer sat in a chair before an array of TV screens, his +gray-green eyes watchful. In the center of one of the screens, the +Nipe's image sat immobile, surrounded by the paraphernalia in his hidden +nest. Other screens showed various sections of the long tunnel that led +south from the opening in the northern end of the island. At the +captain's fingertips was a bank of controls that would allow him to +switch from one pickup to another if necessary, so that he could see +anything anywhere in the tunnels. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. +He did not want any of the action to take place anywhere but in the +places where it was expected--but he was prepared for alterations in the +plan. In other rooms, nearly a hundred other men were linked into the +special controls that allowed them to operate the little rat spies that +scuttled through the underground darkness, and the captain's system +would allow him to see through the eyes of any one of those rats at an +instant's notice. + +The screen which he was watching at the moment, however, was not +connected with an underground pickup. It was linked with a pickup in the +bottom of a basketball-sized sphere driven by a small inertial engine +that held the sphere hovering in the air above the game sanctuary on the +northern tip of Manhattan Island. In the screen, he had an aerial view +of the grassy, rocky mounds where the earth hid the shattered and +partially melted ruins of long-collapsed buildings. In the center of the +screen was a bird's-eye view of a man holding a rifle. He was walking +slowly, picking his way carefully along the bottom of the shallow gully +that had once been upper Broadway. + +"Barbell," the captain said. A throat microphone picked up the words and +transmitted them to the ears of the man in the screen. "Barbell, this is +Barhop. There are no wild animals within sight, but remember, we can't +see everything from up here, so keep your eyes open." + +"Right, Barhop," said a rather muffled voice in the captain's ear. + +"Fine. And if you do meet up with anything, shoot to kill." There were +plenty of wild animals in the game sanctuary--some of them dangerous. +Not all of the inhabitants of the Bronx Zoological Gardens had been +killed on that day when the sun bomb fell. Being farther north, they had +had better protection, and some of them, later, had wandered southward +to the island. Captain Greer knew perfectly well that Stanton, +bare-handed, was more than a match for a leopard or a lion, but he +didn't want Stanton to tire himself fighting with an animal. The rifle +would most likely never be used; it was merely another precaution. + +It would have been possible, and perhaps simpler, to have taken Stanton +to the opening by flyer, but that would have created other +complications. Traffic rules forbade flyers to go over the game +sanctuary at any altitude less than one thousand feet. One flyer, going +in low, would have attracted the attention of the traffic police, and +Stanley Martin wanted no attention whatever drawn to this area. Even the +procedure of instructing the traffic officers to ignore one flyer would +have attracted more attention than he wanted. They would have remembered +those instructions afterward. + +Stanton walked. + +Captain Greer's eye caught something at the edge of the screen. It moved +toward the center as the floating eye moved with Stanton. + +"Barbell," the captain said, "there's a deer ahead of you. Just keep +moving." + +Stanton rounded the corner of a pile of masonry. He could see the animal +now himself. The deer stared at the intruder for a few seconds, then +bounded away with long, graceful leaps. + +"Magnificent animal." It was Stanton's voice, very low. The remark +wasn't directed toward anyone in particular. Captain Greer didn't +answer. + +The captain lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, his eyes on +the screens. The Nipe still sat, unmoving. He was apparently in one of +his "sleep" states. The captain wasn't sure that that was the blessing +that it might have seemed. He had no way of knowing how much external +disturbance it would take to "wake" the Nipe, and as long as he was +sitting quietly, the chances were greater that he would hear movement in +the tunnel. If he were active, his senses might be more alert, but he +would also be distracted by his own actions and the noises he made +himself. + +It didn't matter, the captain decided. One way was as good as another in +this case. The point was to get Stanton into an advantageous position +before the Nipe knew he was anywhere around. + +He looked back at the image of Stanton, a black-clad figure in a +flexible, tough, skin-tight suit. The Nipe would have a hard time biting +through that artificial hide, but it gave Stanton as much freedom as if +he'd been naked. + +Stanton knew where he was going. He had studied maps of the area, and +had been taken on a vicarious tour of the route by means of the very +flying eye that was watching him now. But things look different from the +ground than from the air, and no amount of map study will familiarize a +person with terrain as completely as an actual personal survey. + +Stanton paused, and Captain Greer heard his voice. "Barhop, this is +Barbell. Those are the cliffs up ahead, aren't they?" + +"That's right, Barbell. You go up that slope to your left. The opening +is in that pile of rock at the base of the cliff." + +"They're higher than I'd thought," Stanton commented. Then he started +walking again. + +The tunnel entrance he was heading for had once been a wide opening, +drilled laterally into the side of the cliff, and big enough to allow +easy access to the tunnels, so that the passengers of those old +underground trains could get to the platforms where they stopped. But +the sun bomb had changed all that. The concussion had shaken loose rock +at the top of the cliff and a minor avalanche had obliterated all +indications of the tunnel's existence, except for one small, narrow +opening near the top of what had once been a wide hole in the face of +the cliff. + +Stanton walked slowly toward the spot until he was finally at the base +of the slope of rock created by that long-ago avalanche. "Up there?" he +asked. + +"That's right," said Captain Greer. + +"I think I'll leave the rifle here, Barhop," Stanton said. "No point in +carrying it up the slope." + +"Right. Put it in those bushes to your left. They'll conceal it, won't +they?" + +"I think so. Yeah." Stanton hid the rifle and then began making his way +up the talus slope. + +Captain Greer flipped a switch. "Team One! He's coming in. Are those +alarms deactivated?" + +"All okay, Barhop," said a voice. "This is Leader One. I'll meet him at +the hole." + +"Right." Captain Greer reversed the switch again. "Are you ready, +Barbell?" + +Stanton looked into the dark hole. It was hardly big enough to crawl +through, and ended in a seeming infinity of blackness. He took the +special goggles from the case at his belt and put them on. Inside the +hole, he saw a single rat, staring at him with beady eyes. + +"I'm ready to go in, Barhop," Stanton said. + +He got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl through the narrow +tunnel. Ahead of him, the rat turned and began to lead the way. + + + + +_[22]_ + + +The big tunnel inside the cliff was long and black, and the air was +stale and thick with the stench of rodents. Stanton stood still for a +minute, stretching his muscles. Crawling through that cramped little +opening had not been easy. He looked around him, trying to probe the +luminescent gloom that the goggles he wore brought to his eyes. + +The tunnel stretched out before him--on and on. Around him was the +smell of viciousness and death. Ahead ... + +_It goes on to infinity_, Stanton thought, _ending at last at zero_. + +The rat paused and looked back, waiting for him to follow. + +"Okay," Stanton muttered. "Let's go." + +The rat led him down the long tunnel, deep into the cliffside, until at +last they came to a stairway that led downward into the long tunnels +where the trains had once run. They came to the platform where +passengers had once waited for those trains. Four feet below the edge of +the platform were the rusted tracks that had once borne those trains. + +He lowered himself over the edge to stand on the rail. + +"Barbell," said a voice in his ear, "Barhop here. Do you read?" + +It was the barest whisper, picked up by the antennas in his shoes from +the steel rail that ran along the floor of the dark tunnel. + +"Read you, Barhop." + +"Move out, then. You've got a long stroll to go." + +Stanton started walking, keeping his feet near the rail, in case Greer +wanted to call again. As he walked, he could feel the slight motion of +the skin-tight woven suit that he wore rubbing gently against his skin. + +And he could hear the scratching patter of the rats. + +Mostly they stayed away from him, avoiding the strange being that had +invaded their underground realm, but he could see them hiding in corners +and scurrying along the sides of the tunnels, going about their +unfathomable rodent business. + +Around him, six rat-like remote-control robots moved with him, shifting +their pattern constantly as they patrolled his moving figure. + +Far ahead, he knew, other rat robots were stationed, watching and +waiting, ready to deactivate the Nipe's detection devices at just the +right moment. Behind him, another horde moved forward to turn the +devices on again. + +It had, he knew, taken the technicians a long time to learn how to shut +off those detectors without giving the alarm to the Nipe's instruments. + +There were nearly a hundred men in on the operation, controlling the +robot rats or watching the hidden cameras that spied upon the Nipe. +Nearly a hundred. And every single one of them was safe. + +They were all outside the tunnel and far away. They were with Stanton +only by proxy. They could not die here in this stinking hole, no matter +what happened. But Stanton could. + +There was no help for it, no other way it could be done. Stanton had to +go in person. A full-sized robot proxy might be stronger, although not +faster unless Stanton was at the controls, than the Nipe. But the Nipe +would be able to tell that the thing was a robot, and he would simply +destroy it with one of his weapons. A remote-control robot could never +get close enough to the Nipe to do any good. + +"We do not know positively," Dr. Yoritomo had said, "whether he would +recognize it as a robot or not, but his instruments would show the metal +easily enough, and his eyes would be able to tell him that the machine +was not covered with human skin. The rats are small enough so that they +can be made mostly of plastic, and they are covered with real rat hides. +In addition, our friend, the Nipe, is used to seeing them around. But a +human-sized robot? Ah, no. Never." + +So Stanton had to go in person, walking southward along the tracks, +through the miles of blackness that led to the nest of the Nipe. + +Overhead was Government City. + +He had looked out upon those streets only the night before, and he knew +that only a short distance away there was an entirely different world. + +Somewhere up there, his brother was waiting, after having run the gamut +of publicity. He was a celebrity. "Stanley Martin, the greatest +detective in the Solar System," they'd called him. Fine stuff, that. +Stanton wondered what the asteroids were like. What would it be like to +live out in space, where a man still had plenty of space to move around +in and could fashion his life to suit himself? Maybe there would be a +place in the asteroids for a hopped-up superman. + +Or maybe there would only be a place here, beneath the streets of +Government City, for a dead superman. + +_Not if I can help it_, Stanton thought with a grim smile. + +The walking seemed to take forever in one way, but, in another way, +Stanton didn't mind it. He had a lot to think over. Seeing his brother's +image on the TV had been unnerving yesterday, but today he felt as +though everything had been all right all along. + +His memory was still a long way from being complete, and it probably +always would be, he thought. He could still scarcely recall any real +memories of a boy named Martin Stanton, but--and he smiled a little at +the thought--he knew more about him than his brother did, even so. + +It made very little difference now. That Martin Stanton was gone. In +effect, he had been demolished--what little there had been of him--and a +new structure had been built on the old foundation. + +And yet, it was highly probable that the new structure was very like +that that would have developed naturally if the accident so early in +Martin Stanton's life had never occurred. + +Stanton kept walking. There was a timeless feeling about his march +through the depths of the ground, as though every step through the +blackness was exactly like every other step, and it was only the same +step over and over again. + +He skirted a pile of rubble on his right. There had been a station here, +once; the street above had caved in and filled it with brick, concrete, +cobblestones, and steel scrap, and then it had been sealed over when +Government City was built. + +A part of one wall was still unbroken, though. A sign built of tile said +125TH STREET, he knew, although it was hard to make it out in the dim +glow. He kept on walking, ignoring the rats that scampered over the +rubble. + +A mile or so farther on, he whispered: "Barbell to Barhop. How's +everything going?" + +"Barhop to Barbell," came the answer. "No sign of any activity from +Target. So far, none of the alarms have been triggered." + +"What's he doing?" Stanton whispered. It seemed only right to keep his +voice low, although he was fairly certain that his voice would not carry +to the Nipe, even through these echoing tunnels. He was still miles +away. + +"He's still sitting motionless," said Captain Greer. "Thinking, I +suppose. Or sleeping. It's hard to tell." + +"All right. Let me know if he starts moving, will you?" + +"Will do." + +_Poor unsuspecting beastie_, Stanton thought. _Ten long years of hard +work, of feeling secure in his little nest, and within a very short time +he's going to get the shock of his life._ + +Or maybe not. There was no way of knowing what kind of shocks the Nipe +had taken in the course of his life, Stanton thought. There was no way +of knowing whether the Nipe was even capable of feeling anything like +shock, as a matter of fact. + +It was odd, he thought, that he should feel a strong kinship toward both +the Nipe and his brother in such similar ways. He had never met the +Nipe, and his brother was only a dim picture in his old memories, but +they were both very well known to him. Certainly they were better known +to him than he was to them. + +And yet, seeing his brother's face on the TV screen, hearing his voice, +watching the way he moved about, watching the changing expressions on +his face, had been a tremendously moving experience. Not until that +moment, he thought, had he really known himself. + +Meeting him face to face would be much easier now, but it would still be +a scene highly charged with emotional tension. + +His foot kicked something that rattled and rolled away from him. He +stopped, freezing in his tracks, looking downward, trying to pierce the +dully glowing gloom. The thing he had kicked was a human skull. + +He relaxed and began walking again. + +There were plenty of human bones down here. Mannheim had told him that +the tunnels had been used as air-raid shelters when the sun bomb had hit +the island during the Holocaust. Men, women, and children by the +thousands had crowded underground after the warning had come--and they +had died by the thousands when the bright, hot, deadly gases had roared +down the ventilators and stairwells. + +There were even caches of canned goods down here, some of them still +perfectly sealed after all this time. The hordes of rats, wiser than +they knew, had chewed at them, exposing the steel beneath the thin tin +plate. And, after a while, oxidation would weaken the can to the point +where some lucky rat could gnaw through the rusty spot and find himself +a meal. Then he would move the empty can aside and begin gnawing at the +next in line. He couldn't get through the steel, but he would scratch +the tin off, and the cycle would begin again. Later, another rat would +find that can weak enough to bite through. It kept the rats fed almost +as well as an automatic machine might have. + +The tunnel before him was an endless monochromatic world that was both +artificial and natural. Here was a neatly squared-off mosaic of ceramic +tile that was obviously man-made; over there, on a little hillock of +earth, squatted a colony of fat mushrooms. In several places he had to +skirt little pools of dark, stagnant water; twice he had to climb over +long heaps of crumbling rust that had once been trains of subway cars. + +He kept moving--one man, alone, walking through the dark toward a +superhuman monster that had terrorized Earth for a decade. + +A drug that would knock out the Nipe would have been very useful, but to +synthesize such a drug would have required a greater knowledge of the +biochemical processes of the Nipe than any human scientist had. The same +applied to anesthetic gases, or electric shock, or supersonics. There +was no way of determining how much would be required to knock him out or +how much would be required to kill. There were no easy answers. + +The only answer was a man called Stanton. + + _Boots! Boots! Boots! Boots! Marchin' up and down again! + And there's no discharge in the war!_ + +Stanton hummed the song in his mind. It seemed that he had been walking +forever through the Kingdom of Hades, while around him twittered the +ghosts of the dead. + +_Poor shades_, he thought, entertaining the fancy for a brief moment, +_will I be one of you in a short while?_ + +There was no answer, though the squeaking continued. The sound of his +feet and the snarling chirping of the rats were the only sounds in the +world. + +"Barhop to Barbell," said a voice suddenly, sounding very loud in his +ear, "this is where you have to make your change to the other tunnel." + +"Barbell to Barhop. I know. I've been watching the markers." + +"Just precaution, Barbell," Captain Greer said. "How do you feel?" + +"I'd like to rest for a few minutes, frankly," Stanton said. + +"Feeling tired?" There was just the barest tinge of alarm in the +captain's voice. + +"No," Stanton said. "I just want to sit down and rest my feet for a few +minutes." + +There was a pause. Then the captain's voice came again. "Okay, go ahead +and relax, Barbell. Take ten. But be ready to move fast if I yell. These +alarm systems are tricky things to hold. And don't start moving again +without letting me know." + +"Right." + +Stanton lifted himself out of the trench in which the tunnel ran and sat +on the edge of the boarding platform. It wasn't far now. There was only +one more of the old entranceways between himself and the Nipe. This +particular one was a transfer point, where two different parts of the +tunnel network met and it was possible to transfer from one to another. +It required going up a couple of flights of stairs to the next higher +level, and changing to another tunnel going southward. + +There were other ways. This tunnel, the one he had been following for so +long, branched a little farther south. If he took one branch, he would +end up to the east of the Nipe; the other would bring him to a point on +the west. From either, he would have to travel laterally through +another set of tunnels, but neither route offered anything that this +one didn't have, and the most direct route would be best. + +"Barbell to Barhop," he whispered, "I'm ready to go." + +"It's only been five minutes." + +"I know. But I rest pretty fast, too. Let's move out." + +There were a few seconds of silence, then Captain Greer said: "All set, +Barbell. Move out." + +Stanton got to his feet and walked toward the stairway that led up to +the next level. Minutes later, he was in another tunnel exactly similar +to the first one, walking southward again. + +But now he was more careful. He watched the ground carefully, making +sure that he didn't step on anything that would snap or rattle. The Nipe +was still quite a distance away--three-quarters of a mile, or so--but +taking the chance that the beast couldn't hear him might be deadly +dangerous. The robot rat that he was following led him along a path that +had been unobtrusively cleared of rubble by the robot rats over a period +of months, but the robots weren't the only rats in the place. He kept +his eyes on the path. + +A while later, the voice in his ear said: "A hundred yards to go, +Barbell." + +"I know," Stanton whispered. "He hasn't moved?" + +"No. I'll yell if he does. You don't need to talk any more. His ears +might pick up even that whisper." + +_He hasn't moved_, Stanton thought. _Not for all this time. Not since I +came down into his private domain. All this time, he has been sitting +motionless--waiting. Wouldn't it be funny if he were dead? If his heart +had stopped, or something. Wouldn't that be absolutely hilarious? +Wouldn't that be a big joke on everybody? Especially me._ + +Ahead was the large area that had been one of the major junction points +of the tunnel network. This was the area that the Nipe had taken over to +build his home-away-from-home. Here were his workshops, his +laboratories, his storerooms. + +And somewhere here was the Nipe. + +He came out of the tunnel into another passenger-loading area. Just to +his left was another short stairway that led up to a slightly higher +level. He moved slowly and quietly. He didn't want to fight down here on +the tracks, and he didn't want to be caught just yet. + +Cautiously he lifted himself to the platform where long-gone passengers +had once waited for long-gone trains. + +The quality of the illumination at the head of the stairs was different +from that which he had been used to for the past three hours. He lifted +off the infra-red goggles. Enough light spilled over from the Nipe's +lair to give him illumination to see by. Silently, he put the goggles on +the floor of the platform. He wouldn't need them again. + +Then, step by step, he walked up the concrete stairway. + +At the head of the stairs, he paused to get his bearings. + +The illumination was not bright, but it was enough to-- + +"Barbell! He's heard you! Watch it!" + +But Stanton had already heard the movement of the Nipe. He jerked off +the communicator and threw it down the stairs behind him. He wanted no +encumbrances now! + +He ran quickly out into the center of the big underground room, away +from the open stairwell. + +And then, as fast as any express train that had ever moved through these +subterranean ways, the Nipe came around a corner thirty feet away, his +four violet eyes gleaming, his limbs rippling beneath his centipede-like +body. + +From fifteen feet away, he launched himself through the air, his +outstretched hands ready to kill. + +But Stanton's marvelous neuromuscular system was already in action. + +At this stage of the game, it would be utter suicide to let the Nipe +get in close. Stanton couldn't fend off eight grasping hands with his +own two. He leaped to one side, and the Nipe got his first surprise in +ten years when Stanton's fist slammed against the side of his snouted +head, knocking him in the direction opposite that in which Stanton had +moved. + +The Nipe landed, turned, and charged back toward the man. This time he +reared up, using his two rearmost pairs of limbs for locomotion, while +the two forward pairs were held out, ready to kill. + +He got surprise number two when Stanton's fist landed on the tip of his +rather sensitive snout, rocking his head back. His own hands met nothing +but air, and by the time he had recovered from the blow, Stanton was +well back, out of the way. + +_He's so small!_ Stanton thought wonderingly. Even when he reared up, +the Nipe's head was only three feet above the concrete floor. + +The Nipe came in again--more cautiously this time. + +Stanton punched again with a straight right. The Nipe moved his head +aside, and Stanton's knuckles merely grazed the side of the alien's +head, just below the lower right eye. + +At the same time, one of the Nipe's hands swung in in a chopping right +hook that took Stanton just below the ribs. Stanton leaped back with a +gasp of pain. + +The Nipe didn't use fists. He used his open hand, fingers together, like +a judo fighter. + +The Nipe came forward, and, as Stanton danced back, the Nipe made a grab +for his ankle, almost catching it. There were too many hands to watch! + +Stanton had two advantages: weight and reach. His arms were almost half +again as long as the Nipe's. + +Against that, the Nipe had all those hands; and with his low center of +gravity and four-footed stance, it would be hard to knock him down. On +the other hand, if Stanton lost his footing, the fight would be over +fast. + +Stanton lunged suddenly forward and planted a left in the Nipe's right +upper eye, then followed it with a right uppercut to the Nipe's jaw as +his head snapped back. The Nipe's four hands cut inward from the sides +like sword blades, but they found no target. + +Backing away, Stanton realized he had another advantage. The Nipe +couldn't throw a straight jab! His shoulders--if that's what they should +be called--were narrow and the upper arm bones weren't articulated +properly for such a blow. The alien could throw a mean hook, but he had +to get in close to deliver it. + +On the other side of the coin was the fact that the Nipe knew plenty +about human anatomy--from the bones out. Stanton's knowledge of Nipe +anatomy was almost totally superficial. + +He wished he knew if and where the Nipe had a solar plexus. He would +like to punch something soft for a change. + +Instead, he tried for another eye. He danced in, jabbed, and danced out. +The Nipe had ducked again, taking the blow on the side of his head. + +Then the Nipe came in low, at an angle, trying for the groin. For his +troubles, he got a knee in the jaw that staggered him badly. One +grasping hand clutched at Stanton's right thigh and grabbed hard. +Stanton swung his fist down like a pendulum and knocked the arm aside. + +But there was a slight limp in his movements as he back-pedaled away +from the Nipe. That full-handed pinch had hurt like the very devil! + +Stanton was angry now, with the hot, controlled anger of a fighting man. +He stepped in quickly and slammed two fast hard jabs into the point of +the Nipe's snout, jarring the monster backward. And this time it was +the Nipe who scuttled back out of the way. + +Stanton moved in fast to press his advantage and landed a beaut on the +Nipe's lower left eye. Then he tried a body blow. It wasn't too +successful. The alien had an endoskeleton, but he also had a tough hide +that was somewhat like thick, leathery chitin. + +Stanton pulled back, getting out of the way of the Nipe's open-handed +judo cuts. + +His fists were beginning to hurt, and his leg was paining him badly +where the Nipe had clamped onto it. And his ribs were throbbing where +the Nipe had landed that single blow. + +And then he realized that, so far, the Nipe had only landed that one +blow! + +_One punch and one pinch_, Stanton thought with a touch of awe. _The +only other damage he's inflicted has been to my knuckles!_ + +The Nipe charged in again, then he leaped suddenly and clawed for +Stanton's face with his first pair of hands. The second and third pairs +chopped in toward the man's body. The last pair propelled him off the +floor. + +Stanton stepped back and drove in a long, hard right, hitting him just +below the jaw, where his throat would have been if he had been human. + +The Nipe arced backward in a half somersault and landed flat on his +back. + +Stanton backed up a little more, waiting, while the Nipe wiggled feebly +for a moment. _The Marquis of Queensberry should have lived to see +this_, he thought. + +The Nipe rolled over and crouched on all eight limbs. His violet eyes +watched Stanton, but the man could read no expression on that inhuman +face. + +"_You did not kill._" + +For a moment, Stanton found it hard to believe that the hissing, +guttural voice had come from the crouching monster. + +"_You did not even_ try _to kill._" + +"I have no wish to kill you," Stanton said evenly. + +"_I can see that. Do you ... Are you ..._" He stopped, as if baffled. +"_There are not the proper words. Do you follow the Customs?_" + +Stanton felt a surge of triumph. This was what George Yoritomo had +guessed might happen! + +"If I must kill you," Stanton said carefully, "I, myself, will do the +honors. You will not go uneaten." + +The Nipe sagged a little, relaxing all over. "_I had hoped it was so. It +was the only thinkable thing. I saw you on the television, and it was +only thinkable that you came for me._" + +Stanton sighed inwardly. That part of Colonel Mannheim's strategy had +worked, too. The Nipe had seen all the publicity releases that had been +so carefully tailored for him. + +"_I knew you were out on the asteroids_," the Nipe went on. "_But I had +decided that you had come to kill. Since you did not, what are your +thoughts, Stanley Martin?_" + +"That we should help each other," Stanton said. + +It was as simple as that. + + + + +_[23]_ + + +Stanton sat in his hotel room, smoking a cigarette, staring at the wall, +and thinking. + +He was alone again. All the fuss and feathers and foofaraw were over. +Dr. Farnsworth was in another room of the suite, making his plans for a +complete physical examination of the Nipe. Dr. George Yoritomo was +having the time of his life, holding a conversation with the Nipe, +drawing the alien out, and getting him to talk about his own race and +their history. + +And Stanley Martin was plotting the next phase of the capture--the +cover-up. + +Stanton smiled a little. Colonel Mannheim had been a great one for +planning, all right. Every little detail was taken care of. It had +sometimes made his plans more complex than necessary, Stanton suspected. +Mannheim had tended to try to account for every possible eventuality, +and, after he had done that, he had set aside a few reserves here and +there, just in case they might be useful if something unforeseen +happened. + +All things considered, the Government had certainly done the right +thing. And, in picking Mannheim, they had picked the right man. + +Stanton got up, walked over to the window, and looked down at the +streets of Government City, eight floors below. + +What would those people down there think if they were told the true +story of the Nipe? What would the average citizen say if he discovered +that, at this very moment, the Nipe was being treated almost as an +honored guest of the Government? More, what would he say if he suspected +that the Nipe--the horrible, murderous, man-eating Nipe--could have been +killed easily at any time during the past six years? + +Would it be possible for anyone to explain to the common average man +that, in the long run, the knowledge possessed by the Nipe was +tremendously more valuable to the race of Man than the lives of a few +individuals? + +Could those people down there, and the others like them all over the +world, be made to understand that, by his own lights, the Nipe had been +behaving in the most civilized and gentlemanly fashion he knew? Could +they ever be made to understand that, because of the tremendous wealth +of priceless information stored in that alien brain, the Nipe's life had +to be preserved at any cost? + +Or would they scream for blood? + +Dr. Farnsworth assumed that Stanley Martin was going to spread a story +about the Nipe's death--a carefully concocted story about how Stanley +Martin had found the beast and the police had killed it. There might, +Farnsworth assumed, be a carefully made "corpse" for the mob to hiss at. +Maybe Farnsworth was right. But Stanton had the feeling that Martin and +George Yoritomo had something else up their collective sleeve. + +The phone hummed. Stanton walked over, thumbed the answer button, and +watched George Yoritomo's face take shape on the screen. + +"Bart! I have just had the privilege of viewing the tapes of your fight +with our friend, the Nipe. Incredible! I watched the original on the +screen, of course, but I had to run the tapes. I wanted to slow it down, +so that I could see what actually happened. Magnificent, that right of +yours! _So!_" He jabbed a fist out, shadowboxing with Stanton over the +phone circuit. + +"Awww, it weren't nuthin', Maw," Stanton drawled. "I jes' sorta flang +out a fist an' he got in the way." + +"Of course! But such a fling! Seriously, Bart, I want to run those tapes +over again, and I want you to tell me, as best you can, just what went +on in your mind at each stage of the fight. It will be most +informative." + +"You mean right now? I have an appointment--" + +Yoritomo waved a hand. "No, no. Later. Take your time. But I am honestly +amazed that you won so easily. I knew you were good, and I was certain +you'd win, but I must admit that I honestly expected you to be +injured." + +Stanton looked down at his bandaged hands and felt the ache of his +broken rib and the pain of the blue bruise on his thigh. In spite of the +way it looked, he had actually been hurt worse than the Nipe had. That +boy was _tough_! + +"The trouble was that he couldn't adapt himself to fighting in a new +way, just as you predicted," he told Yoritomo. "He fought me, I assume, +in just the way he would have fought another Nipe. And that didn't work. +I had the reach on him, and I could maneuver faster. Besides, he can't +throw a straight punch with those shoulders of his." + +"It appeared to me," Yoritomo said with a broad grin, "that you were +fighting him as you would fight another human being. Eh?" + +Stanton grinned back. "I was, in a modified way. But I wasn't confined +to a pattern. Besides, I won--the Nipe didn't. And that's all that +counts." + +"It is, indeed. Well, I'll let you know when I'm ready for your +impressions of the fight. Probably tomorrow some time--say, in the +afternoon?" + +"Fine." + +George Yoritomo nodded his thanks, and his image collapsed and faded +from the screen. + +Stanton walked back over to the window, but this time he looked at the +horizon, not the street. + +George Yoritomo had called him "Bart". It's funny, Stanton thought, how +habit can get the best of a man. Yoritomo had known the truth all along. +And now he knew that his pupil--or patient--whichever it was--was aware +of the truth. And still, he had called him "Bart". + +_And I still think of myself as Bart_, he thought. _I probably always +will._ + +And why not? Why shouldn't he? Martin Stanton no longer existed--in a +sense, he had never existed. And in actual fact, he had never had much +of a real existence. He was only a bad dream. He had always been a bad +dream. And now that the dream was over, only "Bart" was real. + +He thought back, remembering George Yoritomo's explanation. + +"Take two people," he had said. "Two people genetically identical. +Damage one of them so badly that he is helpless and useless--to himself +and to others. Damage him so badly that he is always only a step away +from death. + +"The vague telepathic bond that always links identical twins (they +'think alike', they say) becomes unbalanced under such conditions. + +"Normally, there is a give-and-take. One mind is as strong as the other, +and each preserves the sense of his own identity, since the two +different sets of sense receptors give different viewpoints. But if one +of the twins is damaged badly enough, then something must happen to that +telepathic linkage. + +"Usually it is broken. + +"But the link between you and your brother was not broken. Instead, it +became a one-way channel. + +"What happens in such a case? The damaged brother, in order to escape +the intolerable prison of his own body, becomes a receptor for the +stronger brother's thoughts. The weaker feels as the stronger feels. The +experience of the one becomes the experience of the other--the thrill of +running after a baseball, the pride of doing something clever with the +hands, the touch of a girl's kiss upon the lips--all these become the +property of the weaker, since he is receiving the thoughts of the +stronger. There is, of course, no flow in the other direction. The +stronger brother has no way of knowing that his every thought is being +duplicated in his brother's mind. + +"In effect, the damaged brother ceases to think. The thoughts in his +mind are those of the healthy brother. The feeling of identity becomes +almost complete. + +"To the outside observer, the damaged brother appears to be a cataleptic +schizophrenic, completely cut off from reality. And, in a sense, he is." + +Stanton walked over to the nightstand by the bed, took another cigarette +from the pack, lit it, and looked at the smoke curling up from the tip. + +_So Martin became a cataleptic schizophrenic_, he thought. + +The mind of Martin had ceased to think at all. The "Bart" part of him +had not wanted to be disturbed by the garbled, feeble sensory +impressions that "Mart's" body provided. Like many another +schizophrenic, Martin had been living in a little world cut off from the +actual physical world around his body. + +The difference between Martin's condition and that of the ordinary +schizophrenic had been that Martin's little dream world had actually +existed. It had been an almost exact counterpart of the world that had +existed in the perfectly sane, rational mind of his brother, Bart. It +had grown and developed as Bart had, fed by the one-way telepathic flow +from the stronger mind to the weaker. + +There had been two Barts--and no Mart at all. + +But there had been only one human being between them. Bart Stanton had +been a strong, capable, intelligent, active human being. The duplicate +of his mind was just a recording in the mind of a useless, +radiation-blasted hulk. + +And then the Neurophysical Institute had come into the picture. A new +process had been developed by Dr. Farnsworth and his crew, by which a +human being could be reconstructed--made, literally, into a superman. +All the techniques had been worked out in careful and minute detail. But +there was one major drawback. Any normal human body would resist the +process--to the death, if necessary--just as a normal human body will +resist a skin graft from an alien donor or the injection of an alien +protein. + +But the radiation-damaged body of Martin Stanton had had no resistance +of that kind. It had long been known that deep-penetrating ionizing +radiation had that effect on an organism. The ability to resist was +weakened, almost destroyed. + +With Martin Stanton's body--perhaps--the process might work. + +So Bartholomew Stanton, who had become Martin's legal guardian after the +death of their mother, had given permission for the series of operations +that would rebuild his crippled brother. + +The telepathic link, of course, had to be shut off--for a time, at +least. If it remained intact, Martin would never be able to think for +himself, no matter what was done to his body. Part of that cutting-off +process could be done during the treatment of Martin--but only if +Bartholomew would co-operate. He had done his part. He had submitted to +deep hypnosis, and had allowed himself to be convinced that his name was +Stanley Martin, to think of himself as Stanley Martin. The Martin name +was one that the real Martin's mind would reject utterly. That mind +wanted nothing to do with anything named Martin. + +"Stanley Martin," then, had gone out to the asteroids. In his mind had +been implanted the further instructions that he was not to return to +Earth nor to attempt to investigate the Nipe under any circumstances. +The simple change of name and environment had been just enough to snap +the link during a time when Martin's brain had been inactivated by cold +therapy and anesthetics. + +Only the sense of identity had remained. The patient was still +"Bart"--but now he was being forced to think for himself. + +Mannheim had used them both, naturally. Colonel Mannheim had the ability +to use anyone at hand, including himself, to get a job done. + +Stanton looked at his watch. It was almost time. + +Mannheim had sent for "Stanley Martin" when the time had come for him to +return in order to give the Nipe data that he would be sure to +misinterpret. A special series of code phrases in the message had +released "Stanley Martin" from the hypnotic suggestions that had held +him for so long. He knew now that he was Bartholomew Stanton. + +_And so do I_, thought the man by the window. _We have a lot to +straighten out, we two._ + +There was a knock at the door. + +Stanton walked over and opened it, trying not to think. + +It was like looking into a mirror. + +"Hello, Bart," he said. + +"Hello, Bart," said the other. + +In that instant, complete telepathic linkage was restored. In that +instant, they both knew what only one of them had known before--that, +for a time, the telepathic flow had been one-way again, but this time in +the opposite direction--that "Stanley Martin" had been shaken that +afternoon when his own mind had become the receptor for the other's +thoughts, and he had experienced completely the entire battle with the +Nipe. His release from the posthypnotic suggestion had made it possible. + +There was no need for further words. + +_E duobus unum._ + +There was unity without loss of identity. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Anything You Can Do ..., by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + +***** This file should be named 24436-8.txt or 24436-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/3/24436/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Anything You Can Do ... + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Release Date: January 26, 2008 [EBook #24436] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1 class="hd1"><small>ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ...</small></h1> + +<hr class="maj" /> + +<div class="box1"><h2 class="center"><span class="hd2"><small><b>DARREL T. LANGART</b></small></span></h2> + +<h1><big><i>anything you<br /> +can do ...</i></big></h1></div> + +<p class="hd1">1963<br /> +<span class="hd3"><i>Doubleday & Company, Inc.</i></span><br /> +<span class="hd2"><i>Garden City, New York</i></span></p> + +<hr class="maj" /> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="rgt">A shorter version of this work appeared in <i>ANALOG Science Fact—Science +Fiction</i>.</p> + +<div class="box2"><p><i>All of the characters in this book +are fictitious, and any resemblance +to actual persons, living or dead, +is purely coincidental.</i></p></div> + +<div class="box3">LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 62-7710<br /> +COPYRIGHT © 1963 BY DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC.<br /> +COPYRIGHT © 1962 BY THE CONDÉ NAST PUBLICATIONS, INC.<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED<br /> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br /> +FIRST EDITION</div></div> + +<div class="trans1"><p class="trnhd">Transcriber's Note:</p> + +<p>Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright +on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors +have been corrected without note. A table of contents, though not present in the original publication, +has been provided below:</p> +<ul><li><a href="#c1">[1]</a>, <a href="#c2">[2]</a>, <a href="#c3">[3]</a>, <a href="#c4">[4]</a></li> +<li><a href="#FIRST_INTERLUDE">FIRST INTERLUDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#c5">[5]</a>, <a href="#c6">[6]</a></li> +<li><a href="#SECOND_INTERLUDE">SECOND INTERLUDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#c7">[7]</a>, <a href="#c8">[8]</a>, <a href="#c9">[9]</a></li> +<li><a href="#THIRD_INTERLUDE">THIRD INTERLUDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#c10">[10]</a>, +<a href="#c11">[11]</a>, +<a href="#c12">[12]</a>, +<a href="#c13">[13]</a></li> +<li><a href="#FOURTH_INTERLUDE">FOURTH INTERLUDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#c14">[14]</a>, +<a href="#c15">[15]</a>, +<a href="#c16">[16]</a>, +<a href="#c17">[17]</a>, +<a href="#c18">[18]</a>, +<a href="#c19">[19]</a>, +<a href="#c20">[20]</a></li> +<li><a href="#FINAL_INTERLUDE">FINAL INTERLUDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#c21">[21]</a>, +<a href="#c22">[22]</a>, +<a href="#c23">[23]</a></li></ul></div> + +<hr class="maj" /> + +<p class="hd1">For<br /> +<i>mon cher ami</i><br /> +Frère Gascé</p> +<p class="center">a man whom I may truly call ...<br /> +<span class="hd3">... my brother</span></p> + +<hr class="maj" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c1" id="c1"></a><i>[1]</i></h2> + +<p>Like some great silver-pink fish, the ship sang on +through the eternal night. There was no impression of swimming; +the fish shape had neither fins nor a tail. It was as +though it were hovering in wait for a member of some +smaller species to swoop suddenly down from nowhere, so +that it, in turn, could pounce and kill.</p> + +<p>But still it moved and sang.</p> + +<p>Only a being who was thoroughly familiar with the type +could have told that this particular fish was dying.</p> + +<p>In shape, the ship was rather like a narrow flounder—long, +tapered, and oval in cross-section—but it showed none +of the exterior markings one might expect of either a living +thing or a spaceship. With one exception, the smooth silver-pink +exterior was featureless.</p> + +<p>That one exception was a long, purplish-black, roughened +discoloration that ran along one side for almost half +of the ship's seventeen meters of length. It was the only external +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>sign that the ship was dying.</p> + +<p>Inside the ship, the Nipe neither knew nor cared about +the discoloration. Had he thought about it, he would have +deduced the presence of the burn, but it was by far the +least of his worries.</p> + +<p>The ship sang, and the song was a song of death.</p> + +<p>The internal damage that had been done to the ship was +far more serious than the burn on the surface of the hull. +It was that internal damage which occupied the thoughts +of the Nipe, for it could, quite possibly, kill him.</p> + +<p>He had, of course, no intention of dying. Not out here. +Not so far, so very far, from his own people. Not out here, +where his death would be so very improper.</p> + +<p>He looked at the ball of the yellow-white sun ahead and +wondered that such a relatively stable, inactive star could +have produced such a tremendously energetic plasmoid, +one that could still do such damage so far out. It had been +a freak, of course. Such suns as this did not normally produce +such energetic swirls of magnetohydrodynamic force.</p> + +<p>But the thing had been there, nonetheless, and the ship +had hit it at high velocity. Fortunately the ship had only +touched the edge of the swirling cloud—otherwise the ship +would have vanished in a puff of incandescence. But it had +done enough. The power plants that drove the ship at ultralight +velocities through the depths of interstellar space had +been so badly damaged that they could only be used in +short bursts, and each burst brought them closer to the +fusion point. Even when they were not being used they +sang away their energies in ululations of wavering vibration +that would have been nerve-racking to a human being.</p> + +<p>The Nipe had heard the singing of the engines, recognized +it for what it was, realized that he could do nothing +about it, and dismissed it from his mind.</p> + +<p>Most of the instruments were powerless; the Nipe was +not even sure he could land the vessel. Any attempt to use<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> +the communicator to call home would have blown his ship +to atoms.</p> + +<p>The Nipe did not want to die, but, if die he must, he +did not want to die foolishly.</p> + +<p>It had taken a long time to drift in from the outer reaches +of this sun's planetary system, but using the power plants +any more than was absolutely necessary would have been +foolhardy.</p> + +<p>The Nipe missed the companionship his brother had +given him for so long; his help would be invaluable now. +But there had been no choice. There had not been enough +supplies for two to survive the long inward fall toward the +distant sun. The Nipe, having discovered the fact first, had, +out of his mercy and compassion, killed his brother while +the other was not looking. Then, having disposed of his +brother with all due ceremony, he had settled down to the +long, lonely wait.</p> + +<p>Beings of another race might have cursed the accident +that had disabled the ship, or regretted the necessity that +one of them should die, but the Nipe did neither, for, to +him, the first notion would have been foolish and the second +incomprehensible.</p> + +<p>But now, as the ship fell ever closer toward the yellow-white +sun, he began to worry about his own fate. For a +while, it had seemed almost certain that he would survive +long enough to build a communicator, for the instruments +had already told him and his brother that the system ahead +was inhabited by creatures of reasoning power, if not true +intelligence, and it would almost certainly be possible to +get the equipment he needed from them. Now, though, it +looked as if the ship would not survive a landing. He had +had to steer it away from a great gas giant, which had seriously +endangered the power plants.</p> + +<p>He did not want to die in space—wasted, forever undevoured.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +At least, he must die on a planet, where there +might be creatures with the compassion and wisdom to give +his body the proper death rites. The thought of succumbing +to inferior creatures was repugnant, but it was better than +rotting to feed monocells or ectogenes, and far superior to +wasting away in space.</p> + +<p>Even thoughts such as these did not occupy his mind +often or for very long. Far, far better than any of those +thoughts were thoughts connected with the desire and planning +for survival.</p> + +<p>The outer orbits of the gas giants had been passed at last, +and the Nipe fell on through the Asteroid Belt without approaching +any of the larger pieces of rock-and-metal. That +he and his brother had originally elected to come into this +system along its orbital plane had been a mixed blessing. +To have come in at a different angle would have avoided +all the debris—from planetary size on down—that is thickest +in a star's equatorial plane, but it would also have meant +a greater chance of missing a suitable planet unless too +much reliance were placed on the already weakened power +generators. As it was, the Nipe had been fortunate in being +able to use the gravitational field of the gas giant to swing +his ship toward the precise spot where the third planet +would be when the ship arrived in the third orbit. Moreover, +the planet would be retreating from the Nipe's line of +flight, which would make the velocity difference that much +the less.</p> + +<p>For a while the Nipe had toyed with the idea of using +the mining bases that the local life-form had set up in the +Asteroid Belt as bases for his own operations, but he had +decided against it. Movement would be much freer and +more productive on a planet than it would be in the Belt.</p> + +<p>He would have preferred using the fourth planet for his +base. Although much smaller, it had the same reddish, arid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> +look as his own home planet, while the third planet was +three quarters drowned in water. But there were two factors +that weighed so heavily against that choice that they rendered +it impossible. In the first place, by far the greater +proportion of the local inhabitants' commerce was between +the asteroids and the third planet. Second, and even more +important, the fourth world was at such a point in its orbit +that the energy required to land would destroy the ship beyond +any doubt.</p> + +<p>It would have to be the third world.</p> + +<p>As the ship fell inward, the Nipe watched his pitifully +inadequate instruments, doing his best to keep tabs on +every one of the ships that the local life-form used to move +through space. He did not want to be spotted now, and even +though the odds were against these beings having any instrument +highly developed enough to spot his own craft, +there was always the possibility that he might be observed +optically.</p> + +<p>So he squatted there in his ship, a centipede-like thing +about five feet in length and a little less than eighteen inches +in diameter, with eight articulated limbs spaced in pairs +along his body, each limb ending in a five-fingered manipulatory +organ that could be used equally well as hand or foot. +His head, which was long and snouted, displayed two pairs +of violet eyes that kept a constant watch on the indicators +and screens of the few instruments that were still functioning +aboard the ship.</p> + +<p>And he waited as the ship fell toward its rendezvous with +the third planet.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c2" id="c2"></a><i>[2]</i></h2> + +<p>Wang Kulichenko pulled the collar of his uniform +coat up closer around his ears and pulled the helmet and +face-mask down a bit. It was only early October, but here +in the tundra country the wind had a tendency to be chill +and biting in the morning, even at this time of year. +Within a week or so, he'd have to start using the power +pack on his horse to electrically warm his protective clothing +and the horse's wrappings, but there was no necessity +for that yet. He smiled a little, as he always did when he +thought of his grandfather's remarks about such "new-fangled +nonsense."</p> + +<p>"Your ancestors, son of my son," he would say, "conquered +the tundra and lived upon it for thousands of years +without the need of such womanish things. Are there no +men any more? Are there none who can face nature alone +and unafraid without the aid of artifices that bring softness?"</p> + +<p>But Wang Kulichenko noticed—though out of politeness +he never pointed it out that the old man never failed to +take advantage of the electric warmth of the house when the +short days came and the snow blew across the country like +fine white sand. And Grandfather never complained about +the lights or the television or the hot water, except to grumble +occasionally that they were old and out of date and that +the mail-order catalog showed that much better models were +available in Vladivostok.</p> + +<p>And Wang would remind the old man, very gently, that +a paper-forest ranger only made so much money, and that +there would have to be more saving before such things could +be bought. He did not—<i>ever</i>—remind the old man that he,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +Wang, was stretching a point to keep his grandfather on the +payroll as an assistant.</p> + +<p>Wang Kulichenko patted his horse's rump and urged her +softly to step up her pace just a bit. He had a certain +amount of territory to cover, and although he wanted to be +careful in his checking he also wanted to get home early.</p> + +<p>Around him, the neatly-planted forest of paper-trees +spread knotty, alien branches, trying to catch the rays of +the winter-waning sun. Whenever Wang thought of his +grandfather's remarks about his ancestors, he always wondered, +as a corollary, what those same ancestors would have +thought about a forest growing up here, where no forest like +this one had ever grown before.</p> + +<p>They were called paper-trees because the bulk of their +pulp was used to make paper—they were of no use whatever +as lumber—but they weren't really trees, and the organic +chemicals that were leached from them during the +pulping process were of far more value than the paper pulp.</p> + +<p>They were mutations of a smaller plant that had been +found in the temperate regions of Mars and purposely +changed genetically to grow in the Siberian tundra country, +where the conditions were similar to, but superior to, their +natural habitat. They looked as though someone had managed +to crossbreed the Joshua tree with the cypress and then +persuaded the result to grow grass instead of leaves. And +the photosynthesis of those grasslike blades depended on +an iron-bearing compound that was more closely related to +hemoglobin than to chlorophyll, giving them a rusty red +color instead of the normal green of Earthly plants.</p> + +<p>In the distance, Wang heard the whining of the wind increase, +and he automatically pulled his coat a little tighter, +even though he noticed no increase in the wind velocity +around him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then, as the whine became louder, he realized that it was +not the wind.</p> + +<p>He turned his head toward the sound and looked up. For +a long minute he watched the sky as the sound increased +in volume, but he could see nothing at first. Then he caught +a glimpse of motion, a dot that was hard to distinguish +against the cloud-mottled gray sky.</p> + +<p>What was it? An air transport in trouble? There were two +transpolar routes that passed within a few hundred miles of +here, but no air transport he had ever seen made a noise +like that. Normally they were so high up as to be both invisible +and inaudible. Must be trouble of some sort.</p> + +<p>He reached down to the saddle pack without taking his +eyes from the moving speck and took out the radiophone. +He held it to his ear and thumbed the call button insistently.</p> + +<p><i>Grandfather!</i> he thought with growing irritation as the +seconds passed. <i>Wake up! Come on, old dozer, rouse yourself +from your dreams!</i></p> + +<p>At the same time, he checked his wrist compass and estimated +the direction of flight of the dot and its direction +from him. He'd at least be able to give the airline authorities +some information if the ship fell. He wished there were some +way to triangulate its height, velocity, and so on, but he had +no need for that kind of thing, so he hadn't the equipment.</p> + +<p>"Yes? Yes?" came a testy, dry voice through the earphone.</p> + +<p>Quickly Wang gave his grandfather all the information +he had on the flying thing. By now the whine had become +a shrill roar and the thing in the air had become a silver-pink +fish shape.</p> + +<p>"I think it's coming down very close to here," Wang concluded. +"You call the authorities and let them know that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +one of the aircraft is in trouble. I'll see if I can be of any +help here. I'll call you back later."</p> + +<p>"As you say," the old man said hurriedly. He cut off.</p> + +<p>Wang was beginning to realize that the thing was a spaceship, +not an airship. By this time, he could see the thing +more clearly. He had never actually seen a spacecraft, but +he'd seen enough of them on television to know what they +looked like. This one didn't look like a standard type at +all, and it didn't behave like one, but it looked and behaved +even less like an airship, and Wang knew enough +to be aware that he did not necessarily know every type of +spaceship ever built.</p> + +<p>In shape, it resembled the old rocket-propelled jobs that +had been used for the first probings into space more than a +century before, rather than the fat ovoids he was used to. +But there were no signs of rocket exhausts, and yet the ship +was very obviously slowing, so it must have an inertia drive.</p> + +<p>It was coming in much lower now, on a line north of him, +headed almost due east. He urged the mare forward in order +to try to keep up with the craft, although it was obviously +traveling at several hundred miles an hour—hardly a horse's +pace.</p> + +<p>Still, it was slowing rapidly very rapidly. Maybe ...</p> + +<p>He kept the mare moving.</p> + +<p>The strange ship skimmed along the treetops in the distance +and disappeared from sight. Then there was a thunderous +crash, a tearing of wood and foliage, and a grinding, +plowing sound.</p> + +<p>For a few seconds afterward, there was silence. Then +there came a soft rumble, as of water beginning to boil in +some huge but distant samovar. It seemed to go on and on +and on.</p> + +<p>And there was a bluish, fluctuating glow on the horizon.</p> + +<p><i>Radioactivity?</i> Wang wondered. Surely not an atomic-powered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> +ship without safety cutoffs in this day and age. +Still, there was always the possibility that the cutoffs had +failed.</p> + +<p>He pulled out his radiophone and thumbed the call button +again.</p> + +<p>This time there was no delay. "Yes?"</p> + +<p>"How are the radiation detectors behaving there, Grandfather?"</p> + +<p>"One moment. I shall see." There was a silence. Then: +"No unusual activity, young Wang. Why?"</p> + +<p>Wang told him. Then he asked: "Did you get hold of the +air transport authorities?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. They have no missing aircraft, but they're checking +with the space fields. The way you describe it, the thing +must be a spaceship of some kind."</p> + +<p>"I think so too. I wish I had a radiation detector here, +though. I'd like to know whether that thing is hot or not. +It's only a couple of miles away—maybe a little more—and +if that blue glow is ionization caused by radiation, it's much +too close for comfort."</p> + +<p>"I think any source that strong would register on our detectors +here, young Wang," said the old man in his dry +voice. "However, I agree that it might not be the pinnacle +of wisdom to approach the source too closely."</p> + +<p>"Clear your mind of worry, Grandfather," Wang said. "I +accept your words of wisdom and will go no nearer. Meanwhile, +you had best put in a call to Central Headquarters +Fire Control. There's going to be a blaze if I'm any judge +unless they get here fast with plenty of fire equipment."</p> + +<p>"I'll see to it," said his grandfather, cutting off.</p> + +<p>The bluish glow in the sky had quite died away by now, +and the distant rumbling was fading, too. And, oddly +enough, there was not much smoke in the distance. There +was a small cloud of gray vapor that rose, streamer-like,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> +from where the glow had been, but even that was dissipated +fairly rapidly in the chill breeze. Quite obviously there +would be no fire. After several more minutes of watching, +he was sure of it. There couldn't have been much heat produced +in the explosion—if it could really be called an explosion.</p> + +<p>Then Wang saw something moving in the trees between +himself and the spot where the ship had come down. He +couldn't see quite what it was, there in the dimness under +the hanging, grasslike red strands from the trees, but it +looked like someone crawling.</p> + +<p>"Halloo, there!" he called out. "Are you hurt?"</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Perhaps whoever it was did not +understand Russian. Wang's command of English wasn't +too good, but he called out in that language.</p> + +<p>Still there was no answer. Whoever it was had crawled +out of sight.</p> + +<p>Then he realized it couldn't be anyone crawling. No one +could even have run the distance between himself and the +ship in the time since it had hit, much less crawled.</p> + +<p>He frowned. A wolf, then? Possibly. They weren't too +common, but there were still some of them around.</p> + +<p>He unholstered the heavy pistol at his side.</p> + +<p>And as he slid the barrel free, he became the first human +being ever to see the Nipe.</p> + +<p>For an instant, as the Nipe came out from behind a tree +fifteen feet away, Wang Kulichenko froze as he saw those +four baleful violet eyes glaring at him from the snouted +head. Then he jerked up his pistol to fire.</p> + +<p>He was much too late. His reflexes were too slow by far. +The Nipe launched himself across the intervening space in +a blur of speed that would have made a leopard seem slow. +Two of the alien's hands slapped aside the weapon with a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +violence that broke the man's wrist, while other hands +slammed at the human's skull.</p> + +<p>Wang Kulichenko hardly had time to be surprised before +he died.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c3" id="c3"></a><i>[3]</i></h2> + +<p>The Nipe stood quietly for a moment, looking down +at the thing he had killed. His stomachs churned with disgust. +He ignored the fading hoofbeats of the slave-animal +from which he had knocked the thing that lay on the ground +with a crushed skull. The slave-animal was unintelligent +and unimportant.</p> + +<p>This was—had been—the intelligent one.</p> + +<p>But so slow! So incredibly slow! And so weak and soft!</p> + +<p>It seemed impossible that such a poorly equipped beast +could have survived long enough on any world to become +the dominant life-form.</p> + +<p>Then again, perhaps it was not the dominant form. Perhaps +it was merely a higher form of slave-animal. He would +have to do more investigating.</p> + +<p>He picked up the weapon the thing had been carrying +and examined it carefully. The mechanism was unfamiliar, +but a glance at the muzzle told him it was a projectile +weapon of some sort. The spiraling grooves in the barrel +were obviously intended to impart a spin to the projectile, +to give it gyroscopic stability while in flight.</p> + +<p>He tossed the weapon aside. Now there was a certain +compassion in his thoughts as he looked again at the dead +thing. It must surely have thought it was faced with a wild +animal, the Nipe decided. Surely no being would carry a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +weapon for use against members of its own or another intelligent +species.</p> + +<p>He examined the rest of the equipment on the thing. +There was very little further information. The fabric in +which it wrapped itself was crude, but ingeniously put together, +and its presence indicated that the being needed +some sort of protection against the temperature. It appeared +to have a thermal insulating quality. Evidently the creature +was used to a warmer climate. That served as additional +information to help substantiate his observation from space +that the areas farther south were the ones containing the +major centers of population. The tilt of this planet on its +axis would tend to give the weather a cyclic variation, but +it appeared that the areas around the poles remained fairly +cold even when the incidence of radiation from the primary +was at maximum.</p> + +<p>It would have been good, he decided, if he had stopped +the slave-animal. There had been more equipment on the +thing's back which would have given him more information +upon which to base a judgment as to the level of civilization +of the dead being. That, however, was no longer practicable, +so he dismissed the thought from his mind.</p> + +<p>The next question was, what should he do with the body?</p> + +<p>Should he dispose of it properly, as one should with a +validly slain foe?</p> + +<p>It didn't seem that he could do anything else, and yet his +stomachs wanted to rebel at the thought. After all, it wasn't +as if the thing were really a proper being. It was astonishing +to find another intelligent race; none had ever been found +before, although the existence of such had been postulated. +There were certain criteria that must be met by any such +beings, however.</p> + +<p>It must have manipulatory organs, such as this being very +obviously did have—organs very much like his own. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> +there were only two, which argued that the being lacked +dexterity. The organs for walking were encased in protective +clothing too stiff to allow them to be used as manipulators.</p> + +<p>He ripped off one of the boots and looked at the exposed +foot. The thumb was not opposed. Obviously such an organ +was not much good for manipulation.</p> + +<p>He pried open the eating orifice and inspected it carefully. +Ah! The creature was omnivorous, judging by its +teeth. There were both rending and grinding teeth. That certainly +argued for intelligence, since it showed that the being +could behave in a gentlemanly fashion. Still, it was not conclusive.</p> + +<p>If they <i>were</i> intelligent, it was most certainly necessary +for him to show that he was also civilized and a gentleman. +On the other hand, the slowness and lack of strength of this +particular specimen argued that the species was of a lower +order than the Nipe, which made the question even more +puzzling.</p> + +<p>In the end, the question was rendered unnecessary for +the time being, since the problem was taken out of his +hands.</p> + +<p>A sound came from the ground a few yards away. It was +an insistent buzzing. Cautiously, the Nipe approached the +thing.</p> + +<p><i>Buzz-buzz! Buzz-buzz-buzzzzzz!</i></p> + +<p>It was an instrument of some kind. He recognized it as +the device that he had seen the dead being speak into while +he, himself, had been watching from the concealment of the +undergrowth, trying to decide whether or not to approach. +The device was obviously a communicator of some kind, and +someone at the other end was trying to make contact.</p> + +<p>If it were not answered, whoever was calling would certainly +deduce that something had gone wrong at this end. +And, of course, there was no way for it to be answered.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p> + +<p>It would be necessary, then, to leave the body here for +others of its kind to find. Doubtless they would dispose of +it properly.</p> + +<p>He would have to leave quickly. It was necessary that he +find one of their centers of production or supply, and he +would have to do it alone, with only the equipment he had +on him. The utter destruction of his ship had left him seriously +hampered.</p> + +<p>He began moving, staying in the protection of the trees. +He had no way of knowing whether investigators would +come by air or on the slave-animals, and there was no point +in taking chances.</p> + +<p>His sense of ethics still bothered him. It was not at all +civilized to leave a body at the mercy of lesser animals or +monocells in that fashion. What kind of monster would they +think he was?</p> + +<p>Still, there was no help for it. If they caught him, they +might think him a lower animal and shoot him. He would +not have put an onus like that upon them.</p> + +<p>He moved on.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c4" id="c4"></a><i>[4]</i></h2> + +<p>Government City was something of a paradox. It was +the largest capital city, in terms of population, that had +ever been built on Earth, and yet, again in terms of population, +it was nowhere near as large as Tokyo or London. +The solution to the paradox lies in discovering that the term +"population" is used in two different senses, thus exposing +the logical fallacy of the undistributed middle. If, in referring +to London or Tokyo, the term "population" is restricted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +to those and only those who are actively engaged in +the various phases of actual government—as it is when referring +to Government City—the apparent paradox resolves +itself.</p> + +<p>Built on the slagged-down remains of New York's Manhattan +Island, which had been destroyed by a sun bomb +during the Holocaust nearly a century before, Government +City occupied all but the upper three miles of the island, +and the population consisted almost entirely of men and +women engaged, either directly or indirectly, in the business +of governing a planet. There were no shopping centers and +no entertainment areas. The small personal flyer, almost the +same size as the old gasoline-driven automobile, could, because +of its inertia drive, move with the three-dimensional +ability of a hummingbird, so the rivers that cut the island +off from the mainland were no barrier. The shopping and +entertainment centers of Brooklyn, Queens, and Jersey +were only five minutes away, even through the thickest, +slowest-moving traffic. It was the personal flyer, not the +clumsy airplane, that had really eliminated distance along +with national boundaries.</p> + +<p>The majority of the government officers' homes were off +the island, too, but this commuting did not cause any great +fluctuation of the island's population. A city that governs +a planet must operate at full capacity twenty-four hours a +day, and there was a "rush hour" every three hours as the +staggered six-hour shifts changed.</p> + +<p>Physically the planet still revolved about the sun; politically, +Earth revolved around Government City.</p> + +<p>In one of the towering buildings a group of men sat comfortably +in a medium-sized room, watching a screen that, +because of the three-dimensional quality and the color fidelity +of the scene it showed, might have been a window, +except that the angle was wrong. They were looking down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> +from an apparent height of forty feet on a clearing in a +paper-tree forest in Siberia.</p> + +<p>The clearing was not a natural one. The trees had been +splintered, uprooted, and pushed away from the center of +the long, elliptical area. The center of the area was apparently +empty.</p> + +<p>One of the men, whose fingers were touching a control +panel in the arm of his chair, said: "That is where the ship +made its crash landing. As you can see from the relatively +light damage, it was moving at no great speed when it hit. +From the little information we have—mostly from a momentary +radar recording made when the incoming vessel was +picked up for a few seconds by the instruments of Transpolar +Airways, when it crossed the path of one of their +freight orbits—it is estimated that the craft was decelerating +at between fifteen and seventeen gravities. The rate of +change of acceleration in centimeters per second cubed is +unknown, but obviously so small as to be negligible.</p> + +<p>"This picture was taken by the fire prevention flyers that +came in response to an urgent call by the assistant of the +forest ranger who was in charge of this section."</p> + +<p>"There was no fire?" asked one of the other men, looking +closely at the image.</p> + +<p>"None," said the speaker. "We can't yet say what actually +happened to the ship. We have only a couple of hints. One +of our weather observers, orbiting at four hundred miles, +picked up a tremendous flash of hard ultraviolet radiation +in the area around the three thousand Ångstrom band. +There must have been quite a bit of shorter wavelength +radiation, but the Earth's atmosphere would filter most of +it out.</p> + +<p>"A recording of the radiophone discussion between the +ranger and his assistant is the only other description we +have. The ranger described a bluish glow over the site. Part<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> +of that may have been due to actual blue light given off +by the—well, call it 'burning'; that word will do for now. +But some of the blue glow was almost certainly due to +ionization of the air by the hard ultraviolet. Look at this +next picture."</p> + +<p>The scene remained the same, and yet there was a definite +change.</p> + +<p>"This was taken three days later. If you'll notice, the +normal rust-red of the foliage has darkened to a purplish +brown in the area around the crash site. Now a Martian +paper-tree, even in the mutated form, is quite resistant to +U-V, since it evolved under the thin atmosphere of Mars, +which gives much less protection from ultraviolet radiation +than Earth's does. Nevertheless, those trees have a bad case +of sunburn."</p> + +<p>"And no heat," said a third man. "Wow."</p> + +<p>"Oh, there was some heat, but not anywhere near what +you'd expect. The nearer trees were rather dry, as though +they'd been baked, but only at the surface, and the temperature +probably didn't rise much above one-fifty centigrade."</p> + +<p>"How about X rays?" asked still another man. "Anything +shorter than a hundred Ångstroms detected?"</p> + +<p>"No. If there was any radiation that hard, there was no +detector close enough to measure it. We doubt, frankly, +whether there was any."</p> + +<p>"The 'fire', if you want to call it that, must have stunk up +the place pretty badly," said one of the men dryly.</p> + +<p>"It did. There were still traces of ozone and various +oxides of nitrogen in the air when the fire prevention flyers +arrived. The wind carried them away from the ranger, so +he didn't get a whiff of them."</p> + +<p>"And this—this 'fire'—it destroyed the ship completely?"</p> + +<p>"Almost completely. There are some lumps of metal +around, but we can't make anything of them yet. Some of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +them are badly fused, but that damage was probably done +before the ship landed. Certainly there was not enough heat +generated after the crash to have done that damage." His +hand moved over the control panel in the armrest of his +chair, and the scene changed.</p> + +<p>"This was taken from the ground. Those lumps you see +are the pieces of metal I was talking about. Notice the fine +white powdery ash, which caused the white spot that you +could see from the air. That is evidently all that is left of +the hull and the rest of the ship. None of it is radioactive.</p> + +<p>"Random samplings from various parts of the area show +that the ash consists of magnesium, lithium, and beryllium +carbonates."</p> + +<p>"You don't mean oxides?" said one of the others.</p> + +<p>"No. I mean carbonates. And some silicate. We estimate +that the remaining ash could not have constituted more than +ten percent of the total mass of the hull of the ship. The +rest of it vaporized, apparently into carbon dioxide and +water."</p> + +<p>"Some kind of plastic?" hazarded one of the men.</p> + +<p>"Undoubtedly, if you want to use a catchall term like +'plastic'. But what kind of plastic goes to pieces like that?"</p> + +<p>That rhetorical question was answered by a silence.</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt," said one of them after a moment, +"that circumstantial evidence alone would link the alien with +the ship. But have you any more conclusive evidence?"</p> + +<p>The hand moved, and the scene changed again. It was not +a pretty scene.</p> + +<p>"That, as you can see, is a closeup of the late Wang +Kulichenko, the forest ranger who was the only man ever to +see the alien ship before it was destroyed. Notice the peculiar +bruises on the cheek and ear—the whole side of the head. +The pattern is quite similar on the other side of the head."</p> + +<p>"It looks—umm—rather like a handprint."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"It is. Kulichenko was slapped—<i>hard!</i>—on both sides of +his head. It crushed his skull." There was an intake of +breath.</p> + +<p>"This next picture—" The scene changed. "—shows the +whole body. If you'll look closely you'll see the same sort of +prints on the ground around it. All very much like handprints. +And that ties in very well with the photographs of +the alien itself."</p> + +<p>"There's no doubt about it," said one of the others. "The +connection is definitely there."</p> + +<p>The lecturer's hand moved over the control panel again, +and suddenly the screen was filled with the image of an +eight-limbed horror with four glaring violet eyes. In spite of +themselves, a couple of the men gasped. They had seen +photographs before, but a full-sized three-dimensional color +projection is something else again.</p> + +<p>"Until three weeks ago, we knew of no explanation for the +peculiar happenings in northern Asia. After eight months of +investigation, we found ourselves up against a blank wall. +Nothing could account for that peculiar fire nor for the +queer circumstances surrounding the death of the forest +ranger. The investigators suspected an intelligent alien life-form, +but—well, the notion simply seemed too fantastic. Attempts +to trail the being by means of those peculiar 'footprints' +failed. They ended at a riverbank and apparently +never came out again. We know now that it swam downstream +for over a hundred miles. Little wonder it got away.</p> + +<p>"Even those investigators who suspected something non-human +pictured the being as humanoid, or, rather, anthropoid +in form. The prints certainly suggest those of an ape. +There appeared to be four of them, judging by the prints—although +frequently there were only three and sometimes +only two. It all depended on how many of his 'feet' he felt +like walking on."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And then the whole herd of them dived into a river and +never came up again, eh?" remarked one of the listeners.</p> + +<p>"Exactly. You can see why the investigators kept the +whole thing quiet. Nothing more was seen, heard, or reported +for eight months.</p> + +<p>"Then, three weeks ago, a non-vision phone call was received +by the secretary of the Board of Regents of the +Khrushchev Memorial Psychiatric Hospital in Leningrad. +An odd, breathy voice, speaking very bad Russian, offered +a meeting. It was the alien. He managed to explain, in spite +of the language handicap, that he did not want to be mistaken +for a wild animal, as had happened with the forest +ranger.</p> + +<p>"The secretary, Mr. Rogov, felt that the speaker was +probably deranged, but, as he said later, there was something +about that voice that didn't sound human. He said he +would make arrangements, and asked the caller to contact +him again the next day. The alien agreed. Rogov then—"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me," one of the men interrupted apologetically, +"but did he learn Russian all by himself, or has it been established +that someone taught him the language?"</p> + +<p>"The evidence is that he learned it all by himself, from +scratch, in those eight months."</p> + +<p>"I see. Excuse my interruption. Go on."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Rogov was intrigued by the story he had heard. He +decided to check on it. He made a few phone calls, asking +questions about a mysterious crash in the paper forests, +and the death of a forest ranger. Naturally those who <i>did</i> +know were curious about how Mr. Rogov had learned so +much about the incident. He told them.</p> + +<p>"By the time the alien made his second call, a meeting +had been arranged. When he showed up, those of the +Board who were still of the opinion that the call had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> +made by a crank or a psychosis case changed their minds +very rapidly."</p> + +<p>"I can see why," murmured someone.</p> + +<p>"The alien's ability to use Russian is limited," the speaker +continued. "He picked up vocabulary and grammatical rules +very rapidly, but he seemed completely unable to use the +language beyond discussion of concrete objects and actions. +His mind is evidently too alien to enable him to do more +than touch the edges of human communication.</p> + +<p>"For instance, he called himself 'Nipe' or 'Neep', but we +don't know whether that refers to him as an individual or +as a member of his race. Since Russian lacks both definite +and indefinite articles, it is possible that he was calling +himself 'a Nipe' or 'the Nipe'. Certainly that's the impression +he gave.</p> + +<p>"In the discussions that followed, several peculiarities +were noticed, as you can read in detail in the reports that +the Board and the Government staff prepared. For instance, +in discussing mathematics the Nipe seemed to be +completely at a loss. He apparently thought of mathematics +as a <i>spoken</i> language rather than a <i>written</i> one and could +not progress beyond simple diagrams. That's just one small +example. I'm just trying to give you a brief outline now; +you can read the reports for full information.</p> + +<p>"He refused to allow any physical tests on his body, and, +short of threatening him at gunpoint, there was no practicable +way to force him to accede to our wishes. Naturally, +threats were out of the question."</p> + +<p>"Couldn't X rays have been taken surreptitiously?" asked +one of the men.</p> + +<p>"It was discussed and rejected. We have no way of knowing +what his tolerance to radiation is, and we didn't want +to harm him. The same applies to using any anesthetic gas +or drug to render him unconscious. There was no way to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> +study his metabolism without his co-operation unless we +were willing to risk killing him."</p> + +<p>"I see. Naturally we couldn't harm him."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. The Nipe had to be treated as an emissary +from his home world—wherever that may be. He has killed +a man, yes. But that has to be allowed as justifiable homicide +in self-defense, since the forester had drawn a gun and +was ready to fire. Nobody can blame the late Wang Kulichenko +for that, but nobody can blame the Nipe, either."</p> + +<p>They all looked for a moment in silence at the violet eyes +that gazed at them from the screen.</p> + +<p>"For nearly three weeks," the speaker went on, "humans +and Nipe tried to arrive at a meeting of minds, and, just +when it would seem that such a meeting was within grasp, it +would fade away into mist. It was only three days ago that +the Russian psychologists and psychiatrists realized that the +reason the Nipe had come to them was because he had +thought that the Board of Regents of the hospital was the +ruling body of that territory."</p> + +<p>Someone chuckled, but there was no humor in it.</p> + +<p>"Now we come to yesterday morning," said the speaker. +"This is the important part at this very moment, because it +explains why I feel we must immediately take steps to tell +the public what has happened, why I feel that it is necessary +to put a man like Colonel Walther Mannheim in charge of +the Nipe affair and keep him in charge until the matter is +cleared up. Because the public is going to be scared witless +if we don't do something to reassure them."</p> + +<p>"What happened yesterday morning, Mr. President?" one +of the men asked.</p> + +<p>"The Nipe got angry, lost his temper, went mad—whatever +you want to call it. At the morning meeting he simply +became more and more incomprehensible. The psychologists +were trying to see if the Nipe had any religious beliefs,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +and, if so, what they were. One of them, a Dr. Valichek, +was explaining the various religious sects and rites +here on Earth. Suddenly, with no warning whatever, the +Nipe chopped at Valichek's throat with an open-hand judo +cut, killing him. He killed two more men before he leaped +out of the window and vanished.</p> + +<p>"No trace of him was found until late last night. He +killed another man in Leningrad—we have since discovered +that it was for the purpose of stealing his personal flyer. +The Nipe could be anywhere on Earth by now."</p> + +<p>"How was the man killed, Mr. President? With bare +hands, as the others were?"</p> + +<p>"We have no way of knowing. Identification of the body +was made difficult by the fact that every shred of flesh had +been stripped away. It had been gnawed—literally <i>eaten</i>—to +the bone!"</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="FIRST_INTERLUDE" id="FIRST_INTERLUDE"></a><i>FIRST INTERLUDE</i></h2> + +<p>The big man with the tiny child on his shoulder pushed +through the air curtain that kept the warm humid air out of +the shop.</p> + +<p>"There," he said to the little boy softly, turning his head to +look up into the round, chubby, smiling face. "There. Isn't +that nicer, huh? Isn't that better than that hot old air outside?"</p> + +<p>"Gleefle-ah," said the child with a grin.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come on, boy. I've heard you manage bigger words +than that. Or is it your brother?" He chuckled and headed +toward the drug counter.</p> + +<p>"Hey, Jim!"</p> + +<p>The big man brought himself up short and turned—carefully, +so as not to jiggle the baby on his shoulder. When +he saw the shorter, thinner man, he grinned hugely. "Jinks! +By God! Jinks! Watch it! Don't shake the hand too hard or +I'll drop this infant. God damn, man, I thought you were in +Siberia!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I was, Jim, but a man can't stay in Siberia forever. Is +that minuscule lump of humanity your own?"</p> + +<p>"Yup, yup. So I've been led to believe. Say hello to your +Uncle Jinks, young 'un. C'mon, say hello."</p> + +<p>The child jammed the three fingers of his left hand into +his mouth and refused to say a word. His eyes widened +with an unfathomable baby-emotion.</p> + +<p>"Well, he's got your eyes," said the thinner man. "Fortunately, +he's going to look like his mother instead of being +ugly. He <i>is</i> a he, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. Mother's looks, father's plumbing. I got +another just like him, but his mother's taking the other one +to the doctor to get rid of the sniffles. Don't want this one +to catch it."</p> + +<p>"Twins?"</p> + +<p>"Naw," said the big man sarcastically, "Octuplets. The +Government took seventy-five percent for taxes."</p> + +<p>"Ask a silly question, get a silly answer," the smaller man +said philosophically.</p> + +<p>"Yup. So how's the Great Northern Wasteland, Jinks?"</p> + +<p>"Cold," said Jinks, "but it's not going to be a wasteland +much longer, Jim. Those Martian trees are going to be a +big business in fifteen years. There'll be forests all over the +tundra. They'll make a hell of a fine income crop for those +people. We've put in over five thousand square miles in +seedlings during the past five years. The first ones will be +ready to harvest in ten years, and from then on, it will be +as regular as clockwork."</p> + +<p>"That's great. Great. How long'll you be in town, Jinks?"</p> + +<p>"About a week. Then I've got to head back to Siberia."</p> + +<p>"Well, look, could you drop around some evening? We +could kill off a few bottles of beer after we eat one of Ellen's +dinners. How about it?"</p> + +<p>"I'd love to. Sure Ellen won't mind?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>"She'll be tickled pink to see you. How about Wednesday?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. I'm free Wednesday evening. But you ask Ellen +first. I'll give you a call tomorrow evening to make sure I +won't get a chair thrown at me when I come in the door."</p> + +<p>"Great! I'll let her do the inviting, then."</p> + +<p>"Look," Jinks said, "I've got half an hour or so right now. +Let me buy you a beer. Or don't you want to take the +baby in?"</p> + +<p>"No, it's not that, but I've got to run. I just dropped in +to get a couple of things, then I have to get on out to the +plant. Some piddling little thing came up, and they want to +talk to me about it." He patted the baby's leg. "Nothing +personal, pal," he said in a soft aside.</p> + +<p>"You taking the baby into an atomic synthesis plant?" +Jinks asked.</p> + +<p>"Why not? It's safe as houses. You've still got the Holocaust +Jitters, my friend. He'll be safer there than at home. +Besides, I can't just leave him in a locker, can I?"</p> + +<p>"I guess not. Just don't let him get his genes irradiated," +Jinks said, grinning. "So long. I'll call tomorrow at twenty +hundred."</p> + +<p>"Fine. See you then. So long."</p> + +<p>The big man adjusted the load on his shoulder and went +on toward the counter.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c5" id="c5"></a><i>[5]</i></h2> + +<p>Two-fifths of a second. That was all the time Bart +Stanton had from the first moment his supersensitive ears +heard the first faint whisper of metal against leather.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + +<p>He made good use of the time.</p> + +<p>The noise had come from behind and slightly to the left +of him, so he drew his left-hand weapon and spun to the +left as he dropped to a crouch. He had turned almost completely +around, drawn his gun, and fired three shots before +the other man had even leveled his own weapon.</p> + +<p>The bullets from Stanton's gun made three round spots +on the man's jacket, almost touching each other, and directly +over the heart. The man blinked stupidly for a moment, +looking down at the spots.</p> + +<p>"My God," he said softly.</p> + +<p>Then he returned his own weapon slowly to its holster.</p> + +<p>The big room was noisy. The three shots had merely +added to the noise of the gunfire that rattled intermittently +around the two men. And even that gunfire was only a part +of the cacophony. The tortured molecules of the air in the +room were so besieged by the beat of drums, the blare of +trumpets, the crackle of lightning, the rumble of heavy machinery, +the squawks and shrieks of horns and whistles, the +rustle of autumn leaves, the machine-gun snap of popping +popcorn, the clink and jingle of falling coins, and the yelps, +bellows, howls, roars, snarls, grunts, bleats, moos, purrs, +cackles, quacks, chirps, buzzes, and hisses of a myriad of +animals, that each molecule would have thought that it was +being shoved in a hundred thousand different directions at +once if it had had a mind to think with.</p> + +<p>The noise wasn't deafening, but it was certainly all-pervasive.</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton had reholstered his own weapon and half +opened his lips to speak when he heard another sound behind +him.</p> + +<p>Again he whirled, his guns in his hands—both of them +this time—and his forefingers only fractions of a millimeter +from the point that would fire the hair triggers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> + +<p>But he did not fire.</p> + +<p>The second man had merely shifted the weapons in his +holsters and then dropped his hands away.</p> + +<p>The noise, which had been flooding the room over the +speaker system, died instantly.</p> + +<p>Stanton shoved his guns back into place and rose from +his crouch. "Real cute," he said, grinning. "I wasn't expecting +that one."</p> + +<p>The man he was facing smiled back. "Well, Bart, perhaps +we have proved our point. What do you think, Colonel?" +The last was addressed to the third man, who was still +standing quietly, looking worried and surprised about the +three spots on his jacket that had come from the special +harmless projectiles in Stanton's gun.</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim was four inches shorter than Stanton's +five-ten, and was fifteen years older. But in spite of the +differences, he would have laughed if anyone had told him +five minutes before that he couldn't outdraw a man who was +standing with his back turned.</p> + +<p>His bright blue eyes, set deep beneath craggy brows in a +tanned face, looked speculatively at the younger man.</p> + +<p>"Incredible," he said gently. "Absolutely incredible." +Then he looked at the other man, a lean civilian with mild +blue eyes a shade lighter than his own. "All right, Farnsworth; +I'm convinced. You and your staff have quite literally +created a superman. Anyone who can stand in a noise-filled +room and hear a man draw a gun twenty feet behind +him is incredible enough. The fact that he could and did +outdraw and outshoot me after I had started—well, that's +almost beyond comprehension."</p> + +<p>He looked back at Bart Stanton. "What's your opinion? +Do you think you can handle the Nipe, Stanton?"</p> + +<p>Stanton paused imperceptibly before answering, while +his ultrafast mind considered the problem before arriving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> +at a decision. Just how much confidence should he show the +colonel? Mannheim was a man with tremendous confidence +in his own abilities, but who was nevertheless capable of +recognizing that there were men who were his superiors in +one field or another.</p> + +<p>"If I can't dispose of the Nipe," Stanton said, "no one +can."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim nodded slowly. "I believe you're +right," he said at last. His voice was firm with inner conviction. +He shot a glance at Farnsworth. "How about the +second man?"</p> + +<p>Farnsworth shook his head. "He'll never make it. In another +two years we can put him into reasonable shape again, +but his nervous system just couldn't stand the gaff."</p> + +<p>"Can we get another man ready in time?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly. We can't just pick a man up off the street and +turn him into a superman. Even if we could find another +subject with Bart's genetic possibilities, it would take more +time than we have to spare."</p> + +<p>"No way at all of cutting the time down?"</p> + +<p>"This isn't magic, Colonel," Farnsworth said. "You don't +change a nobody into a physical and mental giant by saying +<i>abracadabra</i> or by teaching him how to pronounce <i>shazam</i> +properly."</p> + +<p>"I'm aware of that," said the colonel without rancor. "It's +just that I keep feeling that five years of work on Mr. Stanton +should have taught you enough to be able to repeat the +process in less time."</p> + +<p>Farnsworth repeated the head-shaking. "Human beings +aren't machines, Colonel. They require time to heal, time +to learn, time to integrate themselves. Remember that, in +spite of our increased knowledge of anesthesia, antibiotics, +viricides, and obstetrics, it still takes nine months to produce<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +a baby. We're in the same position, if not more so. After +all, we can't even allow for a premature delivery."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Mannheim.</p> + +<p>"Besides," Dr. Farnsworth continued, "Stanton's body +and nervous system are now close to the theoretical limit for +human tissue. I'm afraid you don't realize what kind of +mental stability and organization are required to handle the +equipment he has now."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't," Colonel Mannheim agreed. "I doubt +if anyone besides Stanton himself <i>really</i> knows." He looked +at Bart Stanton. "That's it then, son. You're it. You're the +only answer we've found so far. And the only answer visible +in the foreseeable future to the problem posed by the +Nipe."</p> + +<p>The colonel's face seemed to darken. "Ten years," he +said in a low voice. "Ten years that inhuman monster has +been loose on Earth. He's become a legend. He's replaced +Satan, the Bogeyman, Frankenstein's monster, and Mumbo +Jumbo, Lord of the Congo, in the public mind. Read the +newsfacs, watch the newscasts. Take a look at popular fiction. +He's everywhere at once. He can do anything. He's +taken on the attributes of the djinn, the vampire, the ghoul, +the werewolf, and every other horror and hobgoblin that +the mind of man has conjured up in the past half million +years."</p> + +<p>"That's hardly surprising, Colonel," Bart Stanton said +with a wry smile. "If a human being had gone on a ten-year +rampage of robbery and murder, showing himself as callously +indifferent to human life and property as you and I +would be to the life and property of a cockroach, and if, in +addition, he proved impossible to catch, such a person +would be looked upon as a demon too. And if you add to +that the fact that the Nipe is <i>not</i> human, that he is as frightening<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +in appearance as he is in actions, what can you expect?"</p> + +<p>"I agree," said Dr. Farnsworth. "Look at Jack the Ripper +and consider how he terrorized London a couple of centuries +ago."</p> + +<p>"I know," said Colonel Mannheim. "There have been human +criminals whose actions could be described as 'inhuman', +but the Nipe has some touches that few human criminals +have thought of and almost none would have the +capacity to execute. If he has time to spare, his victims become +an annoying problem in identification when they're +found. He leaves nothing but well-gnawed bones. And by +'time to spare', I mean twenty or thirty minutes. The +damned monster has a very efficient digestive tract, if nothing +else. He eats like a shrew."</p> + +<p>"And if he doesn't have time, he beats them to death," +Bart Stanton said thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim frowned. "Not exactly. According to +the evidence—"</p> + +<p>Dr. Farnsworth interrupted him. "Colonel, let's go into +the lounge, shall we? Aside from the fact that standing +around in an empty chamber like this isn't the most comfortable +way to discuss the fate of mankind, this room is +scheduled for other work."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim grinned, caught up by the touch of +lightness that the biophysicist had injected into the conversation. +"Very well. I could do with some coffee, if you have +some."</p> + +<p>"All you want," said Dr. Farnsworth, leading the way +toward the door of the chamber and opening it. "Or, if +you'd prefer something with a little more power to it...."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, no," said Mannheim. "Coffee will do fine. How +about you, Stanton?"</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton shook his head. "I'd love to have some coffee,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +but I'll leave the alcohol alone. I'd just have the luck to +be finishing a drink when our friend, the Nipe, popped in +on us. And when I do meet him, I'm going to need every +microsecond of reflex speed I can scrape up."</p> + +<p>They walked down a soft-floored, warmly lit corridor to +an elevator which whisked them up to the main level of the +Neurophysical Institute Building.</p> + +<p>Another corridor led them to a room that might have been +the common room of one of the more exclusive men's clubs. +There were soft chairs and shelves of books and reading +tables and smoking stands, all quietly luxurious. There was +no one in the room when the three men entered.</p> + +<p>"We can have some privacy here," Dr. Farnsworth said. +"None of the rest of the staff will come in until we're +through."</p> + +<p>He walked over to a table, where an urn of coffee radiated +soft warmth. "Cream and sugar over there on the tray," +he said as he began to fill cups.</p> + +<p>The cups were filled and the three men sat down in a +triangle of chairs before any of them spoke again. Then +Bart Stanton said:</p> + +<p>"I made the remark that if the Nipe doesn't have time to +eat his victims he just beats them to death, and you started +to say something, Colonel."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim took a sip from his cup before he +spoke. "Yes. I was going to say that, according to the evidence +we have, he <i>always</i> beats his victims to death, whether +he manages to eat them or not."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" Stanton looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he's not cruel about it," the colonel said. "He kills +quickly and neatly. The thing is that he never, under any +circumstances, uses any weapons except the weapons that +nature gave him—hands or feet or claws or teeth. He never +uses a gun or a knife or even a club. Dr. Yoritomo has<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +some theories about that which I won't go into now. He'll +tell you about them pretty soon."</p> + +<p>Stanton thought about the Japanese scientist and smiled. +"I know. Dr. Yoritomo has threatened to tell me all kinds +of theories."</p> + +<p>"And believe me he will," said Mannheim with a soft +chuckle. He took another sip of his coffee and then looked +up at Stanton. "You've been through five years of hell, Mr. +Stanton. In addition, you've been pretty much isolated here. +Dr. Farnsworth, here, has tried to keep you informed, but, +as I understand it, it has only been during the last few +months that you've actually been able to absorb and retain +information reliably. At least, that's the report I get. How +do you feel about it?"</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton thought for a moment. It was true that he'd +been out of touch with what had been going on outside the +walls of the Neurophysical Institute for the past five years. +In spite of the reading he'd done and the newscasts he'd +watched and the TV tapes he'd seen, he still had no real +feeling for the situation.</p> + +<p>There had been long hazy periods during that five years. +He had undergone extensive glandular and neural operations +of great delicacy, many of which had resulted in what +could have been agonizing pain without the use of suppressors. +As a result of those operations, he possessed a biological +engine that, for sheer driving power and nicety of +control, surpassed any other known to exist or to have ever +existed on Earth—with the possible exception of the Nipe. +But those five years of rebuilding and retraining had left a +gap in his life.</p> + +<p>Several of the steps required to make the conversion +from man to superman had resulted in temporary insanity; +the wild, swinging imbalances of glandular secretions seeking +a new balance, the erratic misfirings of neurons as they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> +attempted to adjust to higher nerve-impulse velocities, and +the sheer fatigue engendered by cells that were acting too +rapidly for a lagging excretory system, all had contributed +to periods of greater or lesser abnormality.</p> + +<p>That he was sane now, there was no question. But there +were holes in his memory that still had to be filled.</p> + +<p>He admitted as much to Colonel Mannheim.</p> + +<p>"I see." The colonel rubbed one hand along the angle of +his jaw, considering his next words. "Can you give me, in +your own words, a general summary of the type of thing the +Nipe has been doing?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>His verbal summary was succinct and accurate. The loot +that the Nipe had been stealing had, at first, seemed to be a +hodgepodge of everything. It was unpredictable. Money, as +such, he apparently had no use for. He had taken gold, +silver, and platinum, but one raid for each of these elements +had evidently been enough, with the exception of silver, +which had required three raids over a period of four years. +Since then, he hadn't touched silver again.</p> + +<p>He hadn't yet tried for any of the radioactives except +radium. He'd taken a full ounce of that in five raids, but +hadn't attempted to get his hands on uranium, thorium, +plutonium, or any of the other elements normally associated +with atomic energy. Nor had he tried to steal any of +the fusion materials—the heavy isotopes of hydrogen or any +of the lithium isotopes. Beryllium had been taken, but +whether there was any significance in the thefts or not, no +one knew.</p> + +<p>There was a pattern in the thefts and robberies, nonetheless. +They had begun small and had increased. Scientific +and technical instruments—oscilloscopes, X-ray generators, +radar equipment, maser sets, dynostatic crystals, thermolight +resonators, and so on—were stolen complete or gutted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +for various parts. After a while, he had gone on to bigger +things—whole aircraft, with their crews, had vanished.</p> + +<p>That he had not committed anywhere near all the crimes +that had been attributed to him was certain; that he <i>had</i> +committed a great many of them was equally certain.</p> + +<p>There was no doubt at all that his loot was being used +to make instruments and devices of unknown kinds. He had +used several of them on his raids. The one that could apparently +phase out any electromagnetic frequency up to +about a hundred thousand megacycles—including sixty-cycle +power frequencies—was considered a particularly cute +item. So was the gadget that reduced the tensile strength of +concrete to about that of a good grade of marshmallow.</p> + +<p>After he had been operating for a few years, there was no +installation on Earth that could be considered Nipe-proof +for more than a few minutes. He struck when and where +he wanted and took whatever he needed.</p> + +<p>It was manifestly impossible to guard against the Nipe, +since no one knew what sort of loot might strike his fancy +next, and there was therefore no way of knowing where or +how he would hit next.</p> + +<p>Nor could he ever be found after one of his raids. They +were plotted and followed through with diabolical accuracy +and thoroughness. He struck, looted, and vanished. And +he wasn't seen again until his next strike.</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim, who had carefully puffed a cigar +alight and smoked it thoughtfully during Stanton's recitation, +dropped the remains of the cigar into an ash receptacle. +"Accurate but incomplete," he said quietly. "You must +have made some guesses. I'd like to hear them."</p> + +<p>Stanton finished the last of his coffee and glanced at +Dr. Farnsworth. The biophysicist was thoughtfully looking +down at his own cup, his expression unreadable.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>All right</i>, Stanton thought, <i>he's looking for something. +I'll let him have both barrels and see if I hit the target</i>.</p> + +<p>"I've thought about it," he admitted. He got up, went +over to the coffee urn, and refilled his cup. "I've got a pet +theory of my own. It's just a notion, really. I wouldn't dare +reduce it to syllogistic form, because it might not hold much +water, logically speaking. But the evidence seems conclusive +enough to me."</p> + +<p>He walked back to his seat. Colonel Mannheim was +watching him, a look of interest on his face, but he said +nothing.</p> + +<p>"To me," Stanton said, "it seems incredible that the combined +intelligence and organizational ability of the UN Government +is incapable of finding anything out about one +single alien, no matter how competent he may be. Somehow, +somewhere, someone must have gotten a line on the Nipe. +He must have a base for his operations, and someone should +have found it by this time.</p> + +<p>"I may be faster and stronger and more sensitive than +any other living human being, but that doesn't mean I have +superhuman powers, or that I'm a magician. And I'm quite +certain that you, Colonel, don't credit me with such abilities. +You don't believe that I can do in a short time what +the combined forces of the Government couldn't do in ten. +Certainly you wouldn't rely too heavily on it.</p> + +<p>"And yet, apparently, you are.</p> + +<p>"To me, that can only mean that you have another ace +up your sleeve. You <i>know</i> we're going to get the Nipe +fairly quickly. You either have a sure way of tracing him, +or you already know where he is.</p> + +<p>"Which is it?"</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim sighed. "We know where he is," he +said. "We have known for six years."</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c6" id="c6"></a><i>[6]</i></h2> + +<p>The Nipe prowled around the huge underground +room, carefully checking his alarms. If anyone entered the +network of tunnels at any point, the instruments would +register that fact. They had to be adjusted, of course, for +the presence of the small, omnivorous quadrupeds that ran +through the tunnels in such numbers, but anything larger +than they would be noted immediately.</p> + +<p>He did not like to leave this place. Here, over a period of +ten revolutions of this planet about its primary, he had +built himself a nest that was almost comfortable. Here, too, +were his workshops and his storehouses. He had reason to +believe that he was safe here, screened and protected as he +was, but each time he left or entered he ran the chance of +being observed.</p> + +<p>Still, there was no help for it. Thus far, he had been +hampered by technical problems. There were things he +needed that he could not make for himself. Even his own +vast memory, with its every bit of information instantly +available, could only contain what had been acquired over +a lifetime, and even his long life had not been long enough +to acquire every bit of knowledge he needed.</p> + +<p>His work had been long and tedious. There were many +things that could neither be made in his workshops nor +obtained from the natives, things he did not know how to +make and which the local species had not yet evolved in +their own technology. Or, more likely, which had not been +allowed them. In such cases, he had had to make do with +other, lesser techniques, which added to the complexity of +his job.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + +<p>But now another problem had intruded itself into his +schedule.</p> + +<p>He had a name. Colonel Walther Mannheim. The meaning +of the verbal symbolism was unknown to him. The patterns +of the symbolism were even more evasive than the +patterns of the language itself. "Colonel" seemed simple +enough. It indicated a certain sociomilitary class that was +rigidly defined in one way and very hazy in another. But +the meanings and relationships of both "Walther" and +"Mannheim" were beyond him. What difference, for instance, +was there between a "Walther" and a "William"? +Did a "Mannheim" outrank a "Mandeville", or the other +way around? What functions differentiated a "John Smith" +from a "Peter Taylor"? He knew what a "john" was and +what a "smith" was, but "John Smith" was not, apparently, +necessarily associated with sanitary plumbing. The meaning +of some other names eluded him entirely.</p> + +<p>But that made little difference at the moment. The meaning +of Colonel Walther Mannheim's symbolic nomenclature +was secondary in comparison with his known function.</p> + +<p>That required that the Nipe must eventually find and +confront Colonel Walther Mannheim.</p> + +<p>It meant time lost, of course. It meant that precious +time, which should be given to building his communicator, +must be given over to what was merely a protective action.</p> + +<p>But there was nothing to do but go on. It would never +have occurred to the Nipe to give up, for to quit meant to +die. And to die—here, now—was unthinkable.</p> + +<p>His alarms were all functioning, his defenses all set. He +could now leave his hideaway knowing that if it were +broken into while he was away he would be warned in time. +But he had no real fear of that. He had done everything he +could do. And no intelligent creature, to the Nipe's way of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +thinking, would waste time worrying about a situation he +could not improve upon.</p> + +<p>Taking with him the equipment he needed for the job +he had to do, he entered the tunnel that ran southward +from his base of operations. Once, as he moved along, one +of the little quadrupeds approached him, its teeth bared. +With an almost negligent flip of one powerful, superfast +hand, he slammed it against a nearby wall. It dropped and +lay still. Another of its kind approached it cautiously. The +Nipe noticed the approach with approval. The quadrupeds +had no real intelligence, but they had the proper instincts.</p> + +<p>At last the Nipe came to another of the many places +where the tunnels met with others of the network. He +crossed through several rooms, all very large and cluttered +with the dusty, long-dead bones of hundreds of the local intelligent +life-form—if (and he was not sure in his own mind +of this) they could actually be called intelligent. But he +moved carefully, stepping over the human bones and the +empty, staring skulls. They had apparently been properly +devoured, although he could not be sure whether it had +been done by their own kind or by the little quadrupeds. +Nonetheless, he would not willingly disturb their repose.</p> + +<p>He went on into the tunnel that led westward and followed +it as it began to angle down. Finally he came to the +water's edge.</p> + +<p>To a human being, the cold expanse of water that +gleamed like ink in the light of the Nipe's illuminator would +have been a barricade as impenetrable as steel. But to the +Nipe the tidal pool was simply another of his defenses, for +it concealed the only entrance he ever used. He went in +after adjusting his scuba mask and began swimming toward +the opening that led to the estuary of the sea, his eight +strong limbs working in unison in a way that would have +been the envy of a rowing team.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p> + +<p>At the jagged hole in the tunnel wall, the gap that led +into open water, he paused to check his instruments. Only +after he was certain that there were no sonar or other detector +radiations did he propel himself onward, out into the +estuary itself.</p> + +<p>An hour later, he was warily circling the spot where his +little submarine was hidden. He pressed a button on a small +device in his hand, and a signal was sent to the submarine. +The various devices within it all responded properly. Nothing +had been disturbed since the Nipe had set those devices +weeks before.</p> + +<p>This was the touchiest part of any of his expeditions. +There was always the chance, unlikely as it might be, that +some one of the bipedal natives had found his machine. He +dared not use it too close to his base because of the possibility +of its drive vibrations being detected in the narrow +estuary. Out here in the open sea there was far less likelihood +of that, but leaving his submarine concealed out here +increased the danger he exposed himself to every time he +left his hidden nest.</p> + +<p>Satisfied that the machine was just as he had left it, he +entered it and started its engines. He moved slowly and +cautiously until he was well out to sea, well away from the +continental shelf and over the ocean deeps. Then and only +then did he accelerate to full cruising speed.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>The full moon was in the west, hiding behind an array of +low, scudding clouds, revealing its radiance in fitful bursts +of silvery splendor that died again as another clotted cloud +moved before the face of the white disk. The shifting light, +shining through the breeze-tossed leaves of the palm trees +on the beach below, made strange shadows on the sand, +ever-changing patterns of gray and black on a background +of white, moonlit sand.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p> + +<p>But the strangest shadow of all was one that did not +change as the others did—a great centipede-like shape that +seemed to wash slowly ashore on the receding tide. For a +short while, it remained at the water's edge, apparently unmoving +in the wash of the waves.</p> + +<p>Then, keeping low and balancing himself on his third +pair of limbs, the Nipe moved in across the beach. The +specially constructed sandals he wore left behind them a set +of very human-looking footprints—prints that would remain +unnoticed among the myriad of others that were already on +the beach, left there by daytime bathers.</p> + +<p>It required more time yet to reach the city, and still more +time to find the place he was looking for. It was almost dawn +before he managed to find a storm sewer in which to hide +for the day.</p> + +<p>It was partly his difficulty in finding a given spot in a +city—almost any city—that had convinced the Nipe that the +pseudo-intelligence of the bipeds of this planet could not +really be called true intelligence. There was no standardized +method of orienting oneself in a city. Not only were no +two cities alike in their orientation systems, but the same +city would often vary from section to section. Their co-ordinate +systems meant almost nothing. Part of a given co-ordinate +might be a number, and the rest of it a name, but +the meanings of the numbers and names were never the +same. It was as though some really intelligent outside +agency had given them the basic idea of a co-ordinate system, +and they, not having the intelligence to use it properly, +had simply jumbled the whole thing up.</p> + +<p>That the natives themselves had no real understanding +of any such system had long been apparent to him. The +dwellers in any one area would naturally be familiar with +it; they would know where each place was, regardless of +what meaningless names and numbers might be attached<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +to it. But strangers to that area would not know, and could +not know. The only thing they could possibly do would be +to ask directions of a local citizen—which, the Nipe had +learned, was exactly what they did.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, it was not that simple for the Nipe. There +was no way for him to walk up to a native and inquire for +an address. He had to prowl unseen through the alleys and +sewers of a city, picking up a name here, a number there, +by eavesdropping on street conversations. He had found +that every city contained certain uniformed individuals +whose duty it was to direct strangers, and by focusing a +directional microphone on such men and listening, it was +possible to glean little bits of knowledge that could eventually +be co-ordinated into a whole understanding of the city's +layout. It was a time-consuming process, but it was the +only way the job could be done. Reconnaissance took a +tremendous amount of time away from his serious work, but +that work could not proceed without materials to work with, +and to get those materials required reconnaissance. The dilemma +was unavoidable.</p> + +<p>And, being what he was, the Nipe accepted the unavoidable +and pursued his course with phlegmatic equanimity.</p> + +<p>Overhead, the city was beginning to waken. The volume +of sound began to increase.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Police Patrolman John Flanders relieved his fellow officer, +Patrolman Fred Pilsudski, at a few minutes of eight in +the morning.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful day, even for Miami. In the east, the +morning sun shone brightly through the hard, transparent +pressure glass that covered the street, making the smooth, +resilient surface of the street itself glow with warm light. +Overhead, Patrolman Flanders could see the aircars in their +incessant motion—apparently random, unless one knew what<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +the traffic pattern was and how to look for it. It was Patrolman +Flanders' immediate ambition to be promoted to traffic +patrol, so that he could be in an aircar above the city instead +of watching pedestrians down here on the streets.</p> + +<p>"Morning, Fred," he said to his brother officer. "How'd +the night go?"</p> + +<p>"Hi, Johnny. Pretty good. Not much excitement." He +looked at his wristwatch. "You're a couple minutes early +yet."</p> + +<p>"Yeah. The baby started singing for his breakfast at a +God-awful hour. Harriet woke up to feed him, which woke +me up, so here I am. If you want to give me the call button, +I'll take over. You can go get yourself a cup of coffee."</p> + +<p>"I'm up to here with coffee," Pilsudski said, indicating a +point just below his left ear. "I'll have a beer instead."</p> + +<p>He touched a switch at his belt and said: "Area 37 HQ, +this is 13392 Pilsudski."</p> + +<p>A voice in his helmet phones said: "37 HQ, go ahead, +Pilsudski."</p> + +<p>"Time: 0758 hours. I am being relieved by 14278 +Flanders."</p> + +<p>"Right. Go ahead."</p> + +<p>Pilsudski took off the light, strong helmet, reached inside +it, opened a small sliding panel, and took out an object the +size and shape of an aspirin tablet—the sealed unit that permitted +him to understand the conversation over the police +wave band. Without it, the police calls would have been +gibberish.</p> + +<p>Flanders accepted the little gadget from the other officer +and inserted it in his own helmet. Then he replaced the +helmet on his head. "Area 37 HQ, this is 14278 Flanders. +I am relieving 13392 Pilsudski."</p> + +<p>"37 HQ," said the voice in his ears. "Okay, Flanders. +Transfer recorded."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> + +<p>Police Patrolman John Flanders, Badge Number 14278, +was now officially on duty.</p> + +<p>He looked up into the sky. "Now there's the place to be +on a day like this, Fred. Traffic patrol."</p> + +<p>"Not me," said Pilsudski. "Too damn dull. I was on it for +six months. Damn near drove me nuts. Nobody to talk to +but another cop—same cop, day after day. He was a nice +guy, don't get me wrong, but Christ! Nothin' to do but +watch for people breakin' traffic pattern. Can't even pull +over to the side and watch the traffic go by. It's dull, I'm +tellin' you, Johnny. I asked for a transfer back to a beat +so's I could see some people again."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," said Flanders. "I'd still like to try it."</p> + +<p>"Ever'body to their own taste, I guess. Mitchell and +Warber were in luck last night, though. Excitement." He +sounded as though he meant the word to be sarcastic.</p> + +<p>"What happened?" Flanders asked.</p> + +<p>"Some boob was having a fight with his wife and his air +intake was goofing off at the same time. So, while she's yelling +at him, he puts his aircar on hover." He pointed upward. +"Right up there, in Level Two. He opens the window +of his aircar, mind you. His air intake ain't workin', like I +said. Mitchell, in Car 87, spots him and heads for him, +figuring there's trouble."</p> + +<p>"But no trouble?" asked Flanders.</p> + +<p>"Trouble enough. The driver's old lady throws a wrench +at him, an' it goes out the window." He chuckled. "First I +heard about it was when that damn wrench comes down and +bounces off the pressure glass, then up to the side of the +building there, and back to the pressure glass. Then it slides +off into the rain gutter."</p> + +<p>Flanders looked up at the curve of hard, tough, almost +invisible pressure glass that covered the street. "With all the +cars overhead that we got in this city," Flanders said philosophically,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +"something like that's bound to happen every +so often. That's why that glass is up there, besides for keepin' +the rain off your head."</p> + +<p>"Yeah," Pilsudski said. "Anyway, Mitchell and Warber +got there just as she tossed the wrench. Arrested both of +'em. Now, wasn't that exciting?"</p> + +<p>Flanders grinned. "Fred, if the rest of their tour of duty +was as dull as you say it was, then I reckon that must have +been real exciting."</p> + +<p>"Hah." Pilsudski shrugged. "Well, I'm for that beer. See +you tomorrow, Johnny."</p> + +<p>"Right. Take care o' yourself."</p> + +<p>As Pilsudski walked away, Flanders put his hands behind +his back, grasping the left in the right. He spread his +feet slightly apart. In that time-honored position of the foot +patrolman, he surveyed his beat, up and down both sides of +the street. Everything looked perfectly normal. Another +working day had begun.</p> + +<p>He had no idea that he was standing only a few yards +from the most hated and feared killer on the face of the +Earth.</p> + +<p>The only clue that he could possibly have had to that +killer's presence was a small ovoid the size and shape of a +match head, a dark, dull gray in color, which protruded +slightly from a sewer grating six feet away, supported on a +hair-thin stalk. In one end was a tiny dark opening, and +that opening was pointed directly at Officer Flanders' head. +When he began walking slowly down the street, the little +ovoid moved, turning slowly on its stalk to keep that dark +hole pointed steadily. It was so small, that ovoid, and so inconspicuous, +that no one, even looking directly at it, would +have noticed it.</p> + +<p>The Nipe could see and hear without being either seen or +heard himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> + +<p>All morning long the tiny ovoid remained in place, +watching, listening.</p> + +<p>At 11:24 a woman in a cherry-pink dress walked up to +Officer Flanders and said: "Pardon me, Officer. Could you +tell me where I could find the Donahue Building?"</p> + +<p>And while the policeman told her, the Nipe listened carefully. +Now he knew what street he was on and its location +in respect to two other streets. He also had a number. He +remembered them all, accurately and completely. It was a +good beginning, he decided. It would not be too long before +he would have enough to enable him to locate the address he +was looking for. After that, there would only remain the job +of observing and making plans to get what he wanted at that +address.</p> + +<p>He settled himself to wait for more information. He knew +that it would be a long wait.</p> + +<p>But he was prepared for that.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SECOND_INTERLUDE" id="SECOND_INTERLUDE"></a><i>SECOND INTERLUDE</i></h2> + +<p>The woman's eyes were filled with tears, for which the +doctor was privately thankful. At least, he thought to himself, +the original shock has worn off.</p> + +<p>"And there's nothing we can do?" she asked. "Nothing?" +There was anguish in her voice.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not," the doctor told her gently. "Not yet. +There are research men working on the problem, and one +day ... perhaps ..." Then he shook his head. "But not +yet." He paused. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stanton."</p> + +<p>The woman sat there in the comfortable chair and looked +at the specialist's diploma on the doctor's wall—and yet, she +really didn't see the diploma at all. She was seeing something +else—a kind of dream that had been shattered.</p> + +<p>After a moment, she began to speak, her voice low and +gentle, as though the dream were still going on and she +were half afraid she might waken herself if she spoke too +loudly.</p> + +<p>"Jim and I were so glad they were twins. Identical twin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> +boys. He said ... I remember, he said, 'We ought to call +them Ike and Mike.' And he laughed a little when he said +it, to show he didn't mean it."</p> + +<p>The doctor said nothing, waiting for her to go on.</p> + +<p>"I remember, I was propped up in the bed, the afternoon +after they were born, and Jim brought me a new bed jacket, +and I said I didn't need a new one because I'd be going +right home the very next day, and he said, 'Hell, kid, you +don't think I'd buy a bed jacket just for hospital use, now +do you? This is for breakfasts in bed, too.'</p> + +<p>"And that's when he said he'd seen the boys and said we +ought to name them Ike and Mike."</p> + +<p>The tears were coming down Mrs. Stanton's cheeks +heavily now, and the grief made her look older than her +twenty-four years, but the doctor said nothing, letting her +spill out her emotions in words.</p> + +<p>"We'd talked about it before, you know—soon as the +obstetrician found out that I was going to have twins. And +Jim ... Jim said that we shouldn't name them alike unless +they were identical twins or mirror twins. If they were fraternal +twins, we'd just name them as if they'd been ordinary +brothers or sisters or whatever. You know?" She looked at +the doctor, her eyes pleading for understanding.</p> + +<p>"I know," he said.</p> + +<p>"And Jim was always kidding. If they were girls, he said, +we ought to call them Flora and Dora, or Annie and +Fanny, or maybe Susie and Floozie. He was always kidding +about it. You know?"</p> + +<p>"I know," said the doctor.</p> + +<p>"And then ... and then when they <i>were</i> identical boys, +he was very sensible about it. He was always so sensible. +'We'll call them Martin and Bartholomew,' he said. 'Then +if they want to call themselves Mart and Bart, they can, but +they won't be stuck with any rhyming names if they don't<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +want them.' Jim was always very thoughtful that way, Doctor. +Very thoughtful."</p> + +<p>She seemed suddenly to realize that she was crying and +took a handkerchief out of her sleeve to dab at her eyes +and face.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to quit crying," she said, trying to sound very +brave and very strong. "After all, it could have been worse, +couldn't it? I mean, the radiation could have killed my boy, +too. Jim's dead, yes, and I've got to get used to that. But I +still have two boys to take care of, and they'll need me."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Stanton, they will," said the doctor. "They'll +both need you very much. And you'll have to be very gentle +and very careful with both of them."</p> + +<p>"How ... how do you mean that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>The doctor settled back in his chair and chose his words +carefully. "Identical twins tend to identify with each other, +Mrs. Stanton. There is a great deal of empathy between +people who are not only of the same age, but genetically +identical. If they were both completely healthy, there would +normally be very little trouble in their education at home +or in school. Any of the standard texts on psychodynamics +in education will show you the pitfalls to avoid when dealing +with identical siblings.</p> + +<p>"But your sons are no longer identical, Mrs. Stanton. +One is normal, healthy, and lively. The other is ... well, +as you know, he is slow, sluggish, and badly co-ordinated. +The condition may improve with time, but, until we know +more about such damage than we do now, he will remain +an invalid."</p> + +<p>He had been watching her for further signs of emotional +upset. But she seemed to be listening calmly enough. He +went on.</p> + +<p>"That's the trouble with radiation damage, Mrs. Stanton.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> +Even when we can save the victim's life, we cannot always +save his health.</p> + +<p>"You can see, I think, what sort of psychic disturbances +this might bring about in such a pair. The ill boy tends to +identify with the well one, and, oddly enough, the reverse is +also true. If they are not properly handled during their +formative years, Mrs. Stanton, both can be badly damaged +emotionally."</p> + +<p>"I ... I think I understand, Doctor," the young woman +said. "But what sort of thing should I look out for? What +sort of things should I avoid?"</p> + +<p>"First off, I suggest you get a good man in psychic development," +the doctor said. "I, myself, would hesitate to +prescribe. It's out of my field. But I can say that, in general, +most of your trouble will be caused by a tendency for +the pair to swing into one of two extremes.</p> + +<p>"At one extreme, you will have mutual antagonism. This +arises when the ill child becomes jealous of the other's +health, while, on the other hand, the healthy one becomes +jealous of the extra consideration that is shown to his crippled +brother.</p> + +<p>"At the other extreme, the healthy boy may identify so +closely with his brother that he feels every slight or hurt, +real or imagined, which the ill boy is subjected to. He becomes +extremely over-solicitous, over-protective. At the +same time, the invalid brother may come to depend completely +on his healthy twin.</p> + +<p>"In both these situations there is a positive feedback that +constantly worsens the condition. It requires a great deal of +careful observation and careful application of the proper +educational stimuli to keep the situation from developing +toward either extreme. You'll need expert help if you want +both boys to display the full abilities of which they are +potentially capable."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I see," the woman said. "Could you give me the name of +a good man, Doctor?"</p> + +<p>The doctor nodded and picked up a book on his desk. +"I'll give you the names of several. You can pick the one +you like best, the one with whom you seem to be most comfortable. +Try several or all of them before you decide. +They're all good men. There are many good women in the +field, too, but in this case I think a man would be best. Of +course, if one of them thinks a woman is indicated, that's +up to him. As I said, that isn't my field."</p> + +<p>He opened the small book and riffled through it to find the +names he wanted.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c7" id="c7"></a><i>[7]</i></h2> + +<p>The image of the Nipe on the glowing screen was clear +and finely detailed. It was, Stanton thought, as though one +were looking through a window into the Nipe's nest itself. +Only the tremendous depth of focus of the lens that had +caught the picture gave the illusion a feeling of unreality. +Everything—background and foreground alike—was sharply +in focus.</p> + +<p>Like some horrendous dream monster, the Nipe moved in +slow motion, giving Stanton the eerie feeling that the alien +was moving through a thicker, heavier medium than air, in +a place where the gravity was much less than that of Earth. +With ponderous deliberation, the fingers of one of his +hands closed upon the handle of an oddly shaped tool and +lifted it slowly from the surface upon which he worked.</p> + +<p>"That's our best-placed camera," said Colonel Mannheim, +"but some of the others can always get details that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +this one doesn't. The trouble is that we'll never really have +enough cameras in there—not unless we stud the walls, ceilings, +and floors with them, and even then I'm not so sure +we'd get everything. It isn't the same as having a trained +expert on camera who is <i>trying</i> to demonstrate what he's +doing. An expert plays to the camera and never obstructs +any of his own movements. But the Nipe ..." He left the +sentence unfinished and shook his head sadly.</p> + +<p>Stanton narrowed his eyes at the image. To his own +speeded-up perceptive processes, the motion seemed intolerably +slow. "Would you mind speeding it up a little?" he +asked the colonel. "I want to get an idea of the way he +moves, and I can't really get the feeling of it at this speed."</p> + +<p>"Certainly." The colonel turned to the technician at the +controls. "Speed the tape up to normal. If there's anything +Mr. Stanton wants to look at more closely, we can run it +through again."</p> + +<p>As if in obedience to the colonel's command, the Nipe +seemed to shake himself a little and go about his business +more briskly, and the air and gravity seemed to revert to +those of Earth.</p> + +<p>"What's he doing?" Stanton asked. The Nipe was performing +some sort of operation on an odd-looking box that +sat on the floor in front of him.</p> + +<p>The colonel pointed. "He's got a screwdriver that he's +modified to give it a head with an L-shaped cross section, +and he's wiggling it around inside that hole in the box. But +what he's doing is a secret between God and the Nipe at this +point," Colonel Mannheim said glumly.</p> + +<p>Stanton glanced away from the screen for a moment to +look at the other men who were there. Some of them were +watching the screen, but most of them seemed to be watching +Stanton, although they looked away as soon as they saw<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +his eyes on them. All, that is, except Dr. George Yoritomo, +who simply gave him a smile of confidence.</p> + +<p><i>Trying to see what kind of a bloke this touted superman +is</i>, Stanton thought. <i>Well, I can't say I blame 'em.</i></p> + +<p>He brought his attention back to the screen.</p> + +<p>So this was the Nipe's hideaway. He wondered if it were +furnished in the fashion that a Nipe's living quarters would +be furnished on whatever planet the multilegged horror had +come from. Probably it had the same similarity as Robinson +Crusoe's island home had to a middle-class nineteenth-century +English home.</p> + +<p>There was no furniture in it at all, as such. Low-slung +as he was, the Nipe needed no tables or workbenches; all his +work was spread out on the floor, with a neatness and tidiness +that would have surprised many human technicians. +For the same reason, he needed no chairs, and, since true +sleep was a form of metabolic rest he evidently found unnecessary, +he needed no bed. The closest thing he did that +might be called sleep was his habit of stopping whatever he +was doing and remaining quiet for periods of time that +ranged from a few minutes to a couple of hours. Sometimes +his eyes remained opened during these periods, sometimes +they were closed. It was difficult to tell whether he was +sleeping or just thinking.</p> + +<p>"The difficulty was in getting cameras in there in the first +place," Colonel Mannheim was saying. "That's why we +missed so much of his early work. There! Look at that!" His +finger jabbed at the image.</p> + +<p>"The attachment he's making?"</p> + +<p>"That's right. Now, it looks as though it's a meter of some +kind, but we don't know whether it's a test instrument or +an integral and necessary part of the machine he's making. +The whole machine might even be only a test instrument +for something else he's building. Or perhaps a machine to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +make parts for some other machine. After all, he had to +start out from the very beginning—making the tools to make +the tools to make the tools, you know."</p> + +<p>Dr. Yoritomo spoke for the first time. "It's not quite as +bad as all that, eh, Colonel? We must remember that he +had our technology to draw upon. If he'd been wrecked on +Earth two or three centuries ago, he wouldn't have been +able to do a thing."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim smiled at the tall, lean man. +"Granted," he said agreeably, "but it's quite obvious that +there are parts of our technology that are just as alien to +him as parts of his are to us. Remember how he went to all +the trouble of building a pentode vacuum tube for a job +that could have been done by transistors he already had had +a chance to get and didn't. His knowledge of solid-state +physics seems to be about a century and a half behind ours."</p> + +<p>Stanton listened. Dr. Yoritomo was, in effect, one of his +training instructors. <i>Advanced Alien Psychology</i>, Stanton +thought; <i>Seminar Course. The Mental Whys & Wherefores +of the Nipe, or How to Outthink the Enemy in Twelve +Dozen Easy Lessons. Instructor: Dr. George Yoritomo.</i></p> + +<p>The smile on Yoritomo's face was beatific, but he held +up a warning finger. "Ah, ah, Colonel! We mustn't fall into +a trap like that so easily. Remember that gimmick he built +last year? The one that blinded those people in Baghdad? +It had five perfect emeralds in it, connected in series with +silver wire. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"That's true," the colonel admitted. "But they weren't +used the way we'd use semiconducting materials."</p> + +<p>"Indeed not. But the thing <i>worked</i>, didn't it? He has a +knowledge of solid-state physics that we don't have, and +vice versa."</p> + +<p>"Which one would you say was ahead of the other?" Stanton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +asked. "I don't mean just in solid-state physics, but in +science as a whole."</p> + +<p>"That's a difficult question to answer," Dr. Yoritomo +said thoughtfully. "Frankly, I'd put my money on his technology +as encompassing more than ours—at least, insofar +as the physical sciences are concerned."</p> + +<p>"I agree," said Colonel Mannheim. "He's got things in +that little nest of his that—" He stopped and shook his head +slowly, as though he couldn't find words.</p> + +<p>"I will say this," Yoritomo continued. "Whatever his +great technological abilities, our friend the Nipe has plenty +of good, solid guts. And patience." He smiled a little, and +then amended his statement. "From our own point of view."</p> + +<p>Stanton looked at him quizzically. "How do you mean? +I was just about to agree with you until you tacked that +last phrase on. What does point of view have to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Everything, I should say," said Yoritomo. "It all depends +on the equipment an individual has. A man, for instance, +who rushes into a building to save a life, wearing nothing +but street clothes, has courage. A man who does the same +thing when he's wearing a nullotherm suit is an unknown +quantity. There is no way of knowing, from that action +alone, whether he has courage or not."</p> + +<p>Stanton thought he saw what the scientist was driving at. +"But you're not talking about technological equipment +now," he said.</p> + +<p>"Not at all. I'm talking about personal equipment." He +turned his head slightly to look at the colonel. "Colonel +Mannheim, do you think it would require any personal +courage on Mr. Stanton's part to stand up against you in a +face-to-face gunfight?"</p> + +<p>The colonel grinned tightly. "I see what you mean."</p> + +<p>Stanton grinned back rather wryly. "So do I. No, it +wouldn't."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>"On the other hand," Yoritomo continued, "if you were +to challenge Mr. Stanton, would that show courage on your +part, Colonel?"</p> + +<p>"Not really. Foolhardiness, stupidity or insanity—but not +courage."</p> + +<p>"Ah, then," said Yoritomo with a beaming smile, "neither +of you can prove you have guts enough to fight the other. +Can you?"</p> + +<p>Mannheim smiled grimly and said nothing. But Stanton +was thinking the whole thing out very carefully. "Just a +second," he said. "That depends on the circumstances. If +Colonel Mannheim, say, knew that forcing me to shoot him +would save the life of someone more important than himself—or, +perhaps, the lives of a great many people—what +then?"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo bowed his head in a quick nod. "Exactly. That +is what I meant by viewpoint. Whether the Nipe has courage +or patience or any other human feeling depends on two +things: his own abilities and exactly how much information +he has. A man can perform any action without fear if he +knows that it will not hurt him—or if he does <i>not</i> know that +it <i>will</i>."</p> + +<p>Stanton thought that over in silence.</p> + +<p>The image of the Nipe was no longer moving. He had +settled down into his "sleeping position"—unmoving, although +the baleful violet eyes were still open. "Cut that off," +Colonel Mannheim said to the operator. "There's not much +to learn from the rest of that tape."</p> + +<p>As the image blanked out, Stanton said, "Have you actually +managed to build any of the devices he's constructed, +Colonel?"</p> + +<p>"Some," said Colonel Mannheim. "We have specialists all +over the world studying those tapes. We have the advantage +of being able to watch every step the Nipe makes, and we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +know the materials he's been using to work with. But, even +so, the scientists are baffled by many of them. Can you +imagine the time James Clerk Maxwell would have had trying +to build a modern television set from tapes like this?"</p> + +<p>"I can imagine," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"You can see, then, why we're depending on you," Mannheim +said.</p> + +<p>Stanton merely nodded. The knowledge that he was actually +a focal point in human history, that the whole future of +the human race depended to a tremendous extent on him, +was a realization that weighed heavily and, at the same +time, was immensely bracing.</p> + +<p>"And now," the colonel said, "I'll turn you over to Dr. +Yoritomo. He'll be able to give you a great deal more information +than I can."</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c8" id="c8"></a><i>[8]</i></h2> + +<p>The girl moved with the peculiar gliding walk so characteristic +of a person walking under low-gravity conditions, +and the ease and grace with which she did it showed that +she was no stranger to low-gee. To the three men from +Earth who followed her a few paces behind, the gee-pull +seemed so low as to be almost nonexistent, although it was +actually a shade over one quarter of that of Earth, the +highest gravitational pull of any planetoid in the Belt. Their +faint feeling of nausea was due simply to their lack of experience +with <i>really</i> low gravity—the largest planetoid in the +Belt had a surface gravity that was only one eighth of the +pull they were now experiencing, and only one thirty-second +of the Earth gravity they were used to.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p> + +<p>The planetoid they were on—or rather, <i>in</i>—was known +throughout the Belt simply as Threadneedle Street, and was +nowhere near as large as Ceres. What accounted for the +relatively high gravity pull of this tiny body was its spin. +Moving in its orbit, out beyond the orbit of Mars, it turned +fairly rapidly on its axis—rapidly enough to overcome the +feeble gravitational field of its mass. It was a solid, roughly +spherical mass of nickel-iron, nearly two thirds of a mile in +diameter and, like the other inhabited planetoids of the +Belt, honeycombed with corridors and rooms cut out of the +living metal itself. But the corridors and rooms were oriented +differently from those of the other planetoids; Threadneedle +Street made one complete rotation about its axis in something +less than a minute and a half, and the resulting centrifugal +force reversed the normal "up" and "down", so that +the center of the planetoid was overhead to anyone walking +inside it. It was that fact which added to the queasiness of +the three men from Earth who were following the girl down +the corridor. They knew that only a few floors beneath them +yawned the mighty nothingness of infinite space.</p> + +<p>The girl, totally unconcerned with thoughts of that vast +emptiness, stopped before a door that led off the corridor +and opened it. "Mr. Martin," she said, "these are the gentlemen +who have an appointment with you. Mr. Gerrol. Mr. +Vandenbosch. Mr. Nguma." She called off each name as the +man bearing it walked awkwardly through the door. "Gentlemen," +she finished, "this is Mr. Stanley Martin." Then she +left, discreetly closing the door.</p> + +<p>The young man behind the desk in the metal-walled office +stood up smiling as the three men entered, offered his hand +to each, and shook hands warmly. "Sit down, gentlemen," +he said, gesturing toward three solidly built chairs that had +been anchored magnetically to the nickel-iron floor of the +room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Well," he said genially when the three had seated themselves, +"how was the trip out?"</p> + +<p>He watched them closely, without appearing to do so, as +they made their polite responses to his question. He was +acquainted with them only through correspondence; now +was his first chance to evaluate them in person.</p> + +<p>Barnabas Nguma, a very tall man whose dark brown skin +and eyes made a sharp contrast with the white of the mass +of tiny, crisp curls on his head, smiled when he spoke, but +there were lines of worry etched around his eyes. "Pleasant +enough, Mr. Martin. I'm afraid that steady one-gee acceleration +has left me unprepared for this low gravity."</p> + +<p>"Well," said Stefan Vandenbosch, "it really isn't so bad, +once you get used to it. As long as it's steady, I don't +mind it." He was a rather chubby man of average height, +with blond hair that was beginning to gray at the temples +and pale blue eyes that gave his face an expression of almost +childlike innocence.</p> + +<p>Arthur Gerrol, the third man, was almost as light-complexioned +as Vandenbosch. His thinning hair was light +brown, and his eyes were a deep gray-blue, and the lines in +his hard, blocky face gave him a look of grim determination. +"I agree, Stefan. It isn't the low gravity <i>per se</i>. It's the doggone +surges. We went from one gee to zero when the ship +came in for a landing at the pole of Threadneedle Street. +Then, as we came back down here, the gravity kept going +up, and that ... what do you call it? Coriolis force? +Yeah, that's it. It made my head feel as though the whole +room was spinning." Then, realizing what he'd said, he +laughed sharply.</p> + +<p>The man behind the desk laughed with him. "Yes, it is a +bit disconcerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull +to make a man feel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's +one of the reasons why Threadneedle Street was picked.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +As the financial center of the Belt, we have a great many +visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a lot easier to +get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at the +others and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London +help you?"</p> + +<p>He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making +it awkward for them to bring up the subject they had +on their minds.</p> + +<p>It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, +Mr. Martin, we have come to put our case before you +in person. It is not Lloyd's we want—it is you."</p> + +<p>"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. +Nguma?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. We feel—"</p> + +<p>The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, +do you have any further information?" He looked as though +such news would be welcome but that it would not change +his mind in the least.</p> + +<p>"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know +whether our little bits and dribbles of information are worth +anything."</p> + +<p>The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. +"I see," he said softly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, +Mr. Nguma?"</p> + +<p>Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, +sir! You are acknowledged as the greatest detective in the +Solar System—bar none. We need you, Mr. Martin! <i>Earth</i> +needs you! That inhuman monster has been killing and robbing +for ten years! Men, women, and children have been +slaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've +<i>got</i> to help us find that God-awful thing!"</p> + +<p>Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned +forward earnestly and said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent +businessmen who have been robbed. We also represent<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +hundreds and hundreds of people who have had friends +and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr. +Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror +of a superhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and +goods lost—it's a matter of <i>lives</i> lost. Human lives, Mr. +Martin."</p> + +<p>"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," +Vandenbosch broke in. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, +more will die. Who knows how long a beast like that may +live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!" He waved a +hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for another +century—maybe more—killing, killing, killing."</p> + +<p>The detective looked at them for a moment in silence. +These three men represented more than just a group of +businessmen who had grown uneasy about the Government's +ability to catch the Nipe; they represented more than a few +hundred or even a few thousand people who had been directly +affected by the monster's depredations. They represented +the growing feeling of unrest that was making itself +known all over Earth. It was even making itself felt out here +in the Belt, although the Nipe had not, in the past decade, +shown any desire to leave Earth. Why hadn't the beast been +found? Why couldn't it be killed? Why were its raids always +so fantastically successful?</p> + +<p>For every toothmark that inhuman thing had left on a +human bone, it had left a thousand on human minds—marks +of a fear that was more than a fear. It was a deep-seated +terror of the unknown.</p> + +<p>The number of people killed in ordinary accidents in a +single week was greater than the total number killed by the +Nipe in the last decade, but nowhere were men banding together +to put a stop to that sort of death. Accidental death +was a known factor, almost a friend; the Nipe was stark +horror.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p> + +<p>The detective said: "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but what I +said in my last letter still goes. I can't take the job. I will +not go to Earth."</p> + +<p>Every one of the three men could sense the determination +in his voice, the utter finality of his words. There was +no mistaking the iron-hard will of the man. They knew +that nothing could shake him—nothing, at least, that they +could do.</p> + +<p>But they couldn't admit defeat. No matter how futile +they knew it to be, they still had to try.</p> + +<p>Nguma took a billfold from his jacket pocket, opened it, +and took out an engraved sheet of paper with an embossed +seal in one corner. He put it on the desk in front of the +detective.</p> + +<p>"Would you look at that, Mr. Martin?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The detective picked it up and looked at it. The expression +on his face did not change. "Two hundred and fifty +thousand," he said, in a voice that showed only polite interest. +"A cool quarter of a million. That's a lot of money, +Mr. Nguma."</p> + +<p>"It is," said Nguma. "As you can see, that sum has just +been deposited here, in the Belt branch of the Bank of England. +It will be transferred to your account immediately, as +soon as you agree to come to Earth to find and kill the +Nipe."</p> + +<p>The detective looked up from his inspection of the certificate. +He had known that the three men had made a visit +to the Bank's offices, and he had been fairly sure of their +purpose when he had received the information. He had not +known the sum would be quite so large.</p> + +<p>"A quarter of a million, just to take the job?" he asked. +"And what if I don't catch him?"</p> + +<p>"We have faith in you, Mr. Martin," Nguma said. "We +know your reputation. We know what you've done in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +past. The Government police haven't been able to do anything. +They're completely baffled, and have been for ten +years. They will continue to be so. This alien's mind is too +devilishly sharp for the kind of men in Government service. +We know that when you take this job the finest brain in the +Solar System will be searching for that horror. If you can't +find him ..." He spread his hands in a gesture that was +partly a dismissal of all hope and partly an appeal to the +man whose services he wanted so desperately.</p> + +<p>The detective put the certificate down on the desk top +and pushed it toward Nguma. "That's very flattering, sir. +Really. And I wish there were some more diplomatic way +of saying no—but that's all I can say."</p> + +<p>"There will be a like sum deposited to your account as +soon as you either kill or capture the Nipe, or, discovering +his hideout, enable the Government officials to kill or capture +him," said Nguma.</p> + +<p>"That's half a million in all," Gerrol put in. "We've +worked hard to raise that money, Mr. Martin. It should be +enough."</p> + +<p>The detective kept his temper under icy control, allowing +just enough of his anger to show to make his point. "Mr. +Gerrol ... it is not a question of money. Your offer is +more than generous."</p> + +<p>"It's our final offer," Gerrol said flatly.</p> + +<p>"I hope it is, Mr. Gerrol," the detective said coldly. "I +sincerely hope it is. For the past six months, you and your +organization have been trying to get me to take this job. I +appreciate the sincerity of your efforts, believe me. And, +as I said, I am honored and flattered that you should think +so highly of me. On the other hand, your method of going +about it is hardly flattering. I turned down your first offer +of twenty thousand six months ago. Since then, you have +been going up and up and up until you have finally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> +reached twenty-five times the original amount. You seem to +think I have been holding out for more money. I have attempted +to disabuse you of that notion, but you would not +read what I put down in my communications, evidently. If +I had wanted more money than you offered at first, I would +have said so. I would have quoted you a price. I did not. I +gave you an unqualified refusal. I give it to you still. <i>No.</i> +Flatly, absolutely, and finally ... <i>no</i>."</p> + +<p>Nguma was the only one of the three who could find his +tongue immediately. "I should think," he said somewhat +acidly, "that you would consider it your duty to—"</p> + +<p>The detective cut him off. "My duty, Mr. Nguma, is, at +this moment, to my employers. I am a paid investigator for +Lloyd's of London, Belt branch. I draw a salary that is +more than adequate for my needs and almost adequate for +my taste in the little luxuries of life. I am, for the time being +at least, satisfied with my work. So are my employers. Until +one or the other of us becomes dissatisfied, the situation will +remain as it is. I will not accept any outside work of any +kind except at the instructions of, or with the permission of, +my employers. I have neither. I want neither at this time. +That is all, gentlemen. Good day."</p> + +<p>"But the money ..." Nguma said.</p> + +<p>"The money should be withdrawn from the bank and returned +to Earth. I suggest you return it to the people who +have donated it to your organization. If that is impossible, +I suggest you donate it to the Government officials who are +working so hard to do the job you want done. I assure you, +they are much more capable than I of dealing with the Nipe. +Good day, Mr. Nguma, Mr. Vandenbosch, Mr. Gerrol."</p> + +<p>They looked hurt, bewildered, and angry. Only Mr. +Barnabas Nguma looked as if he might have some slight +understanding of what had happened. He was the only one +who spoke. "Good day, Mr. Martin. I am sorry we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span> +disturbed you. Thank you for your valuable time," he said +with dignity. And then the three men walked out the door, +closing it behind them.</p> + +<p>The detective sat behind his desk, looking at the door, +almost as if he could see the men beyond it as they moved +down the corridor. Several minutes later, when his secretary +opened the door again, he was still staring thoughtfully at +it. She thought he was staring at her.</p> + +<p>"Something the matter, Mr. Martin?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"What? Oh. No, no. Nothing, Helen; nothing. Just wool-gathering. +Did you see our visitors out all right?"</p> + +<p>She glided in and closed the door behind her. "Well, +none of them fell and broke a leg, if that's what you mean. +But that Mr. Gerrol looked as though he might break a +blood vessel. I take it you turned them down again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. For the last time, I think. It's a shame they had to +travel out here, all that distance, to be turned down. They +looked on me as their great white hope. They couldn't +really believe I would turn them down. Couldn't let themselves +believe it, I guess. They're scared, Helen—bright green +scared."</p> + +<p>"I know. But if it weren't for the fact that I have certain +pretensions to being a lady, I would have booted that Gerrol +into orbit without a spacesuit."</p> + +<p>"Oh?"</p> + +<p>"He implied," Helen said angrily, "that you were a coward. +That you were afraid to face the Nipe."</p> + +<p>The detective chuckled. "I hope you didn't say anything."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to," she admitted. "I wanted to tell him that +guns were easy to buy, that all he had to do was buy one +and go after the Nipe himself. I would like to have seen his +face if I'd asked him how scared <i>he</i> was of the beast. But +I didn't say a word. They weren't talking to me, anyway; +they were talking to each other."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I'd almost be willing to bet that Nguma disagreed with +Gerrol. Nguma didn't think I was a physical coward; he +thought I was a moral coward."</p> + +<p>"How'd you know?"</p> + +<p>"Intuition. Just from the way he talked and acted. He felt +the failure more than the others because he felt that there +was no hope left at all. He was quite certain that I, myself, +did not believe the Nipe could be caught—by me or anyone +else. He thinks that I turned down the job because I know +I'd fail and I don't want to have a failure on my record. +Not <i>that</i> big a failure."</p> + +<p>"That's ridiculous, of course," the girl said angrily.</p> + +<p>The detective noticed a faint note in her voice. <i>She thinks +the same as Nguma</i>, he thought, <i>but she doesn't want to +admit it to herself</i>. He massaged his closed eyes with the tips +of his fingers. <i>Maybe she's right</i>, he thought. <i>Maybe they're +both right.</i> Aloud, he said, "Well, we've had our little diversion. +Let's get back to work."</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. You want the BenChaim file again?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I've got to figure that tricky line down to a T, or +we may never see that boy again. We haven't much time, +either—two weeks at most."</p> + +<p>She went over to the file cabinet and took out several +heavy folders. "Imagine," she said, almost to herself, "imagine +them trying to get you away from here when you have +a kidnap case to solve. They must be out of their minds."</p> + +<p><i>There was no kidnap case six months ago</i>, the detective +thought. <i>She knows that's not the reason. She's only trying +to convince herself. Why did I turn them down?</i></p> + +<p>His mind veered away from the dangerous subject, and +for a moment his mental processes refused to focus on anything +at all.</p> + +<p>The girl put the files down on his desk.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Thanks, Helen. Now, let's see ..." <i>I'll work on this</i>, +he thought. <i>I won't even think about the other at all.</i></p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c9" id="c9"></a><i>[9]</i></h2> + +<p>Colonel Walther Mannheim tapped with one thick finger +the map that glowed on the wall before him. "That's his +nest," he said firmly. "Right there, where those tunnels come +together."</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton looked at the map of Manhattan Island and +at the gleaming colored traceries that threaded their various +ways across it. "Just what was the purpose of all those tunnels?" +he asked.</p> + +<p>"The majority of them were for rail transportation," said +the colonel. "The island was hit by a sun bomb during the +Holocaust and was almost completely leveled and slagged +down. When the city was completely rebuilt afterwards, +there was naturally no need for such things, so they were +simply all sealed off and forgotten."</p> + +<p>"He's hiding directly under Government City," Stanton +said. "Incredible."</p> + +<p>"It used to be one of the largest seaports in the world," +Colonel Mannheim said, "and it very probably still would be +if the inertia drive hadn't made air travel cheaper and easier +than seagoing."</p> + +<p>"How did he find out about those tunnels?" Stanton +asked.</p> + +<p>The colonel pointed at the north end of the island. "After +the Holocaust, the first returnees to the island were wild +animals which crossed over from the mainland to the north. +The Harlem River isn't very wide at this point, as you can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +see. There was a bridge right at about this point here—the +very tip of the island. It had collapsed into the water, but +there was enough of it to allow animals to cross. Because +of the rocky hills at this end of the island, there were places +which were spared the direct effects of the bomb, and +grasses and trees began growing there. That's why it was +decided that section should be left as a game preserve when +the Government built the capital on the southern part of the +island." His finger moved down the map. "The upper three +miles of the island, down to here, where it begins to widen, +are all game preserve. There's a high wall at this point +which separates it from the city, which keeps the animals +penned in, and the ruins of the bridges which connected +with the mainland have been removed, so animals can't get +across any more.</p> + +<p>"Two years after he arrived, the Nipe was almost caught. +He had managed to get here from Asia by stealing a flyer +in Leningrad. According to Dr. Yoritomo and the other +psychologists who have been studying the Nipe, he apparently +does not believe that human beings are anything more +than trained animals. He was looking then—as he is apparently +still looking—for the 'real' rulers of Earth. He expected +to find them, of course, in Government City. Needless to +say," said the colonel with a touch of irony, "he failed."</p> + +<p>"But he was seen?" asked Stanton.</p> + +<p>"He was seen. And pursued. But he got away easily, +heading north. The whole island was searched, from the +southern tip to the wall, and the police were ready to start +an inch-by-inch combing of the game preserve by the end of +the third day after he was seen. But he hit and robbed a +chemical supply house in northern Pennsylvania, killing +two men, so the search was called off.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't until two years later, after an exhaustive +analysis of the pattern of his raids had given us enough<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +material to work with, that we determined that he must +have found an opening into one of the tunnels up here in +the game preserve." He gestured again at the map. "Very +likely he immediately saw that no human being had been +down there in a long time and that there wasn't much chance +of a man coming down there in the foreseeable future. +It was a perfect place for his base."</p> + +<p>"How does he move in and out?" Stanton asked.</p> + +<p>"This way." The colonel traced a finger down one of the +red lines on the map, southward, until he came to a spot +only a little over two miles from the southernmost tip of the +island. The line turned abruptly toward the western shore +of the island, where it stopped. "There are tunnels that go +underneath the Hudson River at this point and emerge on +the other side, over here, in New Jersey. The one he uses +is only one of several, but it has one distinct advantage that +the others do not. All of them are flooded now; the sun +bomb caved them in when the primary shock wave hit the +surface of the water. The tunnel he uses has a hole in it +big enough for him to swim through.</p> + +<p>"In spite of his high rate of metabolism, the Nipe can +store a tremendous amount of oxygen in his body and can +stay underwater for as long as half an hour without breathing +apparatus, if he conserves his energy. When he's wearing +his scuba mask, he's practically a self-contained submarine. +The pressure doesn't seem to bother him much. +He's a tough cookie."</p> + +<p>"I'll remember that," said Stanton somberly. "I won't try +to race him underwater."</p> + +<p>"No," said Colonel Mannheim. "No, I wouldn't do that if +I were you."</p> + +<p>They both knew that there was a great deal more to it +than that. In spite of the near miracle that the staff of the +Neurophysical Institute had wrought upon Stanton's nerves<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> +and muscles and glands, they could only go so far. They +could only improve the functioning of the equipment that +Stanton already had; they could not add more.</p> + +<p>His lungs could be, and had been, increased tremendously +in efficiency of operation, but the amount of air they could +actually hold could only be increased slightly. There was no +way to add much extra volume to them without doing so +at the expense of other organs. In a breath-holding contest, +the Nipe would win easily, since his body had evolved +organs for oxygen storage, while the human body had not.</p> + +<p>You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear if you +are limited to the structures and compounds found in sows' +ears. The best you can do is make a finer, stronger, more +sensitive sow's ear.</p> + +<p>"I understand that the Nipe has his hideout pretty well +bugged with all kinds of alarms," Stanton said. "How did +you get your own bugs in there without setting off his?"</p> + +<p>"Well, at first we didn't know for sure what he was up +to; we weren't even sure he was actually down in those +tunnels. But we suspected that if he was he'd have alarms +set all over the place—perhaps even alarms of types we +couldn't recognize. But we had to take that chance. We <i>had</i> +to watch him."</p> + +<p>He walked over to the nearby table and opened a box +some twelve inches long and five-by-five inches in cross-section.</p> + +<p>"See this?" he said, as he took a furry object from the +box.</p> + +<p>It looked like a large rat. Dead, stiff, unmoving.</p> + +<p>"Our spy," said Colonel Mannheim.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>The rat moved along the rusted steel rail that ran the +length of the huge tunnel. To a human being, the tunnel +would have seemed to be in utter darkness, but the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +eyes of the rat saw the surroundings as faintly luminescent, +glowing from the infra-red radiations given out by the internal +warmth of the cement and steel. The main source of +the radiations was from above, where the heat of the sun +and the warmth from the energy sources in the buildings on +the surface seeped through the roof of the tunnel. But here +and there were even brighter spots of warmth, spots that +moved about on glowing feet and sniffed blindly at the air +with tiny glowing noses. Rats.</p> + +<p>On and on moved the rat, its little pinkish feet pattering +almost silently on the oxidized metal surface of the rails. Its +sensitive ears picked up the movements and the squeals of +other rats, but it paid them no heed. Several times it met +other rats on the rail, but most of them sensed the alienness +of <i>this</i> rat and scuttled out of its way.</p> + +<p>Once, it met a rat who did not give way. Hungry, perhaps, +or perhaps merely yielding to the paranoid fury that was a +normal component of the rattish mind, it squealed its +defiance to the rat that was not a rat. It advanced, baring +its rodent teeth in a yellow-daggered snarl of hate.</p> + +<p>The rat that was not a rat became suddenly motionless, +its sharp little nose pointed directly at the oncoming enemy. +There came a noise, a tiny popping hiss, like that of a very +small drop of water striking hot metal. From the left nostril +of the not-rat, a tiny, glasslike needle snapped out at bullet +speed. It struck the advancing rat in the center of the pink +tongue that was visible in the open mouth. Then the not-rat +scuttled backward faster than any real rat could have +moved.</p> + +<p>For a second the real rat hesitated, and it may be that +the realization penetrated into its dim brain that rats did not +fight this way. Then, as the tiny needle dissolved in its +bloodstream, it closed its eyes and collapsed, rolling limply +off the rail to the rotted wooden tie beneath.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p> + +<p>The rat might come to before it was found and devoured +by its fellows—or it might not. The not-rat moved on, not +caring either way. The human intelligence that looked out +from the eyes of the not-rat was only concerned with getting +to the Nipe.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>"That's how we found the Nipe," Colonel Mannheim said, +"and that's how we keep tabs on him now. We have over +seven hundred of these remote-control robots hidden in +strategic spots throughout those tunnels now, and we can +put more in whenever we want, but it took time to get +everything set up this way. Now we can follow the Nipe +wherever he goes, so long as he stays in those tunnels. If he +went out through the one open-air exit up in the northern +part of the island, we could have him followed by bird-robots. +But"—he shrugged wryly—"I'm afraid the underwater +problem still has us stumped. We can't get the carrier +wave for the remote-control impulses to go very far underwater."</p> + +<p>"How do you get your carrier wave underground to those +tunnels?" Stanton asked. "And how do you keep the Nipe +from picking up the radiation?"</p> + +<p>The colonel grinned widely. "One of the boys dreamed up +a real cute gimmick. Those old steel rails themselves act as +antennas for the broadcaster, and the rat's tail is the pickup +antenna. As long as the rat is crawling right on the rail, +only a microscopic amount of power is needed for control, +not enough for the Nipe to pick up with his instruments. +Each rat carries its own battery for motive power, and there +are old copper power cables down there that we can send +direct current through to recharge the batteries. And, when +we need them, the copper cables can be used as antennas. It +took us quite a while to work the system out, but it's running +smoothly now."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stanton rubbed his head thoughtfully. <i>Damn these gaps +in my memory!</i> he thought. It was sometimes embarrassing +to ask questions that any schoolboy should know the answers +to.</p> + +<p>"Aren't there ways of detecting objects underwater?" he +asked after a moment.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the colonel, "several of them. But they all +require beamed energy of some kind to be reflected from the +object we want to look at, and we don't dare use anything +like that." He sat down on one corner of the table, his +bright blue eyes looking up at Stanton.</p> + +<p>"That's been our big problem all along," he said seriously. +"We have to keep the Nipe from knowing he's being +watched. In the tunnels themselves, we've only used equipment +that was already there, adding only what we absolutely +had to—small things. A few strands of wire, a tiny relay, +things that can be hidden in out-of-the-way places and can +be made to look as though they were a part of the original +old equipment. After all, he has his own alarm system in +that maze of tunnels, and we have deliberately kept away +from his detecting devices. He knows about the rats and +ignores them. They're part of the environment. But we don't +dare use anything that would tip him off to our knowledge +of his whereabouts. One slip like that, and hundreds of +human beings will have died in vain."</p> + +<p>"And if he stays down there too long," Stanton said +levelly, "millions more may die."</p> + +<p>The colonel's face was grim as he looked directly into +Stanton's eyes. "That's why you have to know your job +down to the most minute detail when the time comes to act. +The whole success of the plan will depend on you and you +alone."</p> + +<p>Stanton's eyes didn't avoid the colonel's. <i>That's not true</i>, +he thought, <i>I'll be only one man on a team. And you know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +that, Colonel Mannheim. But you'd like to shove all the +responsibility off onto someone else—someone stronger. +You've finally met someone that you consider your superior +in that way, and you want to unload. I wish I felt as confident +as you do ... but I don't.</i></p> + +<p>Aloud, he said: "Sure. Nothing to it. All I have to do is +take into account everything that's known about the Nipe +and make allowances for everything that's not known." +Then he smiled. "Not," he added, "that I can think of any +other way to go about it."</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THIRD_INTERLUDE" id="THIRD_INTERLUDE"></a><i>THIRD INTERLUDE</i></h2> + +<p>Mrs. Frobisher touched the control button that depolarized +the window in the breakfast room, letting the morning +sun stream in through the now transparent sheet of glass. +Her attention was caught by something across the street, and +she said, in a low voice, "Larry, come here."</p> + +<p>Larry Frobisher looked up from his morning coffee. +"What is it, hon?"</p> + +<p>"The Stanton boys. Come look."</p> + +<p>Frobisher sighed. "Who are the Stanton boys, and why +should I come look?" But he got up and came over to the +window.</p> + +<p>"See—over there on the walkway toward the play area," +his wife said.</p> + +<p>"I see a boy pushing a wheeled contraption and three +girls playing with a skip rope," Frobisher said. "Or do you +mean that the Stanford boys are dressed up as girls?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Stanton</i>," she corrected him. "They just moved into the +apartment on the first floor."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Who? The three girls?"</p> + +<p>"No, silly! The two Stanton boys and their mother. One +of them is in that 'wheeled contraption'. It's called a therapeutic +chair."</p> + +<p>"Oh? So the poor kid's been hurt. What's so interesting +about that, aside from morbid curiosity?"</p> + +<p>The boy pushing the chair went around a bend in the +walkway, out of sight, and Frobisher went back to his coffee +while his wife spoke.</p> + +<p>"Their names are Mart and Bart," she said. "They're +twins."</p> + +<p>"I should think," Frobisher said, applying himself to his +breakfast, "that the mother would get a self-powered chair +for the boy instead of making the other boy push it."</p> + +<p>"The poor boy can't control the chair, dear," said Mrs. +Frobisher, still looking out the window after the vanished +twins. "There's something wrong with his nervous system. I +understand that he was exposed to some kind of radiation +when he was only two years old. That's why the chair has to +have all those funny instruments built into it. Even his heartbeat +has to be controlled electronically."</p> + +<p>"Shame," said Frobisher, spearing a bit of sausage. "Kind +of rough on both of 'em, I'd guess."</p> + +<p>"How do you mean, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I mean, like ... well, for instance, why are they +going over to the play area? Play games, right? So the one +that's well has got to push his brother over there. Can't just +get out and go; has to take the brother along, too. Kind of a +burden, see?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. Frobisher turned away from the window. "Why, +Larry! I'm surprised at you. Really! Don't you think the +boy <i>should</i> take care of his brother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, now, honey, I didn't mean that. It's hard on <i>both</i> +of 'em. The kid in the chair has to sit there and watch his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> +brother play baseball or jai alai or whatever, while he can't +do anything himself. Like I say, kind of rough on both of +'em."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, I suppose it must be. Want some more coffee?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, honey. And another slice of toast, hunh?"</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c10" id="c10"></a><i>[10]</i></h2> + +<p>Like some horrendous, watchful gargoyle, the Nipe +crouched motionlessly on the shadowed roof of the low +building. A short projection from the air-conditioning intake +was wide enough to keep him from being seen from the air, +and the darkness of the roof prevented anyone on the street +from seeing the four violet eyes that kept a careful account +of all that went on in the store across the way from his observation +post.</p> + +<p>The lights were still on inside the shop, shedding their +glareless brightness through the transparent display windows +to fall upon the street outside in large luminous +pools. The Nipe knew exactly what each man remaining +inside was doing, and approximately what each would be +doing for the next few minutes, and he watched with the +expectation that his prophecies would be fulfilled.</p> + +<p>He had watched long and made a thorough study of this +establishment, and tonight he expected to attain the goal for +which he had worked so patiently.</p> + +<p>This raid was important in two ways. There were pieces +of equipment he had to get, and they were in that shop. On +the other hand, this raid was, and would be, basically a +diversionary tactic. Now that he had located his real target, +it was time to create a diversion that would draw his enemy's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +attention away from his immediate surroundings. This +would be a raid that Colonel Walther Mannheim could not +ignore!</p> + +<p>Two men came out the front door. They spoke to someone +still inside. "So long." "See you tomorrow." Then they +walked down the street together, conversing in low tones.</p> + +<p>The Nipe waited.</p> + +<p>Not until a fifth man stopped after he opened the door +and flipped a switch on the inside did the Nipe make any +motion. Then he flexed his four pairs of limbs in anticipation—but +it wasn't quite time to act yet.</p> + +<p>The interior lights of the shop went out. Then the man +carefully locked the front door, setting the alarms within the +shop. Then, serene in the belief that his establishment was +thoroughly protected from burglars, he, too, went down the +street.</p> + +<p>The Nipe waited a few minutes longer before he left his +observation post. All was normal, he decided. The time +for action had come.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>The Nipe moved cautiously along the alley toward the +rear of the building that was his target. The night watchman +had returned to his cubicle, as he always did after his +preliminary inspection of the building's alarm system. He +would not leave for some time yet, if he followed his habits. +And the Nipe saw no reason why he should not.</p> + +<p>Carefully he approached the rear door of the little optical +shop.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c11" id="c11"></a><i>[11]</i></h2> + +<p>The two massive objects floating in space looked very +much like deeply pitted pieces of rock. The larger one, +roughly pear-shaped and about a quarter of a mile in its +greatest dimension, was actually that—a huge hunk of rock. +The smaller—<i>much</i> smaller—of the two was not what it +appeared to be. It was a phony. Anyone who had been able +to conduct a very close personal inspection of it would have +recognized it for what it was—a camouflaged spaceboat.</p> + +<p>The camouflaged spaceboat was on a near-collision +course with reference to the larger mass, although their +relative velocities were not great.</p> + +<p>At precisely the right time, the smaller drifted by the +larger, only a few hundred yards away. The weakness of +the gravitational fields generated between the two caused +only a slight change of orbit on the part of both bodies. +Then they began to separate.</p> + +<p>But, during the few seconds of their closest approach, +a third body detached itself from the camouflaged spaceboat +and shot rapidly across the intervening distance to +land on the surface of the floating mountain.</p> + +<p>The third body was a man in a spacesuit. As soon as he +landed, he sat down, stock-still, and checked the instrument +case he held in his hands.</p> + +<p>No response. Thus far, then, he had succeeded.</p> + +<p>He had had to pick his time precisely. The people who +were already on this small planetoid could not use their +detection equipment while the planetoid itself was within +detection range of Beacon 971, only two hundred and +eighty miles away. Not if they wanted to keep from being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +found. Radar pulses emanating from a presumably lifeless +planetoid would be a dead giveaway.</p> + +<p>Other than that, they were mathematically safe. Mathematically +safe they would be if—and only if—they depended +upon the laws of chance. No ship moving through the +Asteroid Belt would dare to move at any decent velocity +without using radar, so the people on this particular lump +of planetary flotsam would be able to spot a ship's approach +easily, long before their own weak detection system would +register on the pickups of an approaching ship.</p> + +<p>The power and range needed by a given detector depends +on the relative velocity—the greater that velocity becomes, +the more power, the greater range needed. At one mile per +second, a ship needs a range of only thirty miles to spot an +obstacle thirty seconds away; at ten miles per second, it +needs a range of three hundred miles.</p> + +<p>The man who called himself Stanley Martin had carefully +plotted the orbit of this particular planetoid and had +let his spaceboat coast in without using any detection equipment +except the visual. It had been necessary, but very +risky.</p> + +<p>The Asteroid Belt, that magnificently useful collection +of stone and metal lumps revolving about the sun between +the orbits of Mars and Jupiter, is somewhat like the old-fashioned +merry-go-round. If every orbit in the Belt were +perfectly circular, the analogy would be more exact. If they +were, then every rock in the Belt would follow every other +in almost exactly the way every merry-go-round horse follows +every other. (The gravitational attraction between the +various bodies in the Belt can be neglected. It is much less, +on the average, than the gravitational pull between any two +horses on a carousel.) If every orbit of those millions upon +millions of pieces of rock and metal were precisely circular,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> +then they would constitute the grandest, biggest merry-go-round +in the universe.</p> + +<p>But those orbits are not circular. And even if they were, +they would not remain so long. The great mass of Jupiter +would soon pull them out of such perfect orbits and force +them to travel about the sun in elliptical paths. And therein +lies the trouble.</p> + +<p>If their paths were exactly circular, then no two of that +vast number of planetoids would ever collide. They would +march about the sun in precise order, like the soldiers in a +military parade, except that they would retain their spacing +much longer than any group of soldiers could possibly +manage to do.</p> + +<p>But the orbits are elliptical. There is a chance that any +two given bodies <i>might</i> collide, although the chance is small. +The one compensation is that if they do collide they won't +strike each other very hard.</p> + +<p>The detective was not worried about collision; he was +worried about observation. Had the people here seen his +boat? If so, had they recognized it in spite of the heavy +camouflage? And, even if they only suspected, what would +be their reaction?</p> + +<p>He waited.</p> + +<p>It takes nerve and patience to wait for thirteen solid hours +without making any motion other than an occasional flexing +of muscles, but he managed that long before the instrument +case that he held waggled a meter needle at him. The +one tension-relieving factor was the low gravity; the problem +of sleeping on a bed of nails is caused by the likelihood +of the sleeper accidentally throwing himself off the bed. The +probability of puncture or discomfort from the points is +almost negligible.</p> + +<p>When the needle on the instrument panel flickered, he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +got to his feet and began moving. He was almost certain +that he had not been detected.</p> + +<p>Walking was out of the question. This was a silicate-alumina +rock, not a nickel-iron one. The group of people +that occupied it had deliberately chosen it that way, so that +there would be no chance of its being picked out for slicing +by one of the mining teams in the Asteroid Belt. Granted, +the chance of any given metallic planetoid's being selected +was very small—but they had not wanted to take even that +chance.</p> + +<p>Therefore, without any magnetic field to hold him down, +and with only a very tiny gravitic field, the detective had to +use different tactics.</p> + +<p>It was more like mountain climbing than anything else, +except that there was no danger of falling. He crawled over +the surface in the same way that an Alpine climber might +crawl up the side of a steep slope—seeking handholds and +toeholds and using them to propel himself onward. The +only difference was that he covered distance a great deal +more rapidly than a mountain climber could.</p> + +<p>When he reached the spot he wanted, he carefully concealed +himself beneath a craggy overhang. It took a little +searching to find exactly the right spot, but when he did, he +settled himself into place in a small pit and began more +elaborate preparations.</p> + +<p>Self-hypnosis required nearly ten minutes. The first five or +six minutes were taken up in relaxing from his exertions. +Gravity notwithstanding, he had had to push his hundred +and eighty pounds over a considerable distance. When he +was completely relaxed and completely hypnotized, he +reached up and cut down the valve that fed oxygen into his +suit.</p> + +<p>Then—of his own will—he went cataleptic.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p> + +<p>A single note, sounded by the instruments in the case at +his side, woke him instantly. He came fully awake, as he +had commanded himself to do.</p> + +<p>Immediately he turned up his oxygen intake, at the same +time glancing at the clock dial in his helmet. He smiled. +Nineteen days and seven hours. He had calculated it almost +precisely.</p> + +<p>He wasn't more than an hour off, which was really +pretty good, all things considered.</p> + +<p>He consulted his instruments again. The supply ship was +ten minutes away. The smile stayed on his face as he +prepared for further action.</p> + +<p>The first two minutes were conscientiously spent in inhaling +oxygen. Even under the best cataleptic conditions, +the human body tended to slow down too much. He had to +get himself prepared for violent movement.</p> + +<p>Eight minutes left.</p> + +<p>He climbed out of the little grotto where he had concealed +himself and moved toward the spot where he knew the airlock +to the caverns underneath the planetoid's surface was +hidden.</p> + +<p>Then again he concealed himself and waited, while he +continued to breathe deeply of the highly oxygenated air in +his suit. Five minutes before the ship landed, he swallowed +eight ounces of the nutrient solution from the tank in the +back of his helmet. The solution of amino acids, vitamins, +and honey sugar also contained a small amount of stimulant +of the dexedrine type and one percent ethanol.</p> + +<p>He waited for another minute for the solution to take +effect, then he unholstered his gun.</p> + +<p>The supply ship wasn't a big one. He had known it +wouldn't be. It was only a little larger than the one he had +used to come out here. It dropped down to the surface of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +the small planetoid only ten meters from the hidden trapdoor +that led to the airlock beneath the surface.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he could hear voices in the earphones of his +helmet.</p> + +<p><i>Lasser?</i></p> + +<p><i>Yeah. It's me, Fritz. I got all the supplies and a nice +package of good news.</i></p> + +<p>The airlock trapdoor opened, and a spacesuited figure +came out. <i>How about the deal?</i></p> + +<p><i>That's the good news</i>, said the second suited figure as it +came from the airlock of the grounded spaceboat. <i>Another +five million.</i></p> + +<p>The detective, hidden behind the nearby crag of rock, +listened and watched for a minute or so while the two men +began unloading cases of foodstuffs from the spaceboat. +Then, satisfied that it was perfectly safe, he aimed his gun +and shot twice in rapid succession.</p> + +<p>The range was almost point-blank, and there was, of +course, no need to take either gravity or air resistance into +account.</p> + +<p>The pellets of the shotgun-like charge that blasted out +from the gun were small, needle-shaped, and massive. They +were oriented point-forward by the magnetic field along +the barrel of the weapon. Of the hundreds of charges fired, +only a few penetrated the spacesuits of the targets, but +those few were enough. The powerful drug in the needle-pointed +head of each tiny crystal went directly into the +bloodstream of each target.</p> + +<p>Each man felt an itching sensation. He had less than two +seconds to think about it before unconsciousness overtook +him and he slumped nervelessly.</p> + +<p>Gun in hand, the detective ran across the intervening +space quickly, his body only a few degrees from the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> +horizontal, and his toes paddling rapidly to propel him over +the rough rock.</p> + +<p>He braked himself to a halt and slapped air patches over +the areas where his charges had struck the men's suits, sealing +the tiny air leaks, and, at the same time, driving more +of the tiny needles into their skins. They would be out for a +long time.</p> + +<p>Neither of them had yet fallen to the ground. That would +take several minutes under this low gravity. He left them to +drop and headed toward the open airlock.</p> + +<p>This was what he had been waiting for all those nineteen +days in cataleptic hypnosis. He couldn't have cut his way +into the hideout from the outside; he had had to wait until +it was opened, and that time had come only with the supply +ship.</p> + +<p>Once in the airlock, he touched the control stud that +would close the outer door, pump air into the waiting room, +and open the inner door. Here was his greatest point of +danger—greater, even, than the danger of coming to the +planetoid itself, or the danger of waiting nineteen days in +a cataleptic trance for the coming of the supply ship. If the +ones who remained within suspected anything—anything at +all!—then his chances of coming out of this alive were practically +nil.</p> + +<p>But there was no reason why they should suspect. They +should think that the man coming in was one of their own. +The radio contact between the men outside had been limited +to a few micromilliwatts of power—necessarily, since radio +waves of very small wattage can be decoded at tremendous +distances in open space. The men inside the planetoid +certainly should not have been able to pick up any more +than the beginning of the early conversation before it had +been cut completely off by the intervening layers of solid +rock.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> + +<p>The chamber he entered was a high-speed airlock. Unlike +the soundless discharge of his special gun in the outer +airlessness, the blast of air that came into the waiting chamber +was like a hurricane in noise and force. The room filled +with air in a very few seconds.</p> + +<p>The detective held on to the handholds tightly while the +brief but violent winds buffeted him. He turned as the inner +door opened.</p> + +<p>His eyes took in the picture in a fraction of a second. In +an even smaller fraction, his mind assimilated the picture.</p> + +<p>The woman was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and muscular. +Her mouth was wide and thick-lipped beneath a large nose.</p> + +<p>The man was leaner and lighter, bony-faced, and beady-eyed.</p> + +<p>The woman said: "Fritz, what—?"</p> + +<p>And then he shot them both with gun number two.</p> + +<p>No needle charges this time. Such shots would have +blown them both in two, unprotected as they were by spacesuits. +The small handgun merely jangled their nerves with +a high-powered blast of accurately beamed supersonics. +While they were still twitching, he went over and jabbed +them with a drug needle.</p> + +<p>Then he went on into the hideout.</p> + +<p>He had to knock out one more man, whom he found +asleep in a small room off the short corridor.</p> + +<p>It took a gas bomb to get the two women who were guarding +the kid.</p> + +<p>He made sure that the BenChaim boy was all right, then +he went to the little communications room and called for +help.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c12" id="c12"></a><i>[12]</i></h2> + +<p>St. Louis hadn't been hit during the Holocaust. It still +retained much of the old-fashioned flavor of the nineteenth +and twentieth centuries, especially in the residential districts. +The old homes, some of them dating clear back to the time +of Sam Clemens and the paddle-wheel steamboat, still stood, +warm and well preserved.</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton liked to walk along those quiet streets of an +evening, just to let the placid peacefulness seep into him.</p> + +<p>And, knowing it was rather childish, he still enjoyed the +small Huckleberry Finn pleasure of playing hooky from the +Neurophysical Institute.</p> + +<p>Technically, he supposed, he was still a patient there. +More, now that he had completely accepted Colonel Walther +Mannheim's assignment, he was presumably under military +discipline. He assumed that if he had asked permission +to leave the Institute's grounds he would have been given +that permission without question.</p> + +<p>But, like playing hooky or stealing watermelon, it was +more fun if it was done on the sly. The boy who comes +home feeling deliciously wicked and delightfully sinful after +staying away from school all day can have his whole day +ruined completely by being told that it was a holiday and +the school had been closed. Bart Stanton didn't want to spoil +his own fun by asking for permission to leave the grounds +when it was so easy for a man with his special abilities to +get out without asking.</p> + +<p>Besides, there <i>was</i> a chance—a small one, he thought—that +permission might be refused for one reason or another, +and Stanton was fully aware that he would not disobey a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +direct request—to say nothing of a direct order—that he stay +within the walls of the Institute.</p> + +<p>He didn't want to run any risk of losing his freedom, +small though it was. After five years of mental and physical +hell, he felt a need to get out into the world of normal, ordinary, +everyday people.</p> + +<p>His legs moved smoothly, surely, and unhurriedly, carrying +him aimlessly along the resilient walkway, under the +warm glow of the streetlights. The people around him +walked as casually and with seemingly as little purpose as he +did. There was none of the brisk sense of urgency that he +felt inside the walls of the Institute.</p> + +<p>But he knew he could never get away from that sense of +urgency completely, even out here. There were times when +it seemed that all he had ever done, all his whole life, was +to train himself for the one single purpose of besting the +Nipe.</p> + +<p>If he wasn't training physically, he was listening to lectures +from Dr. George Yoritomo or from Colonel Mannheim. +If he wasn't working his muscles, he was laying plans +and considering possibilities for the one great goal that +seemed to be the focal point of his whole life.</p> + +<p>What would happen if he failed?</p> + +<p>What would happen if he, the great hyped-up superman, +found that the Nipe had only been working at half his +normal potential? What would happen if that alien horror +simply slashed out with one ultrafast hand and showed +Colonel Mannheim and all his watching technicians that +they had completely underestimated his alien ability?</p> + +<p>What would happen?</p> + +<p>Why, Bart Stanton would die, of course, just as hundreds +of other human beings had died in the past ten years. Stanton +would become another statistic. And then Mannheim's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +Plan Beta would go into effect. The Nipe would be killed +eventually.</p> + +<p>But what if he, Stanton, won? Then what?</p> + +<p>The people around him were not a part of his world, +really. Their thoughts, their motions, their reactions, were +slow and clumsy in comparison with his own. Once the Nipe +had been conquered, what purpose would there be in the +life of Bartholomew Stanton? He was surrounded by people, +but he was not one of them. He was immersed in a society +that was not his own because it was not, could not be, +geared to his abilities and potentials. But there was no other +society to turn to, either.</p> + +<p>He was not a man "alone, afraid" in a world he had never +made. He was a man who had been made for a world, a +society, that did not exist.</p> + +<p>Women? A wife? A family life?</p> + +<p>Where? With whom?</p> + +<p>He pushed the thoughts from his mind, the questions unanswered +and perhaps unanswerable. In spite of the apparent +bleakness of the future, he had no desire to die, and +there was, psychologically, the possibility that too much +brooding of that kind would evoke a subconscious reaction +that could slow him down or cause a wrong decision at a +vital moment. A feeling of futility could operate to bring +on his death in spite of his conscious determination to win +the coming battle with the Nipe.</p> + +<p>The Nipe was his first duty. When that job was finished, +he would consider the problem of himself. Just because he +could not now see the answer to that problem did not mean +that no answer existed.</p> + +<p>He suddenly realized that he was hungry. He had been +walking through Memorial Park, past the museum—an old, +worn edifice that was still called the Missouri Pacific Building. +There was a small restaurant only a block away.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + +<p>He reached into his pocket and took out the few coins +that were there. Not much, but enough to buy a sandwich +and a glass of milk. Because of the trust fund that had been +set up when he had started the treatment at the Neurophysical +Institute, he was already well off, but he didn't +have much cash. What good was cash at the Institute, where +everything was provided?</p> + +<p>He stopped at a newsvendor, dropped in a coin, and +waited for the reproducing mechanism to turn out a fresh +paper. Then he took the folded sheets and went on to the +restaurant.</p> + +<p>He rarely read a newssheet. Mostly, his information +about the world that existed outside the walls of the Institute +came from the televised newscasts. But, occasionally, +he liked to read the small, relatively unimportant little +stories about people who had done small, relatively unimportant +things—stories that didn't appear in the headlines or +the newscasts.</p> + +<p>The last important news story that he had heard had +come two nights before. The Nipe had robbed an optical +products company in Miami. The camera had shown the +shop on the screen. Whatever had been used to blow open +the vault had been more effective than necessary. It had +taken the whole front door of the shop and both windows, +too. The bent and twisted paraglass that had lain on the +pavement showed how much force had been applied from +within.</p> + +<p>And yet, the results had not been those of an explosion. +It was more as though some tremendous force had +<i>pushed</i> outward from within. It had not been the shattering +shock of high explosive, but some great thrust that had +unhurriedly, but irresistibly, moved everything out of its +way.</p> + +<p>Nothing had been moved very far, as it would have been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +by a blast. It appeared that everything had simply fallen +aside, as though scattered by a giant hand. The main braces +of the storefront were still there, bent outward a little, but +not broken.</p> + +<p>The vault door had been slammed to the floor of the +shop, only a few feet from the front door. The vault itself +had been farther back, and the camera had showed it standing +wide open, gaping. Inside, there had been pieces of +fragile glass standing on the shelves, unmoved, unharmed.</p> + +<p>The force, whatever it had been, had moved in one direction +only, from a point within the vault, just a few feet from +the door, pushing outward to tear out the heavy door as +though it had been made of paraffin or modeling clay.</p> + +<p>Stanton had recognized the vault construction type: the +Voisier construction, which, by test, could withstand almost +everything known, outside of the actual application of +atomic energy itself. In a widely-publicized demonstration +several years before, a Voisier vault had been cut open by a +team of well-trained, well-equipped technicians. It had +taken twenty-one hours for them to breach the wall, and +they had had no fear of interruption, or of making a noise, +or of setting off the intricate alarms that were built into the +safe itself. Not even a borazon drill could make much of +an impression on a metal which had been formed under millions +of atmospheres of pressure.</p> + +<p>And yet the Nipe had taken that door out in a second, +without much effort at all.</p> + +<p>The crowd that had gathered at the scene of the crime +had not been large. The very thought of the Nipe kept +people away from places where he was known to have been. +The specter of the Nipe evoked a fear, a primitive fear—fear +of the dark and fear of the unknown—combined with +the rational fear of a very real, very tangible danger.</p> + +<p>And yet, there <i>had</i> been a crowd of onlookers. In spite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> +of their fear, it is hard to keep human beings from being +curious. It was known that the Nipe didn't stay around after +he had struck, and, besides, the area was now full of armed +men. So the curious came to look and to stare in revulsion +at the neat pile of gnawed and bloody bones that had been +the night watchman, carefully killed and eaten by the Nipe +before he had opened the vault.</p> + +<p><i>Thus curiosity does make fools of us all, and the native +hue of caution is crimsoned o'er by the bright red of morbid +fascination.</i></p> + +<p>Stanton went through the door of the automatic restaurant +and walked over to the vending wall. The big dining +room was only about three quarters full of people, and +there were plenty of seats available. He fed coins into the +proper slots, took his sandwich and milk over to a seat in +one corner and made himself comfortable.</p> + +<p>He flipped open the newspaper and looked at the front +page.</p> + +<p>And, for a moment, his brain seemed to freeze.</p> + +<p>The story itself was straightforward enough:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">BENCHAIM KIDNAPPERS NABBED!</p> + +<p class="center">STAN MARTIN DOES IT AGAIN!</p> + +<p><span class="smcapl">CERES</span>, June 3 (<i>Interplanetary News Service</i>)—The +three men and three women who allegedly kidnapped +10-year-old Shmuel BenChaim were brought to justice +today through the single-handed efforts of Stanley +Martin, famed investigator for Lloyd's of London. +The boy, held prisoner for more than ten weeks on +a small planetoid, was reported in good health.</p> + +<p>According to Lt. John Vale of the Planetoid Police, +the kidnap gang could not have been taken by +direct assault on their hideout because of fear that +the boy might be killed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"The operation required a carefully planned one-man +infiltration of their hideout," Lt. Vale said. "Mr. +Martin was the man for the job."</p> + +<p>Labeled "the most outrageous kidnapping in history", +the affair was conceived as a long-term method +of gaining control of Heavy Metals Incorporated, +controlled by Moishe BenChaim, the boy's father. +The details ...</p></div> + +<p>But Bart Stanton wasn't interested in the details. After +only a glance through the first part of the article, his eyes +returned to the picture that had caught his attention. The +line of print beneath it identified the picture as being that +of a man named Stanley Martin.</p> + +<p>But a voice in Bart Stanton's brain said: <i>Not Stan Martin! +The name is Mart Stanton!</i></p> + +<p>And Bartholomew felt a roar of confusion in his mind—because +he didn't know who Mart Stanton was, and because +the face in the picture was his own.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c13" id="c13"></a><i>[13]</i></h2> + +<p>He was walking again.</p> + +<p>He didn't quite remember how he had left the automat, +and he really didn't even try to remember.</p> + +<p>He was trying to remember other things—further back—before +he had ...</p> + +<p>Before he had <i>what</i>?</p> + +<p>Before the Institute. Before the beginning of the operations.</p> + +<p>The memories were there, all right. He could sense them, +floating in some sort of mental limbo, just beyond the grasp<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +of his conscious mind, like the memories of a dream after +one has awakened. Each time he would try to reach into the +darkness to grasp one of the pieces, it would shatter into +smaller bits. The big patterns were too fragile to withstand +the direct probing of his conscious mind, and even the resulting +fragments did not want to hold still long enough to +be analyzed.</p> + +<p>And, while a part of his mind probed frantically after +the elusive particles of memory, another part of it watched +the process with semi-detached amusement.</p> + +<p>He had always known there were holes in his memory +(<i>Always? Don't kid yourself, pal!</i>), but it was disconcerting +to find an area that was as full of holes as a used +machine-gun target. The whole fabric had been punched to +bits.</p> + +<p>No man's memory is completely available at any given +time. Whatever the recording process is, however completely +every bit of data may be recorded during a lifetime, much +of it is unavailable. It may be incompletely cross-indexed, or, +in some instances, labeled <span class="smcapl">DO NOT SCAN</span>. Or, metaphorically, +the file drawer may be locked. It may be that, in +many cases, if a given bit of data remains unscanned for a +long enough period, it fades into illegibility, never reinforced +by the scanning process. Sensory data, coming in +from the outside world as it does, is probably permanent. +But the thought patterns originating within the mind itself, +the processes that correlate and cross-index and speculate +on and hypothesize about the sensory data, these are much +more fragile. A man might glance once through a Latin +primer and have each and every page imprinted indelibly on +his recording mechanism and still be unable to make sense +out of <i>Nauta in cubitu cum puella est</i>.</p> + +<p>Sometimes a man is aware of the holes in his memory. +("What <i>was</i> the name of that fellow I met at Eddie's party?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +Can't remember it for the life of me.") At other times, a +memory may lay dormant and completely unremembered, +leaving no apparent gap, until a tag of some kind brings it +up. ("That girl with the long hair reminds me of Suzie +Blugerhugle. My gosh! I haven't thought of her in years!") +Both factors seemed to be operating in Bart Stanton's mind +at this time.</p> + +<p>Incredibly, he had never, in the past year at least, had +occasion to try to remember much about his past life. He +had known who he was without thinking about it particularly, +and the rest of his knowledge—language, history, social +behavior, politics, geography, and so on—had been readily +available for the most part. Ask an educated man to give +the product of the primes 2, 13, and 41, or ask him to give +the date of the Norman Conquest, and he can give you the +answers very quickly. He may have to calculate the first, +which will make him pause for a second before answering, +but the second will come straight out of his memory records. +In neither case does he have to think of where he learned the +process or the fact, or who taught it to him, or when he got +the information.</p> + +<p>But now the picture and the name in the paper had +brought forth a reaction in Stanton's mind, and he was trying +desperately to bring the information out of oblivion.</p> + +<p>Did he have a mother? Surely. But could he remember +her? <i>Yes!</i> Certainly. A pretty, gentle, rather sad woman. He +could remember when she died, although he couldn't remember +ever having actually attended the funeral.</p> + +<p>What about his father?</p> + +<p>Try as he might, he could find no memory whatever of +his father, and, at first, that bothered him. He could remember +his mother—could almost see her moving around in the +apartment where they had lived in ... in ... in Denver! +Sure! And he could remember the big building itself, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +the block, and even Mrs. Frobisher, who lived upstairs! +And the school! And the play area! A great many memories +came crowding back, but there was no trace of his father.</p> + +<p>And yet ...</p> + +<p>Oh, of <i>course</i>! That was it! His father had been killed +in an accident when Martinbart were very young.</p> + +<p><i>Martinbart!</i></p> + +<p>The name flitted through his mind like a scrap of paper +in a high wind, but mentally he reached out and grasped it.</p> + +<p>Martinbart. Martin-Bart. Mart 'n' Bart. Mart <i>and</i> Bart.</p> + +<p>The Stanton Twins.</p> + +<p>It was very curious, he thought, that he should have forgotten +his brother. And even more curious that the name +in the paper had not brought him instantly to mind.</p> + +<p>Martin, the cripple. Martin, the boy with the poor, weak, +radiation-shattered nervous system. The boy who had had +to stay in a therapeutic chair all his life because his efferent +nerves could not control his body. The boy who couldn't +speak. Or, rather, <i>wouldn't</i> speak because he was ashamed +of the gibberish that resulted.</p> + +<p>Martin. The nonentity. The nothing. The nobody.</p> + +<p>The one who watched and listened and thought, but could +do nothing.</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton stopped suddenly and unfolded the newspaper +again under the glow of the streetlamp. His memories +certainly didn't jibe with <i>this</i>!</p> + +<p>His eyes ran down the column of type:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mr. Martin has, in the years since he has been in +the Belt, run up an enviable record, both as an insurance +investigator and as a police detective, although +his connection with the Planetoid Police is, +necessarily, an unofficial one. Probably not since +Sherlock Holmes has there been such mutual respect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +and co-operation between the official police and a private +investigator.</p></div> + +<p>There was only one explanation, Stanton thought. +Martin, too, had been treated by the Institute. His memory +was still blurry and incomplete, he knew, but he did suddenly +remember that a decision had been made for Martin +to take the treatment.</p> + +<p>He chuckled a little at the irony of it. It looked as though +they hadn't been able to make a superman of Martin, but +they <i>had</i> been able to make a normal and extraordinarily +capable human being of him, he thought. Now it was Bart +who was the freak, the odd one.</p> + +<p><i>Turn about is fair play</i>, he thought. But somehow it didn't +seem quite fair.</p> + +<p>He crumpled the newspaper, dropped it into a nearby +waste chute, and walked on through the night toward the +Neurophysical Institute.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="FOURTH_INTERLUDE" id="FOURTH_INTERLUDE"></a><i>FOURTH INTERLUDE</i></h2> + +<p>"You understand, Mrs. Stanton," said the psychiatrist, +"that a great part of Martin's trouble is mental as well as +physical. Because of the nature of his ailment, he has withdrawn, +pulled himself away from communication with +others. If these symptoms had been brought to my attention +earlier, the mental disturbance might have been more easily +analyzed and treated."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so. I'm sorry, Doctor," said Mrs. Stanton. Her +manner betrayed weariness and pain. "It was so ... so +difficult. Martin could never talk very well, you know, and +he just talked less and less as the years went by. It was so +slow and so gradual that I never really noticed it."</p> + +<p><i>Poor woman</i>, the doctor thought. <i>She's not well, herself. +She should have married again, years ago, rather than force +herself to carry the whole burden alone. Her role as a doting +mother hasn't helped either of the boys to overcome the +handicaps that were already present.</i></p> + +<p>"I've honestly tried to do my very best with Martin," Mrs.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> +Stanton went on unhappily. "And so has Bart, I know. +When they were younger, Bart used to take him out all the +time. They went everywhere together. Of course, I don't +expect Bart to do that so much any more. He has his own +life to live. He can't take Martin out on dates or things like +that. He has interests outside the home now, like other boys +his age. That's only normal. But when he's at home, Bart +helps me with Martin all the time."</p> + +<p>"I understand," said the psychiatrist. <i>This is no time to +tell her that Bartholomew's tests indicate that he has subconsciously +resented Martin's presence for a long time</i>, he +thought. <i>She has enough to worry about.</i></p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't understand," said Mrs. Stanton, breaking into +sudden tears. "I just don't understand why Martin should +behave this way! Why should he just sit there with his eyes +closed and ignore everybody? Why should he ignore his +mother and his brother? Why?"</p> + +<p>The doctor comforted her in a warmly professional manner, +then, as her tears subsided, he said, "We don't understand +all the factors ourselves, Mrs. Stanton. At first glance, +Martin's reactions appear to be those one would expect of +schizophrenic withdrawal. But there are certain aspects of +the case that make it unusual. His behavior doesn't quite +follow the pattern we usually expect from such cases as this. +His extreme physical disability has drastically modified the +course of his mental development, and, at the same time, +made it difficult for us to make any analysis of his mental +state." <i>If only</i>, he added to himself, <i>she had followed the +advice of her family physician, years ago. If she had only +put the boy under the proper care, none of this would have +happened.</i></p> + +<p>"Is there <i>any</i>thing we can do, Doctor?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"We don't know yet," he said gently. He considered for a +moment, then said: "Mrs. Stanton, I'd like for you to leave<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +both of the boys here for a few days, so that we can perform +further tests. That will help us a great deal in evaluating the +circumstances, and help us get at the root of Martin's +trouble."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a little surprise. "Why, yes, of +course—if you think it's necessary. But ... why should Bart +stay?"</p> + +<p>The doctor weighed his words carefully before he spoke.</p> + +<p>"Bart will be what we call a 'control', Mrs. Stanton. Since +the boys are genetically identical, they should have been a +great deal alike, in personality as well as in body, if it +hadn't been for Martin's accident. In other words, our tests +of Bart will tell us what Martin <i>should</i> be like. That way, we +can tell just how much and in what way Martin deviates +from what he should ideally be. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Yes, I see. All right, Doctor—whatever you say."</p> + +<p>After Mrs. Stanton had left, the psychiatrist sat quietly +in his chair and stared thoughtfully at his desk top for +several minutes. Then, making his decision, he picked up a +small book that lay on his desk and looked up a number in +Arlington, Virginia. He punched out the number on his +phone, and when the face appeared on his screen he said, +"Hello, Sidney. Busy right now?"</p> + +<p>"Not particularly. Not for a few minutes. What's up?"</p> + +<p>"I have a very interesting case out here that I'd like to +talk to you about. Do you happen to have a telepath who's +strong enough to take a meshing with an insane mind? If +my suspicions are correct, I will need a man with an absolutely +impregnable sense of identity, because he's going +to get into the weirdest situation I've ever come across."</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c14" id="c14"></a><i>[14]</i></h2> + +<p>The Nipe squatted, brooding, in his underground nest, +waiting for the special crystallization process to take place +in the sodium-gold alloy that was forming in the reactor.</p> + +<p><i>How long?</i> he wondered. He was not thinking of the complex +crystallization reaction; he knew the timing of that to +a fraction of a second. His dark thoughts were, instead, +focused inwardly, upon himself.</p> + +<p>How long would it be before he would be able to construct +the communicator that would span the light-years +of intervening distance and put him in touch with his own +race again? How long would it be before he could again +hold discourse with reasonable beings? How much longer +would he have to be stranded on this planet, surrounded +by an insane society composed of degraded, insane beings?</p> + +<p>The work was going incredibly slowly. He had known at +the beginning that his knowledge of the basic arts required +to build a communicator was incomplete, but he had not +realized just how painfully inadequate it was. Time after +time, his instruments had simply refused to function because +of some basic flaw in their manufacture—some flaw +that an expert in that field could have pointed out at once. +Time after time, equipment had had to be rebuilt almost +from the beginning. And, time after time, only cut-and-try +methods were available for correcting his errors.</p> + +<p>Not even his prodigious and accurate memory could hold +all the information that was necessary for the work, and +there were no reference tapes available, of course. They had +all been destroyed when his ship had crashed.</p> + +<p>He had long since given up any attempt to understand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +the functioning of the mad pseudo-civilization that surrounded +him. He was quite certain that the beings he had +seen could not possibly be the real rulers of this society, +but he had no inkling, as yet, as to who the real rulers were.</p> + +<p>As to <i>where</i> they were, that question seemed a little +easier to answer. It was highly probable that they were out +in space, on the asteroids that his instruments had detected +when he was dropping in toward this planet so many years +before. He had made an error then in not landing in the +Belt, but at no time since had he experienced the emotion +of regret or wished he had done differently; both +thoughts would have been incomprehensible to the Nipe. +He had made an error; the circumstances had been checked +and noted; he would not make that error again.</p> + +<p>What further action could be taken by a logical mind?</p> + +<p>None. The past was immutable and unchangeable. It +existed only as a memory in his own mind, and there was no +way to change that indelible record, even had the Nipe +wished to do so insane a thing.</p> + +<p>Surely, he thought, the real rulers must know of his existence. +He had tried, by his every action, to show that he +was a reasoning, intelligent, and civilized being. Why, then, +had they taken no action?</p> + +<p>There was, of course, the possibility that the rulers cared +very little for their subjects here on Earth, that they ignored +what went on most of the time. Still, it would seem that they +would recognize the actions of one of their own kind and +take steps to investigate.</p> + +<p>He was still not absolutely certain about Colonel Walther +Mannheim. Was he a Real Person or merely an underling? +The information on the man was pitifully small. It would, +of course, be possible to wait, to see how Colonel Walther +Mannheim behaved if and when he discovered the Nipe's +nest. But if he had not discovered it after all these years—and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> +the information indicated that he had been looking +almost since the first—then it was unlikely that he was a +Real Person. In which case, it would be dangerous to allow +him to find the nest.</p> + +<p>No, the best plan of action would be to go to Colonel +Walther Mannheim first.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c15" id="c15"></a><i>[15]</i></h2> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p>The action around the handball court was beautiful to +watch. The robot mechanism behind Bart Stanton would +fire out a ball at random intervals ranging from a tenth to a +quarter of a second, bouncing them off the wall in a random +pattern. Stanton would retrieve the ball before it hit the +ground and bounce it off the wall again to strike the target +on the moving robot. Stanton had to work against a machine; +no ordinary human being could have given him any competition.</p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok!</i> <span class="smcapl">PLUNK</span>.</p> + +<p>"One miss," Stanton said to himself. But he fielded the +next one nicely and slammed it home.</p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p>The physical therapist who was standing to one side, well +out of the way of those hard-slammed, fast-moving drives, +glanced at his watch. It was almost time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Pok! Pok! Ping!</i></p> + +<p>The machine, having delivered its last ball, shut itself off +with a smug click. Stanton turned away from the handball +court and walked toward the physical therapist, who was +holding out a robe for him.</p> + +<p>"That was good, Bart," he said. "Real good."</p> + +<p>"One miss," Stanton said as he shrugged into the robe.</p> + +<p>"Yeah. Your timing was off a shade there, I guess. It's +hard for me to tell till I look at the slow-motion photographs. +Your arms and hands are just blurs to me when they're moving +that fast. But you managed to chop another ten seconds +off your previous record, anyway."</p> + +<p>Stanton looked at him. "You reset the timer again," he +said accusingly. But there was a grin on his face.</p> + +<p>The P.T. man grinned back. "Yup. Come on, step into +the mummy case." He waved toward the narrow niche in +the wall of the court, a niche just big enough to hold a standing +man. Stanton stepped in, and various instrument pickups +came out of the walls and touched him at various points +on his body. Hidden machines recorded his heartbeat, his +blood pressure, his brain activity, his muscular tension, his +breathing, and several other factors.</p> + +<p>After a minute the P.T. man said, "Okay, Bart, that's it. +Let's hit the steam box."</p> + +<p>Stanton stepped out of the niche and accompanied the +therapist to another room, where he took off the robe again +and sat down on the small stool inside an ordinary steam +box. The box closed, leaving his head free, and the box +began to fill with steam.</p> + +<p>"Did I ever tell you just what it is that I don't like about +that machine?" Stanton asked as the therapist draped a +heavy towel around his head.</p> + +<p>"Nope. Didn't know you had any gripe. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"You can't gloat after you beat it. You can't walk over<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> +and pat it on the shoulder and say, 'Well, better luck next +time, old man.' It isn't a good loser, and it isn't a bad loser. +The damned thing doesn't even know it lost, and even if it +did, it wouldn't care."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, I see what you mean," said the P.T. man, chuckling. +"You beat the pants off it and what d'you get? Nothing. +Not even a case of the sulks out of it."</p> + +<p>"Exactly. And what's worse, I know perfectly good and +well that it's only half trying. The stupid gadget could beat +me easily if you just turned that knob over a little more."</p> + +<p>"Yeah, sure. But you're not competing against the machine, +anyway," the therapist said. "What you're doing, +you're competing against yourself, trying to beat your own +record."</p> + +<p>"I know. And what happens when I can't do <i>that</i> any +more, either?" Stanton asked. "I can't just go on getting +better and better forever. I've got limits, you know."</p> + +<p>"Sure," said the therapist easily. "So does anybody. So +does a golf player, for instance. You take a golf player, he +goes out and practices by himself to try to beat his own +record."</p> + +<p>"Bunk! Hogwash! The real fun in <i>any</i> game is beating +someone else! The big kick in golf is winning over the other +guy in a twosome."</p> + +<p>"How about crossword puzzles or solitaire?"</p> + +<p>"When you solve a crossword puzzle, you've beaten the +guy who made up the puzzle. When you play solitaire, +you're playing against the laws of chance, and that can become +pretty boring unless there's money on it. And, in that +case, you're actually trying to beat the guy who's betting +against you. What I'd like to do is get out on the golf course +with someone else and do my best and then lose. Honestly."</p> + +<p>"With a handicap ..." the therapist began. Then he +grinned weakly and stopped. On the golf course, Stanton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> +was impossibly good. It had taken him a little while to get +the knack of it, but as soon as he got control of his club +and knew the reactions of the ball, his score started plummeting. +Now it was so low as to be almost ridiculous. One +long drive to the green and one putt to the cup. An easy +thirty-six strokes for eighteen holes! An occasional hole-in-one +sometimes brought his score down below that; an occasional +wormcast or stray wind sometimes brought it up.</p> + +<p>"Sure," said Stanton. "A handicap. What kind of a handicap +do you want me to give you to induce you to make a +fifty-dollar bet on a handball game with me?"</p> + +<p>The physical therapist could imagine himself trying to +get under one of Stanton's lightning-like returns. The +thought of what would happen to his hand if he were accidentally +to catch one made him wince.</p> + +<p>"We wouldn't even be playing the same game," said +Stanton.</p> + +<p>The therapist stepped back and looked at Stanton. "You +know," he said puzzledly, "you sound bitter."</p> + +<p>"Sure I'm bitter," Stanton said. "All I ever get is just +exercise. All the fun has gone out of it." He sighed and +grinned. There was no point in upsetting the P.T. man. "I +guess I'll just have to stick to cards and chess if I want +competition. Speed and strength don't help anything if I'm +holding two pair against three of a kind."</p> + +<p>Before the therapist could say anything, the door opened +and a tall, lean man stepped into the foggy air of the room. +"You are broiling a lobster?" he asked the P.T. man +blandly.</p> + +<p>"Steaming a clam," the therapist corrected. "When he's +done, I'll pound him to chowder."</p> + +<p>"Excellent. I came for a clambake."</p> + +<p>"You're early, then, George," Stanton said. He didn't feel<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +much in the mood for lightness, and the appearance of Dr. +Yoritomo did nothing to improve his humor.</p> + +<p>George Yoritomo beamed broadly, crinkling up his narrow, +heavy-lidded eyes. "Ah! A talking clam! Excellent! +How much longer does this fine specimen of clamhood have +to cook?" he asked the P.T. man.</p> + +<p>"About twenty-three more minutes."</p> + +<p>"Excellent!" said Dr. Yoritomo. "Would you be so good +as to return at the end of that time?"</p> + +<p>The therapist opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it +again, and said: "Sure, Doc. I can get some other stuff done. +I'll see you in twenty-three minutes. But don't let him out of +there till I get back." He went out through the far door.</p> + +<p>After the door closed, Dr. Yoritomo pulled up a chair +and sat down. "There have been new developments," he +said, "as you may have surmised."</p> + +<p>The physical therapist, like many other of the personnel +around the Institute, knew of Stanton's abilities, but he +didn't know the purpose of the long series of operations +that had made him what he was. Such persons knew about +Stanton himself, but they knew nothing of any connection +with the Nipe, although they might suspect. And all of them +kept their knowledge and their suspicions to themselves.</p> + +<p>"I guessed," Stanton said. "What is it, George?" He +flexed his muscles under the caress of the hot, moist currents +in the box.</p> + +<p>He wondered why it was so important that the psychologist +interrupt him while he was relaxing after strenuous +exercise. Yoritomo looked excited in spite of his attempt to +be calm. And yet Stanton knew that, whatever it was, it +wasn't anything tremendously urgent or Dr. Yoritomo +would be acting a great deal differently.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo leaned forward in his chair, his thin lips in an +excited smile, his black-irised eyes sparkling. "I had to come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +tell you. The sheer, utter beauty of it is too much to contain. +Three times in a row was almost absolute, Bart. The +probability that our hypotheses were correct was computed +as straight nines to seven decimals. But now! The fourth +time! Straight nines to <i>twelve</i> decimals!"</p> + +<p>Stanton lifted an eyebrow. "Your Oriental calm is deserting +you, George. I'm not reading you."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo's smile became broader. "Ah! Sorry. I refer to +the theory we have been discussing. About the peculiar mentality +of our friend, the Nipe. You remember?"</p> + +<p>Stanton remembered. After six years of watching the recorded +actions of the Nipe, Dr. Yoritomo had evolved a +theory about the kind of mentality that lay behind the four +baleful violet eyes in that snouted alien head. In order that +his theory be validated, it was necessary that the theory be +able to predict, in broad terms, the future actions of the +Nipe. Evidently that proof had now come. The psychologist +was smiling and rubbing his long, bony hands together. For +Dr. George Yoritomo, that was almost the equivalent of +hysterical excitement.</p> + +<p>"We have been able to predict the behavior of the Nipe!" +he said. "For the fourth time in succession!"</p> + +<p>"Great," Stanton said. "Congratulations, George. But +how does that fit in with the rule you once told me about? +You know, the one about experimental animals."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes," Yoritomo said, nodding his head agreeably. +"The Harvard Law of Animal Behavior. 'A genetically +standardized strain, under precisely controlled laboratory +conditions, when subjected to carefully calibrated stimuli, +will behave as it damned well pleases.' Yes. Very true."</p> + +<p>He held up a cautionary finger. "But an animal could not +do otherwise, could it? Only as it pleases. Could it do anything +else? It could not please to behave as something it is +not, could it?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Draw me a picture," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"What I mean," Yoritomo said, "is that any organism is +limited in its choice of behavior. A hamster, for example, +cannot choose to behave in the manner of a rhesus monkey. +A dog cannot choose to react as a mouse would react. If I +prick a white mouse with a needle, it may squeal or bite or +jump—but it will not bark. Never. Nor will it, under any +circumstances, leap to a trapeze, hang by its tail, and chatter +curses at me. Never."</p> + +<p>Stanton chuckled, but he didn't comment.</p> + +<p>"By observing an organism's reactions," the psychologist +continued, "one can begin to see a pattern. After long +enough observation, the pattern almost approaches certainty. +If, for instance, I tell you that I put an armful of +hay into a certain animal's enclosure, and that the animal +trotted over, ate the hay, and brayed, then you will be able +to tell me with reasonable certainty whether or not the animal +had long ears. Do you see?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. But you haven't been able to pinpoint the Nipe's +activities that easily yet, have you?" Stanton asked.</p> + +<p>"Ah, no," said Yoritomo. "Not at all. That was merely an +analogy, and we must not make the mistake of carrying an +analogy too far. The more intelligent a creature is, the +greater, in general, is its scope of action. The Nipe is far +from being so simple as a monkey or a hamster. On the +other hand—" He smiled widely, showing bright, white teeth. +"—he is not so bright as a human being."</p> + +<p>"<i>What?</i>" Stanton looked at him skeptically. "I wouldn't +say he was exactly stupid, George. What about all those +prize gadgets of his?" He blinked. "Wipe the sweat off my +forehead, will you? It's running into my eyes."</p> + +<p>Dr. Yoritomo wiped with the towel as he continued. "Ah, +yes. He is quite capable in that respect, my friend. Quite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> +capable. That is because of his great memory—at once his +finest asset and his greatest curse."</p> + +<p>He draped the towel around Stanton's head again and +stepped back, his face unsmiling. "Imagine having a near-perfect +memory, Bart."</p> + +<p>Stanton's jaw muscles tightened a little before he spoke. +"I think I'd like it," he said.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo shrugged slightly. "Perhaps you would. But it +would most certainly not be the asset you think. Look at it +very soberly, my friend.</p> + +<p>"The most difficult teaching job in the world is the attempt +to teach an organism something that that organism +already knows. True? Yes. If a man already knows the +shape of the Earth, it will do you no good to teach him. +If he <i>knows</i>, for example, that the Earth is flat, but round +like a pancake, your contention that it is round like a ball +will make no impression upon his mind whatever. He <i>knows</i>, +you see. He <i>knows</i>.</p> + +<p>"Now. Imagine a race with a perfect memory—a memory +that never fades. A memory in which each bit of data is as +bright and as fresh as the moment it was imprinted, and as +readily available as the data stored in a robot's mind. It is, +in effect, a robotic memory.</p> + +<p>"If you put false data into the memory banks of a mathematical +computer—such as telling it that the square of two is +five—you cannot correct that error simply by telling it the +true fact that the square of two is four. No. First you must +remove the erroneous data. Not so?"</p> + +<p>"Agreed," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"Very good. Then let us look at the Nipe race, wherever +it was spawned in this universe. Let us look at the race a +long time back—way back when they first became <i>Nipe +sapiens</i>. Back when they first developed a true language. +Each little Nipe child, as it is born or hatched or budded—whatever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +it is they do—is taught as rapidly as possible all +the things it must know in order to survive. And once a +little Nipelet is taught a thing, it <i>knows</i>. That knowledge is +there, and it is permanent, and it can be brought instantly +to the fore. And if it is taught a falsehood, then it cannot +be taught the truth. You see?"</p> + +<p>Stanton thought about it. "Well, yes. But eventually there +are going to be cases where reality doesn't jibe with what +he's been taught, aren't there? And wouldn't cold reality +force a change?"</p> + +<p>"Ah. In some cases, yes. In most, no," said Yoritomo. +"Look: Suppose one of these primordial Nipes runs across +a tiger—or whatever large carnivore passes for a tiger on +their home planet. This Nipe, let us say, has never seen a +tiger before, so he does not observe that this particular tiger +is old, ill, and weak. It is, as a matter of fact, on its last legs. +Our primordial Nipe hits it on the head, and it drops dead. +He drags the body home for the family to feed upon.</p> + +<p>"'How did you kill it, Papa?'</p> + +<p>"'Why, it was the simplest thing in the world, my child. +I walked up to it, bashed it firmly on the noggin, and it +died. That is the way to kill tigers.'"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo smiled. "It is also a good way to kill Nipes. +Eh?" He took the towel and wiped Stanton's brow again.</p> + +<p>"The error," he continued, "was made when Papa Nipe +made the generalization from <i>one</i> tiger to <i>all</i> tigers. If tigers +were rare, this erroneous bit of lore might be passed on for +many generations unchecked and spread through the Nipe +community as time passed. Those who did learn that most +tigers are <i>not</i> conquered by walking up to them and hitting +them on the noggin undoubtedly died before they could +pass this new bit of information on. Then, perhaps, one day +a Nipe survived the ordeal. His mind now contained conflicting +information which must be resolved. He <i>knows</i> that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +tigers are killed in this way. He also <i>knows</i> that this one was +not so obliging as to die. What is wrong? Ha! He has the +solution! Plainly, <i>this</i> particular beast <i>was not a tiger</i>!"</p> + +<p>"How does he explain that to the others?" Stanton asked.</p> + +<p>"What does he tell his children?" Yoritomo asked rhetorically. +"Why, first he tells them how tigers are killed. You +walk up to one and bash it on the head. But then he warns +his little Nipelets that there is an animal around that looks +<i>just like</i> a tiger, but it is <i>not</i> a tiger. One should not make +the mistake of thinking it <i>is</i> a tiger or one will get oneself +badly hurt. Now, since the only way to tell the true tiger from +the false is to give it a hit on the head, and since that test may +prove rather injurious, if not absolutely fatal, to the Nipe +who tries it, it follows that one is better off if one scrupulously +avoids all animals that look like tigers. You see?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah," said Stanton. "Some snarks are boojums."</p> + +<p>"Exactly! Thank you for that allusion," Yoritomo said +with a smile. "I must remember to use it in my report."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me to follow," Stanton said musingly, "that +there would inevitably be some things that they'd never learn +the truth about, once they had gotten the wrong idea into +their heads."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Indeed. Absolutely true. It is precisely that which +led me to formulate my theory in the first place. How else +are we to explain that the Nipe, for all his tremendous technical +knowledge, is nonetheless a member of a society that is +still in the ancient ritual-taboo stage of development?"</p> + +<p>"A savage?"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo laughed softly. "As to his savagery, I think no +one on Earth would disagree. But they are not the same +thing. What I do mean is that the Nipe is undoubtedly the +most superstitious and bigoted being on the face of this +planet."</p> + +<p>There was a knock on the door of the steam room.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes?" said Dr. Yoritomo.</p> + +<p>The physical therapist stuck his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, +but the clam is done. I'll have to give him a rubdown, +Doc."</p> + +<p>"Perfectly all right," Yoritomo said. "We had almost finished. +Think over what I have said, eh, Bart?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah, sure, George," Stanton said abstractedly. Yoritomo +left, and Stanton got up on the rubdown table and +lay prone. The therapist, seeing that his patient was in no +mood for conversation, proceeded with the massage in +silence.</p> + +<p>Stanton lay on the table, his head pillowed in his arms, +while the therapist rubbed and kneaded his muscles. The +pleasant sensation formed a background for his thoughts. +For the first time, Stanton was seeing the Nipe as an individual—as +a person—as a thinking, feeling being.</p> + +<p><i>We have a great deal in common, you and I</i>, he thought. +<i>Except that you're a lot worse off than I am.</i></p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p><i>I'm actually feeling sorry for the poor guy</i>, Stanton +thought. <i>Which, I suppose, is a hell of a lot better than feeling +sorry for myself. The only real, basic difference between +us freaks is that you're more of a freak than I am. "Molly +O'Grady and the Colonel's lady are sisters under the skin."</i></p> + +<p><i>Where'd that come from? Something I learned in school, +no doubt—like the snarks and the boojums.</i></p> + +<div class="poem" style="width: 20em;"> +<span class="i0"><i>He would answer to</i> Hi! <i>or to any loud cry,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Such as</i> Fry me! <i>or</i> Fritter my wig!<br /></span> +</div> + +<p><i>Who was that? The snark? No. The snark had a flavor +like that of will-o'-the-wisp. And I must remember to distinguish +those that have feathers, and bite, from those that +have whiskers, and scratch.</i></p> + +<p>Damn <i>this memory of mine!</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p><i>Or can I even call it mine when I can't even use it?</i></p> + +<p><i>"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to +face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also +I am known."</i></p> + +<p><i>Another jack-in-the-box thought popping up from nowhere.</i></p> + +<p><i>The only way I'll ever get all of this stuff straightened out +in my mind is to get more information. And it doesn't look +as though anyone is going to give it to me on a platter, either. +The Institute men seem to be awfully chary about giving information +away, even to me. George even had to chase +away old rub-and-pound (That feels good!) before he +would talk about the Nipe. Can't blame 'em for that, of +course. There'd be hell to pay for everyone around if the +general public ever found out that the Nipe has been kept +as a pet for six years.</i></p> + +<p><i>How many people has he killed in that time? Twenty? +Thirty? How much blood does Colonel Mannheim have on +his hands?</i></p> + +<div class="poem" style="width: 14em;"> +<span class="i0"><i>Though they know not why,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>Or for what they give,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Still, the few must die,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>That the many may live.</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<p><i>I wonder whether I read all that stuff complete or just +browsed through a copy of Bartlett's</i> Quotations.</p> + +<p><i>Fragments.</i></p> + +<p><i>We've got to get organized around here, brother. Colonel +Mannheim's puppet is going to have to cut his strings and +do a Pinocchio.</i></p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="c16" id="c16"></a><i>[16]</i></h2> + +<p>Colonel Walther Mannheim unlocked the door of his +small suite of rooms in the Officers' Barracks. God! he was +tired. It wasn't so much physical exhaustion as mental and +emotional release from the tension he had been under for +the preceding few hours. Or had it been years?</p> + +<p>He dropped his heavy briefcase on a nearby chair, took +off his cap and dropped it on the briefcase.</p> + +<p>He stood there for a moment, looking tiredly around. +Everything was in order, as usual. He seldom came to Government +City any more. Twenty or so visits in the last ten +years, and only a dozen of them had been long enough to +force him to spend the night in his old suite at the World +Police Headquarters at the southern end of the island. He +didn't like to stay in Government City; it made him uneasy, +being this close to the Nipe's underground nest. The Nipe +had too many taps into government communication channels, +too many ways of seeing and hearing what went on +here in the nerve center of civilization.</p> + +<p>One of the most difficult parts of this whole operation +had been the careful balancing of information flow through +those channels that the Nipe had tapped. To stop using +them would betray immediately to that alien mind that his +taps had been detected. The information flow must go on as +usual. There was no way to censor the information, either, +although it was known that the Nipe relied on them for +planning his raids. But since there was no way of knowing, +even after years of observation, what sort of thing the Nipe +would be wanting next, there was no way of knowing which +information should be removed from the tapped channels.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>And, most certainly, removing <i>all</i> information about +every possible material that the Nipe might want would +make him even more suspicious than simply shutting down +the channels altogether. To shut them down would only indicate +that the human government had detected his taps; to +censor them heavily would indicate that a trap was being +laid.</p> + +<p>It was even impossible to censor out news about the Nipe. +That, too, would have invited suspicion. So a special corps +of men had been set up, a group whose sole job was to investigate +every raid of the Nipe. Every raid produced a +flurry of activity by this special group. They rushed out to +look over the scene of the raid, prowled around, and did +everything that might be expected of an investigative body. +Their reports were sent in over the usual channels. All the +actual data they came up with was sent straight through the +normal channels—but the conclusions they reached from that +data were not. Always, in spite of everything, the messages +indicated that the police were as baffled as before.</p> + +<p>All other information relating to the Nipe went through +special channels known to be untapped by the Nipe.</p> + +<p>And yet, there was no way to be absolutely certain of the +sum total of the information that the Nipe received. Believing, +as he did, in the existence of Real People, he would +necessarily assume that <i>their</i> communication systems were +hidden from him, and the more difficult they were to find, +the more certain he would be that they existed. And it was +impossible to know what information the Nipe picked up +when he was out on a raid, away from the spying devices +that had been hidden in his tunnels.</p> + +<p>Mannheim walked across the small living room to the +sideboard that stood against one wall and opened a door. +Fresh ice, soda, and a bottle of Scotch were waiting for him. +He took one of the ten-ounce glasses, dropped in three of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> +the hard-frozen cubes of ice, added a precisely measured +ounce and a half of Scotch, and filled the glass to within an +inch of the brim with soda. Holding the glass in one hand, +he walked around the little apartment, checking everything +with a sort of automatic abstractedness. The air conditioner +was pouring sweet, cool, fresh air into the room; the windows—heavy, +thick slabs of paraglass welded directly into +the wall—admitted the light from the courtyard outside, but +admitted nothing else. There was no need for them to open, +because of the air conditioning. A century before, some +buildings still had fire escapes running down their outsides, +but modern fireproofing had rendered such anachronisms +unnecessary.</p> + +<p>But his mind was only partly on his surroundings. He +went into the bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, +took a long drink from the cold glass in his hand, and then +put it on the nightstand. Absently he began pulling off his +boots. His thoughts were on the Executive Session he had +attended that afternoon.</p> + +<p><i>"How much longer, do you think, Colonel?"</i></p> + +<p><i>"A few weeks, sir. Perhaps less."</i></p> + +<p><i>"There was another raid in Miami, Colonel. Another man +died. We could have prevented that death, Colonel. We +could have prevented a great many deaths in the past six +years."</i></p> + +<p>And what answer was there to that? The Executive Council +knew that the deaths were preventable in only one way—by +killing the Nipe. And they had long ago agreed that the +knowledge in that alien mind was worth the sacrifice. But, +as he had known would happen when they made the decision +six years before, there were some of them who had, inevitably, +weakened. Not all—not even a majority—but a minority +that was becoming stronger.</p> + +<p>It had been, to a great degree, Mannheim's arguments<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +that had convinced them then, and now they were tending to +shift the blame for their decision to Mannheim's shoulders.</p> + +<p>Most of the Executives were tough-minded, realistic men. +They were not going to step out now unless there were good +reason for it. But if the subtle undercutting of the vacillating +minority weakened Mannheim's own resolve, or if he +failed to give solid, well-reasoned answers to their questions, +then the whole project would begin to crumble rapidly.</p> + +<p>He had not directly answered the Executive who had +pointed out that many lives could have been saved if the +Nipe had been killed six years ago. There was no use in +fighting back on such puerile terms.</p> + +<p><i>"Gentlemen, within a few weeks, we will be ready to send +Stanton in after the Nipe. If that fails, we can blast him out +of his stronghold within minutes afterwards. But if we stop +now, if we allow our judgment to be colored at this point, +then all those who have died in the past six years will have +died in vain."</i></p> + +<p>He had gone on, exploring and explaining the ramifications +of the plans for the next few weeks, but he had carefully +kept it on the same level. It had been an emotional +sort of speech, but it had been purposely so, in answer +to the sort of emotionalism that the weakening minority had +attempted to use on him.</p> + +<p>Men had died, yes. But what of that? Men had died before +for far less worthwhile causes. And men, do what they +will, will die eventually. In the back of his mind, he had +recalled the battle-cry of some sergeant of the old United +States Marines during an early twentieth-century war. As +he led his men over the top, he had shouted, "<i>Come on, you +sons of bitches! Do you wanna live forever?</i>"</p> + +<p>But Mannheim hadn't mentioned it aloud to the Executive +Council.</p> + +<p>Nor had he pointed out that ten thousand times as many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +people had died during the same period through preventable +accidents. That would not have had the effect he wanted.</p> + +<p>These particular men had died for this particular purpose. +They had not asked to die. They had not known +they were being sacrificed. None of them could be said to +have died a hero's death. They had died simply because +they were in a particular place at a particular time.</p> + +<p>They had been allowed to die for a specific purpose. To +abort that purpose at this time would be to make their +deaths, retroactively, murder.</p> + +<p>Mannheim put his head on the pillow and lifted his feet +up on the bed. All he wanted was a few minutes of relaxation. +He'd get ready for sleep later. He pressed the control +button on the bedframe that lifted the head of the bed +up so that he was in a semi-reclining position. He picked +up his drink and took a second long pull from it.</p> + +<p>Then he touched the phone switch and put the receiver to +his ear.</p> + +<p>"Beta-beta," he said when he heard the tone.</p> + +<p>He heard the hum, and he knew that the ultraprivate +phone on the desk of Dr. Farnsworth, in St. Louis, was +signaling. Then Farnsworth's voice came over the linkage.</p> + +<p>"<i>F</i> here."</p> + +<p>"<i>M</i> here," Mannheim replied. Then he asked guardedly, +"Any sign of our boy?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"Keep on him," Mannheim said. "Let me know immediately."</p> + +<p>"Will do. Any further?"</p> + +<p>"No. Carry on." Mannheim cut off the phone.</p> + +<p>Where the hell had Stanton disappeared to, and why? He +had wanted to bring the young man to Government City to +show him off before the Executives. It would have helped. +But Stanton had disappeared.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mannheim was well aware that Stanton had been in the +habit of leaving the Institute for long walks during the evenings, +but this was the first time he had been gone for +twenty-four hours. And even Yoritomo, that master psychologist, +had been unable to give any solid reason for +Stanton's disappearance.</p> + +<p>"You must remember, my dear Colonel," Yoritomo had +said, "our young Mr. Stanton is a great deal more complex +in his thinking than is our friend the Nipe."</p> + +<p><i>A hell of a job for a police officer</i>, Mannheim thought to +himself. <i>I know where the criminal is, but I have to hunt +for the only cop on Earth who can arrest him.</i></p> + +<p>He drained his glass, put it on the nightstand, and closed +his eyes to think.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>An operator on duty at the spy screens that watched +every move of the Nipe while he was in the tunnels underneath +Government City thumbed down a switch and said, +"All stations alert. Subject is moving southward toward +exit, carrying raiding equipment."</p> + +<p>It was all that was necessary. The Nipe could not be followed +after he left his lair, but the proper groups would be +standing by. Somewhere, the Nipe would hit and raid +again. Somewhere, there were human lives in danger.</p> + +<p>All anyone could do was wait.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Cautiously and carefully, the Nipe lifted his head out of +the cool salt water of the Hudson River, near the point +where it widened into New York Harbor—still so called after +the city that had been the greatest on the North American +continent before the violence of a sun bomb had demolished +it forever.</p> + +<p>He looked around carefully to get his bearings, then submerged +again. The opening into the ancient sewer was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +nearby. Once into that network, he would know exactly +where he was heading. It had taken weeks to find his way +around within the unexplored maze of the old sewers, and +he had been uncertain whether they would lead him to the +place he intended to visit, but luck had been with him.</p> + +<p>Now he knew exactly where he wanted to go, and exactly +what he would find there.</p> + +<p>He had avoided Government City itself since his first appearance +there, shortly after his arrival, just as he had, as +much as possible, avoided ever striking in the same place +more than once. But now that it had become necessary, he +went about his work with the same cool determination that +had always marked his activities.</p> + +<p>He knew his destination, too. He knew the two rooms +thoroughly, having explored them carefully and gone away +undetected. And now that he knew the one he sought was +in those rooms, he was ready to make his final investigation +of the man.</p> + +<p>He swam on through the utter blackness of the brackish +water until his head broke surface again. Then he went on +along the great conduits that were above the level of the sea.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Captain Davidson Greer sat in the gun tower that overlooked +the Officers' Barracks and the courtyard surrounding +the five-story building. He was a tall, solidly built man +in his early thirties, with dark gray-green eyes and dark +blond hair. He didn't particularly care for gun-tower duty, +but this sort of thing couldn't be left to anyone who was not +in on the secret of the Nipe. As long as Colonel Mannheim +was here in Government City, there would be special officers +guarding him instead of the usual guard contingent.</p> + +<p>Not that Captain Greer was actually expecting the Nipe +to make any attempt on the colonel's life; that was too remote +to be worried about. But the gun towers had been<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> +erected fifty or more years before because there were always +those who wanted to attempt assassination. Officers of the +World Police had not enjoyed great popularity during the +reconstruction period after the Holocaust. The petty potentates +who had set themselves up as autocratic rulers in various +spots over the Earth had quite often decided that the +best way to get the WP off their backs was to kill someone, +and quite often that someone was a Police officer. Disgruntled +nationalists and fanatics of all kinds had tried at +various times to kill one officer or another. The protection +was needed then.</p> + +<p>Even now there were occasional assassins who attempted +to invade World Police Headquarters, but they were usually +stopped long before they got into the enclosure itself.</p> + +<p>Still, there was always the chance. There had been, in the +past few years, an undercurrent of rebellion all over Earth +because of the Nipe. The monster hadn't been killed, and +there were those who screamed that the failure was due to +the inefficiency of the Police.</p> + +<p>One attempt had already been made on the life of a +Major Thorensen because he had failed to get the Nipe +after a raid in Leopoldville. The would-be assassin had been +cut down just before he threw a grenade that would have +killed half a dozen men. Captain Greer had been assigned +to make sure that no such attempt would succeed with Colonel +Mannheim.</p> + +<p>He could see the length of the hallway that led to Colonel +Mannheim's suite. The hallway had been purposely designed +for watching from the gun tower. To one who was inside, it +looked like an ordinary hallway, stretching down the length +of the building. But it was walled with a special plastic that, +while opaque to visible light, was perfectly transparent to +infra-red. To the ordinary unaided eye, the walls of the +building presented a blank face to the gun tower, but to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +eye of an infra-red scope, the hallways of all five floors +looked as though they were long, glass-enclosed terraces. +And those walls were neither the ferro-concrete of the main +building nor the pressure glass of the windows, but ordinary +heavy-gauge plastic. To the bullets that could be spewed +forth from the muzzle of the heavy-caliber, high-powered +machine gun in the tower, those walls were practically nonexistent.</p> + +<p>Captain Greer surveyed the hallways with his infra-red +binoculars. Nothing. The halls were empty. He lowered the +binoculars and lit a cigarette. Then he put his eyes to the +aiming scope of the gun and swiveled the muzzle a little. +The aiming scope showed nothing either.</p> + +<p>He leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim blinked and looked at the ceiling. It +took him a minute to re-orient himself. Then he grinned +rather sheepishly, realizing that he had dozed off with his +clothes on. Even worse, the pressure at his hip told him that +he hadn't even bothered to take his sidearm off. He sat up +and swung his feet to the floor, then glanced at his wrist. +Three in the morning.</p> + +<p><i>And the moral of that, my dear Walther</i>, he told himself, +<i>is that a tired man should put on his pajamas first, before +he lies down and drinks a Scotch</i>.</p> + +<p>He stood up. Might as well put his pajamas on and get to +bed. He would have to be back in St. Louis by ten in the +morning, so he ought to get as much sleep as possible.</p> + +<p>The phone chimed.</p> + +<p>He scooped it up and became instantly awake as he +heard the voice of Captain Greer from the gun tower that +faced the outer wall. "Colonel, the Nipe is just outside the +wall of your apartment, in the hallway. I have him in my +sights." He was trying to stay calm, Mannheim could tell by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +his voice, but he rattled the words off with machine-gun +rapidity.</p> + +<p>Mannheim thought rapidly. Whatever the Nipe was up +to, it wouldn't include planting a bomb or anything that +might kill anyone accidentally. If there was a life in danger, +it was his own, and the danger would come from the Nipe's +hands, not from any device or weapon.</p> + +<p>He was thankful that it was Captain Greer up in that +tower, not an ordinary guard who would have fired the +instant he saw the alien through the infra-red-transparent +walls. Even so, he knew that the captain's fingers must be +tightening on those triggers. No human being could do +otherwise with that monster in his sights.</p> + +<p>Mannheim spoke very calmly and deliberately. "Captain, +listen very carefully. Do <i>not</i>—I repeat, do <i>not</i>, under any +circumstances whatever, fire that gun. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"What's he doing?"</p> + +<p>"I can't tell, sir. He has some sort of gadget in his hands, +but he just seems to be squatting there."</p> + +<p>"At the door?"</p> + +<p>"No. To the left of it, at the wall."</p> + +<p>"You have your cameras going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"All right. Get everything that happens. Under no circumstances +shoot or give the alarm—<i>even if he kills me</i>. +Let him go. I don't think that will happen, but if it does, +let him go. I think I can talk to him. I don't think there's +much danger. I'm going to leave the phone open so you can +record everything, and—"</p> + +<p>There was a muffled noise from the living room. He +heard Captain Greer's gasp as he turned. He could see +through the bedroom door to the wall of the living room. +A large section of the ferro-concrete wall had sagged away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +and collapsed, having suddenly lost its tensile strength. On +the top of the rubble, frozen for a long instant, stood the +Nipe, watching with those four glowing violet eyes.</p> + +<p>Mannheim let go the phone and turned to face the monster, +and in that instant he realized his mistake.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>The Nipe stared at the human being. Was this, at last, +a Real Person? It was surprising that the man should be +awake. Only a minute before, the instruments had shown +him to be in the odd cataleptic state that these creatures +lapsed into periodically, similar to, but not identical with, +his own rest state. And yet he was now awake and fully +dressed. Surely that indicated—</p> + +<p>And then the man turned, and the Nipe saw the weapon +in the holster at his waist. There was a blinding instant of +despair as he realized that his hopes had been shattered—</p> + +<p>—and then he launched himself across the room.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim's hand darted toward the gun at his +hip. It was purely reflex action. Even as he did it, he was +aware that he would never get the weapon out in time to +bring it to bear on the onrushing monster, and he was content +that it should be so.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Twenty-five minutes later, the Nipe, after carefully licking +off the fingers of his first pair of hands, went back into +the hallway and headed down toward the sewers again.</p> + +<p>The emotion he felt is inexpressible in human terms. Although +he had not wished to kill the man, it cannot be said +that the Nipe felt contrition. Although he had had no desire +to harm the family, if any, of the late Colonel Mannheim, it +cannot be said that the Nipe felt sadness or compassion.</p> + +<p>Nor, again, although his stomachs churned and his body<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> +felt sluggish and heavy, can it be said that he felt any regret +for what he had done.</p> + +<p>That is not to say that he felt <i>no</i> emotion. He did. His +emotions were as strong and as deep as those of a very sensitive +human being. His emotions could bring him pain and +they could bring him pleasure. They could crush him or +exalt him. His emotions were just as real and as effective +as any human emotions.</p> + +<p>But they were <i>not</i> human emotions.</p> + +<p>They were emotions, but not <i>human</i> emotions.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to render into any human terms the simple +statement: "The Nipe felt that he had properly rendered +homage to a validly slain foe."</p> + +<p>That cannot even begin to indicate the emotion the Nipe +felt as he moved down toward the sewer and escape.</p> + +<hr class="min" /> + +<p>Captain Davidson Greer, his eyes staring with glassy +hatred through the infra-red gunsight, was registering a very +human emotion. His trigger fingers were twitching spasmodically—squeezing, +squeezing, squeezing.</p> + +<p>But his fingers were not on the triggers.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c17" id="c17"></a><i>[17]</i></h2> + +<p>"It is not your fault, Bart," said George Yoritomo +softly. "You had a perfect right to go."</p> + +<p>Bart Stanton clenched his fists and turned suddenly to +face the Japanese psychologist. "Sure! Hell, yes! We're not +discussing my <i>rights</i>, George! We're discussing my criminal +stupidity! I had the right to leave here any time I wanted to,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +sure. But I didn't have the right to exercise that right—if +that makes any sense to you."</p> + +<p>"It makes sense," Yoritomo agreed, "but it is not the way +to look at it. You could not have been with the colonel +every minute of every day. There was no way of knowing—"</p> + +<p>"Of course not!" Stanton cut in angrily. "But I should +have been there <i>this</i> time. He wanted me there, and I was +gone. If I'd been there, he'd be alive at this moment."</p> + +<p>"Possibly," Yoritomo said, "and then again, possibly not. +Sit down over there on your bed, my young friend, and +listen to me. Sit! That's it. Take a deep breath, hold it, and +relax. I want your ears functioning when I talk to you. +That's better.</p> + +<p>"Now. I do not know where you went. That is your business. +All you—"</p> + +<p>"I went to Denver," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"And you found?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing," Stanton said. "Absolutely nothing."</p> + +<p>"What were you looking for?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Something about my past. Something +about myself. I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Ah. You went to look up your family. You were trying +to fill the holes in your memory. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And you did not succeed."</p> + +<p>"No. No. There wasn't anything there that I didn't remember. +In general, I mean. I found the files in the Bureau +of Statistics. I know how my father died now, and how my +mother died. And what happened to my brother. But all +that didn't tell me anything. I'm still looking for something, +and I don't know what it is. I was stupid to have gone. I +suppose I should have asked you or Dr. Farnsworth or the +colonel."</p> + +<p>"But you thought we wouldn't answer," Yoritomo said.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I guess that's about it. I should have asked you."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo shook his head. "Not necessarily. It was actually +better that you looked for yourself. Besides, we could +not have given you any answer if you yourself do not know +the question. We still can't."</p> + +<p>"I have a feeling," Stanton said, "that you know the question +as well as the answer."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But there are some things that +every man must find out for himself. You were right to +do as you did. If you had asked Colonel Mannheim for permission, +he would have let you go. He would not have asked +you to go to Government City with him. We—"</p> + +<p>"That's the whole damned trouble!" Stanton snapped. +"I'm the star boarder around here, the indispensable man. +So I'm babied and I'm coddled, and when I goof off I'm +patted on the back."</p> + +<p>"And just how did you goof off?" Yoritomo asked.</p> + +<p>"I should have been here, ready to go with the colonel."</p> + +<p>"Very well. Suppose you had gone. Do you think you +could have saved his life? He could have saved his own life +if he'd wanted to. Instead, he specifically ordered the guard +not to shoot under any circumstances. If you had been +there, the results would have been the same. He would have +forbidden you to do anything at all. The time is not yet +ripe for you to face the Nipe. You would not have been +able to protect him without disobeying his orders."</p> + +<p>"I might have done just that," said Stanton.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo was suddenly angry. "Then it is better that you +were in Denver, young fool! Colonel Walther Mannheim +believed that no single human life is worth the loss of the +knowledge in that alien's mind! He proved that by sacrificing +his own life when that became necessary. I like to think +that I would have done the same thing myself. I am certain +Dr. Farnsworth would. We would rather <i>all</i> be dead than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +allow that fund of data to be lost to the rest of humanity!"</p> + +<p>"But—but who will carry on, with him dead?" Stanton +asked. "He was the one who co-ordinated everything. You +and Farnsworth aren't cut out for that sort of thing. Nor +am I."</p> + +<p>"No," Yoritomo said. "But that has already been taken +care of. Mannheim had a replacement ready. A message is +being sent out in Mannheim's name, since we are keeping +the colonel's death secret for the time being. <i>You</i> are the +only indispensable man, Stanton. The rest of us can easily +be replaced. The lives of dozens of human beings have been +sacrificed—five years of your own life have been sacrificed—to +put you in the right place at the right time. And the job +you are to do does not and never has included acting as +bodyguard for Colonel Mannheim or anyone else. Understand?"</p> + +<p>Stanton nodded slowly. "I understand, George. I understand."</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c18" id="c18"></a><i>[18]</i></h2> + +<p>The detective pushed his way out of the crowded +courtroom before the rest of the crowd started to move. The +members of the jury were still filing in, and he knew that +no one else would leave the room until the verdict was in.</p> + +<p>He didn't care. He knew what the verdict ought to be. He +knew also that juries had occasionally been swayed by histrionics +on the part of the defense counsel, and had been +persuaded to free guilty men. He knew, too, that prosecutors +had railroaded innocent men. But such things as that +didn't happen often in the Belt. A man doesn't live too long<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> +in the Belt unless he's capable of recognizing Truth when +he sees it.</p> + +<p>But even if the wrong verdict had been brought in, there +would have been nothing he could do about it now. He had +done his part. He had done everything he could. He had +brought them in. He had testified. All the rest of it was up +to the Jury and the Court—those two enigmatic halves of +Justice and Judgment.</p> + +<p>The point was that this was the perfect time to leave the +courtroom. When he reached his office, he could, if he +wanted—and, he thought ruefully, he probably <i>would</i> want +to, in spite of his pretended indifference—call up to find out +what the verdict had been. But, during these few moments, +all eyes were on the jury box. No one was watching who left +quietly by the side door of the big courtroom.</p> + +<p>He moved silently and with assurance in the fractional-gee +field of the planetoid. One of the uniformed guards +looked at him and smiled, throwing him an informal salute.</p> + +<p>The detective returned both. "If any of those news reporters +ask which way I went," he said amiably, "tell 'em I +went thataway." He gestured over his shoulder with a thumb.</p> + +<p>"I ain't even seen you, Mr. Martin," said the guard.</p> + +<p>The detective waved his thanks and kept going. It wasn't +that he disliked newsmen. Most of them were fairly intelligent, +pleasant people. But he didn't want to be asked any +questions right now. He had given them interviews aplenty +during the trial, and they could use those, now that the end +of the trial had lifted the news ban. They had plenty of +quotations from Stan Martin without asking him what he +thought of the verdict itself.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, he was in his own office in the Lloyd's +Area. Helen, his secretary, was just cutting off the phone +as he walked into the outer office. She flashed him a big +smile.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They just gave the verdict, Mr. Martin! Guilty all the +way down the line—conspiracy, extortion, kidnapping, and +all the others. The only 'not guilty' verdict was a minor one. +They decided that Hedgepeth wasn't involved in the actual +kidnapping itself, and therefore wasn't guilty of the physical +assault of the guard."</p> + +<p>"They're probably right," the detective said, "but, as you +said, it's a minor point. It doesn't much matter whether he +was physically present at the time the boy was taken or +not; he was certainly in on the plot." He paused, frowning. +"That's over and done with, except for a possible appeal. +And it's unlikely that that would involve us, anyway. Get +Mr. Pelham on the phone, will you? I'll take it in my office."</p> + +<p>"The <i>Morton</i> case?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yeah. There's something fishy about the wreck of the +spaceship <i>Morton</i>, and I want Pelham to let me work on it."</p> + +<p>He went on into his office and had barely sat down when +the phone hummed. "Yes?" he said, depressing the switch.</p> + +<p>"Mr. BenChaim would like to speak to you, sir," Helen +said formally.</p> + +<p>"Oh?" In order to have gotten here so quickly, BenChaim, +too, must have left before the verdict was delivered. He was +hardly more than a minute behind the detective. And that +was unusual in a man who was waiting at the trial of the +kidnappers of his own son. Still, Moishe BenChaim was an +unusual man.</p> + +<p>"Tell him to come right on in," the detective said. "Oh, +and Helen ... hold off on that Pelham call for a little +while." He didn't want to be talking business while BenChaim +was in the office.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," she said.</p> + +<p>A few seconds later, the door opened, and Moishe BenChaim +came in. He was not a big man, but he was broad<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> +of shoulder and broad of girth, built like a wrestler. He +had a heavy, graying beard, and wore it with a patriarchal +air. He was breathing rather heavily as he came through the +door, and he stopped suddenly to pull a handkerchief from +his pocket. He began coughing—harsh, racking, painful +coughs that shook his heavy frame.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," he said after a moment. "Damn lungs. Shouldn't +try to move so fast." He wiped his lips and put the handkerchief +away.</p> + +<p>The detective didn't say anything. He knew that Moishe +BenChaim had injured his lungs eighteen years before. An +accident in space had ruptured his spacesuit, and the explosive +decompression that had resulted had almost killed +him. He had saved his own life by holding the torn spot +with one hand and turning up the air-tank valve full blast +with the other. The rough patch job had held long enough +for him to get back inside his ship, but his lungs had never +been the same, and his eyes were eternally bloodshot from +the ruptured and distended capillaries.</p> + +<p>"I noticed you'd slipped out of the courtroom," he went +on. "I hope you don't mind my following you."</p> + +<p>"Of course not, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said. "Sit +down."</p> + +<p>BenChaim sat in the chair across the desk from the detective. +"I didn't wait for the verdict," he said. "I knew the +conviction was certain after you testified."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. My secretary got the news just before you came +in. Guilty straight across the board. But your son's testimony +was a lot more telling than mine."</p> + +<p>"Guilty," BenChaim repeated with satisfaction. "Naturally. +What else? I admit my son's testimony was good," he +continued; "Little Shmuela told his story like a little man +up there in the witness-box. Never looked scared, never got +mixed up. But Shmuela's testimony was your testimony too,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +Mr. Martin. If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't be here +to testify, for which I'm grateful to God." Then he leaned +back and spread his hands apart in a gesture of dismissal.</p> + +<p>"But that's all over and done with," he said. "I came +about a different matter." Again he paused, as if picking his +words carefully. "Do you know a man named Barnabas +Nguma?"</p> + +<p>"Nguma? Yes; I met him once. Why?"</p> + +<p>"He was in the courtroom today. He came to see me just +before court convened."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" the detective said noncommittally.</p> + +<p>"Yes. He claims to represent an organization on Earth +which has been trying to hire you for a job there. Is that +right?"</p> + +<p>"That's right," the detective said warily. "What did he +want with you?"</p> + +<p>"Now, that's a funny thing," BenChaim said. "It seems +that he's under the impression that you turned down his job +to take on this kidnapping. Is that right?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly," the detective said tightly. "I was working +on your son's case before he and a couple of other men +came out here to talk to me. But they'd written to me long +before that." He wondered what BenChaim was getting at. +He didn't owe any explanations to the industrialist, but, on +the other hand, he couldn't be impolite to him.</p> + +<p>"I see," BenChaim said, nodding his head slowly. "Like +most Earthies, Mr. Nguma is suffering under a misapprehension. +He seems to think that I have some sort of hold +over you, that I was the one who made you turn down his +job, so that you'd take <i>my</i> case."</p> + +<p>"Oh? Was he angry because you'd put your own selfish +interests ahead of his unselfish ones?" the detective asked +with a trace of hard sarcasm in his voice.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," said BenChaim. "Oh, no. Not at all. He said he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +understood perfectly. But he wondered if, now that my boy +had been returned safely, I might not put a little pressure +on you to get you to take his case."</p> + +<p>"And what did you say?"</p> + +<p>Moishe BenChaim scowled. "I told him exactly where he +could head in. I told him that I had no power over you +whatever, that I hadn't hired you at all, that I didn't even +know that you were working on the case until after you rescued +Shmuel. I told him that even if I held the power of life +and death over you I would never lift so much as a finger +against you. I told him that it was just the other way around, +in fact. I told him that you have such a power over me because +of what you did for Shmuel that it is <i>I</i> who will jump +through <i>your</i> hoop if ordered, not the other way around. I +was quite angry." BenChaim relaxed a little before going +on. "Actually, I'm sorry I blew up. He's a well-meaning +man, I think."</p> + +<p>"No doubt," the detective said. "Did he tell you what the +job was?"</p> + +<p>"With most heart-rending particulars," said BenChaim. +"I was told all about how this Nipe has been killing and eating +people, as if I didn't know already. But it wasn't until +I heard him talk that I realized how scared people are back +there on Earth. You know, Martin, we're insulated out here. +We don't feel that terror, even when we read about it or see +the reports on the newscasts. If everybody on Earth is as +scared as that Mr. Nguma is, it's a wonder they haven't all +panicked and taken to running around in circles."</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said +levelly, "they have begun to do just that. Mr. Nguma and his +friends have been after me for a long time to take their job. +They have pulled every trick they can think of—including +this last one with you—to get me to go back to Earth and +find that monster. I have refused them so often and so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +firmly that they are convinced I'm afraid to tackle the Nipe. +They are convinced that I know I'll fail. And yet they keep +after me. If that isn't running around in circles, it'll do until +a better example comes along."</p> + +<p>"They're out of their minds," BenChaim said flatly. "Of +<i>course</i> no man in his right mind would try to face down +that thing! It would be as silly as trying to outrun a bullet +or do arithmetic faster than a computer. That's common +sense. That's showing a healthy respect for the Nipe—not +fear. At least, not fear in the way that those men are afraid."</p> + +<p>Suddenly the detective knew why the industrialist had +come. He knew that Moishe BenChaim wanted to reassure +Stanley Martin, to tell him that he was doing the sensible +thing in turning down so dangerous an assignment. He +could almost have predicted word for word what BenChaim +was going to say next.</p> + +<p>"Nguma may be here at any minute," said the industrialist. +"He told me that he was going to come as soon as the trial +was over. What are you going to tell him this time? I know +it's none of my business, but I'm asking, just the same."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to tell him <i>no</i>," the detective said. "I will not +return to Earth for any reason whatever."</p> + +<p>"Good," said BenChaim. "Good. That's the smart thing +to do. And don't let him buffalo you. We know you out +here in the Belt, Martin. I've been out here for thirty years, +and I know what kind of guts it takes to do the things you've +done. Those men don't understand space. Nobody understands +space until he's lived in it and worked in it, and had +cold death only a fraction of an inch away from his skin for +hours and days at a time. No matter what those Earthies +say, we know you've got more guts than anybody else in the +Belt—to say nothing of those stay-at-homes on Earth."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I appreciate that," the detective said. But +they were only words. He knew that BenChaim meant exactly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +what he said—or thought he meant it. But he also knew +that BenChaim and others would always wonder why he had +turned the job down.</p> + +<p><i>God!</i> he thought, <i>I wish I knew!</i> The thought was only +momentary. Then, as it had done so many times before, his +mind veered away from the dangerous subject.</p> + +<p>Moishe BenChaim stood up. "Well, that's all I had to say, +Mr. Martin. I just wanted to warn you that that man might +be coming around and to tell you how I felt. Remember what +I said about jumping through a hoop. Any time you need +me, for anything at all, you just say so. Understand?"</p> + +<p>"I understand," the detective said, forcing a smile. He +rose and shook the industrialist's outstretched hand. "And +thanks again," he added.</p> + +<p>After BenChaim had gone, the detective sat thinking, toying +with a pencil on his desk. Moishe BenChaim, like so +many others in the Belt, had come out with nothing but his +brain and his two hands and the equipment necessary to +keep him alive. In thirty years, he had parlayed that into one +of the biggest fortunes in the Solar System. It was men like +that whose respect he valued, and, on the surface, he apparently +had that respect. But refusing the Nipe job would dull +the bright sheen of that respect, and he knew it. BenChaim +had talked about how foolish it would be to try to beat the +Nipe in a face-to-face encounter, but he hadn't meant it. He +knew perfectly well that all Stanley Martin would be expected +to do would be to find out where the Nipe's hideout +was. Once that had been accomplished, men and machines—most +especially machines—could wipe the monster from +the face of the Earth. One well-placed bomb would do it, if +the authorities only knew where to place that bomb. If +only—</p> + +<p>Again his mind veered away, refusing to consider the +Nipe too carefully or too closely.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p> + +<p>The intercom on his desk hummed, and he pressed the +switch.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Helen?"</p> + +<p>"That Mr. Nguma was here while Mr. BenChaim was with +you, Mr. Martin. I followed your instructions and told him +that you would not see him."</p> + +<p>"Fine. Thanks, Helen."</p> + +<p>"Also, there's a radiogram for you from Earth."</p> + +<p>"If it's from one of Nguma's colleagues," the detective +said, "I don't want to see it. File it in the cylindrical file—under +<i>W</i>."</p> + +<p>"I don't think it is," the secretary said doubtfully. "I can't +make any sense out of it. I'd better bring it in."</p> + +<p>"Okay. And then put that call through to Pelham. I want +to get going on that <i>Morton</i> spaceship wrecking. I'm getting +itchy for action."</p> + +<p>She brought in the radiogram and put it on his desk before +calling Pelham. She had already read it, of course. It +was her job to read such things.</p> + +<p>The detective picked up the sheet of paper and read it.</p> + +<div class="box5"><p>THE OPERATION IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. I NEED +THE OTHER HALF OF MY FORCEPS. COME HOME +AND JOIN THE BIG PARADE.</p> +<p class="rgt">MANNHEIM</p></div> + +<p>It took a second for the words to really impress themselves +on his mind. He read them over again.</p> + +<p>And the veil began to drop from the closed-off part of his +mind.</p> + +<p>Memories began to swarm back into his mind—memories +that had been walled off and kept away from his conscious +mind by the hypnotic suggestion implanted so long ago.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> + +<p>Oddly, it did not surprise or shock him. He was an expert +at hypnosis, especially self-hypnosis. He recognized the message +for exactly what it was: a series of code phrases designed +to break the blockage that had been placed in his +mind.</p> + +<p>His only reaction was to laugh aloud. "By God!" he said. +"It worked! It actually worked! Nearly six years, and I never +suspected once!"</p> + +<p>The phone hummed. He switched it on. "Mr. Pelham is +on the phone, Mr. Martin," Helen said.</p> + +<p>He watched as the florid, smiling face of Pelham, his superior, +appeared on the screen. "What can I do for you, +Martin?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I have a favor to ask, Mr. Pelham."</p> + +<p>"Anything within reason," Pelham said. "After this BenChaim +affair, you're in good standing around here." He +chuckled.</p> + +<p>"I want a leave of absence," the detective said.</p> + +<p>Pelham looked a little surprised. "Well, I guess you deserve +it. You need a rest, I imagine."</p> + +<p>"No," the detective said. "No, it isn't that. I'm going after +bigger game, is all."</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"I'm going to Earth to find the Nipe."</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c19" id="c19"></a><i>[19]</i></h2> + +<p>From the very moment he had heard that "Stanley +Martin" had arrived to take charge of the project, Bart +Stanton pushed all thoughts of his brother out of his mind. +He had fouled up once by thinking of himself rather than<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +thinking of what had to be done; he would not make that +mistake again.</p> + +<p>Nor, apparently, did Martin have any desire to meet Bart +Stanton. He took control of the project smoothly. Apparently +Mannheim had taken into account the possibility of +his own death and had arranged things accordingly. Although +Martin was not a member of the World Police, his +own record showed that he had the ability to handle the +job, and an Executive Session had unanimously accepted +Colonel Mannheim's wishes in the matter. There was little +else they could do; the very fact that Mannheim had died +in the way he had, ordering the guard to hold his fire, had +stilled those voices on the Executive Council who had been +wavering before.</p> + +<p>Martin had come in to Earth almost secretly, without +fanfare, and the general public was totally unaware that +anything at all had happened.</p> + +<p>Special messages, going through the channels known to +be tapped by the Nipe, said that it would not be in the public +interest to admit that the Nipe could actually penetrate +the defenses of World Police Headquarters, so the Nipe was +not surprised when the public news channels announced +quietly that Colonel Walther Mannheim, the man who had +been decorated twelve years before for the quelling of the +Central Brazilian Insurrection, had died peacefully in his +sleep. The funeral was quiet, but with full honors.</p> + +<p>Stanton stopped worrying about such things. Until he had +done the job that he had been rebuilt for, he was determined +to make that goal his sole purpose. As the weeks sped +by, he kept determinedly to his regime, exercising regularly +to keep himself in top physical condition, and studying the +three-dimensional motion studies of the Nipe in action.</p> + +<p>Only one of these made him ill the first time he watched +it, but it was the only recording of the Nipe actually in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +process of killing a man, so he watched, over and over +again, the shots taken from the gun tower when the Nipe attacked +Colonel Mannheim.</p> + +<p>A full-sized mockup of the Nipe's body had been built, +with the best approximation possible of the Nipe's bone +structure and musculature, and Stanton worked with it to +determine what, if any, were the Nipe's physical limitations.</p> + +<p>His only periods of relative relaxation occurred when he +discussed the psychological peculiarities of the Nipe mind +with George Yoritomo.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, after a particularly strenuous boxing session, +he walked into Yoritomo's office with a grin on his +face. "I've been considering the problem of the apparent +paradox of a high technology in a ritual-taboo system."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo grinned back delightedly and waved Stanton to +a chair. "Excellent! It is always much better if the student +thinks these things out for himself. Now, while I fill this +hand-furnace with tobacco and fire up, you will please explain +to me all about it."</p> + +<p>Stanton sat down and settled himself comfortably. "All +right. In the first place, there's the notion of religion. In +tribal cultures, the religion is usually—uh—animistic, I think +the word is."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo nodded silently.</p> + +<p>"They believe there are spirits everywhere," Stanton said. +"That sort of belief, it seems to me, would grow up in any +race that had imagination, and the Nipes must have had +plenty of that, or they wouldn't have the technology that +we know they do have. Am I on the right track?"</p> + +<p>"Very good. <i>Very</i> good," Yoritomo said in approval. "But +what evidence have you that this technology was not given +to them by some other, more advanced race?"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't thought of that." Stanton stared into space for a +moment, then nodded his head. "Of course. It would take<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +too long to teach them. It wouldn't be worth all the trouble +it would take to make them unlearn their fallacies and learn +the new facts. It would take generations to do it unless this +hypothetical other race killed off all the adult Nipes and +started the little ones off fresh. And that didn't happen, +because if it had, the ritual-taboo system would have died +out, too. So that other-race theory is out."</p> + +<p>"The argument is imperfect," Yoritomo said, "but it will +suffice for the moment. Go on about the religion."</p> + +<p>"Okay. Religious beliefs are not subject to pragmatic +tests. That is, the spiritual beliefs aren't. Any belief that +<i>could</i> be disproven by such a test would eventually die out. +But beliefs in ghosts or demons or angels or life after death +aren't disprovable by material tests, any more than they are +provable. So, as a race increases its knowledge of the physical +world, its religion would tend to become more and more +spiritual."</p> + +<p>"Agreed. Yes. It happened so among human beings," +said Yoritomo. "But how do you link this fact with ritual-taboo?"</p> + +<p>"Well, once a belief gains a foothold," Stanton said, "it +is very difficult to wipe it out, even among human beings. +Among Nipes, it would be well-nigh impossible. Once a +code of ritual and of social behavior had been set up, it +became permanent."</p> + +<p>"For example?" Yoritomo urged.</p> + +<p>"Well, shaking hands, for example," Stanton said after a +pause. "We still do that, even if we don't have it fixed +solidly in our heads that we <i>must</i> do it. I suppose it would +never occur to a Nipe not to perform such a ritual."</p> + +<p>"Just so," Yoritomo agreed vigorously. "Such things, once +established in the minds of the race, would tend to remain. +But it is a characteristic of a ritual-taboo system that it resists +change. Change is evil. Change is wrong. We must use<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +what we know to be true, not try something that has never +been tried before. In a ritual-taboo system, a thing which is +not ritual is, <i>ipso facto</i>, taboo. How, then, can we account +for their high technological achievements?"</p> + +<p>"The pragmatic engineering approach, I imagine," Stanton +said. "If a thing works, then go ahead and use it. It is +usable. If not, it isn't."</p> + +<p>"Approximately," said Yoritomo. "But only approximately. +Now it is my turn to lecture." He put his pipe in an +ashtray and held up a long, bony finger. "Firstly, we must +remember that the Nipe is equipped with a functioning +imagination. Secondly, he has in his memory a tremendous +amount of data, all ready at hand. He is capable of working +out theories in his head, you see. Like the ancient Greeks, +he finds no need to test such theories—<i>unless</i> his thinking +indicates that such an experiment would yield something +useful. Unlike the Greeks, he has no aversion to experiment. +But he sees no need for useless experiment, either.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he would learn, yes. But once a given theory proved +workable, how resistant he would be to a new theory. Innovators, +even in our own culture, have a very hard time +working against the great inertia of a recognized theory. +How much harder it would be in a ritual-taboo society with +a perfect memory! How long—how <i>incredibly</i> long—it would +take such a race to achieve the technology the Nipe now +has!"</p> + +<p>"Hundreds of thousands of years," said Stanton.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo shook his head briskly. "Puh! Longer! Much +longer!" He smiled with satisfaction. "I estimate that the +Nipe race first invented the steam engine not less than ten +million years ago!"</p> + +<p>He kept smiling into the dead silence that followed.</p> + +<p>After a long minute, Stanton said: "What about atomic +energy?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span></p> + +<p>"At least two million years ago," Yoritomo said. "I do not +think they have had the interstellar drive more than some +fifty thousand years."</p> + +<p>"No wonder our pet Nipe is so patient," Stanton said with +a touch of awe in his voice. "How long do you suppose their +individual life-span is?"</p> + +<p>"Not so long, in comparison," said Yoritomo. "Perhaps +no longer than our own at the least, or perhaps as much as +five hundred years. Considering the tremendous handicaps +against them, they have done quite well, I think. Quite well, +indeed, for a race of illiterate cannibals."</p> + +<p>"How's that again?" Stanton realized that the scientist +was quite serious.</p> + +<p>"Hadn't it occurred to you, my friend, that they must be +cannibals?" Yoritomo asked. "And that they must be very +nearly illiterate?"</p> + +<p>"No," Stanton admitted, "it hadn't."</p> + +<p>"The Nipe, like man, is omnivorous," Yoritomo pointed +out. "Specialization tends to lead any race up a blind alley, +and dietary restrictions are a particularly pernicious form +of specialization. A lion would starve to death in a wheat +field. A horse would perish in a butcher shop full of steaks. +A man will survive as long as there is something around to +eat—even if it's another man."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo picked up his pipe and began tapping the ashes +out of it. "Also," he went on, "we must remember that Man, +early in his career of becoming top dog on Earth, began +using a method of removing the unfit. Ritual traces of it remain +today in some societies—the Jewish Bar Mitzvah, for +instance, or the Christian Confirmation. Before and immediately +after the Holocaust, there were still primitive societies +on Earth—in New Guinea, for instance—which still +made a rather hard ordeal out of the Rite of Passage, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> +ceremony whereby a boy becomes a man—if he passes the +tests."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo was filling his pipe, a look of somber satisfaction +on his lean face. "A few millennia ago, a boy who underwent +those tests was killed outright if he failed. And was +eaten. He had not shown the ability to overrule with reason +his animal instincts. Therefore, he was not a human being, +but an animal. What better use for a young and succulent +animal than to provide meat for the common larder?"</p> + +<p>"And you think the same process must have been used +by the Nipes?" Stanton asked.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo nodded vigorously as he applied a match flame +to the tobacco in his pipe. "The Nipe race must, of necessity, +have had some similar ritualistic tests or they would not +have become what they are," he said when he had puffed +the pipe alight. "And we have already agreed that once the +Nipes adopted something of that kind, it remained with +them. Not so? Yes.</p> + +<p>"Also, it can be considered extremely unlikely that the +Nipe civilization—if such it can be called—has any geriatric +problem. No, indeed. No old-age pensions, no old folks' +homes, no senility. No, nor any specialists in geriatrics, +either. When a Nipe becomes a burden because of age, he +is ritually murdered and eaten with all due solemnity."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo pointed his pipestem at Stanton. "Ah. You +frown, my friend. Have I made them sound heartless, without +the finer feelings of which we humans are so proud? +Not so. When Junior Nipe fails his puberty tests, when +Mama and Papa Nipe are sent to their final reward, I have +no doubt that there is sadness in the hearts of their loved +ones as the honored T-bones are passed around the table."</p> + +<p>He put the pipe back in his mouth and spoke around it. +"My own ancestors, not too far back, performed a ritual +suicide by disemboweling themselves with a long, sharp<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +knife. Across the abdomen—<i>so!</i>—and up into the heart—<i>so!</i> +It was considered very bad form to faint or die before +the job was done. Nearby, a relative or a close friend stood +with a sharp sword, to administer the <i>coup de grace</i> by decapitation. +It was all very sad and very honorable. Their +loved ones bore the sorrow with great pride."</p> + +<p>His voice, which had been low and tender, suddenly became +very brisk. "Thank goodness it has gone out of +fashion!"</p> + +<p>"But how can you be <i>sure</i> they're cannibals?" Stanton +asked. "Your argument sounds logical enough, but you can't +be basing your theory on that alone."</p> + +<p>"True! True!" Yoritomo jabbed the air twice with a rapid +forefinger. "Evidence for such a theory would be most welcome, +would it not? Very well, I give you the evidence. He +eats human beings, our Nipe."</p> + +<p>"That doesn't make him a cannibal," Stanton objected.</p> + +<p>"Not <i>strictly</i>, perhaps. But consider. The Nipe is not a +monster. He is not a criminal. No. He is a gentleman. He +always behaves as a gentleman. He is shipwrecked on an +alien planet. Around him, he sees evidence in profusion +that ours is a technological society. But that is a contradiction! +A paradox!</p> + +<p>"For <i>we</i> are not civilized! No! We are not rational! We +are not sane! We do not obey the Laws; we do not perform +the Rituals. We are animals. Apparently intelligent animals, +but animals nevertheless. How can this be?</p> + +<p>"<i>Ha!</i> says the Nipe to himself. These animals must be +ruled over by Real People. It is the only explanation. +Not so?"</p> + +<p>"Colonel Mannheim mentioned that," Stanton said. "Are +you implying that the Nipe thinks there are other Nipes +around, running the world from secret hideouts, like the +villains in a Fu Manchu novel?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Not quite," said Yoritomo, laughing. "The Nipe is not +at all incapable of learning something new. In point of +fact, he is quite good at it, as witness the fact that he has +learned many Earth languages. He picked up Russian in +less than eight months simply by listening and observing. +Like our own race, his undoubtedly evolved a great many +languages during the beginnings of its progress—when there +were many tribes, separated and out of communication with +each other. It would not surprise me to find that most of +these languages have survived and that our distressed astronaut +knows them all. A new language would not bother +him in the least.</p> + +<p>"Nor would strangely shaped intelligent beings make him +unhappy. His race should be aware, by now, that such +things must exist. But it is very likely that he equates <i>true</i> +intelligence with technology, and I do not think it likely that +he has ever met a race higher than the barbarian level before. +Such races were not, of course, human—by his definition. +They showed possibilities, perhaps, but they had not +by any means evolved far enough. And, considering the +time span involved in their own progress toward a technological +civilization, it is not at all unlikely that the Nipe +thinks of technology as something that evolves in a race in +the same way that intelligence does—or the body itself.</p> + +<p>"So it would not surprise him to find that the Real People +of this system were humanoid in shape instead of—ah—Nipoid? +A bad word, but it will do for the nonce. To find +Real People of a different shape is something new, but he +can absorb it because it does not contradict anything he +<i>knows</i>.</p> + +<p>"<i>But—!</i> Any truly intelligent being that did not obey the +Law and follow the Ritual <i>would</i> be a contradiction in +terms. For our Nipe has no notion of a Real Person without +those characteristics. Without those characteristics,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +technology is, of course, utterly impossible. Since he sees +technology all around him, it follows that there must be +Real People around somewhere that have those characteristics. +Anything else is unthinkable."</p> + +<p>"It seems to me that you're building an awfully involved +theory out of pretty flimsy stuff," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo shook his head. "Not at all. Not at all. Every +scrap and shred of evidence we have points toward it. Why, +do you suppose, does the Nipe conscientiously devour his +victims, often risking his own safety to do so? Why do you +suppose he never uses any weapon but his own hands to +kill with?"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo leaned forward and speared out at Stanton with +a long, bony forefinger. "Why? To tell the Real People that +he is a gentleman!"</p> + +<p>He sat back with a satisfied smile and puffed complacently +at his pipe, remaining silent while Bart Stanton considered +his last remark.</p> + +<p>"Just one thing," Stanton said after a minute. "It seems to +me that he would be able to judge that some races have +different Laws and Rituals than he does. Wouldn't they +have a science comparable to our anthropology?"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo grinned. "Nipology, shall we say? Well, he +might, but it would not tell him what our anthropology +tells us.</p> + +<p>"Consider. How have we learned much of our knowledge +of the early history of Man? By the study of ritual-taboo +cultures. The so-called 'primitive' cultures. It is from these +tribes that we have learned the multifarious ways in which a +group of human beings can evolve a culture and a society. +But does the Nipe have any such other tribes to study?"</p> + +<p>"Why wouldn't he?" Stanton asked.</p> + +<p>"Because there are none," Yoritomo said. "How could +there be? Consider again. Once a race has evolved a fairly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +high technological level, it is capable of wiping out races +which have not achieved that level. If the technologically +advanced tribe is still at the ritual-taboo level, it will consider +that all tribes which do not use the same Laws and +Rituals as it does must be animals—dangerous animals that +must be wiped out. Take a look at the history of our own +race. In a few short centuries, we find that the technologically +advanced civilization and culture of Renaissance Europe +has spread over the whole globe. By military, economic, +and religious conquest, it has, in effect, westernized the majority +of Mankind.</p> + +<p>"The same process would take place on the Nipe's world, +only more thoroughly. The weaker tribes would vanish, the +stronger would amalgamate."</p> + +<p>"That process would take a lot of time," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"Indeed! Oh, yes, indeed," Yoritomo agreed. "But they +have had the time, have they not? Eh? What Western European +Man has partially achieved in less than a thousand +years, surely the Nipe equivalent could have achieved in +ten thousand thousand. Eh?"</p> + +<p>"But I'd think that the Nipe would have realized, after +ten years, that there is no such race of Real People," Stanton +said. "He's had access to our records and books and +such things. Or does he reject them all as lies?"</p> + +<p>"Possibly he would, if he could read them," Yoritomo +said. "Did I not say he was illiterate?"</p> + +<p>"You mean he's learned to speak our languages, but not +to read them?"</p> + +<p>The psychologist smiled broadly. "Your statement is accurate, +my friend, but incomplete. It is my opinion that the +Nipe is incapable of reading any written language whatever. +The concept does not exist in his mind, except +vaguely."</p> + +<p>Stanton closed one eye and gave Yoritomo the glance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> +askance. "Aw, come <i>awwn</i>, George! A technological race +without a written language? That's impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, no. No, it isn't. Ask yourself: What need has a race +with a perfect memory for written records? At least, in the +sense that we think of them. Certainly not to remember +things. What would a Nipe need with a memorandum book +or a diary? All of their history and all of their technology +exists in the collective mind of the race.</p> + +<p>"Think, for a moment, of their history. If it is somewhat +analogous to human history—and, as we have seen, there is +reason to believe that this is so—then we can, in a way, +trace the development of writing. We—"</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute!" Stanton held up his hand. "I think I +see what you're driving at."</p> + +<p>"Ah. So?" Yoritomo nodded. "Very well. Then <i>you</i> expound."</p> + +<p>"I can give it to you in two sentences," Stanton said. +"One: Their first writing was probably pictographic and +was learned only by a select priestly class. Two: It still is."</p> + +<p>"Ahhhh!" Yoritomo's eyes lit up. "Admirable! Most admirable! +And succinctly put, too. And, to top it off, almost +precisely correct. That is what happened here on Earth; +are we wrong in assuming that such may have happened +elsewhere in the Universe? (Remembering always, my dear +Bart, that we must not make the mistake of thinking like our +friend, the Nipe, and assuming that everybody else in the +Universe has to be like us in all things.)</p> + +<p>"You are correct. That is why I hedged when I said he +was <i>almost</i> illiterate. There is a possibility that a written +symbology does exist for Nipes. But it is used almost entirely +for ritualistic purposes, it is pictographical in form, +and is known only to a very few. For others to learn it +would be taboo.</p> + +<p>"Remember, I said that there is only one society, one culture<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +remaining on the Nipe planet. And remember that history +is a very late development in our own culture, just as +written language is. One important event in every ten centuries +of Nipe history would still give a Nipe historian ten +thousand events to remember just since the invention of +the steam engine. What, then, does Nipe history become? +A series of folk chants, of <i>chansons de geste</i>."</p> + +<p>"Why?" Stanton asked. "If they have perfect memories, +why would histories be distorted?"</p> + +<p>"Time, my dear boy. Time." Yoritomo spread his hands +in a gesture of futility. "When one has a few million years of +history to learn, it <i>must</i> become distorted, even in a race +with a perfect memory. Otherwise, no individual would have +a chance to learn it all in a single lifetime, even a lifetime of +five hundred years, much less to pass that knowledge on to +another. So only the most important events are reported. +And that means that each historian must also be an editor. +He must excise those portions which he considers unimportant."</p> + +<p>"But wouldn't that very limitation induce them to record +history?" Stanton asked. "Right there is your inducement to +use a written language."</p> + +<p>Yoritomo looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. +"Why? <i>What good is history?</i>"</p> + +<p>"Ohhh," said Stanton. "I see."</p> + +<p>"Certainly you do," Yoritomo said firmly. "Of what use +is history to the ritual-taboo culture? Only to record what +is to be done. And, with a memory that can <i>know</i> what is +to be done, of what use is a historian, except to remember +the <i>important</i> things. No ritual-taboo culture looks upon +history as we do. Only the doings of the great are recorded. +All else must be edited out. Thus, while the memory of the +individual may be, and <i>is</i>, perfect, the memory of the race is +not. <i>But they don't know that!</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What about communications, then?" Stanton asked. +"What did they use before they invented radio?"</p> + +<p>"Couriers," Yoritomo said. "And, possibly, written messages +from one priestly scribe to another. That last, by the +way, has probably survived in a ritualistic form. When an +officer is appointed to a post, let's say, he may get a formal +paper that says so. The Nipes may use symbols to signify +rank and so on. They must have a symbology for the calibration +of scientific instruments.</p> + +<p>"But none of these requires the complexity of a written +language. I dare say our use of it is quite baffling to him.</p> + +<p>"For teaching purposes, it is quite unnecessary. Look at +what television and such have done in our own civilization. +With such tools as that at hand—recordings and pictures—it +is possible to teach a person a great many things without +ever teaching him to read. A Nipe certainly wouldn't need +any aid for calculation, would he? We humans must use a +piece of paper to multiply two ten-digit numbers together, +but that's because our memories are faulty. A Nipe has no +need for such aids."</p> + +<p>"Are you really positive of all this, George?" Stanton +asked.</p> + +<p>Yoritomo shrugged. "How can we be absolutely positive +at this stage of the game? Eh? Our evidence is sketchy, I +admit. It is not as solidly based as our other reconstructions +of his background, but it appears that he thinks of symbols +as being unable to convey much information. The pattern +for his raids, for instance, indicates that his knowledge of +the materials he wants and their locations comes from vocal +sources—television advertising, eavesdropping on shipping +orders, and so on. In other words, he cases the joint by ear. +If he could understand written information, his job would +be much easier. He could find his materials much more +quickly and easily. And, too, we have never seen him either<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +read a word or write one. From this evidence, we are fairly +certain that he can neither read nor write any terrestrial +language—or even his own." He spread his hands again. "As +I said, it is not proof."</p> + +<p>"No," Stanton agreed, "but I must admit that the whole +thing makes for some very interesting speculation, doesn't +it?"</p> + +<p>"Very interesting, indeed." Yoritomo folded his hands in +his lap, smiled seraphically, and looked at the ceiling. "In +fact, my friend, we are now so positive of our knowledge of +the Nipe's mind that we are prepared to enter into the next +phase of our program."</p> + +<p>"Oh?" Stanton distinctly felt the back of his neck prickle.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Yoritomo. "Mr. Martin feels that if we wait +much longer, we may run into the danger of giving the Nipe +enough time to complete his work on his communicator." +He looked at Stanton and chuckled, but there was no humor +in his short laugh. "We would not wish our friend, the Nipe, +to bring his relatives into this little tussle, would we, Bart?"</p> + +<p>"That's been our deadline all along," Bart said levelly. +"The object all along has been to let the Nipe work without +hindrance as long as he did not actually produce a communicator +that would—as you put it—bring his relatives into +the tussle. Have things changed?"</p> + +<p>"They have," Yoritomo acknowledged. "Why wouldn't +they? We have been working toward that as a <i>final</i> deadline. +If it appeared that the Nipe were actually about to +contact his confederates out there somewhere, we would be +forced to act immediately, of course. Plan Beta would go +into effect. But we don't want that, do we?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Stanton. "No." He was well aware what a terrible +loss it would be for humanity if Plan Beta went into +effect. The Nipe would have to be literally blasted out of his +cozy little nest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>"No, of course not." Yoritomo chuckled again, with as +little mirth as he had before. "Within a very short while, if +we are correct, we shall, with your help, arrest the most +feared arch-criminal that Earth has ever known. I dare say +that the public will be extremely happy to hear of his death, +and I know that the rest of us will be happy to know that +he will never kill again."</p> + +<p>Stanton suddenly saw the fateful day for which he had +been so carefully prepared and trained looming terrifyingly +large in the immediate future.</p> + +<p>"How soon?" he asked in an oddly choked voice.</p> + +<p>"Within days." Yoritomo lowered his eyes from the ceiling +and looked into Stanton's face with a mild, bland expression.</p> + +<p>"Tomorrow," he said, "the propaganda phase begins. We +will announce to the world that the great detective, Stanley +Martin, has come to Earth to rid us of the Nipe."</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c20" id="c20"></a><i>[20]</i></h2> + +<p>The arrival of the great Stanley Martin was a three-day +wonder in the public news channels. His previous exploits +were recounted, with embellishments, several times during +the next seventy-two hours. The "arrival" itself was very +carefully staged. A special ship belonging to the World Police +brought him in, and he was met by four Government +officials in civilian clothes. The entire affair was covered +live by news cameras. No one on Earth suspected that he +had been on Earth for weeks before; a few <i>knew</i> it, but it +never even occurred to the rest.</p> + +<p>Later, a special interview was arranged. Philip Quinn, a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +news interviewer who was noted for his deferential attitude +toward those whom he had the privilege of interviewing, was +chosen for the job.</p> + +<p>Stanley Martin's dynamic, forceful personality completely +overshadowed Quinn.</p> + +<p>But in spite of all the publicity, not one word, not one +hint about the method by which Stanley Martin intended to +bring the Nipe in was released. There were all kinds of +speculations, ranging from the mystically sublime to the +broadly comical. One self-styled archbishop of a California +nut cult declared that Martin was a saint appointed by God +to exorcise the Demon Nipe that had been plaguing Mankind +and that the Millennium was therefore due at any moment. +He was, he said, sending Stanley Martin a sealed letter +which contained a special exorcism prayer that would do +the job very nicely. Why hadn't he used it himself? Because +if anyone other than a saint or an angel used it, it +would backfire on the user and destroy him. Naturally the +archbishop did not claim himself to be a saint, but he knew +that Martin was because he had plainly seen the halo around +the detective's head when he saw him on TV.</p> + +<p>An inventor in Palermo, Sicily, solemnly declared that +he had sent Stanley Martin the plans for a device that would +render him invisible to the Nipe and therefore make the +Nipe easy to conquer. No, there was no danger that the +device might fall into the wrong hands and be used by human +criminals, since it did not render a person invisible +to human eyes, only to Nipe eyes.</p> + +<p>The first item was played up big in the newscasts. The +second was quashed—fast!—for the very simple reason that +the Nipe just might have believed it.</p> + +<p>One note throbbed in the background of every interview +with responsible persons. It was the unobtrusive note of a +soft clarinet played in a great symphony, all the more telling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> +because it was never played loudly or insistently, but it was +there all the same. Whenever the question of the Nipe's +actual whereabouts came up, the note seemed to ring a +trifle more clearly, but never more loudly. That single throbbing +note was the impression given by everyone who was +interviewed, or who expressed any views on the subject, +that the Nipe was hiding somewhere in the Amazonian +jungles of South America. It was the last place on Earth +that had still not been thoroughly explored, and it seemed +to be the only place that the Nipe could hide.</p> + +<p>Only a small handful of the vast array of people who +were dispensing this carefully tailored propaganda knew +what was going on. More than ninety-nine percent of the +newsmen involved in the affair thought they were honestly +giving the news as they saw it, and none of them saw the +invisible but very powerful hand of Stanley Martin shifting +the news just enough to give it the bias he wanted.</p> + +<p>The comedians on the entertainment programs let the +whole story alone for the most part. There were no clever +skits, no farcical takeoffs on the subject of Stanley Martin +and the Nipe. One comedian, who was playing the part of +a henpecked husband, did remark: "If my wife gets any +meaner, I'm going to send Stan Martin after <i>her</i>!" But it +didn't get much of a laugh. And the Government organization +had nothing to do with that kind of censorship; it was +self-imposed. Every one of the really great comics recognized, +either consciously or subconsciously, that the Nipe +was not a subject for humor. Such jokes would have made +them about as popular as the Borscht Circuit comedian who +told a funny story about Dachau in 1946.</p> + +<p>Aside from the subtle coloring given it by the small, +Mannheim-trained group of propaganda experts, the news +went out straight.</p> + +<p>The detective himself, after that one single interview,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +vanished from sight. No one knew where he was, though, +again, there were all kinds of speculations, all of them erroneous. +Actually, he was a carefully guarded and willing +prisoner in a suite in one of the big hotels in Government +City.</p> + +<p>On the fourth day, the big operation began without fanfare. +The actual maneuvering to capture the alien that had +terrorized a planet began shortly after noon.</p> + +<p>At a few minutes before three that afternoon, the man +whom the world knew as Stanley Martin suddenly suffered a +dizzy spell and nearly fainted.</p> + +<p>Then, almost like a child, he began to weep.</p> + +<hr /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="FINAL_INTERLUDE" id="FINAL_INTERLUDE"></a><i>FINAL INTERLUDE</i></h2> + +<p>Colonel Walther Mannheim said: "It will take five +years, Stanton."</p> + +<p>He was looking at the young man seated in one of the +three chairs in the small, comfortable room. There was a +clublike atmosphere about the room, but none of the three +men were relaxed.</p> + +<p>"Five years?" said the young man. He looked at the third +man.</p> + +<p>Dr. Farnsworth nodded. "More or less. More if it's a partial +failure—less if it's a complete failure."</p> + +<p>"Then there <i>is</i> a chance of failure?" the young man asked.</p> + +<p>"There is always a chance of failure in any major surgical +undertaking," Dr. Farnsworth said. "Even in the most routine +cases, things can go wrong. We're only men, Mr. Stanton. +We're neither magicians nor gods."</p> + +<p>"I know that, Doctor," the young man said. "Nobody's +perfect, and I don't expect perfection. Can you give me a—an +estimate on the chances?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can't even give you any kind of guess," said Farnsworth. +He smiled rather grimly. "So far, we have had no +failures. Our mortality rate is a flat zero. We have never lost +a patient because we've never had one. As I told you, this +will be the first time the operation has ever been performed +on a human being. Or, rather," he corrected himself, "I +should say series of operations. This is not one single—er—cut-and-suture +job, like an appendectomy."</p> + +<p>"All right, then, call it a series of operations," the young +man said. "I assume each of them has been performed +individually?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly. Some of them have never been performed +on any human being simply because they require not only +special conditions, but they require that the steps leading +up to them have already been performed."</p> + +<p>"You don't make things sound very rosy, Doctor."</p> + +<p>"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to give you the facts. Personally, +I think we have a better than ninety percent chance +of success. I wouldn't try it if I thought otherwise. With +modern mathematical methods of analyzing medical theory, +we can predict success for such an intricate series of operations. +We can predict what will happen when massive doses +of hormones and enzymes and such are used. But medicine +still remains largely an art in spite of all that.</p> + +<p>"In parallel operations, performed on primates, our results +were largely successful. But remember that not even +every human being has the genetic structure necessary to +undergo this particular treatment, and a monkey's gene +structure is quite different from yours or mine."</p> + +<p>"I'll just ask you one question," the young man said +firmly. "If <i>you</i> were being asked to undergo this treatment, +would you do it?"</p> + +<p>Dr. Farnsworth didn't hesitate. "All things considered, +yes, I would."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"What do you mean, 'All things considered'?"</p> + +<p>"The very fact that the Nipe exists, and that this is the +only method of dealing with him that is even remotely +possible would certainly influence my opinion," Farnsworth +said. "I might not be so quick to go through it, frankly, if +it were not for the fact that the future of the entire human +race would depend upon my decision." He paused, then +added: "I would hesitate to go through with it if there were +no Nipe threat, not because I would be afraid that the operations +might fail, but because of what I would be afterward."</p> + +<p>"Um. Yes." The young man caught his lower lip between +his teeth and thought for a moment. "Yes, I see what you +mean. Being a lone superman in a world of ordinary people +mightn't be so pleasant."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim, who had been sitting silently during +the discussion between the two men, said: "Look, Stanton, +I know this is tough. Actually, it's a lot tougher on you than +it is on your brother, because <i>you</i> have to make the decision. +<i>He</i> can't. But I want you to keep it in mind that there's +nothing compulsory in this. Nobody's trying to force you to +do anything."</p> + +<p>There was a touch of bitterness in the young man's smile +as he looked at the colonel. "No. You merely remind me of +the fact and leave the rest to my sense of duty."</p> + +<p>Colonel Mannheim, recognizing the slightly altered quotation, +returned his smile and gave him the next line. "'Your +sense of duty!'"</p> + +<p>The bitterness vanished, and the young man's smile became +a grin. "'Don't put it on that footing!'" he quoted back +in a melodramatic voice. "'As I was merciful to you just +now, be merciful to me! I implore you not to insist on the +letter of your bond just as the cup of happiness is at my +lips!'"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>"'We insist on nothing,'" returned the colonel; "'we +content ourselves with pointing out <i>your duty</i>.'"</p> + +<p>Dr. Farnsworth had no notion of what the two of them +were talking about, but he kept silent as he noticed the +tension fading.</p> + +<p>"'Well, you have appealed to my sense of duty,'" the +young man continued, "'and my duty is all too clear. I +abhor your infamous calling; I shudder at the thought that +I have ever been mixed up with it; but duty is before all—at +any price I will do my duty.'"</p> + +<p>"'Bravely spoken!'" said the colonel. "'Come, you are +one of us once more.'"</p> + +<p>"'Lead on. I follow.'"</p> + +<p>And the two of them broke out in laughter while Farnsworth +looked on in total incomprehension. His was not the +kind of mind that could face a grim situation with a laugh.</p> + +<p>Even after he quit laughing, the smile remained on the +young man's face. "All right, Colonel, you win. We'll go +through with it, Martin and I."</p> + +<p>"Good!" Mannheim said warmly. "Do you have the +papers, Dr. Farnsworth?"</p> + +<p>"Right here," Farnsworth said, opening a briefcase that +was lying on the table. He was glad to be back in the +conversation again. He took out a thick sheaf of papers +and spread them on the table. Then he handed the young +man a pen. "You'll have to sign at the bottom of each sheet," +he said.</p> + +<p>The young man picked up the papers and read through +them carefully. Then he looked up at Farnsworth. "They +seem to be in order. Uh—about Martin. You know what's +the matter with him—I mean, aside from the radiation. Do +you think he'll be able to handle his part of the job after—after +the operations?"</p> + +<p>"I'm quite sure he will. The operations, plus the therapy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +we'll give him afterward should put him in fine shape."</p> + +<p>"Well." He looked thoughtful. "Five more years. And then +I'll have the twin brother that I never really had at all. +Somehow that part of it just doesn't really register, I guess."</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about it, Stanton," said Dr. Farnsworth. +"We have a complex enough job ahead of us without your +worrying in the bargain. We'll want your mind perfectly +relaxed. You have your own ordeal to undergo."</p> + +<p>"Thanks for reminding me," the young man said, but +there was a smile on his face when he said it. He looked +at the release forms again. "All nice and legal, huh? +Well ..." He hesitated for a moment, then he took the +pen and wrote <i>Bartholomew Stanton</i> in a firm, clear hand.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c21" id="c21"></a><i>[21]</i></h2> + +<p>Captain Davidson Greer sat in a chair before an array +of TV screens, his gray-green eyes watchful. In the center +of one of the screens, the Nipe's image sat immobile, surrounded +by the paraphernalia in his hidden nest. Other +screens showed various sections of the long tunnel that led +south from the opening in the northern end of the island. +At the captain's fingertips was a bank of controls that +would allow him to switch from one pickup to another if +necessary, so that he could see anything anywhere in the +tunnels. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. He did not +want any of the action to take place anywhere but in the +places where it was expected—but he was prepared for alterations +in the plan. In other rooms, nearly a hundred other +men were linked into the special controls that allowed them +to operate the little rat spies that scuttled through the underground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> +darkness, and the captain's system would allow +him to see through the eyes of any one of those rats at an +instant's notice.</p> + +<p>The screen which he was watching at the moment, however, +was not connected with an underground pickup. It +was linked with a pickup in the bottom of a basketball-sized +sphere driven by a small inertial engine that held the +sphere hovering in the air above the game sanctuary on the +northern tip of Manhattan Island. In the screen, he had an +aerial view of the grassy, rocky mounds where the earth +hid the shattered and partially melted ruins of long-collapsed +buildings. In the center of the screen was a bird's-eye +view of a man holding a rifle. He was walking slowly, +picking his way carefully along the bottom of the shallow +gully that had once been upper Broadway.</p> + +<p>"Barbell," the captain said. A throat microphone picked +up the words and transmitted them to the ears of the man +in the screen. "Barbell, this is Barhop. There are no wild +animals within sight, but remember, we can't see everything +from up here, so keep your eyes open."</p> + +<p>"Right, Barhop," said a rather muffled voice in the +captain's ear.</p> + +<p>"Fine. And if you do meet up with anything, shoot to +kill." There were plenty of wild animals in the game +sanctuary—some of them dangerous. Not all of the inhabitants +of the Bronx Zoological Gardens had been killed on +that day when the sun bomb fell. Being farther north, they +had had better protection, and some of them, later, had +wandered southward to the island. Captain Greer knew perfectly +well that Stanton, bare-handed, was more than a +match for a leopard or a lion, but he didn't want Stanton to +tire himself fighting with an animal. The rifle would most +likely never be used; it was merely another precaution.</p> + +<p>It would have been possible, and perhaps simpler, to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> +have taken Stanton to the opening by flyer, but that would +have created other complications. Traffic rules forbade flyers +to go over the game sanctuary at any altitude less than one +thousand feet. One flyer, going in low, would have attracted +the attention of the traffic police, and Stanley Martin wanted +no attention whatever drawn to this area. Even the procedure +of instructing the traffic officers to ignore one flyer +would have attracted more attention than he wanted. They +would have remembered those instructions afterward.</p> + +<p>Stanton walked.</p> + +<p>Captain Greer's eye caught something at the edge of the +screen. It moved toward the center as the floating eye moved +with Stanton.</p> + +<p>"Barbell," the captain said, "there's a deer ahead of you. +Just keep moving."</p> + +<p>Stanton rounded the corner of a pile of masonry. He +could see the animal now himself. The deer stared at the +intruder for a few seconds, then bounded away with long, +graceful leaps.</p> + +<p>"Magnificent animal." It was Stanton's voice, very low. +The remark wasn't directed toward anyone in particular. +Captain Greer didn't answer.</p> + +<p>The captain lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, +his eyes on the screens. The Nipe still sat, unmoving. He +was apparently in one of his "sleep" states. The captain +wasn't sure that that was the blessing that it might have +seemed. He had no way of knowing how much external +disturbance it would take to "wake" the Nipe, and as long as +he was sitting quietly, the chances were greater that he +would hear movement in the tunnel. If he were active, his +senses might be more alert, but he would also be distracted +by his own actions and the noises he made himself.</p> + +<p>It didn't matter, the captain decided. One way was as +good as another in this case. The point was to get Stanton<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +into an advantageous position before the Nipe knew he +was anywhere around.</p> + +<p>He looked back at the image of Stanton, a black-clad +figure in a flexible, tough, skin-tight suit. The Nipe would +have a hard time biting through that artificial hide, but it +gave Stanton as much freedom as if he'd been naked.</p> + +<p>Stanton knew where he was going. He had studied maps +of the area, and had been taken on a vicarious tour of the +route by means of the very flying eye that was watching him +now. But things look different from the ground than from +the air, and no amount of map study will familiarize a person +with terrain as completely as an actual personal survey.</p> + +<p>Stanton paused, and Captain Greer heard his voice. +"Barhop, this is Barbell. Those are the cliffs up ahead, aren't +they?"</p> + +<p>"That's right, Barbell. You go up that slope to your +left. The opening is in that pile of rock at the base of the +cliff."</p> + +<p>"They're higher than I'd thought," Stanton commented. +Then he started walking again.</p> + +<p>The tunnel entrance he was heading for had once been a +wide opening, drilled laterally into the side of the cliff, and +big enough to allow easy access to the tunnels, so that the +passengers of those old underground trains could get to +the platforms where they stopped. But the sun bomb had +changed all that. The concussion had shaken loose rock at +the top of the cliff and a minor avalanche had obliterated +all indications of the tunnel's existence, except for one small, +narrow opening near the top of what had once been a wide +hole in the face of the cliff.</p> + +<p>Stanton walked slowly toward the spot until he was +finally at the base of the slope of rock created by that long-ago +avalanche. "Up there?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"That's right," said Captain Greer.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I think I'll leave the rifle here, Barhop," Stanton said. +"No point in carrying it up the slope."</p> + +<p>"Right. Put it in those bushes to your left. They'll conceal +it, won't they?"</p> + +<p>"I think so. Yeah." Stanton hid the rifle and then began +making his way up the talus slope.</p> + +<p>Captain Greer flipped a switch. "Team One! He's coming +in. Are those alarms deactivated?"</p> + +<p>"All okay, Barhop," said a voice. "This is Leader One. +I'll meet him at the hole."</p> + +<p>"Right." Captain Greer reversed the switch again. "Are +you ready, Barbell?"</p> + +<p>Stanton looked into the dark hole. It was hardly big +enough to crawl through, and ended in a seeming infinity of +blackness. He took the special goggles from the case at his +belt and put them on. Inside the hole, he saw a single rat, +staring at him with beady eyes.</p> + +<p>"I'm ready to go in, Barhop," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>He got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl +through the narrow tunnel. Ahead of him, the rat turned +and began to lead the way.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c22" id="c22"></a><i>[22]</i></h2> + +<p>The big tunnel inside the cliff was long and black, +and the air was stale and thick with the stench of rodents. +Stanton stood still for a minute, stretching his muscles. +Crawling through that cramped little opening had not been +easy. He looked around him, trying to probe the luminescent +gloom that the goggles he wore brought to his eyes.</p> + +<p>The tunnel stretched out before him—on and on. Around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +him was the smell of viciousness and death. Ahead ...</p> + +<p><i>It goes on to infinity</i>, Stanton thought, <i>ending at last +at zero</i>.</p> + +<p>The rat paused and looked back, waiting for him to +follow.</p> + +<p>"Okay," Stanton muttered. "Let's go."</p> + +<p>The rat led him down the long tunnel, deep into the cliffside, +until at last they came to a stairway that led downward +into the long tunnels where the trains had once run. They +came to the platform where passengers had once waited for +those trains. Four feet below the edge of the platform were +the rusted tracks that had once borne those trains.</p> + +<p>He lowered himself over the edge to stand on the rail.</p> + +<p>"Barbell," said a voice in his ear, "Barhop here. Do you +read?"</p> + +<p>It was the barest whisper, picked up by the antennas in +his shoes from the steel rail that ran along the floor of the +dark tunnel.</p> + +<p>"Read you, Barhop."</p> + +<p>"Move out, then. You've got a long stroll to go."</p> + +<p>Stanton started walking, keeping his feet near the rail, +in case Greer wanted to call again. As he walked, he could +feel the slight motion of the skin-tight woven suit that he +wore rubbing gently against his skin.</p> + +<p>And he could hear the scratching patter of the rats.</p> + +<p>Mostly they stayed away from him, avoiding the strange +being that had invaded their underground realm, but he +could see them hiding in corners and scurrying along the +sides of the tunnels, going about their unfathomable rodent +business.</p> + +<p>Around him, six rat-like remote-control robots moved +with him, shifting their pattern constantly as they patrolled +his moving figure.</p> + +<p>Far ahead, he knew, other rat robots were stationed,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> +watching and waiting, ready to deactivate the Nipe's detection +devices at just the right moment. Behind him, another +horde moved forward to turn the devices on again.</p> + +<p>It had, he knew, taken the technicians a long time to +learn how to shut off those detectors without giving the alarm +to the Nipe's instruments.</p> + +<p>There were nearly a hundred men in on the operation, +controlling the robot rats or watching the hidden cameras +that spied upon the Nipe. Nearly a hundred. And every +single one of them was safe.</p> + +<p>They were all outside the tunnel and far away. They +were with Stanton only by proxy. They could not die here in +this stinking hole, no matter what happened. But Stanton +could.</p> + +<p>There was no help for it, no other way it could be done. +Stanton had to go in person. A full-sized robot proxy might +be stronger, although not faster unless Stanton was at the +controls, than the Nipe. But the Nipe would be able to tell +that the thing was a robot, and he would simply destroy it +with one of his weapons. A remote-control robot could +never get close enough to the Nipe to do any good.</p> + +<p>"We do not know positively," Dr. Yoritomo had said, +"whether he would recognize it as a robot or not, but his +instruments would show the metal easily enough, and his +eyes would be able to tell him that the machine was not +covered with human skin. The rats are small enough so +that they can be made mostly of plastic, and they are covered +with real rat hides. In addition, our friend, the Nipe, is +used to seeing them around. But a human-sized robot? Ah, +no. Never."</p> + +<p>So Stanton had to go in person, walking southward along +the tracks, through the miles of blackness that led to the +nest of the Nipe.</p> + +<p>Overhead was Government City.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + +<p>He had looked out upon those streets only the night +before, and he knew that only a short distance away there +was an entirely different world.</p> + +<p>Somewhere up there, his brother was waiting, after having +run the gamut of publicity. He was a celebrity. "Stanley +Martin, the greatest detective in the Solar System," +they'd called him. Fine stuff, that. Stanton wondered what +the asteroids were like. What would it be like to live out in +space, where a man still had plenty of space to move around +in and could fashion his life to suit himself? Maybe there +would be a place in the asteroids for a hopped-up superman.</p> + +<p>Or maybe there would only be a place here, beneath the +streets of Government City, for a dead superman.</p> + +<p><i>Not if I can help it</i>, Stanton thought with a grim smile.</p> + +<p>The walking seemed to take forever in one way, but, +in another way, Stanton didn't mind it. He had a lot to +think over. Seeing his brother's image on the TV had been +unnerving yesterday, but today he felt as though everything +had been all right all along.</p> + +<p>His memory was still a long way from being complete, +and it probably always would be, he thought. He could +still scarcely recall any real memories of a boy named +Martin Stanton, but—and he smiled a little at the thought—he +knew more about him than his brother did, even so.</p> + +<p>It made very little difference now. That Martin Stanton +was gone. In effect, he had been demolished—what little +there had been of him—and a new structure had been built +on the old foundation.</p> + +<p>And yet, it was highly probable that the new structure was +very like that that would have developed naturally if the +accident so early in Martin Stanton's life had never occurred.</p> + +<p>Stanton kept walking. There was a timeless feeling about +his march through the depths of the ground, as though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +every step through the blackness was exactly like every other +step, and it was only the same step over and over again.</p> + +<p>He skirted a pile of rubble on his right. There had been a +station here, once; the street above had caved in and filled it +with brick, concrete, cobblestones, and steel scrap, and then +it had been sealed over when Government City was built.</p> + +<p>A part of one wall was still unbroken, though. A sign +built of tile said 125<span class="smcapl">TH STREET</span>, he knew, although it was +hard to make it out in the dim glow. He kept on walking, +ignoring the rats that scampered over the rubble.</p> + +<p>A mile or so farther on, he whispered: "Barbell to Barhop. +How's everything going?"</p> + +<p>"Barhop to Barbell," came the answer. "No sign of any +activity from Target. So far, none of the alarms have been +triggered."</p> + +<p>"What's he doing?" Stanton whispered. It seemed only +right to keep his voice low, although he was fairly certain +that his voice would not carry to the Nipe, even through +these echoing tunnels. He was still miles away.</p> + +<p>"He's still sitting motionless," said Captain Greer. "Thinking, +I suppose. Or sleeping. It's hard to tell."</p> + +<p>"All right. Let me know if he starts moving, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Will do."</p> + +<p><i>Poor unsuspecting beastie</i>, Stanton thought. <i>Ten long +years of hard work, of feeling secure in his little nest, and +within a very short time he's going to get the shock of his +life.</i></p> + +<p>Or maybe not. There was no way of knowing what kind +of shocks the Nipe had taken in the course of his life, +Stanton thought. There was no way of knowing whether the +Nipe was even capable of feeling anything like shock, as a +matter of fact.</p> + +<p>It was odd, he thought, that he should feel a strong kinship +toward both the Nipe and his brother in such similar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> +ways. He had never met the Nipe, and his brother was only a +dim picture in his old memories, but they were both very +well known to him. Certainly they were better known to him +than he was to them.</p> + +<p>And yet, seeing his brother's face on the TV screen, hearing +his voice, watching the way he moved about, watching +the changing expressions on his face, had been a tremendously +moving experience. Not until that moment, he +thought, had he really known himself.</p> + +<p>Meeting him face to face would be much easier now, but +it would still be a scene highly charged with emotional +tension.</p> + +<p>His foot kicked something that rattled and rolled away +from him. He stopped, freezing in his tracks, looking +downward, trying to pierce the dully glowing gloom. The +thing he had kicked was a human skull.</p> + +<p>He relaxed and began walking again.</p> + +<p>There were plenty of human bones down here. Mannheim +had told him that the tunnels had been used as air-raid +shelters when the sun bomb had hit the island during +the Holocaust. Men, women, and children by the thousands +had crowded underground after the warning had +come—and they had died by the thousands when the bright, +hot, deadly gases had roared down the ventilators and stairwells.</p> + +<p>There were even caches of canned goods down here, some +of them still perfectly sealed after all this time. The hordes +of rats, wiser than they knew, had chewed at them, exposing +the steel beneath the thin tin plate. And, after a while, +oxidation would weaken the can to the point where some +lucky rat could gnaw through the rusty spot and find himself +a meal. Then he would move the empty can aside and +begin gnawing at the next in line. He couldn't get through +the steel, but he would scratch the tin off, and the cycle<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> +would begin again. Later, another rat would find that can +weak enough to bite through. It kept the rats fed almost as +well as an automatic machine might have.</p> + +<p>The tunnel before him was an endless monochromatic +world that was both artificial and natural. Here was a +neatly squared-off mosaic of ceramic tile that was obviously +man-made; over there, on a little hillock of earth, squatted +a colony of fat mushrooms. In several places he had to skirt +little pools of dark, stagnant water; twice he had to climb +over long heaps of crumbling rust that had once been +trains of subway cars.</p> + +<p>He kept moving—one man, alone, walking through the +dark toward a superhuman monster that had terrorized +Earth for a decade.</p> + +<p>A drug that would knock out the Nipe would have been +very useful, but to synthesize such a drug would have required +a greater knowledge of the biochemical processes of +the Nipe than any human scientist had. The same applied to +anesthetic gases, or electric shock, or supersonics. There +was no way of determining how much would be required to +knock him out or how much would be required to kill. +There were no easy answers.</p> + +<p>The only answer was a man called Stanton.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0"><i>Boots! Boots! Boots! Boots! Marchin' up and down again!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i2"><i>And there's no discharge in the war!</i><br /></span> +</div> + +<p>Stanton hummed the song in his mind. It seemed that he +had been walking forever through the Kingdom of Hades, +while around him twittered the ghosts of the dead.</p> + +<p><i>Poor shades</i>, he thought, entertaining the fancy for a +brief moment, <i>will I be one of you in a short while?</i></p> + +<p>There was no answer, though the squeaking continued.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> +The sound of his feet and the snarling chirping of the rats +were the only sounds in the world.</p> + +<p>"Barhop to Barbell," said a voice suddenly, sounding very +loud in his ear, "this is where you have to make your change +to the other tunnel."</p> + +<p>"Barbell to Barhop. I know. I've been watching the +markers."</p> + +<p>"Just precaution, Barbell," Captain Greer said. "How do +you feel?"</p> + +<p>"I'd like to rest for a few minutes, frankly," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>"Feeling tired?" There was just the barest tinge of alarm +in the captain's voice.</p> + +<p>"No," Stanton said. "I just want to sit down and rest my +feet for a few minutes."</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Then the captain's voice came again. +"Okay, go ahead and relax, Barbell. Take ten. But be ready +to move fast if I yell. These alarm systems are tricky things +to hold. And don't start moving again without letting me +know."</p> + +<p>"Right."</p> + +<p>Stanton lifted himself out of the trench in which the +tunnel ran and sat on the edge of the boarding platform. +It wasn't far now. There was only one more of the old +entranceways between himself and the Nipe. This particular +one was a transfer point, where two different parts of the +tunnel network met and it was possible to transfer from +one to another. It required going up a couple of flights of +stairs to the next higher level, and changing to another +tunnel going southward.</p> + +<p>There were other ways. This tunnel, the one he had been +following for so long, branched a little farther south. If he +took one branch, he would end up to the east of the Nipe; +the other would bring him to a point on the west. From +either, he would have to travel laterally through another<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +set of tunnels, but neither route offered anything that this +one didn't have, and the most direct route would be best.</p> + +<p>"Barbell to Barhop," he whispered, "I'm ready to go."</p> + +<p>"It's only been five minutes."</p> + +<p>"I know. But I rest pretty fast, too. Let's move out."</p> + +<p>There were a few seconds of silence, then Captain Greer +said: "All set, Barbell. Move out."</p> + +<p>Stanton got to his feet and walked toward the stairway +that led up to the next level. Minutes later, he was in +another tunnel exactly similar to the first one, walking +southward again.</p> + +<p>But now he was more careful. He watched the ground +carefully, making sure that he didn't step on anything that +would snap or rattle. The Nipe was still quite a distance +away—three-quarters of a mile, or so—but taking the chance +that the beast couldn't hear him might be deadly dangerous. +The robot rat that he was following led him along a path +that had been unobtrusively cleared of rubble by the robot +rats over a period of months, but the robots weren't the +only rats in the place. He kept his eyes on the path.</p> + +<p>A while later, the voice in his ear said: "A hundred yards +to go, Barbell."</p> + +<p>"I know," Stanton whispered. "He hasn't moved?"</p> + +<p>"No. I'll yell if he does. You don't need to talk any more. +His ears might pick up even that whisper."</p> + +<p><i>He hasn't moved</i>, Stanton thought. <i>Not for all this time. +Not since I came down into his private domain. All this +time, he has been sitting motionless—waiting. Wouldn't it be +funny if he were dead? If his heart had stopped, or something. +Wouldn't that be absolutely hilarious? Wouldn't that +be a big joke on everybody? Especially me.</i></p> + +<p>Ahead was the large area that had been one of the major +junction points of the tunnel network. This was the area +that the Nipe had taken over to build his home-away-from-home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> +Here were his workshops, his laboratories, his storerooms.</p> + +<p>And somewhere here was the Nipe.</p> + +<p>He came out of the tunnel into another passenger-loading +area. Just to his left was another short stairway that led +up to a slightly higher level. He moved slowly and quietly. +He didn't want to fight down here on the tracks, and he +didn't want to be caught just yet.</p> + +<p>Cautiously he lifted himself to the platform where long-gone +passengers had once waited for long-gone trains.</p> + +<p>The quality of the illumination at the head of the stairs +was different from that which he had been used to for the +past three hours. He lifted off the infra-red goggles. Enough +light spilled over from the Nipe's lair to give him illumination +to see by. Silently, he put the goggles on the floor of the +platform. He wouldn't need them again.</p> + +<p>Then, step by step, he walked up the concrete stairway.</p> + +<p>At the head of the stairs, he paused to get his bearings.</p> + +<p>The illumination was not bright, but it was enough to—</p> + +<p>"Barbell! He's heard you! Watch it!"</p> + +<p>But Stanton had already heard the movement of the Nipe. +He jerked off the communicator and threw it down the +stairs behind him. He wanted no encumbrances now!</p> + +<p>He ran quickly out into the center of the big underground +room, away from the open stairwell.</p> + +<p>And then, as fast as any express train that had ever +moved through these subterranean ways, the Nipe came +around a corner thirty feet away, his four violet eyes gleaming, +his limbs rippling beneath his centipede-like body.</p> + +<p>From fifteen feet away, he launched himself through the +air, his outstretched hands ready to kill.</p> + +<p>But Stanton's marvelous neuromuscular system was already +in action.</p> + +<p>At this stage of the game, it would be utter suicide to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> +let the Nipe get in close. Stanton couldn't fend off eight +grasping hands with his own two. He leaped to one side, and +the Nipe got his first surprise in ten years when Stanton's +fist slammed against the side of his snouted head, knocking +him in the direction opposite that in which Stanton had +moved.</p> + +<p>The Nipe landed, turned, and charged back toward the +man. This time he reared up, using his two rearmost pairs +of limbs for locomotion, while the two forward pairs were +held out, ready to kill.</p> + +<p>He got surprise number two when Stanton's fist landed +on the tip of his rather sensitive snout, rocking his head +back. His own hands met nothing but air, and by the time +he had recovered from the blow, Stanton was well back, out +of the way.</p> + +<p><i>He's so small!</i> Stanton thought wonderingly. Even when +he reared up, the Nipe's head was only three feet above the +concrete floor.</p> + +<p>The Nipe came in again—more cautiously this time.</p> + +<p>Stanton punched again with a straight right. The Nipe +moved his head aside, and Stanton's knuckles merely +grazed the side of the alien's head, just below the lower +right eye.</p> + +<p>At the same time, one of the Nipe's hands swung in in a +chopping right hook that took Stanton just below the ribs. +Stanton leaped back with a gasp of pain.</p> + +<p>The Nipe didn't use fists. He used his open hand, fingers +together, like a judo fighter.</p> + +<p>The Nipe came forward, and, as Stanton danced back, +the Nipe made a grab for his ankle, almost catching it. +There were too many hands to watch!</p> + +<p>Stanton had two advantages: weight and reach. His arms +were almost half again as long as the Nipe's.</p> + +<p>Against that, the Nipe had all those hands; and with his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +low center of gravity and four-footed stance, it would be +hard to knock him down. On the other hand, if Stanton lost +his footing, the fight would be over fast.</p> + +<p>Stanton lunged suddenly forward and planted a left in +the Nipe's right upper eye, then followed it with a right +uppercut to the Nipe's jaw as his head snapped back. The +Nipe's four hands cut inward from the sides like sword +blades, but they found no target.</p> + +<p>Backing away, Stanton realized he had another advantage. +The Nipe couldn't throw a straight jab! His shoulders—if +that's what they should be called—were narrow and the +upper arm bones weren't articulated properly for such a +blow. The alien could throw a mean hook, but he had to get +in close to deliver it.</p> + +<p>On the other side of the coin was the fact that the Nipe +knew plenty about human anatomy—from the bones out. +Stanton's knowledge of Nipe anatomy was almost totally +superficial.</p> + +<p>He wished he knew if and where the Nipe had a solar +plexus. He would like to punch something soft for a change.</p> + +<p>Instead, he tried for another eye. He danced in, jabbed, +and danced out. The Nipe had ducked again, taking the +blow on the side of his head.</p> + +<p>Then the Nipe came in low, at an angle, trying for the +groin. For his troubles, he got a knee in the jaw that staggered +him badly. One grasping hand clutched at Stanton's +right thigh and grabbed hard. Stanton swung his fist down +like a pendulum and knocked the arm aside.</p> + +<p>But there was a slight limp in his movements as he back-pedaled +away from the Nipe. That full-handed pinch had +hurt like the very devil!</p> + +<p>Stanton was angry now, with the hot, controlled anger of +a fighting man. He stepped in quickly and slammed two +fast hard jabs into the point of the Nipe's snout, jarring the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +monster backward. And this time it was the Nipe who scuttled +back out of the way.</p> + +<p>Stanton moved in fast to press his advantage and landed +a beaut on the Nipe's lower left eye. Then he tried a body +blow. It wasn't too successful. The alien had an endoskeleton, +but he also had a tough hide that was somewhat like +thick, leathery chitin.</p> + +<p>Stanton pulled back, getting out of the way of the Nipe's +open-handed judo cuts.</p> + +<p>His fists were beginning to hurt, and his leg was paining +him badly where the Nipe had clamped onto it. And +his ribs were throbbing where the Nipe had landed that +single blow.</p> + +<p>And then he realized that, so far, the Nipe had only +landed that one blow!</p> + +<p><i>One punch and one pinch</i>, Stanton thought with a touch +of awe. <i>The only other damage he's inflicted has been to my +knuckles!</i></p> + +<p>The Nipe charged in again, then he leaped suddenly and +clawed for Stanton's face with his first pair of hands. The +second and third pairs chopped in toward the man's body. +The last pair propelled him off the floor.</p> + +<p>Stanton stepped back and drove in a long, hard right, +hitting him just below the jaw, where his throat would have +been if he had been human.</p> + +<p>The Nipe arced backward in a half somersault and landed +flat on his back.</p> + +<p>Stanton backed up a little more, waiting, while the Nipe +wiggled feebly for a moment. <i>The Marquis of Queensberry +should have lived to see this</i>, he thought.</p> + +<p>The Nipe rolled over and crouched on all eight limbs. +His violet eyes watched Stanton, but the man could read no +expression on that inhuman face.</p> + +<p>"<i>You did not kill.</i>"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>For a moment, Stanton found it hard to believe that the +hissing, guttural voice had come from the crouching +monster.</p> + +<p>"<i>You did not even</i> try <i>to kill.</i>"</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to kill you," Stanton said evenly.</p> + +<p>"<i>I can see that. Do you ... Are you ...</i>" He stopped, +as if baffled. "<i>There are not the proper words. Do you +follow the Customs?</i>"</p> + +<p>Stanton felt a surge of triumph. This was what George +Yoritomo had guessed might happen!</p> + +<p>"If I must kill you," Stanton said carefully, "I, myself, will +do the honors. You will not go uneaten."</p> + +<p>The Nipe sagged a little, relaxing all over. "<i>I had hoped +it was so. It was the only thinkable thing. I saw you on the +television, and it was only thinkable that you came for me.</i>"</p> + +<p>Stanton sighed inwardly. That part of Colonel Mannheim's +strategy had worked, too. The Nipe had seen all the +publicity releases that had been so carefully tailored for him.</p> + +<p>"<i>I knew you were out on the asteroids</i>," the Nipe went on. +"<i>But I had decided that you had come to kill. Since you did +not, what are your thoughts, Stanley Martin?</i>"</p> + +<p>"That we should help each other," Stanton said.</p> + +<p>It was as simple as that.</p> + +<hr /> +<h2><a name="c23" id="c23"></a><i>[23]</i></h2> + +<p>Stanton sat in his hotel room, smoking a cigarette, +staring at the wall, and thinking.</p> + +<p>He was alone again. All the fuss and feathers and foofaraw +were over. Dr. Farnsworth was in another room of +the suite, making his plans for a complete physical examination<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> +of the Nipe. Dr. George Yoritomo was having the time +of his life, holding a conversation with the Nipe, drawing +the alien out, and getting him to talk about his own race +and their history.</p> + +<p>And Stanley Martin was plotting the next phase of the +capture—the cover-up.</p> + +<p>Stanton smiled a little. Colonel Mannheim had been a +great one for planning, all right. Every little detail was +taken care of. It had sometimes made his plans more complex +than necessary, Stanton suspected. Mannheim had +tended to try to account for every possible eventuality, and, +after he had done that, he had set aside a few reserves here +and there, just in case they might be useful if something +unforeseen happened.</p> + +<p>All things considered, the Government had certainly +done the right thing. And, in picking Mannheim, they had +picked the right man.</p> + +<p>Stanton got up, walked over to the window, and looked +down at the streets of Government City, eight floors below.</p> + +<p>What would those people down there think if they were +told the true story of the Nipe? What would the average +citizen say if he discovered that, at this very moment, the +Nipe was being treated almost as an honored guest of the +Government? More, what would he say if he suspected that +the Nipe—the horrible, murderous, man-eating Nipe—could +have been killed easily at any time during the past +six years?</p> + +<p>Would it be possible for anyone to explain to the common +average man that, in the long run, the knowledge possessed +by the Nipe was tremendously more valuable to the race of +Man than the lives of a few individuals?</p> + +<p>Could those people down there, and the others like them +all over the world, be made to understand that, by his own +lights, the Nipe had been behaving in the most civilized and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> +gentlemanly fashion he knew? Could they ever be made to +understand that, because of the tremendous wealth of priceless +information stored in that alien brain, the Nipe's life +had to be preserved at any cost?</p> + +<p>Or would they scream for blood?</p> + +<p>Dr. Farnsworth assumed that Stanley Martin was going +to spread a story about the Nipe's death—a carefully concocted +story about how Stanley Martin had found the beast +and the police had killed it. There might, Farnsworth +assumed, be a carefully made "corpse" for the mob to hiss +at. Maybe Farnsworth was right. But Stanton had the feeling +that Martin and George Yoritomo had something else +up their collective sleeve.</p> + +<p>The phone hummed. Stanton walked over, thumbed the +answer button, and watched George Yoritomo's face take +shape on the screen.</p> + +<p>"Bart! I have just had the privilege of viewing the tapes +of your fight with our friend, the Nipe. Incredible! I watched +the original on the screen, of course, but I had to run the +tapes. I wanted to slow it down, so that I could see what +actually happened. Magnificent, that right of yours! <i>So!</i>" +He jabbed a fist out, shadowboxing with Stanton over the +phone circuit.</p> + +<p>"Awww, it weren't nuthin', Maw," Stanton drawled. "I +jes' sorta flang out a fist an' he got in the way."</p> + +<p>"Of course! But such a fling! Seriously, Bart, I want to +run those tapes over again, and I want you to tell me, as best +you can, just what went on in your mind at each stage of +the fight. It will be most informative."</p> + +<p>"You mean right now? I have an appointment—"</p> + +<p>Yoritomo waved a hand. "No, no. Later. Take your time. +But I am honestly amazed that you won so easily. I knew +you were good, and I was certain you'd win, but I must +admit that I honestly expected you to be injured."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> + +<p>Stanton looked down at his bandaged hands and felt the +ache of his broken rib and the pain of the blue bruise on +his thigh. In spite of the way it looked, he had actually been +hurt worse than the Nipe had. That boy was <i>tough</i>!</p> + +<p>"The trouble was that he couldn't adapt himself to fighting +in a new way, just as you predicted," he told Yoritomo. +"He fought me, I assume, in just the way he would have +fought another Nipe. And that didn't work. I had the reach +on him, and I could maneuver faster. Besides, he can't +throw a straight punch with those shoulders of his."</p> + +<p>"It appeared to me," Yoritomo said with a broad grin, +"that you were fighting him as you would fight another +human being. Eh?"</p> + +<p>Stanton grinned back. "I was, in a modified way. But I +wasn't confined to a pattern. Besides, I won—the Nipe didn't. +And that's all that counts."</p> + +<p>"It is, indeed. Well, I'll let you know when I'm ready +for your impressions of the fight. Probably tomorrow some +time—say, in the afternoon?"</p> + +<p>"Fine."</p> + +<p>George Yoritomo nodded his thanks, and his image +collapsed and faded from the screen.</p> + +<p>Stanton walked back over to the window, but this time +he looked at the horizon, not the street.</p> + +<p>George Yoritomo had called him "Bart". It's funny, +Stanton thought, how habit can get the best of a man. +Yoritomo had known the truth all along. And now he knew +that his pupil—or patient—whichever it was—was aware of +the truth. And still, he had called him "Bart".</p> + +<p><i>And I still think of myself as Bart</i>, he thought. <i>I probably +always will.</i></p> + +<p>And why not? Why shouldn't he? Martin Stanton no +longer existed—in a sense, he had never existed. And in +actual fact, he had never had much of a real existence. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +was only a bad dream. He had always been a bad dream. +And now that the dream was over, only "Bart" was real.</p> + +<p>He thought back, remembering George Yoritomo's explanation.</p> + +<p>"Take two people," he had said. "Two people genetically +identical. Damage one of them so badly that he is helpless +and useless—to himself and to others. Damage him so badly +that he is always only a step away from death.</p> + +<p>"The vague telepathic bond that always links identical +twins (they 'think alike', they say) becomes unbalanced +under such conditions.</p> + +<p>"Normally, there is a give-and-take. One mind is as strong +as the other, and each preserves the sense of his own +identity, since the two different sets of sense receptors give +different viewpoints. But if one of the twins is damaged +badly enough, then something must happen to that telepathic +linkage.</p> + +<p>"Usually it is broken.</p> + +<p>"But the link between you and your brother was not +broken. Instead, it became a one-way channel.</p> + +<p>"What happens in such a case? The damaged brother, in +order to escape the intolerable prison of his own body, +becomes a receptor for the stronger brother's thoughts. The +weaker feels as the stronger feels. The experience of the one +becomes the experience of the other—the thrill of running +after a baseball, the pride of doing something clever with +the hands, the touch of a girl's kiss upon the lips—all these +become the property of the weaker, since he is receiving +the thoughts of the stronger. There is, of course, no flow in +the other direction. The stronger brother has no way of +knowing that his every thought is being duplicated in his +brother's mind.</p> + +<p>"In effect, the damaged brother ceases to think. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +thoughts in his mind are those of the healthy brother. The +feeling of identity becomes almost complete.</p> + +<p>"To the outside observer, the damaged brother appears +to be a cataleptic schizophrenic, completely cut off from +reality. And, in a sense, he is."</p> + +<p>Stanton walked over to the nightstand by the bed, took +another cigarette from the pack, lit it, and looked at the +smoke curling up from the tip.</p> + +<p><i>So Martin became a cataleptic schizophrenic</i>, he thought.</p> + +<p>The mind of Martin had ceased to think at all. The "Bart" +part of him had not wanted to be disturbed by the garbled, +feeble sensory impressions that "Mart's" body provided. +Like many another schizophrenic, Martin had been living +in a little world cut off from the actual physical world +around his body.</p> + +<p>The difference between Martin's condition and that of the +ordinary schizophrenic had been that Martin's little dream +world had actually existed. It had been an almost exact +counterpart of the world that had existed in the perfectly +sane, rational mind of his brother, Bart. It had grown and +developed as Bart had, fed by the one-way telepathic flow +from the stronger mind to the weaker.</p> + +<p>There had been two Barts—and no Mart at all.</p> + +<p>But there had been only one human being between them. +Bart Stanton had been a strong, capable, intelligent, active +human being. The duplicate of his mind was just a recording +in the mind of a useless, radiation-blasted hulk.</p> + +<p>And then the Neurophysical Institute had come into the +picture. A new process had been developed by Dr. Farnsworth +and his crew, by which a human being could be reconstructed—made, +literally, into a superman. All the +techniques had been worked out in careful and minute detail. +But there was one major drawback. Any normal human +body would resist the process—to the death, if necessary—just<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +as a normal human body will resist a skin graft from an +alien donor or the injection of an alien protein.</p> + +<p>But the radiation-damaged body of Martin Stanton had +had no resistance of that kind. It had long been known that +deep-penetrating ionizing radiation had that effect on an +organism. The ability to resist was weakened, almost destroyed.</p> + +<p>With Martin Stanton's body—perhaps—the process might +work.</p> + +<p>So Bartholomew Stanton, who had become Martin's +legal guardian after the death of their mother, had given +permission for the series of operations that would rebuild +his crippled brother.</p> + +<p>The telepathic link, of course, had to be shut off—for a +time, at least. If it remained intact, Martin would never be +able to think for himself, no matter what was done to his +body. Part of that cutting-off process could be done during +the treatment of Martin—but only if Bartholomew would +co-operate. He had done his part. He had submitted to deep +hypnosis, and had allowed himself to be convinced that his +name was Stanley Martin, to think of himself as Stanley +Martin. The Martin name was one that the real Martin's +mind would reject utterly. That mind wanted nothing to do +with anything named Martin.</p> + +<p>"Stanley Martin," then, had gone out to the asteroids. In +his mind had been implanted the further instructions that +he was not to return to Earth nor to attempt to investigate +the Nipe under any circumstances. The simple change of +name and environment had been just enough to snap the +link during a time when Martin's brain had been inactivated +by cold therapy and anesthetics.</p> + +<p>Only the sense of identity had remained. The patient +was still "Bart"—but now he was being forced to think for +himself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mannheim had used them both, naturally. Colonel Mannheim +had the ability to use anyone at hand, including himself, +to get a job done.</p> + +<p>Stanton looked at his watch. It was almost time.</p> + +<p>Mannheim had sent for "Stanley Martin" when the time +had come for him to return in order to give the Nipe data +that he would be sure to misinterpret. A special series of +code phrases in the message had released "Stanley Martin" +from the hypnotic suggestions that had held him for so long. +He knew now that he was Bartholomew Stanton.</p> + +<p><i>And so do I</i>, thought the man by the window. <i>We have a +lot to straighten out, we two.</i></p> + +<p>There was a knock at the door.</p> + +<p>Stanton walked over and opened it, trying not to think.</p> + +<p>It was like looking into a mirror.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Bart," he said.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Bart," said the other.</p> + +<p>In that instant, complete telepathic linkage was restored. +In that instant, they both knew what only one of them had +known before—that, for a time, the telepathic flow had been +one-way again, but this time in the opposite direction—that +"Stanley Martin" had been shaken that afternoon when his +own mind had become the receptor for the other's thoughts, +and he had experienced completely the entire battle with +the Nipe. His release from the posthypnotic suggestion had +made it possible.</p> + +<p>There was no need for further words.</p> + +<p><i>E duobus unum.</i></p> + +<p>There was unity without loss of identity.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Anything You Can Do ..., by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + +***** This file should be named 24436-h.htm or 24436-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/3/24436/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Anything You Can Do ... + +Author: Gordon Randall Garrett + +Release Date: January 26, 2008 [EBook #24436] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... + + + + + DARREL T. LANGART + + + _anything you + can do ..._ + + + 1963 + _Doubleday & Company, Inc._ + _Garden City, New York_ + + + + +A shorter version of this work appeared in _ANALOG Science Fact--Science +Fiction_. + + _All of the characters in this book + are fictitious, and any resemblance + to actual persons, living or dead, + is purely coincidental._ + + LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER 62-7710 + COPYRIGHT (C) 1963 BY DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC. + COPYRIGHT (C) 1962 BY THE CONDE NAST PUBLICATIONS, INC. + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA + FIRST EDITION + + +Transcriber's Note: + + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + For + + _mon cher ami_ + + Frere Gasce + + a man whom I may truly call ... + ... my brother + + + + +_[1]_ + + +Like some great silver-pink fish, the ship sang on through the eternal +night. There was no impression of swimming; the fish shape had neither +fins nor a tail. It was as though it were hovering in wait for a member +of some smaller species to swoop suddenly down from nowhere, so that it, +in turn, could pounce and kill. + +But still it moved and sang. + +Only a being who was thoroughly familiar with the type could have told +that this particular fish was dying. + +In shape, the ship was rather like a narrow flounder--long, tapered, and +oval in cross-section--but it showed none of the exterior markings one +might expect of either a living thing or a spaceship. With one +exception, the smooth silver-pink exterior was featureless. + +That one exception was a long, purplish-black, roughened discoloration +that ran along one side for almost half of the ship's seventeen meters +of length. It was the only external sign that the ship was dying. + +Inside the ship, the Nipe neither knew nor cared about the +discoloration. Had he thought about it, he would have deduced the +presence of the burn, but it was by far the least of his worries. + +The ship sang, and the song was a song of death. + +The internal damage that had been done to the ship was far more serious +than the burn on the surface of the hull. It was that internal damage +which occupied the thoughts of the Nipe, for it could, quite possibly, +kill him. + +He had, of course, no intention of dying. Not out here. Not so far, so +very far, from his own people. Not out here, where his death would be so +very improper. + +He looked at the ball of the yellow-white sun ahead and wondered that +such a relatively stable, inactive star could have produced such a +tremendously energetic plasmoid, one that could still do such damage so +far out. It had been a freak, of course. Such suns as this did not +normally produce such energetic swirls of magnetohydrodynamic force. + +But the thing had been there, nonetheless, and the ship had hit it at +high velocity. Fortunately the ship had only touched the edge of the +swirling cloud--otherwise the ship would have vanished in a puff of +incandescence. But it had done enough. The power plants that drove the +ship at ultralight velocities through the depths of interstellar space +had been so badly damaged that they could only be used in short bursts, +and each burst brought them closer to the fusion point. Even when they +were not being used they sang away their energies in ululations of +wavering vibration that would have been nerve-racking to a human being. + +The Nipe had heard the singing of the engines, recognized it for what it +was, realized that he could do nothing about it, and dismissed it from +his mind. + +Most of the instruments were powerless; the Nipe was not even sure he +could land the vessel. Any attempt to use the communicator to call home +would have blown his ship to atoms. + +The Nipe did not want to die, but, if die he must, he did not want to +die foolishly. + +It had taken a long time to drift in from the outer reaches of this +sun's planetary system, but using the power plants any more than was +absolutely necessary would have been foolhardy. + +The Nipe missed the companionship his brother had given him for so long; +his help would be invaluable now. But there had been no choice. There +had not been enough supplies for two to survive the long inward fall +toward the distant sun. The Nipe, having discovered the fact first, had, +out of his mercy and compassion, killed his brother while the other was +not looking. Then, having disposed of his brother with all due ceremony, +he had settled down to the long, lonely wait. + +Beings of another race might have cursed the accident that had disabled +the ship, or regretted the necessity that one of them should die, but +the Nipe did neither, for, to him, the first notion would have been +foolish and the second incomprehensible. + +But now, as the ship fell ever closer toward the yellow-white sun, he +began to worry about his own fate. For a while, it had seemed almost +certain that he would survive long enough to build a communicator, for +the instruments had already told him and his brother that the system +ahead was inhabited by creatures of reasoning power, if not true +intelligence, and it would almost certainly be possible to get the +equipment he needed from them. Now, though, it looked as if the ship +would not survive a landing. He had had to steer it away from a great +gas giant, which had seriously endangered the power plants. + +He did not want to die in space--wasted, forever undevoured. At least, +he must die on a planet, where there might be creatures with the +compassion and wisdom to give his body the proper death rites. The +thought of succumbing to inferior creatures was repugnant, but it was +better than rotting to feed monocells or ectogenes, and far superior to +wasting away in space. + +Even thoughts such as these did not occupy his mind often or for very +long. Far, far better than any of those thoughts were thoughts connected +with the desire and planning for survival. + +The outer orbits of the gas giants had been passed at last, and the Nipe +fell on through the Asteroid Belt without approaching any of the larger +pieces of rock-and-metal. That he and his brother had originally elected +to come into this system along its orbital plane had been a mixed +blessing. To have come in at a different angle would have avoided all +the debris--from planetary size on down--that is thickest in a star's +equatorial plane, but it would also have meant a greater chance of +missing a suitable planet unless too much reliance were placed on the +already weakened power generators. As it was, the Nipe had been +fortunate in being able to use the gravitational field of the gas giant +to swing his ship toward the precise spot where the third planet would +be when the ship arrived in the third orbit. Moreover, the planet would +be retreating from the Nipe's line of flight, which would make the +velocity difference that much the less. + +For a while the Nipe had toyed with the idea of using the mining bases +that the local life-form had set up in the Asteroid Belt as bases for +his own operations, but he had decided against it. Movement would be +much freer and more productive on a planet than it would be in the Belt. + +He would have preferred using the fourth planet for his base. Although +much smaller, it had the same reddish, arid look as his own home +planet, while the third planet was three quarters drowned in water. But +there were two factors that weighed so heavily against that choice that +they rendered it impossible. In the first place, by far the greater +proportion of the local inhabitants' commerce was between the asteroids +and the third planet. Second, and even more important, the fourth world +was at such a point in its orbit that the energy required to land would +destroy the ship beyond any doubt. + +It would have to be the third world. + +As the ship fell inward, the Nipe watched his pitifully inadequate +instruments, doing his best to keep tabs on every one of the ships that +the local life-form used to move through space. He did not want to be +spotted now, and even though the odds were against these beings having +any instrument highly developed enough to spot his own craft, there was +always the possibility that he might be observed optically. + +So he squatted there in his ship, a centipede-like thing about five feet +in length and a little less than eighteen inches in diameter, with eight +articulated limbs spaced in pairs along his body, each limb ending in a +five-fingered manipulatory organ that could be used equally well as hand +or foot. His head, which was long and snouted, displayed two pairs of +violet eyes that kept a constant watch on the indicators and screens of +the few instruments that were still functioning aboard the ship. + +And he waited as the ship fell toward its rendezvous with the third +planet. + + + + +_[2]_ + + +Wang Kulichenko pulled the collar of his uniform coat up closer around +his ears and pulled the helmet and face-mask down a bit. It was only +early October, but here in the tundra country the wind had a tendency to +be chill and biting in the morning, even at this time of year. Within a +week or so, he'd have to start using the power pack on his horse to +electrically warm his protective clothing and the horse's wrappings, but +there was no necessity for that yet. He smiled a little, as he always +did when he thought of his grandfather's remarks about such "new-fangled +nonsense." + +"Your ancestors, son of my son," he would say, "conquered the tundra and +lived upon it for thousands of years without the need of such womanish +things. Are there no men any more? Are there none who can face nature +alone and unafraid without the aid of artifices that bring softness?" + +But Wang Kulichenko noticed--though out of politeness he never pointed +it out that the old man never failed to take advantage of the electric +warmth of the house when the short days came and the snow blew across +the country like fine white sand. And Grandfather never complained about +the lights or the television or the hot water, except to grumble +occasionally that they were old and out of date and that the mail-order +catalog showed that much better models were available in Vladivostok. + +And Wang would remind the old man, very gently, that a paper-forest +ranger only made so much money, and that there would have to be more +saving before such things could be bought. He did not--_ever_--remind +the old man that he, Wang, was stretching a point to keep his +grandfather on the payroll as an assistant. + +Wang Kulichenko patted his horse's rump and urged her softly to step up +her pace just a bit. He had a certain amount of territory to cover, and +although he wanted to be careful in his checking he also wanted to get +home early. + +Around him, the neatly-planted forest of paper-trees spread knotty, +alien branches, trying to catch the rays of the winter-waning sun. +Whenever Wang thought of his grandfather's remarks about his ancestors, +he always wondered, as a corollary, what those same ancestors would have +thought about a forest growing up here, where no forest like this one +had ever grown before. + +They were called paper-trees because the bulk of their pulp was used to +make paper--they were of no use whatever as lumber--but they weren't +really trees, and the organic chemicals that were leached from them +during the pulping process were of far more value than the paper pulp. + +They were mutations of a smaller plant that had been found in the +temperate regions of Mars and purposely changed genetically to grow in +the Siberian tundra country, where the conditions were similar to, but +superior to, their natural habitat. They looked as though someone had +managed to crossbreed the Joshua tree with the cypress and then +persuaded the result to grow grass instead of leaves. And the +photosynthesis of those grasslike blades depended on an iron-bearing +compound that was more closely related to hemoglobin than to +chlorophyll, giving them a rusty red color instead of the normal green +of Earthly plants. + +In the distance, Wang heard the whining of the wind increase, and he +automatically pulled his coat a little tighter, even though he noticed +no increase in the wind velocity around him. + +Then, as the whine became louder, he realized that it was not the wind. + +He turned his head toward the sound and looked up. For a long minute he +watched the sky as the sound increased in volume, but he could see +nothing at first. Then he caught a glimpse of motion, a dot that was +hard to distinguish against the cloud-mottled gray sky. + +What was it? An air transport in trouble? There were two transpolar +routes that passed within a few hundred miles of here, but no air +transport he had ever seen made a noise like that. Normally they were so +high up as to be both invisible and inaudible. Must be trouble of some +sort. + +He reached down to the saddle pack without taking his eyes from the +moving speck and took out the radiophone. He held it to his ear and +thumbed the call button insistently. + +_Grandfather!_ he thought with growing irritation as the seconds passed. +_Wake up! Come on, old dozer, rouse yourself from your dreams!_ + +At the same time, he checked his wrist compass and estimated the +direction of flight of the dot and its direction from him. He'd at least +be able to give the airline authorities some information if the ship +fell. He wished there were some way to triangulate its height, velocity, +and so on, but he had no need for that kind of thing, so he hadn't the +equipment. + +"Yes? Yes?" came a testy, dry voice through the earphone. + +Quickly Wang gave his grandfather all the information he had on the +flying thing. By now the whine had become a shrill roar and the thing in +the air had become a silver-pink fish shape. + +"I think it's coming down very close to here," Wang concluded. "You call +the authorities and let them know that one of the aircraft is in +trouble. I'll see if I can be of any help here. I'll call you back +later." + +"As you say," the old man said hurriedly. He cut off. + +Wang was beginning to realize that the thing was a spaceship, not an +airship. By this time, he could see the thing more clearly. He had never +actually seen a spacecraft, but he'd seen enough of them on television +to know what they looked like. This one didn't look like a standard type +at all, and it didn't behave like one, but it looked and behaved even +less like an airship, and Wang knew enough to be aware that he did not +necessarily know every type of spaceship ever built. + +In shape, it resembled the old rocket-propelled jobs that had been used +for the first probings into space more than a century before, rather +than the fat ovoids he was used to. But there were no signs of rocket +exhausts, and yet the ship was very obviously slowing, so it must have +an inertia drive. + +It was coming in much lower now, on a line north of him, headed almost +due east. He urged the mare forward in order to try to keep up with the +craft, although it was obviously traveling at several hundred miles an +hour--hardly a horse's pace. + +Still, it was slowing rapidly very rapidly. Maybe ... + +He kept the mare moving. + +The strange ship skimmed along the treetops in the distance and +disappeared from sight. Then there was a thunderous crash, a tearing of +wood and foliage, and a grinding, plowing sound. + +For a few seconds afterward, there was silence. Then there came a soft +rumble, as of water beginning to boil in some huge but distant samovar. +It seemed to go on and on and on. + +And there was a bluish, fluctuating glow on the horizon. + +_Radioactivity?_ Wang wondered. Surely not an atomic-powered ship +without safety cutoffs in this day and age. Still, there was always the +possibility that the cutoffs had failed. + +He pulled out his radiophone and thumbed the call button again. + +This time there was no delay. "Yes?" + +"How are the radiation detectors behaving there, Grandfather?" + +"One moment. I shall see." There was a silence. Then: "No unusual +activity, young Wang. Why?" + +Wang told him. Then he asked: "Did you get hold of the air transport +authorities?" + +"Yes. They have no missing aircraft, but they're checking with the space +fields. The way you describe it, the thing must be a spaceship of some +kind." + +"I think so too. I wish I had a radiation detector here, though. I'd +like to know whether that thing is hot or not. It's only a couple of +miles away--maybe a little more--and if that blue glow is ionization +caused by radiation, it's much too close for comfort." + +"I think any source that strong would register on our detectors here, +young Wang," said the old man in his dry voice. "However, I agree that +it might not be the pinnacle of wisdom to approach the source too +closely." + +"Clear your mind of worry, Grandfather," Wang said. "I accept your words +of wisdom and will go no nearer. Meanwhile, you had best put in a call +to Central Headquarters Fire Control. There's going to be a blaze if I'm +any judge unless they get here fast with plenty of fire equipment." + +"I'll see to it," said his grandfather, cutting off. + +The bluish glow in the sky had quite died away by now, and the distant +rumbling was fading, too. And, oddly enough, there was not much smoke in +the distance. There was a small cloud of gray vapor that rose, +streamer-like, from where the glow had been, but even that was +dissipated fairly rapidly in the chill breeze. Quite obviously there +would be no fire. After several more minutes of watching, he was sure of +it. There couldn't have been much heat produced in the explosion--if it +could really be called an explosion. + +Then Wang saw something moving in the trees between himself and the spot +where the ship had come down. He couldn't see quite what it was, there +in the dimness under the hanging, grasslike red strands from the trees, +but it looked like someone crawling. + +"Halloo, there!" he called out. "Are you hurt?" + +There was no answer. Perhaps whoever it was did not understand Russian. +Wang's command of English wasn't too good, but he called out in that +language. + +Still there was no answer. Whoever it was had crawled out of sight. + +Then he realized it couldn't be anyone crawling. No one could even have +run the distance between himself and the ship in the time since it had +hit, much less crawled. + +He frowned. A wolf, then? Possibly. They weren't too common, but there +were still some of them around. + +He unholstered the heavy pistol at his side. + +And as he slid the barrel free, he became the first human being ever to +see the Nipe. + +For an instant, as the Nipe came out from behind a tree fifteen feet +away, Wang Kulichenko froze as he saw those four baleful violet eyes +glaring at him from the snouted head. Then he jerked up his pistol to +fire. + +He was much too late. His reflexes were too slow by far. The Nipe +launched himself across the intervening space in a blur of speed that +would have made a leopard seem slow. Two of the alien's hands slapped +aside the weapon with a violence that broke the man's wrist, while +other hands slammed at the human's skull. + +Wang Kulichenko hardly had time to be surprised before he died. + + + + +_[3]_ + + +The Nipe stood quietly for a moment, looking down at the thing he had +killed. His stomachs churned with disgust. He ignored the fading +hoofbeats of the slave-animal from which he had knocked the thing that +lay on the ground with a crushed skull. The slave-animal was +unintelligent and unimportant. + +This was--had been--the intelligent one. + +But so slow! So incredibly slow! And so weak and soft! + +It seemed impossible that such a poorly equipped beast could have +survived long enough on any world to become the dominant life-form. + +Then again, perhaps it was not the dominant form. Perhaps it was merely +a higher form of slave-animal. He would have to do more investigating. + +He picked up the weapon the thing had been carrying and examined it +carefully. The mechanism was unfamiliar, but a glance at the muzzle told +him it was a projectile weapon of some sort. The spiraling grooves in +the barrel were obviously intended to impart a spin to the projectile, +to give it gyroscopic stability while in flight. + +He tossed the weapon aside. Now there was a certain compassion in his +thoughts as he looked again at the dead thing. It must surely have +thought it was faced with a wild animal, the Nipe decided. Surely no +being would carry a weapon for use against members of its own or +another intelligent species. + +He examined the rest of the equipment on the thing. There was very +little further information. The fabric in which it wrapped itself was +crude, but ingeniously put together, and its presence indicated that the +being needed some sort of protection against the temperature. It +appeared to have a thermal insulating quality. Evidently the creature +was used to a warmer climate. That served as additional information to +help substantiate his observation from space that the areas farther +south were the ones containing the major centers of population. The tilt +of this planet on its axis would tend to give the weather a cyclic +variation, but it appeared that the areas around the poles remained +fairly cold even when the incidence of radiation from the primary was at +maximum. + +It would have been good, he decided, if he had stopped the slave-animal. +There had been more equipment on the thing's back which would have given +him more information upon which to base a judgment as to the level of +civilization of the dead being. That, however, was no longer +practicable, so he dismissed the thought from his mind. + +The next question was, what should he do with the body? + +Should he dispose of it properly, as one should with a validly slain +foe? + +It didn't seem that he could do anything else, and yet his stomachs +wanted to rebel at the thought. After all, it wasn't as if the thing +were really a proper being. It was astonishing to find another +intelligent race; none had ever been found before, although the +existence of such had been postulated. There were certain criteria that +must be met by any such beings, however. + +It must have manipulatory organs, such as this being very obviously did +have--organs very much like his own. But there were only two, which +argued that the being lacked dexterity. The organs for walking were +encased in protective clothing too stiff to allow them to be used as +manipulators. + +He ripped off one of the boots and looked at the exposed foot. The thumb +was not opposed. Obviously such an organ was not much good for +manipulation. + +He pried open the eating orifice and inspected it carefully. Ah! The +creature was omnivorous, judging by its teeth. There were both rending +and grinding teeth. That certainly argued for intelligence, since it +showed that the being could behave in a gentlemanly fashion. Still, it +was not conclusive. + +If they _were_ intelligent, it was most certainly necessary for him to +show that he was also civilized and a gentleman. On the other hand, the +slowness and lack of strength of this particular specimen argued that +the species was of a lower order than the Nipe, which made the question +even more puzzling. + +In the end, the question was rendered unnecessary for the time being, +since the problem was taken out of his hands. + +A sound came from the ground a few yards away. It was an insistent +buzzing. Cautiously, the Nipe approached the thing. + +_Buzz-buzz! Buzz-buzz-buzzzzzz!_ + +It was an instrument of some kind. He recognized it as the device that +he had seen the dead being speak into while he, himself, had been +watching from the concealment of the undergrowth, trying to decide +whether or not to approach. The device was obviously a communicator of +some kind, and someone at the other end was trying to make contact. + +If it were not answered, whoever was calling would certainly deduce that +something had gone wrong at this end. And, of course, there was no way +for it to be answered. + +It would be necessary, then, to leave the body here for others of its +kind to find. Doubtless they would dispose of it properly. + +He would have to leave quickly. It was necessary that he find one of +their centers of production or supply, and he would have to do it alone, +with only the equipment he had on him. The utter destruction of his ship +had left him seriously hampered. + +He began moving, staying in the protection of the trees. He had no way +of knowing whether investigators would come by air or on the +slave-animals, and there was no point in taking chances. + +His sense of ethics still bothered him. It was not at all civilized to +leave a body at the mercy of lesser animals or monocells in that +fashion. What kind of monster would they think he was? + +Still, there was no help for it. If they caught him, they might think +him a lower animal and shoot him. He would not have put an onus like +that upon them. + +He moved on. + + + + +_[4]_ + + +Government City was something of a paradox. It was the largest capital +city, in terms of population, that had ever been built on Earth, and +yet, again in terms of population, it was nowhere near as large as Tokyo +or London. The solution to the paradox lies in discovering that the term +"population" is used in two different senses, thus exposing the logical +fallacy of the undistributed middle. If, in referring to London or +Tokyo, the term "population" is restricted to those and only those who +are actively engaged in the various phases of actual government--as it +is when referring to Government City--the apparent paradox resolves +itself. + +Built on the slagged-down remains of New York's Manhattan Island, which +had been destroyed by a sun bomb during the Holocaust nearly a century +before, Government City occupied all but the upper three miles of the +island, and the population consisted almost entirely of men and women +engaged, either directly or indirectly, in the business of governing a +planet. There were no shopping centers and no entertainment areas. The +small personal flyer, almost the same size as the old gasoline-driven +automobile, could, because of its inertia drive, move with the +three-dimensional ability of a hummingbird, so the rivers that cut the +island off from the mainland were no barrier. The shopping and +entertainment centers of Brooklyn, Queens, and Jersey were only five +minutes away, even through the thickest, slowest-moving traffic. It was +the personal flyer, not the clumsy airplane, that had really eliminated +distance along with national boundaries. + +The majority of the government officers' homes were off the island, too, +but this commuting did not cause any great fluctuation of the island's +population. A city that governs a planet must operate at full capacity +twenty-four hours a day, and there was a "rush hour" every three hours +as the staggered six-hour shifts changed. + +Physically the planet still revolved about the sun; politically, Earth +revolved around Government City. + +In one of the towering buildings a group of men sat comfortably in a +medium-sized room, watching a screen that, because of the +three-dimensional quality and the color fidelity of the scene it showed, +might have been a window, except that the angle was wrong. They were +looking down from an apparent height of forty feet on a clearing in a +paper-tree forest in Siberia. + +The clearing was not a natural one. The trees had been splintered, +uprooted, and pushed away from the center of the long, elliptical area. +The center of the area was apparently empty. + +One of the men, whose fingers were touching a control panel in the arm +of his chair, said: "That is where the ship made its crash landing. As +you can see from the relatively light damage, it was moving at no great +speed when it hit. From the little information we have--mostly from a +momentary radar recording made when the incoming vessel was picked up +for a few seconds by the instruments of Transpolar Airways, when it +crossed the path of one of their freight orbits--it is estimated that +the craft was decelerating at between fifteen and seventeen gravities. +The rate of change of acceleration in centimeters per second cubed is +unknown, but obviously so small as to be negligible. + +"This picture was taken by the fire prevention flyers that came in +response to an urgent call by the assistant of the forest ranger who was +in charge of this section." + +"There was no fire?" asked one of the other men, looking closely at the +image. + +"None," said the speaker. "We can't yet say what actually happened to +the ship. We have only a couple of hints. One of our weather observers, +orbiting at four hundred miles, picked up a tremendous flash of hard +ultraviolet radiation in the area around the three thousand Angstrom +band. There must have been quite a bit of shorter wavelength radiation, +but the Earth's atmosphere would filter most of it out. + +"A recording of the radiophone discussion between the ranger and his +assistant is the only other description we have. The ranger described a +bluish glow over the site. Part of that may have been due to actual +blue light given off by the--well, call it 'burning'; that word will do +for now. But some of the blue glow was almost certainly due to +ionization of the air by the hard ultraviolet. Look at this next +picture." + +The scene remained the same, and yet there was a definite change. + +"This was taken three days later. If you'll notice, the normal rust-red +of the foliage has darkened to a purplish brown in the area around the +crash site. Now a Martian paper-tree, even in the mutated form, is quite +resistant to U-V, since it evolved under the thin atmosphere of Mars, +which gives much less protection from ultraviolet radiation than Earth's +does. Nevertheless, those trees have a bad case of sunburn." + +"And no heat," said a third man. "Wow." + +"Oh, there was some heat, but not anywhere near what you'd expect. The +nearer trees were rather dry, as though they'd been baked, but only at +the surface, and the temperature probably didn't rise much above +one-fifty centigrade." + +"How about X rays?" asked still another man. "Anything shorter than a +hundred Angstroms detected?" + +"No. If there was any radiation that hard, there was no detector close +enough to measure it. We doubt, frankly, whether there was any." + +"The 'fire', if you want to call it that, must have stunk up the place +pretty badly," said one of the men dryly. + +"It did. There were still traces of ozone and various oxides of nitrogen +in the air when the fire prevention flyers arrived. The wind carried +them away from the ranger, so he didn't get a whiff of them." + +"And this--this 'fire'--it destroyed the ship completely?" + +"Almost completely. There are some lumps of metal around, but we can't +make anything of them yet. Some of them are badly fused, but that +damage was probably done before the ship landed. Certainly there was not +enough heat generated after the crash to have done that damage." His +hand moved over the control panel in the armrest of his chair, and the +scene changed. + +"This was taken from the ground. Those lumps you see are the pieces of +metal I was talking about. Notice the fine white powdery ash, which +caused the white spot that you could see from the air. That is evidently +all that is left of the hull and the rest of the ship. None of it is +radioactive. + +"Random samplings from various parts of the area show that the ash +consists of magnesium, lithium, and beryllium carbonates." + +"You don't mean oxides?" said one of the others. + +"No. I mean carbonates. And some silicate. We estimate that the +remaining ash could not have constituted more than ten percent of the +total mass of the hull of the ship. The rest of it vaporized, apparently +into carbon dioxide and water." + +"Some kind of plastic?" hazarded one of the men. + +"Undoubtedly, if you want to use a catchall term like 'plastic'. But +what kind of plastic goes to pieces like that?" + +That rhetorical question was answered by a silence. + +"There's no doubt," said one of them after a moment, "that +circumstantial evidence alone would link the alien with the ship. But +have you any more conclusive evidence?" + +The hand moved, and the scene changed again. It was not a pretty scene. + +"That, as you can see, is a closeup of the late Wang Kulichenko, the +forest ranger who was the only man ever to see the alien ship before it +was destroyed. Notice the peculiar bruises on the cheek and ear--the +whole side of the head. The pattern is quite similar on the other side +of the head." + +"It looks--umm--rather like a handprint." + +"It is. Kulichenko was slapped--_hard!_--on both sides of his head. It +crushed his skull." There was an intake of breath. + +"This next picture--" The scene changed. "--shows the whole body. If +you'll look closely you'll see the same sort of prints on the ground +around it. All very much like handprints. And that ties in very well +with the photographs of the alien itself." + +"There's no doubt about it," said one of the others. "The connection is +definitely there." + +The lecturer's hand moved over the control panel again, and suddenly the +screen was filled with the image of an eight-limbed horror with four +glaring violet eyes. In spite of themselves, a couple of the men gasped. +They had seen photographs before, but a full-sized three-dimensional +color projection is something else again. + +"Until three weeks ago, we knew of no explanation for the peculiar +happenings in northern Asia. After eight months of investigation, we +found ourselves up against a blank wall. Nothing could account for that +peculiar fire nor for the queer circumstances surrounding the death of +the forest ranger. The investigators suspected an intelligent alien +life-form, but--well, the notion simply seemed too fantastic. Attempts +to trail the being by means of those peculiar 'footprints' failed. They +ended at a riverbank and apparently never came out again. We know now +that it swam downstream for over a hundred miles. Little wonder it got +away. + +"Even those investigators who suspected something non-human pictured the +being as humanoid, or, rather, anthropoid in form. The prints certainly +suggest those of an ape. There appeared to be four of them, judging by +the prints--although frequently there were only three and sometimes only +two. It all depended on how many of his 'feet' he felt like walking +on." + +"And then the whole herd of them dived into a river and never came up +again, eh?" remarked one of the listeners. + +"Exactly. You can see why the investigators kept the whole thing quiet. +Nothing more was seen, heard, or reported for eight months. + +"Then, three weeks ago, a non-vision phone call was received by the +secretary of the Board of Regents of the Khrushchev Memorial Psychiatric +Hospital in Leningrad. An odd, breathy voice, speaking very bad Russian, +offered a meeting. It was the alien. He managed to explain, in spite of +the language handicap, that he did not want to be mistaken for a wild +animal, as had happened with the forest ranger. + +"The secretary, Mr. Rogov, felt that the speaker was probably deranged, +but, as he said later, there was something about that voice that didn't +sound human. He said he would make arrangements, and asked the caller to +contact him again the next day. The alien agreed. Rogov then--" + +"Excuse me," one of the men interrupted apologetically, "but did he +learn Russian all by himself, or has it been established that someone +taught him the language?" + +"The evidence is that he learned it all by himself, from scratch, in +those eight months." + +"I see. Excuse my interruption. Go on." + +"Mr. Rogov was intrigued by the story he had heard. He decided to check +on it. He made a few phone calls, asking questions about a mysterious +crash in the paper forests, and the death of a forest ranger. Naturally +those who _did_ know were curious about how Mr. Rogov had learned so +much about the incident. He told them. + +"By the time the alien made his second call, a meeting had been +arranged. When he showed up, those of the Board who were still of the +opinion that the call had been made by a crank or a psychosis case +changed their minds very rapidly." + +"I can see why," murmured someone. + +"The alien's ability to use Russian is limited," the speaker continued. +"He picked up vocabulary and grammatical rules very rapidly, but he +seemed completely unable to use the language beyond discussion of +concrete objects and actions. His mind is evidently too alien to enable +him to do more than touch the edges of human communication. + +"For instance, he called himself 'Nipe' or 'Neep', but we don't know +whether that refers to him as an individual or as a member of his race. +Since Russian lacks both definite and indefinite articles, it is +possible that he was calling himself 'a Nipe' or 'the Nipe'. Certainly +that's the impression he gave. + +"In the discussions that followed, several peculiarities were noticed, +as you can read in detail in the reports that the Board and the +Government staff prepared. For instance, in discussing mathematics the +Nipe seemed to be completely at a loss. He apparently thought of +mathematics as a _spoken_ language rather than a _written_ one and could +not progress beyond simple diagrams. That's just one small example. I'm +just trying to give you a brief outline now; you can read the reports +for full information. + +"He refused to allow any physical tests on his body, and, short of +threatening him at gunpoint, there was no practicable way to force him +to accede to our wishes. Naturally, threats were out of the question." + +"Couldn't X rays have been taken surreptitiously?" asked one of the men. + +"It was discussed and rejected. We have no way of knowing what his +tolerance to radiation is, and we didn't want to harm him. The same +applies to using any anesthetic gas or drug to render him unconscious. +There was no way to study his metabolism without his co-operation +unless we were willing to risk killing him." + +"I see. Naturally we couldn't harm him." + +"Exactly. The Nipe had to be treated as an emissary from his home +world--wherever that may be. He has killed a man, yes. But that has to +be allowed as justifiable homicide in self-defense, since the forester +had drawn a gun and was ready to fire. Nobody can blame the late Wang +Kulichenko for that, but nobody can blame the Nipe, either." + +They all looked for a moment in silence at the violet eyes that gazed at +them from the screen. + +"For nearly three weeks," the speaker went on, "humans and Nipe tried to +arrive at a meeting of minds, and, just when it would seem that such a +meeting was within grasp, it would fade away into mist. It was only +three days ago that the Russian psychologists and psychiatrists realized +that the reason the Nipe had come to them was because he had thought +that the Board of Regents of the hospital was the ruling body of that +territory." + +Someone chuckled, but there was no humor in it. + +"Now we come to yesterday morning," said the speaker. "This is the +important part at this very moment, because it explains why I feel we +must immediately take steps to tell the public what has happened, why I +feel that it is necessary to put a man like Colonel Walther Mannheim in +charge of the Nipe affair and keep him in charge until the matter is +cleared up. Because the public is going to be scared witless if we don't +do something to reassure them." + +"What happened yesterday morning, Mr. President?" one of the men asked. + +"The Nipe got angry, lost his temper, went mad--whatever you want to +call it. At the morning meeting he simply became more and more +incomprehensible. The psychologists were trying to see if the Nipe had +any religious beliefs, and, if so, what they were. One of them, a Dr. +Valichek, was explaining the various religious sects and rites here on +Earth. Suddenly, with no warning whatever, the Nipe chopped at +Valichek's throat with an open-hand judo cut, killing him. He killed two +more men before he leaped out of the window and vanished. + +"No trace of him was found until late last night. He killed another man +in Leningrad--we have since discovered that it was for the purpose of +stealing his personal flyer. The Nipe could be anywhere on Earth by +now." + +"How was the man killed, Mr. President? With bare hands, as the others +were?" + +"We have no way of knowing. Identification of the body was made +difficult by the fact that every shred of flesh had been stripped away. +It had been gnawed--literally _eaten_--to the bone!" + + + + +_FIRST INTERLUDE_ + + +The big man with the tiny child on his shoulder pushed through the air +curtain that kept the warm humid air out of the shop. + +"There," he said to the little boy softly, turning his head to look up +into the round, chubby, smiling face. "There. Isn't that nicer, huh? +Isn't that better than that hot old air outside?" + +"Gleefle-ah," said the child with a grin. + +"Oh, come on, boy. I've heard you manage bigger words than that. Or is +it your brother?" He chuckled and headed toward the drug counter. + +"Hey, Jim!" + +The big man brought himself up short and turned--carefully, so as not to +jiggle the baby on his shoulder. When he saw the shorter, thinner man, +he grinned hugely. "Jinks! By God! Jinks! Watch it! Don't shake the hand +too hard or I'll drop this infant. God damn, man, I thought you were in +Siberia!" + +"I was, Jim, but a man can't stay in Siberia forever. Is that minuscule +lump of humanity your own?" + +"Yup, yup. So I've been led to believe. Say hello to your Uncle Jinks, +young 'un. C'mon, say hello." + +The child jammed the three fingers of his left hand into his mouth and +refused to say a word. His eyes widened with an unfathomable +baby-emotion. + +"Well, he's got your eyes," said the thinner man. "Fortunately, he's +going to look like his mother instead of being ugly. He _is_ a he, isn't +he?" + +"That's right. Mother's looks, father's plumbing. I got another just +like him, but his mother's taking the other one to the doctor to get rid +of the sniffles. Don't want this one to catch it." + +"Twins?" + +"Naw," said the big man sarcastically, "Octuplets. The Government took +seventy-five percent for taxes." + +"Ask a silly question, get a silly answer," the smaller man said +philosophically. + +"Yup. So how's the Great Northern Wasteland, Jinks?" + +"Cold," said Jinks, "but it's not going to be a wasteland much longer, +Jim. Those Martian trees are going to be a big business in fifteen +years. There'll be forests all over the tundra. They'll make a hell of a +fine income crop for those people. We've put in over five thousand +square miles in seedlings during the past five years. The first ones +will be ready to harvest in ten years, and from then on, it will be as +regular as clockwork." + +"That's great. Great. How long'll you be in town, Jinks?" + +"About a week. Then I've got to head back to Siberia." + +"Well, look, could you drop around some evening? We could kill off a few +bottles of beer after we eat one of Ellen's dinners. How about it?" + +"I'd love to. Sure Ellen won't mind?" + +"She'll be tickled pink to see you. How about Wednesday?" + +"Sure. I'm free Wednesday evening. But you ask Ellen first. I'll give +you a call tomorrow evening to make sure I won't get a chair thrown at +me when I come in the door." + +"Great! I'll let her do the inviting, then." + +"Look," Jinks said, "I've got half an hour or so right now. Let me buy +you a beer. Or don't you want to take the baby in?" + +"No, it's not that, but I've got to run. I just dropped in to get a +couple of things, then I have to get on out to the plant. Some piddling +little thing came up, and they want to talk to me about it." He patted +the baby's leg. "Nothing personal, pal," he said in a soft aside. + +"You taking the baby into an atomic synthesis plant?" Jinks asked. + +"Why not? It's safe as houses. You've still got the Holocaust Jitters, +my friend. He'll be safer there than at home. Besides, I can't just +leave him in a locker, can I?" + +"I guess not. Just don't let him get his genes irradiated," Jinks said, +grinning. "So long. I'll call tomorrow at twenty hundred." + +"Fine. See you then. So long." + +The big man adjusted the load on his shoulder and went on toward the +counter. + + + + +_[5]_ + + +Two-fifths of a second. That was all the time Bart Stanton had from the +first moment his supersensitive ears heard the first faint whisper of +metal against leather. + +He made good use of the time. + +The noise had come from behind and slightly to the left of him, so he +drew his left-hand weapon and spun to the left as he dropped to a +crouch. He had turned almost completely around, drawn his gun, and fired +three shots before the other man had even leveled his own weapon. + +The bullets from Stanton's gun made three round spots on the man's +jacket, almost touching each other, and directly over the heart. The man +blinked stupidly for a moment, looking down at the spots. + +"My God," he said softly. + +Then he returned his own weapon slowly to its holster. + +The big room was noisy. The three shots had merely added to the noise of +the gunfire that rattled intermittently around the two men. And even +that gunfire was only a part of the cacophony. The tortured molecules of +the air in the room were so besieged by the beat of drums, the blare of +trumpets, the crackle of lightning, the rumble of heavy machinery, the +squawks and shrieks of horns and whistles, the rustle of autumn leaves, +the machine-gun snap of popping popcorn, the clink and jingle of falling +coins, and the yelps, bellows, howls, roars, snarls, grunts, bleats, +moos, purrs, cackles, quacks, chirps, buzzes, and hisses of a myriad of +animals, that each molecule would have thought that it was being shoved +in a hundred thousand different directions at once if it had had a mind +to think with. + +The noise wasn't deafening, but it was certainly all-pervasive. + +Bart Stanton had reholstered his own weapon and half opened his lips to +speak when he heard another sound behind him. + +Again he whirled, his guns in his hands--both of them this time--and his +forefingers only fractions of a millimeter from the point that would +fire the hair triggers. + +But he did not fire. + +The second man had merely shifted the weapons in his holsters and then +dropped his hands away. + +The noise, which had been flooding the room over the speaker system, +died instantly. + +Stanton shoved his guns back into place and rose from his crouch. "Real +cute," he said, grinning. "I wasn't expecting that one." + +The man he was facing smiled back. "Well, Bart, perhaps we have proved +our point. What do you think, Colonel?" The last was addressed to the +third man, who was still standing quietly, looking worried and surprised +about the three spots on his jacket that had come from the special +harmless projectiles in Stanton's gun. + +Colonel Mannheim was four inches shorter than Stanton's five-ten, and +was fifteen years older. But in spite of the differences, he would have +laughed if anyone had told him five minutes before that he couldn't +outdraw a man who was standing with his back turned. + +His bright blue eyes, set deep beneath craggy brows in a tanned face, +looked speculatively at the younger man. + +"Incredible," he said gently. "Absolutely incredible." Then he looked at +the other man, a lean civilian with mild blue eyes a shade lighter than +his own. "All right, Farnsworth; I'm convinced. You and your staff have +quite literally created a superman. Anyone who can stand in a +noise-filled room and hear a man draw a gun twenty feet behind him is +incredible enough. The fact that he could and did outdraw and outshoot +me after I had started--well, that's almost beyond comprehension." + +He looked back at Bart Stanton. "What's your opinion? Do you think you +can handle the Nipe, Stanton?" + +Stanton paused imperceptibly before answering, while his ultrafast mind +considered the problem before arriving at a decision. Just how much +confidence should he show the colonel? Mannheim was a man with +tremendous confidence in his own abilities, but who was nevertheless +capable of recognizing that there were men who were his superiors in one +field or another. + +"If I can't dispose of the Nipe," Stanton said, "no one can." + +Colonel Mannheim nodded slowly. "I believe you're right," he said at +last. His voice was firm with inner conviction. He shot a glance at +Farnsworth. "How about the second man?" + +Farnsworth shook his head. "He'll never make it. In another two years we +can put him into reasonable shape again, but his nervous system just +couldn't stand the gaff." + +"Can we get another man ready in time?" + +"Hardly. We can't just pick a man up off the street and turn him into a +superman. Even if we could find another subject with Bart's genetic +possibilities, it would take more time than we have to spare." + +"No way at all of cutting the time down?" + +"This isn't magic, Colonel," Farnsworth said. "You don't change a nobody +into a physical and mental giant by saying _abracadabra_ or by teaching +him how to pronounce _shazam_ properly." + +"I'm aware of that," said the colonel without rancor. "It's just that I +keep feeling that five years of work on Mr. Stanton should have taught +you enough to be able to repeat the process in less time." + +Farnsworth repeated the head-shaking. "Human beings aren't machines, +Colonel. They require time to heal, time to learn, time to integrate +themselves. Remember that, in spite of our increased knowledge of +anesthesia, antibiotics, viricides, and obstetrics, it still takes nine +months to produce a baby. We're in the same position, if not more so. +After all, we can't even allow for a premature delivery." + +"I know," said Mannheim. + +"Besides," Dr. Farnsworth continued, "Stanton's body and nervous system +are now close to the theoretical limit for human tissue. I'm afraid you +don't realize what kind of mental stability and organization are +required to handle the equipment he has now." + +"I'm sure I don't," Colonel Mannheim agreed. "I doubt if anyone besides +Stanton himself _really_ knows." He looked at Bart Stanton. "That's it +then, son. You're it. You're the only answer we've found so far. And the +only answer visible in the foreseeable future to the problem posed by +the Nipe." + +The colonel's face seemed to darken. "Ten years," he said in a low +voice. "Ten years that inhuman monster has been loose on Earth. He's +become a legend. He's replaced Satan, the Bogeyman, Frankenstein's +monster, and Mumbo Jumbo, Lord of the Congo, in the public mind. Read +the newsfacs, watch the newscasts. Take a look at popular fiction. He's +everywhere at once. He can do anything. He's taken on the attributes of +the djinn, the vampire, the ghoul, the werewolf, and every other horror +and hobgoblin that the mind of man has conjured up in the past half +million years." + +"That's hardly surprising, Colonel," Bart Stanton said with a wry smile. +"If a human being had gone on a ten-year rampage of robbery and murder, +showing himself as callously indifferent to human life and property as +you and I would be to the life and property of a cockroach, and if, in +addition, he proved impossible to catch, such a person would be looked +upon as a demon too. And if you add to that the fact that the Nipe is +_not_ human, that he is as frightening in appearance as he is in +actions, what can you expect?" + +"I agree," said Dr. Farnsworth. "Look at Jack the Ripper and consider +how he terrorized London a couple of centuries ago." + +"I know," said Colonel Mannheim. "There have been human criminals whose +actions could be described as 'inhuman', but the Nipe has some touches +that few human criminals have thought of and almost none would have the +capacity to execute. If he has time to spare, his victims become an +annoying problem in identification when they're found. He leaves nothing +but well-gnawed bones. And by 'time to spare', I mean twenty or thirty +minutes. The damned monster has a very efficient digestive tract, if +nothing else. He eats like a shrew." + +"And if he doesn't have time, he beats them to death," Bart Stanton said +thoughtfully. + +Colonel Mannheim frowned. "Not exactly. According to the evidence--" + +Dr. Farnsworth interrupted him. "Colonel, let's go into the lounge, +shall we? Aside from the fact that standing around in an empty chamber +like this isn't the most comfortable way to discuss the fate of mankind, +this room is scheduled for other work." + +Colonel Mannheim grinned, caught up by the touch of lightness that the +biophysicist had injected into the conversation. "Very well. I could do +with some coffee, if you have some." + +"All you want," said Dr. Farnsworth, leading the way toward the door of +the chamber and opening it. "Or, if you'd prefer something with a little +more power to it...." + +"Thanks, no," said Mannheim. "Coffee will do fine. How about you, +Stanton?" + +Bart Stanton shook his head. "I'd love to have some coffee, but I'll +leave the alcohol alone. I'd just have the luck to be finishing a drink +when our friend, the Nipe, popped in on us. And when I do meet him, I'm +going to need every microsecond of reflex speed I can scrape up." + +They walked down a soft-floored, warmly lit corridor to an elevator +which whisked them up to the main level of the Neurophysical Institute +Building. + +Another corridor led them to a room that might have been the common room +of one of the more exclusive men's clubs. There were soft chairs and +shelves of books and reading tables and smoking stands, all quietly +luxurious. There was no one in the room when the three men entered. + +"We can have some privacy here," Dr. Farnsworth said. "None of the rest +of the staff will come in until we're through." + +He walked over to a table, where an urn of coffee radiated soft warmth. +"Cream and sugar over there on the tray," he said as he began to fill +cups. + +The cups were filled and the three men sat down in a triangle of chairs +before any of them spoke again. Then Bart Stanton said: + +"I made the remark that if the Nipe doesn't have time to eat his victims +he just beats them to death, and you started to say something, Colonel." + +Colonel Mannheim took a sip from his cup before he spoke. "Yes. I was +going to say that, according to the evidence we have, he _always_ beats +his victims to death, whether he manages to eat them or not." + +"Oh?" Stanton looked thoughtful. + +"Oh, he's not cruel about it," the colonel said. "He kills quickly and +neatly. The thing is that he never, under any circumstances, uses any +weapons except the weapons that nature gave him--hands or feet or claws +or teeth. He never uses a gun or a knife or even a club. Dr. Yoritomo +has some theories about that which I won't go into now. He'll tell you +about them pretty soon." + +Stanton thought about the Japanese scientist and smiled. "I know. Dr. +Yoritomo has threatened to tell me all kinds of theories." + +"And believe me he will," said Mannheim with a soft chuckle. He took +another sip of his coffee and then looked up at Stanton. "You've been +through five years of hell, Mr. Stanton. In addition, you've been pretty +much isolated here. Dr. Farnsworth, here, has tried to keep you +informed, but, as I understand it, it has only been during the last few +months that you've actually been able to absorb and retain information +reliably. At least, that's the report I get. How do you feel about it?" + +Bart Stanton thought for a moment. It was true that he'd been out of +touch with what had been going on outside the walls of the Neurophysical +Institute for the past five years. In spite of the reading he'd done and +the newscasts he'd watched and the TV tapes he'd seen, he still had no +real feeling for the situation. + +There had been long hazy periods during that five years. He had +undergone extensive glandular and neural operations of great delicacy, +many of which had resulted in what could have been agonizing pain +without the use of suppressors. As a result of those operations, he +possessed a biological engine that, for sheer driving power and nicety +of control, surpassed any other known to exist or to have ever existed +on Earth--with the possible exception of the Nipe. But those five years +of rebuilding and retraining had left a gap in his life. + +Several of the steps required to make the conversion from man to +superman had resulted in temporary insanity; the wild, swinging +imbalances of glandular secretions seeking a new balance, the erratic +misfirings of neurons as they attempted to adjust to higher +nerve-impulse velocities, and the sheer fatigue engendered by cells that +were acting too rapidly for a lagging excretory system, all had +contributed to periods of greater or lesser abnormality. + +That he was sane now, there was no question. But there were holes in his +memory that still had to be filled. + +He admitted as much to Colonel Mannheim. + +"I see." The colonel rubbed one hand along the angle of his jaw, +considering his next words. "Can you give me, in your own words, a +general summary of the type of thing the Nipe has been doing?" + +"I think so," Stanton said. + +His verbal summary was succinct and accurate. The loot that the Nipe had +been stealing had, at first, seemed to be a hodgepodge of everything. It +was unpredictable. Money, as such, he apparently had no use for. He had +taken gold, silver, and platinum, but one raid for each of these +elements had evidently been enough, with the exception of silver, which +had required three raids over a period of four years. Since then, he +hadn't touched silver again. + +He hadn't yet tried for any of the radioactives except radium. He'd +taken a full ounce of that in five raids, but hadn't attempted to get +his hands on uranium, thorium, plutonium, or any of the other elements +normally associated with atomic energy. Nor had he tried to steal any of +the fusion materials--the heavy isotopes of hydrogen or any of the +lithium isotopes. Beryllium had been taken, but whether there was any +significance in the thefts or not, no one knew. + +There was a pattern in the thefts and robberies, nonetheless. They had +begun small and had increased. Scientific and technical +instruments--oscilloscopes, X-ray generators, radar equipment, maser +sets, dynostatic crystals, thermolight resonators, and so on--were +stolen complete or gutted for various parts. After a while, he had gone +on to bigger things--whole aircraft, with their crews, had vanished. + +That he had not committed anywhere near all the crimes that had been +attributed to him was certain; that he _had_ committed a great many of +them was equally certain. + +There was no doubt at all that his loot was being used to make +instruments and devices of unknown kinds. He had used several of them on +his raids. The one that could apparently phase out any electromagnetic +frequency up to about a hundred thousand megacycles--including +sixty-cycle power frequencies--was considered a particularly cute item. +So was the gadget that reduced the tensile strength of concrete to about +that of a good grade of marshmallow. + +After he had been operating for a few years, there was no installation +on Earth that could be considered Nipe-proof for more than a few +minutes. He struck when and where he wanted and took whatever he needed. + +It was manifestly impossible to guard against the Nipe, since no one +knew what sort of loot might strike his fancy next, and there was +therefore no way of knowing where or how he would hit next. + +Nor could he ever be found after one of his raids. They were plotted and +followed through with diabolical accuracy and thoroughness. He struck, +looted, and vanished. And he wasn't seen again until his next strike. + +Colonel Mannheim, who had carefully puffed a cigar alight and smoked it +thoughtfully during Stanton's recitation, dropped the remains of the +cigar into an ash receptacle. "Accurate but incomplete," he said +quietly. "You must have made some guesses. I'd like to hear them." + +Stanton finished the last of his coffee and glanced at Dr. Farnsworth. +The biophysicist was thoughtfully looking down at his own cup, his +expression unreadable. + +_All right_, Stanton thought, _he's looking for something. I'll let him +have both barrels and see if I hit the target_. + +"I've thought about it," he admitted. He got up, went over to the coffee +urn, and refilled his cup. "I've got a pet theory of my own. It's just a +notion, really. I wouldn't dare reduce it to syllogistic form, because +it might not hold much water, logically speaking. But the evidence seems +conclusive enough to me." + +He walked back to his seat. Colonel Mannheim was watching him, a look of +interest on his face, but he said nothing. + +"To me," Stanton said, "it seems incredible that the combined +intelligence and organizational ability of the UN Government is +incapable of finding anything out about one single alien, no matter how +competent he may be. Somehow, somewhere, someone must have gotten a line +on the Nipe. He must have a base for his operations, and someone should +have found it by this time. + +"I may be faster and stronger and more sensitive than any other living +human being, but that doesn't mean I have superhuman powers, or that I'm +a magician. And I'm quite certain that you, Colonel, don't credit me +with such abilities. You don't believe that I can do in a short time +what the combined forces of the Government couldn't do in ten. Certainly +you wouldn't rely too heavily on it. + +"And yet, apparently, you are. + +"To me, that can only mean that you have another ace up your sleeve. You +_know_ we're going to get the Nipe fairly quickly. You either have a +sure way of tracing him, or you already know where he is. + +"Which is it?" + +Colonel Mannheim sighed. "We know where he is," he said. "We have known +for six years." + + + + +_[6]_ + + +The Nipe prowled around the huge underground room, carefully checking +his alarms. If anyone entered the network of tunnels at any point, the +instruments would register that fact. They had to be adjusted, of +course, for the presence of the small, omnivorous quadrupeds that ran +through the tunnels in such numbers, but anything larger than they would +be noted immediately. + +He did not like to leave this place. Here, over a period of ten +revolutions of this planet about its primary, he had built himself a +nest that was almost comfortable. Here, too, were his workshops and his +storehouses. He had reason to believe that he was safe here, screened +and protected as he was, but each time he left or entered he ran the +chance of being observed. + +Still, there was no help for it. Thus far, he had been hampered by +technical problems. There were things he needed that he could not make +for himself. Even his own vast memory, with its every bit of information +instantly available, could only contain what had been acquired over a +lifetime, and even his long life had not been long enough to acquire +every bit of knowledge he needed. + +His work had been long and tedious. There were many things that could +neither be made in his workshops nor obtained from the natives, things +he did not know how to make and which the local species had not yet +evolved in their own technology. Or, more likely, which had not been +allowed them. In such cases, he had had to make do with other, lesser +techniques, which added to the complexity of his job. + +But now another problem had intruded itself into his schedule. + +He had a name. Colonel Walther Mannheim. The meaning of the verbal +symbolism was unknown to him. The patterns of the symbolism were even +more evasive than the patterns of the language itself. "Colonel" seemed +simple enough. It indicated a certain sociomilitary class that was +rigidly defined in one way and very hazy in another. But the meanings +and relationships of both "Walther" and "Mannheim" were beyond him. What +difference, for instance, was there between a "Walther" and a "William"? +Did a "Mannheim" outrank a "Mandeville", or the other way around? What +functions differentiated a "John Smith" from a "Peter Taylor"? He knew +what a "john" was and what a "smith" was, but "John Smith" was not, +apparently, necessarily associated with sanitary plumbing. The meaning +of some other names eluded him entirely. + +But that made little difference at the moment. The meaning of Colonel +Walther Mannheim's symbolic nomenclature was secondary in comparison +with his known function. + +That required that the Nipe must eventually find and confront Colonel +Walther Mannheim. + +It meant time lost, of course. It meant that precious time, which should +be given to building his communicator, must be given over to what was +merely a protective action. + +But there was nothing to do but go on. It would never have occurred to +the Nipe to give up, for to quit meant to die. And to die--here, +now--was unthinkable. + +His alarms were all functioning, his defenses all set. He could now +leave his hideaway knowing that if it were broken into while he was away +he would be warned in time. But he had no real fear of that. He had done +everything he could do. And no intelligent creature, to the Nipe's way +of thinking, would waste time worrying about a situation he could not +improve upon. + +Taking with him the equipment he needed for the job he had to do, he +entered the tunnel that ran southward from his base of operations. Once, +as he moved along, one of the little quadrupeds approached him, its +teeth bared. With an almost negligent flip of one powerful, superfast +hand, he slammed it against a nearby wall. It dropped and lay still. +Another of its kind approached it cautiously. The Nipe noticed the +approach with approval. The quadrupeds had no real intelligence, but +they had the proper instincts. + +At last the Nipe came to another of the many places where the tunnels +met with others of the network. He crossed through several rooms, all +very large and cluttered with the dusty, long-dead bones of hundreds of +the local intelligent life-form--if (and he was not sure in his own mind +of this) they could actually be called intelligent. But he moved +carefully, stepping over the human bones and the empty, staring skulls. +They had apparently been properly devoured, although he could not be +sure whether it had been done by their own kind or by the little +quadrupeds. Nonetheless, he would not willingly disturb their repose. + +He went on into the tunnel that led westward and followed it as it began +to angle down. Finally he came to the water's edge. + +To a human being, the cold expanse of water that gleamed like ink in the +light of the Nipe's illuminator would have been a barricade as +impenetrable as steel. But to the Nipe the tidal pool was simply another +of his defenses, for it concealed the only entrance he ever used. He +went in after adjusting his scuba mask and began swimming toward the +opening that led to the estuary of the sea, his eight strong limbs +working in unison in a way that would have been the envy of a rowing +team. + +At the jagged hole in the tunnel wall, the gap that led into open water, +he paused to check his instruments. Only after he was certain that there +were no sonar or other detector radiations did he propel himself onward, +out into the estuary itself. + +An hour later, he was warily circling the spot where his little +submarine was hidden. He pressed a button on a small device in his hand, +and a signal was sent to the submarine. The various devices within it +all responded properly. Nothing had been disturbed since the Nipe had +set those devices weeks before. + +This was the touchiest part of any of his expeditions. There was always +the chance, unlikely as it might be, that some one of the bipedal +natives had found his machine. He dared not use it too close to his base +because of the possibility of its drive vibrations being detected in the +narrow estuary. Out here in the open sea there was far less likelihood +of that, but leaving his submarine concealed out here increased the +danger he exposed himself to every time he left his hidden nest. + +Satisfied that the machine was just as he had left it, he entered it and +started its engines. He moved slowly and cautiously until he was well +out to sea, well away from the continental shelf and over the ocean +deeps. Then and only then did he accelerate to full cruising speed. + + * * * * * + +The full moon was in the west, hiding behind an array of low, scudding +clouds, revealing its radiance in fitful bursts of silvery splendor that +died again as another clotted cloud moved before the face of the white +disk. The shifting light, shining through the breeze-tossed leaves of +the palm trees on the beach below, made strange shadows on the sand, +ever-changing patterns of gray and black on a background of white, +moonlit sand. + +But the strangest shadow of all was one that did not change as the +others did--a great centipede-like shape that seemed to wash slowly +ashore on the receding tide. For a short while, it remained at the +water's edge, apparently unmoving in the wash of the waves. + +Then, keeping low and balancing himself on his third pair of limbs, the +Nipe moved in across the beach. The specially constructed sandals he +wore left behind them a set of very human-looking footprints--prints +that would remain unnoticed among the myriad of others that were already +on the beach, left there by daytime bathers. + +It required more time yet to reach the city, and still more time to find +the place he was looking for. It was almost dawn before he managed to +find a storm sewer in which to hide for the day. + +It was partly his difficulty in finding a given spot in a city--almost +any city--that had convinced the Nipe that the pseudo-intelligence of +the bipeds of this planet could not really be called true intelligence. +There was no standardized method of orienting oneself in a city. Not +only were no two cities alike in their orientation systems, but the same +city would often vary from section to section. Their co-ordinate systems +meant almost nothing. Part of a given co-ordinate might be a number, and +the rest of it a name, but the meanings of the numbers and names were +never the same. It was as though some really intelligent outside agency +had given them the basic idea of a co-ordinate system, and they, not +having the intelligence to use it properly, had simply jumbled the whole +thing up. + +That the natives themselves had no real understanding of any such system +had long been apparent to him. The dwellers in any one area would +naturally be familiar with it; they would know where each place was, +regardless of what meaningless names and numbers might be attached to +it. But strangers to that area would not know, and could not know. The +only thing they could possibly do would be to ask directions of a local +citizen--which, the Nipe had learned, was exactly what they did. + +Unfortunately, it was not that simple for the Nipe. There was no way for +him to walk up to a native and inquire for an address. He had to prowl +unseen through the alleys and sewers of a city, picking up a name here, +a number there, by eavesdropping on street conversations. He had found +that every city contained certain uniformed individuals whose duty it +was to direct strangers, and by focusing a directional microphone on +such men and listening, it was possible to glean little bits of +knowledge that could eventually be co-ordinated into a whole +understanding of the city's layout. It was a time-consuming process, but +it was the only way the job could be done. Reconnaissance took a +tremendous amount of time away from his serious work, but that work +could not proceed without materials to work with, and to get those +materials required reconnaissance. The dilemma was unavoidable. + +And, being what he was, the Nipe accepted the unavoidable and pursued +his course with phlegmatic equanimity. + +Overhead, the city was beginning to waken. The volume of sound began to +increase. + + * * * * * + +Police Patrolman John Flanders relieved his fellow officer, Patrolman +Fred Pilsudski, at a few minutes of eight in the morning. + +It was a beautiful day, even for Miami. In the east, the morning sun +shone brightly through the hard, transparent pressure glass that covered +the street, making the smooth, resilient surface of the street itself +glow with warm light. Overhead, Patrolman Flanders could see the aircars +in their incessant motion--apparently random, unless one knew what the +traffic pattern was and how to look for it. It was Patrolman Flanders' +immediate ambition to be promoted to traffic patrol, so that he could be +in an aircar above the city instead of watching pedestrians down here on +the streets. + +"Morning, Fred," he said to his brother officer. "How'd the night go?" + +"Hi, Johnny. Pretty good. Not much excitement." He looked at his +wristwatch. "You're a couple minutes early yet." + +"Yeah. The baby started singing for his breakfast at a God-awful hour. +Harriet woke up to feed him, which woke me up, so here I am. If you want +to give me the call button, I'll take over. You can go get yourself a +cup of coffee." + +"I'm up to here with coffee," Pilsudski said, indicating a point just +below his left ear. "I'll have a beer instead." + +He touched a switch at his belt and said: "Area 37 HQ, this is 13392 +Pilsudski." + +A voice in his helmet phones said: "37 HQ, go ahead, Pilsudski." + +"Time: 0758 hours. I am being relieved by 14278 Flanders." + +"Right. Go ahead." + +Pilsudski took off the light, strong helmet, reached inside it, opened a +small sliding panel, and took out an object the size and shape of an +aspirin tablet--the sealed unit that permitted him to understand the +conversation over the police wave band. Without it, the police calls +would have been gibberish. + +Flanders accepted the little gadget from the other officer and inserted +it in his own helmet. Then he replaced the helmet on his head. "Area 37 +HQ, this is 14278 Flanders. I am relieving 13392 Pilsudski." + +"37 HQ," said the voice in his ears. "Okay, Flanders. Transfer +recorded." + +Police Patrolman John Flanders, Badge Number 14278, was now officially +on duty. + +He looked up into the sky. "Now there's the place to be on a day like +this, Fred. Traffic patrol." + +"Not me," said Pilsudski. "Too damn dull. I was on it for six months. +Damn near drove me nuts. Nobody to talk to but another cop--same cop, +day after day. He was a nice guy, don't get me wrong, but Christ! +Nothin' to do but watch for people breakin' traffic pattern. Can't even +pull over to the side and watch the traffic go by. It's dull, I'm +tellin' you, Johnny. I asked for a transfer back to a beat so's I could +see some people again." + +"Maybe," said Flanders. "I'd still like to try it." + +"Ever'body to their own taste, I guess. Mitchell and Warber were in luck +last night, though. Excitement." He sounded as though he meant the word +to be sarcastic. + +"What happened?" Flanders asked. + +"Some boob was having a fight with his wife and his air intake was +goofing off at the same time. So, while she's yelling at him, he puts +his aircar on hover." He pointed upward. "Right up there, in Level Two. +He opens the window of his aircar, mind you. His air intake ain't +workin', like I said. Mitchell, in Car 87, spots him and heads for him, +figuring there's trouble." + +"But no trouble?" asked Flanders. + +"Trouble enough. The driver's old lady throws a wrench at him, an' it +goes out the window." He chuckled. "First I heard about it was when that +damn wrench comes down and bounces off the pressure glass, then up to +the side of the building there, and back to the pressure glass. Then it +slides off into the rain gutter." + +Flanders looked up at the curve of hard, tough, almost invisible +pressure glass that covered the street. "With all the cars overhead that +we got in this city," Flanders said philosophically, "something like +that's bound to happen every so often. That's why that glass is up +there, besides for keepin' the rain off your head." + +"Yeah," Pilsudski said. "Anyway, Mitchell and Warber got there just as +she tossed the wrench. Arrested both of 'em. Now, wasn't that exciting?" + +Flanders grinned. "Fred, if the rest of their tour of duty was as dull +as you say it was, then I reckon that must have been real exciting." + +"Hah." Pilsudski shrugged. "Well, I'm for that beer. See you tomorrow, +Johnny." + +"Right. Take care o' yourself." + +As Pilsudski walked away, Flanders put his hands behind his back, +grasping the left in the right. He spread his feet slightly apart. In +that time-honored position of the foot patrolman, he surveyed his beat, +up and down both sides of the street. Everything looked perfectly +normal. Another working day had begun. + +He had no idea that he was standing only a few yards from the most hated +and feared killer on the face of the Earth. + +The only clue that he could possibly have had to that killer's presence +was a small ovoid the size and shape of a match head, a dark, dull gray +in color, which protruded slightly from a sewer grating six feet away, +supported on a hair-thin stalk. In one end was a tiny dark opening, and +that opening was pointed directly at Officer Flanders' head. When he +began walking slowly down the street, the little ovoid moved, turning +slowly on its stalk to keep that dark hole pointed steadily. It was so +small, that ovoid, and so inconspicuous, that no one, even looking +directly at it, would have noticed it. + +The Nipe could see and hear without being either seen or heard himself. + +All morning long the tiny ovoid remained in place, watching, listening. + +At 11:24 a woman in a cherry-pink dress walked up to Officer Flanders +and said: "Pardon me, Officer. Could you tell me where I could find the +Donahue Building?" + +And while the policeman told her, the Nipe listened carefully. Now he +knew what street he was on and its location in respect to two other +streets. He also had a number. He remembered them all, accurately and +completely. It was a good beginning, he decided. It would not be too +long before he would have enough to enable him to locate the address he +was looking for. After that, there would only remain the job of +observing and making plans to get what he wanted at that address. + +He settled himself to wait for more information. He knew that it would +be a long wait. + +But he was prepared for that. + + + + +_SECOND INTERLUDE_ + + +The woman's eyes were filled with tears, for which the doctor was +privately thankful. At least, he thought to himself, the original shock +has worn off. + +"And there's nothing we can do?" she asked. "Nothing?" There was anguish +in her voice. + +"I'm afraid not," the doctor told her gently. "Not yet. There are +research men working on the problem, and one day ... perhaps ..." Then +he shook his head. "But not yet." He paused. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stanton." + +The woman sat there in the comfortable chair and looked at the +specialist's diploma on the doctor's wall--and yet, she really didn't +see the diploma at all. She was seeing something else--a kind of dream +that had been shattered. + +After a moment, she began to speak, her voice low and gentle, as though +the dream were still going on and she were half afraid she might waken +herself if she spoke too loudly. + +"Jim and I were so glad they were twins. Identical twin boys. He said +... I remember, he said, 'We ought to call them Ike and Mike.' And he +laughed a little when he said it, to show he didn't mean it." + +The doctor said nothing, waiting for her to go on. + +"I remember, I was propped up in the bed, the afternoon after they were +born, and Jim brought me a new bed jacket, and I said I didn't need a +new one because I'd be going right home the very next day, and he said, +'Hell, kid, you don't think I'd buy a bed jacket just for hospital use, +now do you? This is for breakfasts in bed, too.' + +"And that's when he said he'd seen the boys and said we ought to name +them Ike and Mike." + +The tears were coming down Mrs. Stanton's cheeks heavily now, and the +grief made her look older than her twenty-four years, but the doctor +said nothing, letting her spill out her emotions in words. + +"We'd talked about it before, you know--soon as the obstetrician found +out that I was going to have twins. And Jim ... Jim said that we +shouldn't name them alike unless they were identical twins or mirror +twins. If they were fraternal twins, we'd just name them as if they'd +been ordinary brothers or sisters or whatever. You know?" She looked at +the doctor, her eyes pleading for understanding. + +"I know," he said. + +"And Jim was always kidding. If they were girls, he said, we ought to +call them Flora and Dora, or Annie and Fanny, or maybe Susie and +Floozie. He was always kidding about it. You know?" + +"I know," said the doctor. + +"And then ... and then when they _were_ identical boys, he was very +sensible about it. He was always so sensible. 'We'll call them Martin +and Bartholomew,' he said. 'Then if they want to call themselves Mart +and Bart, they can, but they won't be stuck with any rhyming names if +they don't want them.' Jim was always very thoughtful that way, Doctor. +Very thoughtful." + +She seemed suddenly to realize that she was crying and took a +handkerchief out of her sleeve to dab at her eyes and face. + +"I'll have to quit crying," she said, trying to sound very brave and +very strong. "After all, it could have been worse, couldn't it? I mean, +the radiation could have killed my boy, too. Jim's dead, yes, and I've +got to get used to that. But I still have two boys to take care of, and +they'll need me." + +"Yes, Mrs. Stanton, they will," said the doctor. "They'll both need you +very much. And you'll have to be very gentle and very careful with both +of them." + +"How ... how do you mean that?" she asked. + +The doctor settled back in his chair and chose his words carefully. +"Identical twins tend to identify with each other, Mrs. Stanton. There +is a great deal of empathy between people who are not only of the same +age, but genetically identical. If they were both completely healthy, +there would normally be very little trouble in their education at home +or in school. Any of the standard texts on psychodynamics in education +will show you the pitfalls to avoid when dealing with identical +siblings. + +"But your sons are no longer identical, Mrs. Stanton. One is normal, +healthy, and lively. The other is ... well, as you know, he is slow, +sluggish, and badly co-ordinated. The condition may improve with time, +but, until we know more about such damage than we do now, he will remain +an invalid." + +He had been watching her for further signs of emotional upset. But she +seemed to be listening calmly enough. He went on. + +"That's the trouble with radiation damage, Mrs. Stanton. Even when we +can save the victim's life, we cannot always save his health. + +"You can see, I think, what sort of psychic disturbances this might +bring about in such a pair. The ill boy tends to identify with the well +one, and, oddly enough, the reverse is also true. If they are not +properly handled during their formative years, Mrs. Stanton, both can be +badly damaged emotionally." + +"I ... I think I understand, Doctor," the young woman said. "But what +sort of thing should I look out for? What sort of things should I +avoid?" + +"First off, I suggest you get a good man in psychic development," the +doctor said. "I, myself, would hesitate to prescribe. It's out of my +field. But I can say that, in general, most of your trouble will be +caused by a tendency for the pair to swing into one of two extremes. + +"At one extreme, you will have mutual antagonism. This arises when the +ill child becomes jealous of the other's health, while, on the other +hand, the healthy one becomes jealous of the extra consideration that is +shown to his crippled brother. + +"At the other extreme, the healthy boy may identify so closely with his +brother that he feels every slight or hurt, real or imagined, which the +ill boy is subjected to. He becomes extremely over-solicitous, +over-protective. At the same time, the invalid brother may come to +depend completely on his healthy twin. + +"In both these situations there is a positive feedback that constantly +worsens the condition. It requires a great deal of careful observation +and careful application of the proper educational stimuli to keep the +situation from developing toward either extreme. You'll need expert help +if you want both boys to display the full abilities of which they are +potentially capable." + +"I see," the woman said. "Could you give me the name of a good man, +Doctor?" + +The doctor nodded and picked up a book on his desk. "I'll give you the +names of several. You can pick the one you like best, the one with whom +you seem to be most comfortable. Try several or all of them before you +decide. They're all good men. There are many good women in the field, +too, but in this case I think a man would be best. Of course, if one of +them thinks a woman is indicated, that's up to him. As I said, that +isn't my field." + +He opened the small book and riffled through it to find the names he +wanted. + + + + +_[7]_ + + +The image of the Nipe on the glowing screen was clear and finely +detailed. It was, Stanton thought, as though one were looking through a +window into the Nipe's nest itself. Only the tremendous depth of focus +of the lens that had caught the picture gave the illusion a feeling of +unreality. Everything--background and foreground alike--was sharply in +focus. + +Like some horrendous dream monster, the Nipe moved in slow motion, +giving Stanton the eerie feeling that the alien was moving through a +thicker, heavier medium than air, in a place where the gravity was much +less than that of Earth. With ponderous deliberation, the fingers of one +of his hands closed upon the handle of an oddly shaped tool and lifted +it slowly from the surface upon which he worked. + +"That's our best-placed camera," said Colonel Mannheim, "but some of the +others can always get details that this one doesn't. The trouble is +that we'll never really have enough cameras in there--not unless we stud +the walls, ceilings, and floors with them, and even then I'm not so sure +we'd get everything. It isn't the same as having a trained expert on +camera who is _trying_ to demonstrate what he's doing. An expert plays +to the camera and never obstructs any of his own movements. But the +Nipe ..." He left the sentence unfinished and shook his head sadly. + +Stanton narrowed his eyes at the image. To his own speeded-up perceptive +processes, the motion seemed intolerably slow. "Would you mind speeding +it up a little?" he asked the colonel. "I want to get an idea of the way +he moves, and I can't really get the feeling of it at this speed." + +"Certainly." The colonel turned to the technician at the controls. +"Speed the tape up to normal. If there's anything Mr. Stanton wants to +look at more closely, we can run it through again." + +As if in obedience to the colonel's command, the Nipe seemed to shake +himself a little and go about his business more briskly, and the air and +gravity seemed to revert to those of Earth. + +"What's he doing?" Stanton asked. The Nipe was performing some sort of +operation on an odd-looking box that sat on the floor in front of him. + +The colonel pointed. "He's got a screwdriver that he's modified to give +it a head with an L-shaped cross section, and he's wiggling it around +inside that hole in the box. But what he's doing is a secret between God +and the Nipe at this point," Colonel Mannheim said glumly. + +Stanton glanced away from the screen for a moment to look at the other +men who were there. Some of them were watching the screen, but most of +them seemed to be watching Stanton, although they looked away as soon as +they saw his eyes on them. All, that is, except Dr. George Yoritomo, +who simply gave him a smile of confidence. + +_Trying to see what kind of a bloke this touted superman is_, Stanton +thought. _Well, I can't say I blame 'em._ + +He brought his attention back to the screen. + +So this was the Nipe's hideaway. He wondered if it were furnished in the +fashion that a Nipe's living quarters would be furnished on whatever +planet the multilegged horror had come from. Probably it had the same +similarity as Robinson Crusoe's island home had to a middle-class +nineteenth-century English home. + +There was no furniture in it at all, as such. Low-slung as he was, the +Nipe needed no tables or workbenches; all his work was spread out on the +floor, with a neatness and tidiness that would have surprised many human +technicians. For the same reason, he needed no chairs, and, since true +sleep was a form of metabolic rest he evidently found unnecessary, he +needed no bed. The closest thing he did that might be called sleep was +his habit of stopping whatever he was doing and remaining quiet for +periods of time that ranged from a few minutes to a couple of hours. +Sometimes his eyes remained opened during these periods, sometimes they +were closed. It was difficult to tell whether he was sleeping or just +thinking. + +"The difficulty was in getting cameras in there in the first place," +Colonel Mannheim was saying. "That's why we missed so much of his early +work. There! Look at that!" His finger jabbed at the image. + +"The attachment he's making?" + +"That's right. Now, it looks as though it's a meter of some kind, but we +don't know whether it's a test instrument or an integral and necessary +part of the machine he's making. The whole machine might even be only a +test instrument for something else he's building. Or perhaps a machine +to make parts for some other machine. After all, he had to start out +from the very beginning--making the tools to make the tools to make the +tools, you know." + +Dr. Yoritomo spoke for the first time. "It's not quite as bad as all +that, eh, Colonel? We must remember that he had our technology to draw +upon. If he'd been wrecked on Earth two or three centuries ago, he +wouldn't have been able to do a thing." + +Colonel Mannheim smiled at the tall, lean man. "Granted," he said +agreeably, "but it's quite obvious that there are parts of our +technology that are just as alien to him as parts of his are to us. +Remember how he went to all the trouble of building a pentode vacuum +tube for a job that could have been done by transistors he already had +had a chance to get and didn't. His knowledge of solid-state physics +seems to be about a century and a half behind ours." + +Stanton listened. Dr. Yoritomo was, in effect, one of his training +instructors. _Advanced Alien Psychology_, Stanton thought; _Seminar +Course. The Mental Whys & Wherefores of the Nipe, or How to Outthink the +Enemy in Twelve Dozen Easy Lessons. Instructor: Dr. George Yoritomo._ + +The smile on Yoritomo's face was beatific, but he held up a warning +finger. "Ah, ah, Colonel! We mustn't fall into a trap like that so +easily. Remember that gimmick he built last year? The one that blinded +those people in Baghdad? It had five perfect emeralds in it, connected +in series with silver wire. Eh?" + +"That's true," the colonel admitted. "But they weren't used the way we'd +use semiconducting materials." + +"Indeed not. But the thing _worked_, didn't it? He has a knowledge of +solid-state physics that we don't have, and vice versa." + +"Which one would you say was ahead of the other?" Stanton asked. "I +don't mean just in solid-state physics, but in science as a whole." + +"That's a difficult question to answer," Dr. Yoritomo said thoughtfully. +"Frankly, I'd put my money on his technology as encompassing more than +ours--at least, insofar as the physical sciences are concerned." + +"I agree," said Colonel Mannheim. "He's got things in that little nest +of his that--" He stopped and shook his head slowly, as though he +couldn't find words. + +"I will say this," Yoritomo continued. "Whatever his great technological +abilities, our friend the Nipe has plenty of good, solid guts. And +patience." He smiled a little, and then amended his statement. "From our +own point of view." + +Stanton looked at him quizzically. "How do you mean? I was just about to +agree with you until you tacked that last phrase on. What does point of +view have to do with it?" + +"Everything, I should say," said Yoritomo. "It all depends on the +equipment an individual has. A man, for instance, who rushes into a +building to save a life, wearing nothing but street clothes, has +courage. A man who does the same thing when he's wearing a nullotherm +suit is an unknown quantity. There is no way of knowing, from that +action alone, whether he has courage or not." + +Stanton thought he saw what the scientist was driving at. "But you're +not talking about technological equipment now," he said. + +"Not at all. I'm talking about personal equipment." He turned his head +slightly to look at the colonel. "Colonel Mannheim, do you think it +would require any personal courage on Mr. Stanton's part to stand up +against you in a face-to-face gunfight?" + +The colonel grinned tightly. "I see what you mean." + +Stanton grinned back rather wryly. "So do I. No, it wouldn't." + +"On the other hand," Yoritomo continued, "if you were to challenge Mr. +Stanton, would that show courage on your part, Colonel?" + +"Not really. Foolhardiness, stupidity or insanity--but not courage." + +"Ah, then," said Yoritomo with a beaming smile, "neither of you can +prove you have guts enough to fight the other. Can you?" + +Mannheim smiled grimly and said nothing. But Stanton was thinking the +whole thing out very carefully. "Just a second," he said. "That depends +on the circumstances. If Colonel Mannheim, say, knew that forcing me to +shoot him would save the life of someone more important than +himself--or, perhaps, the lives of a great many people--what then?" + +Yoritomo bowed his head in a quick nod. "Exactly. That is what I meant +by viewpoint. Whether the Nipe has courage or patience or any other +human feeling depends on two things: his own abilities and exactly how +much information he has. A man can perform any action without fear if he +knows that it will not hurt him--or if he does _not_ know that it +_will_." + +Stanton thought that over in silence. + +The image of the Nipe was no longer moving. He had settled down into his +"sleeping position"--unmoving, although the baleful violet eyes were +still open. "Cut that off," Colonel Mannheim said to the operator. +"There's not much to learn from the rest of that tape." + +As the image blanked out, Stanton said, "Have you actually managed to +build any of the devices he's constructed, Colonel?" + +"Some," said Colonel Mannheim. "We have specialists all over the world +studying those tapes. We have the advantage of being able to watch every +step the Nipe makes, and we know the materials he's been using to work +with. But, even so, the scientists are baffled by many of them. Can you +imagine the time James Clerk Maxwell would have had trying to build a +modern television set from tapes like this?" + +"I can imagine," Stanton said. + +"You can see, then, why we're depending on you," Mannheim said. + +Stanton merely nodded. The knowledge that he was actually a focal point +in human history, that the whole future of the human race depended to a +tremendous extent on him, was a realization that weighed heavily and, at +the same time, was immensely bracing. + +"And now," the colonel said, "I'll turn you over to Dr. Yoritomo. He'll +be able to give you a great deal more information than I can." + + + + +_[8]_ + + +The girl moved with the peculiar gliding walk so characteristic of a +person walking under low-gravity conditions, and the ease and grace with +which she did it showed that she was no stranger to low-gee. To the +three men from Earth who followed her a few paces behind, the gee-pull +seemed so low as to be almost nonexistent, although it was actually a +shade over one quarter of that of Earth, the highest gravitational pull +of any planetoid in the Belt. Their faint feeling of nausea was due +simply to their lack of experience with _really_ low gravity--the +largest planetoid in the Belt had a surface gravity that was only one +eighth of the pull they were now experiencing, and only one +thirty-second of the Earth gravity they were used to. + +The planetoid they were on--or rather, _in_--was known throughout the +Belt simply as Threadneedle Street, and was nowhere near as large as +Ceres. What accounted for the relatively high gravity pull of this tiny +body was its spin. Moving in its orbit, out beyond the orbit of Mars, it +turned fairly rapidly on its axis--rapidly enough to overcome the feeble +gravitational field of its mass. It was a solid, roughly spherical mass +of nickel-iron, nearly two thirds of a mile in diameter and, like the +other inhabited planetoids of the Belt, honeycombed with corridors and +rooms cut out of the living metal itself. But the corridors and rooms +were oriented differently from those of the other planetoids; +Threadneedle Street made one complete rotation about its axis in +something less than a minute and a half, and the resulting centrifugal +force reversed the normal "up" and "down", so that the center of the +planetoid was overhead to anyone walking inside it. It was that fact +which added to the queasiness of the three men from Earth who were +following the girl down the corridor. They knew that only a few floors +beneath them yawned the mighty nothingness of infinite space. + +The girl, totally unconcerned with thoughts of that vast emptiness, +stopped before a door that led off the corridor and opened it. "Mr. +Martin," she said, "these are the gentlemen who have an appointment with +you. Mr. Gerrol. Mr. Vandenbosch. Mr. Nguma." She called off each name +as the man bearing it walked awkwardly through the door. "Gentlemen," +she finished, "this is Mr. Stanley Martin." Then she left, discreetly +closing the door. + +The young man behind the desk in the metal-walled office stood up +smiling as the three men entered, offered his hand to each, and shook +hands warmly. "Sit down, gentlemen," he said, gesturing toward three +solidly built chairs that had been anchored magnetically to the +nickel-iron floor of the room. + +"Well," he said genially when the three had seated themselves, "how was +the trip out?" + +He watched them closely, without appearing to do so, as they made their +polite responses to his question. He was acquainted with them only +through correspondence; now was his first chance to evaluate them in +person. + +Barnabas Nguma, a very tall man whose dark brown skin and eyes made a +sharp contrast with the white of the mass of tiny, crisp curls on his +head, smiled when he spoke, but there were lines of worry etched around +his eyes. "Pleasant enough, Mr. Martin. I'm afraid that steady one-gee +acceleration has left me unprepared for this low gravity." + +"Well," said Stefan Vandenbosch, "it really isn't so bad, once you get +used to it. As long as it's steady, I don't mind it." He was a rather +chubby man of average height, with blond hair that was beginning to gray +at the temples and pale blue eyes that gave his face an expression of +almost childlike innocence. + +Arthur Gerrol, the third man, was almost as light-complexioned as +Vandenbosch. His thinning hair was light brown, and his eyes were a deep +gray-blue, and the lines in his hard, blocky face gave him a look of +grim determination. "I agree, Stefan. It isn't the low gravity _per se_. +It's the doggone surges. We went from one gee to zero when the ship came +in for a landing at the pole of Threadneedle Street. Then, as we came +back down here, the gravity kept going up, and that ... what do you call +it? Coriolis force? Yeah, that's it. It made my head feel as though the +whole room was spinning." Then, realizing what he'd said, he laughed +sharply. + +The man behind the desk laughed with him. "Yes, it is a bit +disconcerting at first, but the spin gives enough gee-pull to make a man +feel comfortable, once he's used to it. That's one of the reasons why +Threadneedle Street was picked. As the financial center of the Belt, we +have a great many visitors from Earth, and one-quarter gee is a lot +easier to get used to than a fiftieth." Then he looked quickly at the +others and said, "Now, gentlemen, how can Lloyd's of London help you?" + +He had phrased it that way on purpose, deliberately making it awkward +for them to bring up the subject they had on their minds. + +It was Nguma who broke the short silence. "Quite simply, Mr. Martin, we +have come to put our case before you in person. It is not Lloyd's we +want--it is you." + +"You refer to our correspondence on the Nipe case, Mr. Nguma?" + +"Exactly. We feel--" + +The man behind the desk interrupted him. "Mr. Nguma, do you have any +further information?" He looked as though such news would be welcome but +that it would not change his mind in the least. + +"That's just it, Mr. Martin," said Nguma, "we don't know whether our +little bits and dribbles of information are worth anything." + +The man behind the desk leaned back in his chair again. "I see," he said +softly. "Well, just what is it you want of me, Mr. Nguma?" + +Nguma looked surprised. "Why, just what I've written, sir! You are +acknowledged as the greatest detective in the Solar System--bar none. We +need you, Mr. Martin! _Earth_ needs you! That inhuman monster has been +killing and robbing for ten years! Men, women, and children have been +slaughtered and eaten as though they were cattle! You've _got_ to help +us find that God-awful thing!" + +Before there could be any answer, Arthur Gerrol leaned forward earnestly +and said, "Mr. Martin, we don't just represent businessmen who have been +robbed. We also represent hundreds and hundreds of people who have had +friends and relatives murdered by that horror. Little people, Mr. +Martin. Ordinary people who are helpless against the terror of a +superhuman evil. This isn't just a matter of money and goods lost--it's +a matter of _lives_ lost. Human lives, Mr. Martin." + +"They're not the only ones who are concerned, either," Vandenbosch broke +in. "If that hellish thing isn't destroyed, more will die. Who knows how +long a beast like that may live? What is its life-span? Nobody knows!" +He waved a hand in the air. "For all we know, it could go on for another +century--maybe more--killing, killing, killing." + +The detective looked at them for a moment in silence. These three men +represented more than just a group of businessmen who had grown uneasy +about the Government's ability to catch the Nipe; they represented more +than a few hundred or even a few thousand people who had been directly +affected by the monster's depredations. They represented the growing +feeling of unrest that was making itself known all over Earth. It was +even making itself felt out here in the Belt, although the Nipe had not, +in the past decade, shown any desire to leave Earth. Why hadn't the +beast been found? Why couldn't it be killed? Why were its raids always +so fantastically successful? + +For every toothmark that inhuman thing had left on a human bone, it had +left a thousand on human minds--marks of a fear that was more than a +fear. It was a deep-seated terror of the unknown. + +The number of people killed in ordinary accidents in a single week was +greater than the total number killed by the Nipe in the last decade, but +nowhere were men banding together to put a stop to that sort of death. +Accidental death was a known factor, almost a friend; the Nipe was stark +horror. + +The detective said: "Gentlemen, I'm sorry, but what I said in my last +letter still goes. I can't take the job. I will not go to Earth." + +Every one of the three men could sense the determination in his voice, +the utter finality of his words. There was no mistaking the iron-hard +will of the man. They knew that nothing could shake him--nothing, at +least, that they could do. + +But they couldn't admit defeat. No matter how futile they knew it to be, +they still had to try. + +Nguma took a billfold from his jacket pocket, opened it, and took out an +engraved sheet of paper with an embossed seal in one corner. He put it +on the desk in front of the detective. + +"Would you look at that, Mr. Martin?" he asked. + +The detective picked it up and looked at it. The expression on his face +did not change. "Two hundred and fifty thousand," he said, in a voice +that showed only polite interest. "A cool quarter of a million. That's a +lot of money, Mr. Nguma." + +"It is," said Nguma. "As you can see, that sum has just been deposited +here, in the Belt branch of the Bank of England. It will be transferred +to your account immediately, as soon as you agree to come to Earth to +find and kill the Nipe." + +The detective looked up from his inspection of the certificate. He had +known that the three men had made a visit to the Bank's offices, and he +had been fairly sure of their purpose when he had received the +information. He had not known the sum would be quite so large. + +"A quarter of a million, just to take the job?" he asked. "And what if I +don't catch him?" + +"We have faith in you, Mr. Martin," Nguma said. "We know your +reputation. We know what you've done in the past. The Government police +haven't been able to do anything. They're completely baffled, and have +been for ten years. They will continue to be so. This alien's mind is +too devilishly sharp for the kind of men in Government service. We know +that when you take this job the finest brain in the Solar System will be +searching for that horror. If you can't find him ..." He spread his +hands in a gesture that was partly a dismissal of all hope and partly an +appeal to the man whose services he wanted so desperately. + +The detective put the certificate down on the desk top and pushed it +toward Nguma. "That's very flattering, sir. Really. And I wish there +were some more diplomatic way of saying no--but that's all I can say." + +"There will be a like sum deposited to your account as soon as you +either kill or capture the Nipe, or, discovering his hideout, enable the +Government officials to kill or capture him," said Nguma. + +"That's half a million in all," Gerrol put in. "We've worked hard to +raise that money, Mr. Martin. It should be enough." + +The detective kept his temper under icy control, allowing just enough of +his anger to show to make his point. "Mr. Gerrol ... it is not a +question of money. Your offer is more than generous." + +"It's our final offer," Gerrol said flatly. + +"I hope it is, Mr. Gerrol," the detective said coldly. "I sincerely hope +it is. For the past six months, you and your organization have been +trying to get me to take this job. I appreciate the sincerity of your +efforts, believe me. And, as I said, I am honored and flattered that you +should think so highly of me. On the other hand, your method of going +about it is hardly flattering. I turned down your first offer of twenty +thousand six months ago. Since then, you have been going up and up and +up until you have finally reached twenty-five times the original +amount. You seem to think I have been holding out for more money. I have +attempted to disabuse you of that notion, but you would not read what I +put down in my communications, evidently. If I had wanted more money +than you offered at first, I would have said so. I would have quoted you +a price. I did not. I gave you an unqualified refusal. I give it to you +still. _No._ Flatly, absolutely, and finally ... _no_." + +Nguma was the only one of the three who could find his tongue +immediately. "I should think," he said somewhat acidly, "that you would +consider it your duty to--" + +The detective cut him off. "My duty, Mr. Nguma, is, at this moment, to +my employers. I am a paid investigator for Lloyd's of London, Belt +branch. I draw a salary that is more than adequate for my needs and +almost adequate for my taste in the little luxuries of life. I am, for +the time being at least, satisfied with my work. So are my employers. +Until one or the other of us becomes dissatisfied, the situation will +remain as it is. I will not accept any outside work of any kind except +at the instructions of, or with the permission of, my employers. I have +neither. I want neither at this time. That is all, gentlemen. Good day." + +"But the money ..." Nguma said. + +"The money should be withdrawn from the bank and returned to Earth. I +suggest you return it to the people who have donated it to your +organization. If that is impossible, I suggest you donate it to the +Government officials who are working so hard to do the job you want +done. I assure you, they are much more capable than I of dealing with +the Nipe. Good day, Mr. Nguma, Mr. Vandenbosch, Mr. Gerrol." + +They looked hurt, bewildered, and angry. Only Mr. Barnabas Nguma looked +as if he might have some slight understanding of what had happened. He +was the only one who spoke. "Good day, Mr. Martin. I am sorry we have +disturbed you. Thank you for your valuable time," he said with dignity. +And then the three men walked out the door, closing it behind them. + +The detective sat behind his desk, looking at the door, almost as if he +could see the men beyond it as they moved down the corridor. Several +minutes later, when his secretary opened the door again, he was still +staring thoughtfully at it. She thought he was staring at her. + +"Something the matter, Mr. Martin?" she asked. + +"What? Oh. No, no. Nothing, Helen; nothing. Just wool-gathering. Did you +see our visitors out all right?" + +She glided in and closed the door behind her. "Well, none of them fell +and broke a leg, if that's what you mean. But that Mr. Gerrol looked as +though he might break a blood vessel. I take it you turned them down +again?" + +"Yes. For the last time, I think. It's a shame they had to travel out +here, all that distance, to be turned down. They looked on me as their +great white hope. They couldn't really believe I would turn them down. +Couldn't let themselves believe it, I guess. They're scared, +Helen--bright green scared." + +"I know. But if it weren't for the fact that I have certain pretensions +to being a lady, I would have booted that Gerrol into orbit without a +spacesuit." + +"Oh?" + +"He implied," Helen said angrily, "that you were a coward. That you were +afraid to face the Nipe." + +The detective chuckled. "I hope you didn't say anything." + +"I wanted to," she admitted. "I wanted to tell him that guns were easy +to buy, that all he had to do was buy one and go after the Nipe himself. +I would like to have seen his face if I'd asked him how scared _he_ was +of the beast. But I didn't say a word. They weren't talking to me, +anyway; they were talking to each other." + +"I'd almost be willing to bet that Nguma disagreed with Gerrol. Nguma +didn't think I was a physical coward; he thought I was a moral coward." + +"How'd you know?" + +"Intuition. Just from the way he talked and acted. He felt the failure +more than the others because he felt that there was no hope left at all. +He was quite certain that I, myself, did not believe the Nipe could be +caught--by me or anyone else. He thinks that I turned down the job +because I know I'd fail and I don't want to have a failure on my record. +Not _that_ big a failure." + +"That's ridiculous, of course," the girl said angrily. + +The detective noticed a faint note in her voice. _She thinks the same as +Nguma_, he thought, _but she doesn't want to admit it to herself_. He +massaged his closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. _Maybe she's +right_, he thought. _Maybe they're both right._ Aloud, he said, "Well, +we've had our little diversion. Let's get back to work." + +"Yes, sir. You want the BenChaim file again?" + +"Yes. I've got to figure that tricky line down to a T, or we may never +see that boy again. We haven't much time, either--two weeks at most." + +She went over to the file cabinet and took out several heavy folders. +"Imagine," she said, almost to herself, "imagine them trying to get you +away from here when you have a kidnap case to solve. They must be out of +their minds." + +_There was no kidnap case six months ago_, the detective thought. _She +knows that's not the reason. She's only trying to convince herself. Why +did I turn them down?_ + +His mind veered away from the dangerous subject, and for a moment his +mental processes refused to focus on anything at all. + +The girl put the files down on his desk. + +"Thanks, Helen. Now, let's see ..." _I'll work on this_, he thought. _I +won't even think about the other at all._ + + + + +_[9]_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim tapped with one thick finger the map that +glowed on the wall before him. "That's his nest," he said firmly. "Right +there, where those tunnels come together." + +Bart Stanton looked at the map of Manhattan Island and at the gleaming +colored traceries that threaded their various ways across it. "Just what +was the purpose of all those tunnels?" he asked. + +"The majority of them were for rail transportation," said the colonel. +"The island was hit by a sun bomb during the Holocaust and was almost +completely leveled and slagged down. When the city was completely +rebuilt afterwards, there was naturally no need for such things, so they +were simply all sealed off and forgotten." + +"He's hiding directly under Government City," Stanton said. +"Incredible." + +"It used to be one of the largest seaports in the world," Colonel +Mannheim said, "and it very probably still would be if the inertia drive +hadn't made air travel cheaper and easier than seagoing." + +"How did he find out about those tunnels?" Stanton asked. + +The colonel pointed at the north end of the island. "After the +Holocaust, the first returnees to the island were wild animals which +crossed over from the mainland to the north. The Harlem River isn't very +wide at this point, as you can see. There was a bridge right at about +this point here--the very tip of the island. It had collapsed into the +water, but there was enough of it to allow animals to cross. Because of +the rocky hills at this end of the island, there were places which were +spared the direct effects of the bomb, and grasses and trees began +growing there. That's why it was decided that section should be left as +a game preserve when the Government built the capital on the southern +part of the island." His finger moved down the map. "The upper three +miles of the island, down to here, where it begins to widen, are all +game preserve. There's a high wall at this point which separates it from +the city, which keeps the animals penned in, and the ruins of the +bridges which connected with the mainland have been removed, so animals +can't get across any more. + +"Two years after he arrived, the Nipe was almost caught. He had managed +to get here from Asia by stealing a flyer in Leningrad. According to Dr. +Yoritomo and the other psychologists who have been studying the Nipe, he +apparently does not believe that human beings are anything more than +trained animals. He was looking then--as he is apparently still +looking--for the 'real' rulers of Earth. He expected to find them, of +course, in Government City. Needless to say," said the colonel with a +touch of irony, "he failed." + +"But he was seen?" asked Stanton. + +"He was seen. And pursued. But he got away easily, heading north. The +whole island was searched, from the southern tip to the wall, and the +police were ready to start an inch-by-inch combing of the game preserve +by the end of the third day after he was seen. But he hit and robbed a +chemical supply house in northern Pennsylvania, killing two men, so the +search was called off. + +"It wasn't until two years later, after an exhaustive analysis of the +pattern of his raids had given us enough material to work with, that we +determined that he must have found an opening into one of the tunnels up +here in the game preserve." He gestured again at the map. "Very likely +he immediately saw that no human being had been down there in a long +time and that there wasn't much chance of a man coming down there in the +foreseeable future. It was a perfect place for his base." + +"How does he move in and out?" Stanton asked. + +"This way." The colonel traced a finger down one of the red lines on the +map, southward, until he came to a spot only a little over two miles +from the southernmost tip of the island. The line turned abruptly toward +the western shore of the island, where it stopped. "There are tunnels +that go underneath the Hudson River at this point and emerge on the +other side, over here, in New Jersey. The one he uses is only one of +several, but it has one distinct advantage that the others do not. All +of them are flooded now; the sun bomb caved them in when the primary +shock wave hit the surface of the water. The tunnel he uses has a hole +in it big enough for him to swim through. + +"In spite of his high rate of metabolism, the Nipe can store a +tremendous amount of oxygen in his body and can stay underwater for as +long as half an hour without breathing apparatus, if he conserves his +energy. When he's wearing his scuba mask, he's practically a +self-contained submarine. The pressure doesn't seem to bother him much. +He's a tough cookie." + +"I'll remember that," said Stanton somberly. "I won't try to race him +underwater." + +"No," said Colonel Mannheim. "No, I wouldn't do that if I were you." + +They both knew that there was a great deal more to it than that. In +spite of the near miracle that the staff of the Neurophysical Institute +had wrought upon Stanton's nerves and muscles and glands, they could +only go so far. They could only improve the functioning of the equipment +that Stanton already had; they could not add more. + +His lungs could be, and had been, increased tremendously in efficiency +of operation, but the amount of air they could actually hold could only +be increased slightly. There was no way to add much extra volume to them +without doing so at the expense of other organs. In a breath-holding +contest, the Nipe would win easily, since his body had evolved organs +for oxygen storage, while the human body had not. + +You cannot make a silk purse out of a sow's ear if you are limited to +the structures and compounds found in sows' ears. The best you can do is +make a finer, stronger, more sensitive sow's ear. + +"I understand that the Nipe has his hideout pretty well bugged with all +kinds of alarms," Stanton said. "How did you get your own bugs in there +without setting off his?" + +"Well, at first we didn't know for sure what he was up to; we weren't +even sure he was actually down in those tunnels. But we suspected that +if he was he'd have alarms set all over the place--perhaps even alarms +of types we couldn't recognize. But we had to take that chance. We _had_ +to watch him." + +He walked over to the nearby table and opened a box some twelve inches +long and five-by-five inches in cross-section. + +"See this?" he said, as he took a furry object from the box. + +It looked like a large rat. Dead, stiff, unmoving. + +"Our spy," said Colonel Mannheim. + + * * * * * + +The rat moved along the rusted steel rail that ran the length of the +huge tunnel. To a human being, the tunnel would have seemed to be in +utter darkness, but the little eyes of the rat saw the surroundings as +faintly luminescent, glowing from the infra-red radiations given out by +the internal warmth of the cement and steel. The main source of the +radiations was from above, where the heat of the sun and the warmth from +the energy sources in the buildings on the surface seeped through the +roof of the tunnel. But here and there were even brighter spots of +warmth, spots that moved about on glowing feet and sniffed blindly at +the air with tiny glowing noses. Rats. + +On and on moved the rat, its little pinkish feet pattering almost +silently on the oxidized metal surface of the rails. Its sensitive ears +picked up the movements and the squeals of other rats, but it paid them +no heed. Several times it met other rats on the rail, but most of them +sensed the alienness of _this_ rat and scuttled out of its way. + +Once, it met a rat who did not give way. Hungry, perhaps, or perhaps +merely yielding to the paranoid fury that was a normal component of the +rattish mind, it squealed its defiance to the rat that was not a rat. It +advanced, baring its rodent teeth in a yellow-daggered snarl of hate. + +The rat that was not a rat became suddenly motionless, its sharp little +nose pointed directly at the oncoming enemy. There came a noise, a tiny +popping hiss, like that of a very small drop of water striking hot +metal. From the left nostril of the not-rat, a tiny, glasslike needle +snapped out at bullet speed. It struck the advancing rat in the center +of the pink tongue that was visible in the open mouth. Then the not-rat +scuttled backward faster than any real rat could have moved. + +For a second the real rat hesitated, and it may be that the realization +penetrated into its dim brain that rats did not fight this way. Then, as +the tiny needle dissolved in its bloodstream, it closed its eyes and +collapsed, rolling limply off the rail to the rotted wooden tie +beneath. + +The rat might come to before it was found and devoured by its +fellows--or it might not. The not-rat moved on, not caring either way. +The human intelligence that looked out from the eyes of the not-rat was +only concerned with getting to the Nipe. + + * * * * * + +"That's how we found the Nipe," Colonel Mannheim said, "and that's how +we keep tabs on him now. We have over seven hundred of these +remote-control robots hidden in strategic spots throughout those tunnels +now, and we can put more in whenever we want, but it took time to get +everything set up this way. Now we can follow the Nipe wherever he goes, +so long as he stays in those tunnels. If he went out through the one +open-air exit up in the northern part of the island, we could have him +followed by bird-robots. But"--he shrugged wryly--"I'm afraid the +underwater problem still has us stumped. We can't get the carrier wave +for the remote-control impulses to go very far underwater." + +"How do you get your carrier wave underground to those tunnels?" Stanton +asked. "And how do you keep the Nipe from picking up the radiation?" + +The colonel grinned widely. "One of the boys dreamed up a real cute +gimmick. Those old steel rails themselves act as antennas for the +broadcaster, and the rat's tail is the pickup antenna. As long as the +rat is crawling right on the rail, only a microscopic amount of power is +needed for control, not enough for the Nipe to pick up with his +instruments. Each rat carries its own battery for motive power, and +there are old copper power cables down there that we can send direct +current through to recharge the batteries. And, when we need them, the +copper cables can be used as antennas. It took us quite a while to work +the system out, but it's running smoothly now." + +Stanton rubbed his head thoughtfully. _Damn these gaps in my memory!_ he +thought. It was sometimes embarrassing to ask questions that any +schoolboy should know the answers to. + +"Aren't there ways of detecting objects underwater?" he asked after a +moment. + +"Yes," said the colonel, "several of them. But they all require beamed +energy of some kind to be reflected from the object we want to look at, +and we don't dare use anything like that." He sat down on one corner of +the table, his bright blue eyes looking up at Stanton. + +"That's been our big problem all along," he said seriously. "We have to +keep the Nipe from knowing he's being watched. In the tunnels +themselves, we've only used equipment that was already there, adding +only what we absolutely had to--small things. A few strands of wire, a +tiny relay, things that can be hidden in out-of-the-way places and can +be made to look as though they were a part of the original old +equipment. After all, he has his own alarm system in that maze of +tunnels, and we have deliberately kept away from his detecting devices. +He knows about the rats and ignores them. They're part of the +environment. But we don't dare use anything that would tip him off to +our knowledge of his whereabouts. One slip like that, and hundreds of +human beings will have died in vain." + +"And if he stays down there too long," Stanton said levelly, "millions +more may die." + +The colonel's face was grim as he looked directly into Stanton's eyes. +"That's why you have to know your job down to the most minute detail +when the time comes to act. The whole success of the plan will depend on +you and you alone." + +Stanton's eyes didn't avoid the colonel's. _That's not true_, he +thought, _I'll be only one man on a team. And you know that, Colonel +Mannheim. But you'd like to shove all the responsibility off onto +someone else--someone stronger. You've finally met someone that you +consider your superior in that way, and you want to unload. I wish I +felt as confident as you do ... but I don't._ + +Aloud, he said: "Sure. Nothing to it. All I have to do is take into +account everything that's known about the Nipe and make allowances for +everything that's not known." Then he smiled. "Not," he added, "that I +can think of any other way to go about it." + + + + +_THIRD INTERLUDE_ + + +Mrs. Frobisher touched the control button that depolarized the window in +the breakfast room, letting the morning sun stream in through the now +transparent sheet of glass. Her attention was caught by something across +the street, and she said, in a low voice, "Larry, come here." + +Larry Frobisher looked up from his morning coffee. "What is it, hon?" + +"The Stanton boys. Come look." + +Frobisher sighed. "Who are the Stanton boys, and why should I come +look?" But he got up and came over to the window. + +"See--over there on the walkway toward the play area," his wife said. + +"I see a boy pushing a wheeled contraption and three girls playing with +a skip rope," Frobisher said. "Or do you mean that the Stanford boys are +dressed up as girls?" + +"_Stanton_," she corrected him. "They just moved into the apartment on +the first floor." + +"Who? The three girls?" + +"No, silly! The two Stanton boys and their mother. One of them is in +that 'wheeled contraption'. It's called a therapeutic chair." + +"Oh? So the poor kid's been hurt. What's so interesting about that, +aside from morbid curiosity?" + +The boy pushing the chair went around a bend in the walkway, out of +sight, and Frobisher went back to his coffee while his wife spoke. + +"Their names are Mart and Bart," she said. "They're twins." + +"I should think," Frobisher said, applying himself to his breakfast, +"that the mother would get a self-powered chair for the boy instead of +making the other boy push it." + +"The poor boy can't control the chair, dear," said Mrs. Frobisher, still +looking out the window after the vanished twins. "There's something +wrong with his nervous system. I understand that he was exposed to some +kind of radiation when he was only two years old. That's why the chair +has to have all those funny instruments built into it. Even his +heartbeat has to be controlled electronically." + +"Shame," said Frobisher, spearing a bit of sausage. "Kind of rough on +both of 'em, I'd guess." + +"How do you mean, dear?" + +"Well, I mean, like ... well, for instance, why are they going over to +the play area? Play games, right? So the one that's well has got to push +his brother over there. Can't just get out and go; has to take the +brother along, too. Kind of a burden, see?" + +Mrs. Frobisher turned away from the window. "Why, Larry! I'm surprised +at you. Really! Don't you think the boy _should_ take care of his +brother?" + +"Oh, now, honey, I didn't mean that. It's hard on _both_ of 'em. The kid +in the chair has to sit there and watch his brother play baseball or +jai alai or whatever, while he can't do anything himself. Like I say, +kind of rough on both of 'em." + +"Well, yes, I suppose it must be. Want some more coffee?" + +"Thanks, honey. And another slice of toast, hunh?" + + + + +_[10]_ + + +Like some horrendous, watchful gargoyle, the Nipe crouched motionlessly +on the shadowed roof of the low building. A short projection from the +air-conditioning intake was wide enough to keep him from being seen from +the air, and the darkness of the roof prevented anyone on the street +from seeing the four violet eyes that kept a careful account of all that +went on in the store across the way from his observation post. + +The lights were still on inside the shop, shedding their glareless +brightness through the transparent display windows to fall upon the +street outside in large luminous pools. The Nipe knew exactly what each +man remaining inside was doing, and approximately what each would be +doing for the next few minutes, and he watched with the expectation that +his prophecies would be fulfilled. + +He had watched long and made a thorough study of this establishment, and +tonight he expected to attain the goal for which he had worked so +patiently. + +This raid was important in two ways. There were pieces of equipment he +had to get, and they were in that shop. On the other hand, this raid +was, and would be, basically a diversionary tactic. Now that he had +located his real target, it was time to create a diversion that would +draw his enemy's attention away from his immediate surroundings. This +would be a raid that Colonel Walther Mannheim could not ignore! + +Two men came out the front door. They spoke to someone still inside. "So +long." "See you tomorrow." Then they walked down the street together, +conversing in low tones. + +The Nipe waited. + +Not until a fifth man stopped after he opened the door and flipped a +switch on the inside did the Nipe make any motion. Then he flexed his +four pairs of limbs in anticipation--but it wasn't quite time to act +yet. + +The interior lights of the shop went out. Then the man carefully locked +the front door, setting the alarms within the shop. Then, serene in the +belief that his establishment was thoroughly protected from burglars, +he, too, went down the street. + +The Nipe waited a few minutes longer before he left his observation +post. All was normal, he decided. The time for action had come. + + * * * * * + +The Nipe moved cautiously along the alley toward the rear of the +building that was his target. The night watchman had returned to his +cubicle, as he always did after his preliminary inspection of the +building's alarm system. He would not leave for some time yet, if he +followed his habits. And the Nipe saw no reason why he should not. + +Carefully he approached the rear door of the little optical shop. + + + + +_[11]_ + + +The two massive objects floating in space looked very much like deeply +pitted pieces of rock. The larger one, roughly pear-shaped and about a +quarter of a mile in its greatest dimension, was actually that--a huge +hunk of rock. The smaller--_much_ smaller--of the two was not what it +appeared to be. It was a phony. Anyone who had been able to conduct a +very close personal inspection of it would have recognized it for what +it was--a camouflaged spaceboat. + +The camouflaged spaceboat was on a near-collision course with reference +to the larger mass, although their relative velocities were not great. + +At precisely the right time, the smaller drifted by the larger, only a +few hundred yards away. The weakness of the gravitational fields +generated between the two caused only a slight change of orbit on the +part of both bodies. Then they began to separate. + +But, during the few seconds of their closest approach, a third body +detached itself from the camouflaged spaceboat and shot rapidly across +the intervening distance to land on the surface of the floating +mountain. + +The third body was a man in a spacesuit. As soon as he landed, he sat +down, stock-still, and checked the instrument case he held in his hands. + +No response. Thus far, then, he had succeeded. + +He had had to pick his time precisely. The people who were already on +this small planetoid could not use their detection equipment while the +planetoid itself was within detection range of Beacon 971, only two +hundred and eighty miles away. Not if they wanted to keep from being +found. Radar pulses emanating from a presumably lifeless planetoid would +be a dead giveaway. + +Other than that, they were mathematically safe. Mathematically safe they +would be if--and only if--they depended upon the laws of chance. No ship +moving through the Asteroid Belt would dare to move at any decent +velocity without using radar, so the people on this particular lump of +planetary flotsam would be able to spot a ship's approach easily, long +before their own weak detection system would register on the pickups of +an approaching ship. + +The power and range needed by a given detector depends on the relative +velocity--the greater that velocity becomes, the more power, the greater +range needed. At one mile per second, a ship needs a range of only +thirty miles to spot an obstacle thirty seconds away; at ten miles per +second, it needs a range of three hundred miles. + +The man who called himself Stanley Martin had carefully plotted the +orbit of this particular planetoid and had let his spaceboat coast in +without using any detection equipment except the visual. It had been +necessary, but very risky. + +The Asteroid Belt, that magnificently useful collection of stone and +metal lumps revolving about the sun between the orbits of Mars and +Jupiter, is somewhat like the old-fashioned merry-go-round. If every +orbit in the Belt were perfectly circular, the analogy would be more +exact. If they were, then every rock in the Belt would follow every +other in almost exactly the way every merry-go-round horse follows every +other. (The gravitational attraction between the various bodies in the +Belt can be neglected. It is much less, on the average, than the +gravitational pull between any two horses on a carousel.) If every orbit +of those millions upon millions of pieces of rock and metal were +precisely circular, then they would constitute the grandest, biggest +merry-go-round in the universe. + +But those orbits are not circular. And even if they were, they would not +remain so long. The great mass of Jupiter would soon pull them out of +such perfect orbits and force them to travel about the sun in elliptical +paths. And therein lies the trouble. + +If their paths were exactly circular, then no two of that vast number of +planetoids would ever collide. They would march about the sun in precise +order, like the soldiers in a military parade, except that they would +retain their spacing much longer than any group of soldiers could +possibly manage to do. + +But the orbits are elliptical. There is a chance that any two given +bodies _might_ collide, although the chance is small. The one +compensation is that if they do collide they won't strike each other +very hard. + +The detective was not worried about collision; he was worried about +observation. Had the people here seen his boat? If so, had they +recognized it in spite of the heavy camouflage? And, even if they only +suspected, what would be their reaction? + +He waited. + +It takes nerve and patience to wait for thirteen solid hours without +making any motion other than an occasional flexing of muscles, but he +managed that long before the instrument case that he held waggled a +meter needle at him. The one tension-relieving factor was the low +gravity; the problem of sleeping on a bed of nails is caused by the +likelihood of the sleeper accidentally throwing himself off the bed. The +probability of puncture or discomfort from the points is almost +negligible. + +When the needle on the instrument panel flickered, he got to his feet +and began moving. He was almost certain that he had not been detected. + +Walking was out of the question. This was a silicate-alumina rock, not a +nickel-iron one. The group of people that occupied it had deliberately +chosen it that way, so that there would be no chance of its being picked +out for slicing by one of the mining teams in the Asteroid Belt. +Granted, the chance of any given metallic planetoid's being selected was +very small--but they had not wanted to take even that chance. + +Therefore, without any magnetic field to hold him down, and with only a +very tiny gravitic field, the detective had to use different tactics. + +It was more like mountain climbing than anything else, except that there +was no danger of falling. He crawled over the surface in the same way +that an Alpine climber might crawl up the side of a steep slope--seeking +handholds and toeholds and using them to propel himself onward. The only +difference was that he covered distance a great deal more rapidly than a +mountain climber could. + +When he reached the spot he wanted, he carefully concealed himself +beneath a craggy overhang. It took a little searching to find exactly +the right spot, but when he did, he settled himself into place in a +small pit and began more elaborate preparations. + +Self-hypnosis required nearly ten minutes. The first five or six minutes +were taken up in relaxing from his exertions. Gravity notwithstanding, +he had had to push his hundred and eighty pounds over a considerable +distance. When he was completely relaxed and completely hypnotized, he +reached up and cut down the valve that fed oxygen into his suit. + +Then--of his own will--he went cataleptic. + +A single note, sounded by the instruments in the case at his side, woke +him instantly. He came fully awake, as he had commanded himself to do. + +Immediately he turned up his oxygen intake, at the same time glancing at +the clock dial in his helmet. He smiled. Nineteen days and seven hours. +He had calculated it almost precisely. + +He wasn't more than an hour off, which was really pretty good, all +things considered. + +He consulted his instruments again. The supply ship was ten minutes +away. The smile stayed on his face as he prepared for further action. + +The first two minutes were conscientiously spent in inhaling oxygen. +Even under the best cataleptic conditions, the human body tended to slow +down too much. He had to get himself prepared for violent movement. + +Eight minutes left. + +He climbed out of the little grotto where he had concealed himself and +moved toward the spot where he knew the airlock to the caverns +underneath the planetoid's surface was hidden. + +Then again he concealed himself and waited, while he continued to +breathe deeply of the highly oxygenated air in his suit. Five minutes +before the ship landed, he swallowed eight ounces of the nutrient +solution from the tank in the back of his helmet. The solution of amino +acids, vitamins, and honey sugar also contained a small amount of +stimulant of the dexedrine type and one percent ethanol. + +He waited for another minute for the solution to take effect, then he +unholstered his gun. + +The supply ship wasn't a big one. He had known it wouldn't be. It was +only a little larger than the one he had used to come out here. It +dropped down to the surface of the small planetoid only ten meters from +the hidden trapdoor that led to the airlock beneath the surface. + +Suddenly he could hear voices in the earphones of his helmet. + +_Lasser?_ + +_Yeah. It's me, Fritz. I got all the supplies and a nice package of good +news._ + +The airlock trapdoor opened, and a spacesuited figure came out. _How +about the deal?_ + +_That's the good news_, said the second suited figure as it came from +the airlock of the grounded spaceboat. _Another five million._ + +The detective, hidden behind the nearby crag of rock, listened and +watched for a minute or so while the two men began unloading cases of +foodstuffs from the spaceboat. Then, satisfied that it was perfectly +safe, he aimed his gun and shot twice in rapid succession. + +The range was almost point-blank, and there was, of course, no need to +take either gravity or air resistance into account. + +The pellets of the shotgun-like charge that blasted out from the gun +were small, needle-shaped, and massive. They were oriented point-forward +by the magnetic field along the barrel of the weapon. Of the hundreds of +charges fired, only a few penetrated the spacesuits of the targets, but +those few were enough. The powerful drug in the needle-pointed head of +each tiny crystal went directly into the bloodstream of each target. + +Each man felt an itching sensation. He had less than two seconds to +think about it before unconsciousness overtook him and he slumped +nervelessly. + +Gun in hand, the detective ran across the intervening space quickly, his +body only a few degrees from the horizontal, and his toes paddling +rapidly to propel him over the rough rock. + +He braked himself to a halt and slapped air patches over the areas where +his charges had struck the men's suits, sealing the tiny air leaks, and, +at the same time, driving more of the tiny needles into their skins. +They would be out for a long time. + +Neither of them had yet fallen to the ground. That would take several +minutes under this low gravity. He left them to drop and headed toward +the open airlock. + +This was what he had been waiting for all those nineteen days in +cataleptic hypnosis. He couldn't have cut his way into the hideout from +the outside; he had had to wait until it was opened, and that time had +come only with the supply ship. + +Once in the airlock, he touched the control stud that would close the +outer door, pump air into the waiting room, and open the inner door. +Here was his greatest point of danger--greater, even, than the danger of +coming to the planetoid itself, or the danger of waiting nineteen days +in a cataleptic trance for the coming of the supply ship. If the ones +who remained within suspected anything--anything at all!--then his +chances of coming out of this alive were practically nil. + +But there was no reason why they should suspect. They should think that +the man coming in was one of their own. The radio contact between the +men outside had been limited to a few micromilliwatts of +power--necessarily, since radio waves of very small wattage can be +decoded at tremendous distances in open space. The men inside the +planetoid certainly should not have been able to pick up any more than +the beginning of the early conversation before it had been cut +completely off by the intervening layers of solid rock. + +The chamber he entered was a high-speed airlock. Unlike the soundless +discharge of his special gun in the outer airlessness, the blast of air +that came into the waiting chamber was like a hurricane in noise and +force. The room filled with air in a very few seconds. + +The detective held on to the handholds tightly while the brief but +violent winds buffeted him. He turned as the inner door opened. + +His eyes took in the picture in a fraction of a second. In an even +smaller fraction, his mind assimilated the picture. + +The woman was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and muscular. Her mouth was wide +and thick-lipped beneath a large nose. + +The man was leaner and lighter, bony-faced, and beady-eyed. + +The woman said: "Fritz, what--?" + +And then he shot them both with gun number two. + +No needle charges this time. Such shots would have blown them both in +two, unprotected as they were by spacesuits. The small handgun merely +jangled their nerves with a high-powered blast of accurately beamed +supersonics. While they were still twitching, he went over and jabbed +them with a drug needle. + +Then he went on into the hideout. + +He had to knock out one more man, whom he found asleep in a small room +off the short corridor. + +It took a gas bomb to get the two women who were guarding the kid. + +He made sure that the BenChaim boy was all right, then he went to the +little communications room and called for help. + + + + +_[12]_ + + +St. Louis hadn't been hit during the Holocaust. It still retained much +of the old-fashioned flavor of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, +especially in the residential districts. The old homes, some of them +dating clear back to the time of Sam Clemens and the paddle-wheel +steamboat, still stood, warm and well preserved. + +Bart Stanton liked to walk along those quiet streets of an evening, just +to let the placid peacefulness seep into him. + +And, knowing it was rather childish, he still enjoyed the small +Huckleberry Finn pleasure of playing hooky from the Neurophysical +Institute. + +Technically, he supposed, he was still a patient there. More, now that +he had completely accepted Colonel Walther Mannheim's assignment, he was +presumably under military discipline. He assumed that if he had asked +permission to leave the Institute's grounds he would have been given +that permission without question. + +But, like playing hooky or stealing watermelon, it was more fun if it +was done on the sly. The boy who comes home feeling deliciously wicked +and delightfully sinful after staying away from school all day can have +his whole day ruined completely by being told that it was a holiday and +the school had been closed. Bart Stanton didn't want to spoil his own +fun by asking for permission to leave the grounds when it was so easy +for a man with his special abilities to get out without asking. + +Besides, there _was_ a chance--a small one, he thought--that permission +might be refused for one reason or another, and Stanton was fully aware +that he would not disobey a direct request--to say nothing of a direct +order--that he stay within the walls of the Institute. + +He didn't want to run any risk of losing his freedom, small though it +was. After five years of mental and physical hell, he felt a need to get +out into the world of normal, ordinary, everyday people. + +His legs moved smoothly, surely, and unhurriedly, carrying him aimlessly +along the resilient walkway, under the warm glow of the streetlights. +The people around him walked as casually and with seemingly as little +purpose as he did. There was none of the brisk sense of urgency that he +felt inside the walls of the Institute. + +But he knew he could never get away from that sense of urgency +completely, even out here. There were times when it seemed that all he +had ever done, all his whole life, was to train himself for the one +single purpose of besting the Nipe. + +If he wasn't training physically, he was listening to lectures from Dr. +George Yoritomo or from Colonel Mannheim. If he wasn't working his +muscles, he was laying plans and considering possibilities for the one +great goal that seemed to be the focal point of his whole life. + +What would happen if he failed? + +What would happen if he, the great hyped-up superman, found that the +Nipe had only been working at half his normal potential? What would +happen if that alien horror simply slashed out with one ultrafast hand +and showed Colonel Mannheim and all his watching technicians that they +had completely underestimated his alien ability? + +What would happen? + +Why, Bart Stanton would die, of course, just as hundreds of other human +beings had died in the past ten years. Stanton would become another +statistic. And then Mannheim's Plan Beta would go into effect. The Nipe +would be killed eventually. + +But what if he, Stanton, won? Then what? + +The people around him were not a part of his world, really. Their +thoughts, their motions, their reactions, were slow and clumsy in +comparison with his own. Once the Nipe had been conquered, what purpose +would there be in the life of Bartholomew Stanton? He was surrounded by +people, but he was not one of them. He was immersed in a society that +was not his own because it was not, could not be, geared to his +abilities and potentials. But there was no other society to turn to, +either. + +He was not a man "alone, afraid" in a world he had never made. He was a +man who had been made for a world, a society, that did not exist. + +Women? A wife? A family life? + +Where? With whom? + +He pushed the thoughts from his mind, the questions unanswered and +perhaps unanswerable. In spite of the apparent bleakness of the future, +he had no desire to die, and there was, psychologically, the possibility +that too much brooding of that kind would evoke a subconscious reaction +that could slow him down or cause a wrong decision at a vital moment. A +feeling of futility could operate to bring on his death in spite of his +conscious determination to win the coming battle with the Nipe. + +The Nipe was his first duty. When that job was finished, he would +consider the problem of himself. Just because he could not now see the +answer to that problem did not mean that no answer existed. + +He suddenly realized that he was hungry. He had been walking through +Memorial Park, past the museum--an old, worn edifice that was still +called the Missouri Pacific Building. There was a small restaurant only +a block away. + +He reached into his pocket and took out the few coins that were there. +Not much, but enough to buy a sandwich and a glass of milk. Because of +the trust fund that had been set up when he had started the treatment at +the Neurophysical Institute, he was already well off, but he didn't have +much cash. What good was cash at the Institute, where everything was +provided? + +He stopped at a newsvendor, dropped in a coin, and waited for the +reproducing mechanism to turn out a fresh paper. Then he took the folded +sheets and went on to the restaurant. + +He rarely read a newssheet. Mostly, his information about the world that +existed outside the walls of the Institute came from the televised +newscasts. But, occasionally, he liked to read the small, relatively +unimportant little stories about people who had done small, relatively +unimportant things--stories that didn't appear in the headlines or the +newscasts. + +The last important news story that he had heard had come two nights +before. The Nipe had robbed an optical products company in Miami. The +camera had shown the shop on the screen. Whatever had been used to blow +open the vault had been more effective than necessary. It had taken the +whole front door of the shop and both windows, too. The bent and twisted +paraglass that had lain on the pavement showed how much force had been +applied from within. + +And yet, the results had not been those of an explosion. It was more as +though some tremendous force had _pushed_ outward from within. It had +not been the shattering shock of high explosive, but some great thrust +that had unhurriedly, but irresistibly, moved everything out of its way. + +Nothing had been moved very far, as it would have been by a blast. It +appeared that everything had simply fallen aside, as though scattered by +a giant hand. The main braces of the storefront were still there, bent +outward a little, but not broken. + +The vault door had been slammed to the floor of the shop, only a few +feet from the front door. The vault itself had been farther back, and +the camera had showed it standing wide open, gaping. Inside, there had +been pieces of fragile glass standing on the shelves, unmoved, unharmed. + +The force, whatever it had been, had moved in one direction only, from a +point within the vault, just a few feet from the door, pushing outward +to tear out the heavy door as though it had been made of paraffin or +modeling clay. + +Stanton had recognized the vault construction type: the Voisier +construction, which, by test, could withstand almost everything known, +outside of the actual application of atomic energy itself. In a +widely-publicized demonstration several years before, a Voisier vault +had been cut open by a team of well-trained, well-equipped technicians. +It had taken twenty-one hours for them to breach the wall, and they had +had no fear of interruption, or of making a noise, or of setting off the +intricate alarms that were built into the safe itself. Not even a +borazon drill could make much of an impression on a metal which had been +formed under millions of atmospheres of pressure. + +And yet the Nipe had taken that door out in a second, without much +effort at all. + +The crowd that had gathered at the scene of the crime had not been +large. The very thought of the Nipe kept people away from places where +he was known to have been. The specter of the Nipe evoked a fear, a +primitive fear--fear of the dark and fear of the unknown--combined with +the rational fear of a very real, very tangible danger. + +And yet, there _had_ been a crowd of onlookers. In spite of their fear, +it is hard to keep human beings from being curious. It was known that +the Nipe didn't stay around after he had struck, and, besides, the area +was now full of armed men. So the curious came to look and to stare in +revulsion at the neat pile of gnawed and bloody bones that had been the +night watchman, carefully killed and eaten by the Nipe before he had +opened the vault. + +_Thus curiosity does make fools of us all, and the native hue of caution +is crimsoned o'er by the bright red of morbid fascination._ + +Stanton went through the door of the automatic restaurant and walked +over to the vending wall. The big dining room was only about three +quarters full of people, and there were plenty of seats available. He +fed coins into the proper slots, took his sandwich and milk over to a +seat in one corner and made himself comfortable. + +He flipped open the newspaper and looked at the front page. + +And, for a moment, his brain seemed to freeze. + +The story itself was straightforward enough: + + BENCHAIM KIDNAPPERS NABBED! + + STAN MARTIN DOES IT AGAIN! + + CERES, June 3 (_Interplanetary News Service_)--The three men and + three women who allegedly kidnapped 10-year-old Shmuel BenChaim were + brought to justice today through the single-handed efforts of + Stanley Martin, famed investigator for Lloyd's of London. The boy, + held prisoner for more than ten weeks on a small planetoid, was + reported in good health. + + According to Lt. John Vale of the Planetoid Police, the kidnap gang + could not have been taken by direct assault on their hideout because + of fear that the boy might be killed. + + "The operation required a carefully planned one-man infiltration of + their hideout," Lt. Vale said. "Mr. Martin was the man for the job." + + Labeled "the most outrageous kidnapping in history", the affair was + conceived as a long-term method of gaining control of Heavy Metals + Incorporated, controlled by Moishe BenChaim, the boy's father. The + details ... + +But Bart Stanton wasn't interested in the details. After only a glance +through the first part of the article, his eyes returned to the picture +that had caught his attention. The line of print beneath it identified +the picture as being that of a man named Stanley Martin. + +But a voice in Bart Stanton's brain said: _Not Stan Martin! The name is +Mart Stanton!_ + +And Bartholomew felt a roar of confusion in his mind--because he didn't +know who Mart Stanton was, and because the face in the picture was his +own. + + + + +_[13]_ + + +He was walking again. + +He didn't quite remember how he had left the automat, and he really +didn't even try to remember. + +He was trying to remember other things--further back--before he had ... + +Before he had _what_? + +Before the Institute. Before the beginning of the operations. + +The memories were there, all right. He could sense them, floating in +some sort of mental limbo, just beyond the grasp of his conscious mind, +like the memories of a dream after one has awakened. Each time he would +try to reach into the darkness to grasp one of the pieces, it would +shatter into smaller bits. The big patterns were too fragile to +withstand the direct probing of his conscious mind, and even the +resulting fragments did not want to hold still long enough to be +analyzed. + +And, while a part of his mind probed frantically after the elusive +particles of memory, another part of it watched the process with +semi-detached amusement. + +He had always known there were holes in his memory (_Always? Don't kid +yourself, pal!_), but it was disconcerting to find an area that was as +full of holes as a used machine-gun target. The whole fabric had been +punched to bits. + +No man's memory is completely available at any given time. Whatever the +recording process is, however completely every bit of data may be +recorded during a lifetime, much of it is unavailable. It may be +incompletely cross-indexed, or, in some instances, labeled DO NOT SCAN. +Or, metaphorically, the file drawer may be locked. It may be that, in +many cases, if a given bit of data remains unscanned for a long enough +period, it fades into illegibility, never reinforced by the scanning +process. Sensory data, coming in from the outside world as it does, is +probably permanent. But the thought patterns originating within the mind +itself, the processes that correlate and cross-index and speculate on +and hypothesize about the sensory data, these are much more fragile. A +man might glance once through a Latin primer and have each and every +page imprinted indelibly on his recording mechanism and still be unable +to make sense out of _Nauta in cubitu cum puella est_. + +Sometimes a man is aware of the holes in his memory. ("What _was_ the +name of that fellow I met at Eddie's party? Can't remember it for the +life of me.") At other times, a memory may lay dormant and completely +unremembered, leaving no apparent gap, until a tag of some kind brings +it up. ("That girl with the long hair reminds me of Suzie Blugerhugle. +My gosh! I haven't thought of her in years!") Both factors seemed to be +operating in Bart Stanton's mind at this time. + +Incredibly, he had never, in the past year at least, had occasion to try +to remember much about his past life. He had known who he was without +thinking about it particularly, and the rest of his knowledge--language, +history, social behavior, politics, geography, and so on--had been +readily available for the most part. Ask an educated man to give the +product of the primes 2, 13, and 41, or ask him to give the date of the +Norman Conquest, and he can give you the answers very quickly. He may +have to calculate the first, which will make him pause for a second +before answering, but the second will come straight out of his memory +records. In neither case does he have to think of where he learned the +process or the fact, or who taught it to him, or when he got the +information. + +But now the picture and the name in the paper had brought forth a +reaction in Stanton's mind, and he was trying desperately to bring the +information out of oblivion. + +Did he have a mother? Surely. But could he remember her? _Yes!_ +Certainly. A pretty, gentle, rather sad woman. He could remember when +she died, although he couldn't remember ever having actually attended +the funeral. + +What about his father? + +Try as he might, he could find no memory whatever of his father, and, at +first, that bothered him. He could remember his mother--could almost see +her moving around in the apartment where they had lived in ... in ... in +Denver! Sure! And he could remember the big building itself, and the +block, and even Mrs. Frobisher, who lived upstairs! And the school! And +the play area! A great many memories came crowding back, but there was +no trace of his father. + +And yet ... + +Oh, of _course_! That was it! His father had been killed in an accident +when Martinbart were very young. + +_Martinbart!_ + +The name flitted through his mind like a scrap of paper in a high wind, +but mentally he reached out and grasped it. + +Martinbart. Martin-Bart. Mart 'n' Bart. Mart _and_ Bart. + +The Stanton Twins. + +It was very curious, he thought, that he should have forgotten his +brother. And even more curious that the name in the paper had not +brought him instantly to mind. + +Martin, the cripple. Martin, the boy with the poor, weak, +radiation-shattered nervous system. The boy who had had to stay in a +therapeutic chair all his life because his efferent nerves could not +control his body. The boy who couldn't speak. Or, rather, _wouldn't_ +speak because he was ashamed of the gibberish that resulted. + +Martin. The nonentity. The nothing. The nobody. + +The one who watched and listened and thought, but could do nothing. + +Bart Stanton stopped suddenly and unfolded the newspaper again under the +glow of the streetlamp. His memories certainly didn't jibe with _this_! + +His eyes ran down the column of type: + + Mr. Martin has, in the years since he has been in the Belt, run up + an enviable record, both as an insurance investigator and as a + police detective, although his connection with the Planetoid Police + is, necessarily, an unofficial one. Probably not since Sherlock + Holmes has there been such mutual respect and co-operation between + the official police and a private investigator. + +There was only one explanation, Stanton thought. Martin, too, had been +treated by the Institute. His memory was still blurry and incomplete, he +knew, but he did suddenly remember that a decision had been made for +Martin to take the treatment. + +He chuckled a little at the irony of it. It looked as though they hadn't +been able to make a superman of Martin, but they _had_ been able to make +a normal and extraordinarily capable human being of him, he thought. Now +it was Bart who was the freak, the odd one. + +_Turn about is fair play_, he thought. But somehow it didn't seem quite +fair. + +He crumpled the newspaper, dropped it into a nearby waste chute, and +walked on through the night toward the Neurophysical Institute. + + + + +_FOURTH INTERLUDE_ + + +"You understand, Mrs. Stanton," said the psychiatrist, "that a great +part of Martin's trouble is mental as well as physical. Because of the +nature of his ailment, he has withdrawn, pulled himself away from +communication with others. If these symptoms had been brought to my +attention earlier, the mental disturbance might have been more easily +analyzed and treated." + +"I suppose so. I'm sorry, Doctor," said Mrs. Stanton. Her manner +betrayed weariness and pain. "It was so ... so difficult. Martin could +never talk very well, you know, and he just talked less and less as the +years went by. It was so slow and so gradual that I never really noticed +it." + +_Poor woman_, the doctor thought. _She's not well, herself. She should +have married again, years ago, rather than force herself to carry the +whole burden alone. Her role as a doting mother hasn't helped either of +the boys to overcome the handicaps that were already present._ + +"I've honestly tried to do my very best with Martin," Mrs. Stanton went +on unhappily. "And so has Bart, I know. When they were younger, Bart +used to take him out all the time. They went everywhere together. Of +course, I don't expect Bart to do that so much any more. He has his own +life to live. He can't take Martin out on dates or things like that. He +has interests outside the home now, like other boys his age. That's only +normal. But when he's at home, Bart helps me with Martin all the time." + +"I understand," said the psychiatrist. _This is no time to tell her that +Bartholomew's tests indicate that he has subconsciously resented +Martin's presence for a long time_, he thought. _She has enough to worry +about._ + +"_I_ don't understand," said Mrs. Stanton, breaking into sudden tears. +"I just don't understand why Martin should behave this way! Why should +he just sit there with his eyes closed and ignore everybody? Why should +he ignore his mother and his brother? Why?" + +The doctor comforted her in a warmly professional manner, then, as her +tears subsided, he said, "We don't understand all the factors ourselves, +Mrs. Stanton. At first glance, Martin's reactions appear to be those one +would expect of schizophrenic withdrawal. But there are certain aspects +of the case that make it unusual. His behavior doesn't quite follow the +pattern we usually expect from such cases as this. His extreme physical +disability has drastically modified the course of his mental +development, and, at the same time, made it difficult for us to make any +analysis of his mental state." _If only_, he added to himself, _she had +followed the advice of her family physician, years ago. If she had only +put the boy under the proper care, none of this would have happened._ + +"Is there _any_thing we can do, Doctor?" she asked. + +"We don't know yet," he said gently. He considered for a moment, then +said: "Mrs. Stanton, I'd like for you to leave both of the boys here +for a few days, so that we can perform further tests. That will help us +a great deal in evaluating the circumstances, and help us get at the +root of Martin's trouble." + +She looked at him with a little surprise. "Why, yes, of course--if you +think it's necessary. But ... why should Bart stay?" + +The doctor weighed his words carefully before he spoke. + +"Bart will be what we call a 'control', Mrs. Stanton. Since the boys are +genetically identical, they should have been a great deal alike, in +personality as well as in body, if it hadn't been for Martin's accident. +In other words, our tests of Bart will tell us what Martin _should_ be +like. That way, we can tell just how much and in what way Martin +deviates from what he should ideally be. Do you understand?" + +"Yes. Yes, I see. All right, Doctor--whatever you say." + +After Mrs. Stanton had left, the psychiatrist sat quietly in his chair +and stared thoughtfully at his desk top for several minutes. Then, +making his decision, he picked up a small book that lay on his desk and +looked up a number in Arlington, Virginia. He punched out the number on +his phone, and when the face appeared on his screen he said, "Hello, +Sidney. Busy right now?" + +"Not particularly. Not for a few minutes. What's up?" + +"I have a very interesting case out here that I'd like to talk to you +about. Do you happen to have a telepath who's strong enough to take a +meshing with an insane mind? If my suspicions are correct, I will need a +man with an absolutely impregnable sense of identity, because he's going +to get into the weirdest situation I've ever come across." + + + + +_[14]_ + + +The Nipe squatted, brooding, in his underground nest, waiting for the +special crystallization process to take place in the sodium-gold alloy +that was forming in the reactor. + +_How long?_ he wondered. He was not thinking of the complex +crystallization reaction; he knew the timing of that to a fraction of a +second. His dark thoughts were, instead, focused inwardly, upon himself. + +How long would it be before he would be able to construct the +communicator that would span the light-years of intervening distance and +put him in touch with his own race again? How long would it be before he +could again hold discourse with reasonable beings? How much longer would +he have to be stranded on this planet, surrounded by an insane society +composed of degraded, insane beings? + +The work was going incredibly slowly. He had known at the beginning that +his knowledge of the basic arts required to build a communicator was +incomplete, but he had not realized just how painfully inadequate it +was. Time after time, his instruments had simply refused to function +because of some basic flaw in their manufacture--some flaw that an +expert in that field could have pointed out at once. Time after time, +equipment had had to be rebuilt almost from the beginning. And, time +after time, only cut-and-try methods were available for correcting his +errors. + +Not even his prodigious and accurate memory could hold all the +information that was necessary for the work, and there were no reference +tapes available, of course. They had all been destroyed when his ship +had crashed. + +He had long since given up any attempt to understand the functioning of +the mad pseudo-civilization that surrounded him. He was quite certain +that the beings he had seen could not possibly be the real rulers of +this society, but he had no inkling, as yet, as to who the real rulers +were. + +As to _where_ they were, that question seemed a little easier to answer. +It was highly probable that they were out in space, on the asteroids +that his instruments had detected when he was dropping in toward this +planet so many years before. He had made an error then in not landing in +the Belt, but at no time since had he experienced the emotion of regret +or wished he had done differently; both thoughts would have been +incomprehensible to the Nipe. He had made an error; the circumstances +had been checked and noted; he would not make that error again. + +What further action could be taken by a logical mind? + +None. The past was immutable and unchangeable. It existed only as a +memory in his own mind, and there was no way to change that indelible +record, even had the Nipe wished to do so insane a thing. + +Surely, he thought, the real rulers must know of his existence. He had +tried, by his every action, to show that he was a reasoning, +intelligent, and civilized being. Why, then, had they taken no action? + +There was, of course, the possibility that the rulers cared very little +for their subjects here on Earth, that they ignored what went on most of +the time. Still, it would seem that they would recognize the actions of +one of their own kind and take steps to investigate. + +He was still not absolutely certain about Colonel Walther Mannheim. Was +he a Real Person or merely an underling? The information on the man was +pitifully small. It would, of course, be possible to wait, to see how +Colonel Walther Mannheim behaved if and when he discovered the Nipe's +nest. But if he had not discovered it after all these years--and the +information indicated that he had been looking almost since the +first--then it was unlikely that he was a Real Person. In which case, it +would be dangerous to allow him to find the nest. + +No, the best plan of action would be to go to Colonel Walther Mannheim +first. + + + + +_[15]_ + + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The action around the handball court was beautiful to watch. The robot +mechanism behind Bart Stanton would fire out a ball at random intervals +ranging from a tenth to a quarter of a second, bouncing them off the +wall in a random pattern. Stanton would retrieve the ball before it hit +the ground and bounce it off the wall again to strike the target on the +moving robot. Stanton had to work against a machine; no ordinary human +being could have given him any competition. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +_Pok! Pok!_ PLUNK. + +"One miss," Stanton said to himself. But he fielded the next one nicely +and slammed it home. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The physical therapist who was standing to one side, well out of the way +of those hard-slammed, fast-moving drives, glanced at his watch. It was +almost time. + +_Pok! Pok! Ping!_ + +The machine, having delivered its last ball, shut itself off with a smug +click. Stanton turned away from the handball court and walked toward the +physical therapist, who was holding out a robe for him. + +"That was good, Bart," he said. "Real good." + +"One miss," Stanton said as he shrugged into the robe. + +"Yeah. Your timing was off a shade there, I guess. It's hard for me to +tell till I look at the slow-motion photographs. Your arms and hands are +just blurs to me when they're moving that fast. But you managed to chop +another ten seconds off your previous record, anyway." + +Stanton looked at him. "You reset the timer again," he said accusingly. +But there was a grin on his face. + +The P.T. man grinned back. "Yup. Come on, step into the mummy case." He +waved toward the narrow niche in the wall of the court, a niche just big +enough to hold a standing man. Stanton stepped in, and various +instrument pickups came out of the walls and touched him at various +points on his body. Hidden machines recorded his heartbeat, his blood +pressure, his brain activity, his muscular tension, his breathing, and +several other factors. + +After a minute the P.T. man said, "Okay, Bart, that's it. Let's hit the +steam box." + +Stanton stepped out of the niche and accompanied the therapist to +another room, where he took off the robe again and sat down on the small +stool inside an ordinary steam box. The box closed, leaving his head +free, and the box began to fill with steam. + +"Did I ever tell you just what it is that I don't like about that +machine?" Stanton asked as the therapist draped a heavy towel around his +head. + +"Nope. Didn't know you had any gripe. What is it?" + +"You can't gloat after you beat it. You can't walk over and pat it on +the shoulder and say, 'Well, better luck next time, old man.' It isn't a +good loser, and it isn't a bad loser. The damned thing doesn't even know +it lost, and even if it did, it wouldn't care." + +"Yeah, I see what you mean," said the P.T. man, chuckling. "You beat the +pants off it and what d'you get? Nothing. Not even a case of the sulks +out of it." + +"Exactly. And what's worse, I know perfectly good and well that it's +only half trying. The stupid gadget could beat me easily if you just +turned that knob over a little more." + +"Yeah, sure. But you're not competing against the machine, anyway," the +therapist said. "What you're doing, you're competing against yourself, +trying to beat your own record." + +"I know. And what happens when I can't do _that_ any more, either?" +Stanton asked. "I can't just go on getting better and better forever. +I've got limits, you know." + +"Sure," said the therapist easily. "So does anybody. So does a golf +player, for instance. You take a golf player, he goes out and practices +by himself to try to beat his own record." + +"Bunk! Hogwash! The real fun in _any_ game is beating someone else! The +big kick in golf is winning over the other guy in a twosome." + +"How about crossword puzzles or solitaire?" + +"When you solve a crossword puzzle, you've beaten the guy who made up +the puzzle. When you play solitaire, you're playing against the laws of +chance, and that can become pretty boring unless there's money on it. +And, in that case, you're actually trying to beat the guy who's betting +against you. What I'd like to do is get out on the golf course with +someone else and do my best and then lose. Honestly." + +"With a handicap ..." the therapist began. Then he grinned weakly and +stopped. On the golf course, Stanton was impossibly good. It had taken +him a little while to get the knack of it, but as soon as he got control +of his club and knew the reactions of the ball, his score started +plummeting. Now it was so low as to be almost ridiculous. One long drive +to the green and one putt to the cup. An easy thirty-six strokes for +eighteen holes! An occasional hole-in-one sometimes brought his score +down below that; an occasional wormcast or stray wind sometimes brought +it up. + +"Sure," said Stanton. "A handicap. What kind of a handicap do you want +me to give you to induce you to make a fifty-dollar bet on a handball +game with me?" + +The physical therapist could imagine himself trying to get under one of +Stanton's lightning-like returns. The thought of what would happen to +his hand if he were accidentally to catch one made him wince. + +"We wouldn't even be playing the same game," said Stanton. + +The therapist stepped back and looked at Stanton. "You know," he said +puzzledly, "you sound bitter." + +"Sure I'm bitter," Stanton said. "All I ever get is just exercise. All +the fun has gone out of it." He sighed and grinned. There was no point +in upsetting the P.T. man. "I guess I'll just have to stick to cards and +chess if I want competition. Speed and strength don't help anything if +I'm holding two pair against three of a kind." + +Before the therapist could say anything, the door opened and a tall, +lean man stepped into the foggy air of the room. "You are broiling a +lobster?" he asked the P.T. man blandly. + +"Steaming a clam," the therapist corrected. "When he's done, I'll pound +him to chowder." + +"Excellent. I came for a clambake." + +"You're early, then, George," Stanton said. He didn't feel much in the +mood for lightness, and the appearance of Dr. Yoritomo did nothing to +improve his humor. + +George Yoritomo beamed broadly, crinkling up his narrow, heavy-lidded +eyes. "Ah! A talking clam! Excellent! How much longer does this fine +specimen of clamhood have to cook?" he asked the P.T. man. + +"About twenty-three more minutes." + +"Excellent!" said Dr. Yoritomo. "Would you be so good as to return at +the end of that time?" + +The therapist opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again, and +said: "Sure, Doc. I can get some other stuff done. I'll see you in +twenty-three minutes. But don't let him out of there till I get back." +He went out through the far door. + +After the door closed, Dr. Yoritomo pulled up a chair and sat down. +"There have been new developments," he said, "as you may have surmised." + +The physical therapist, like many other of the personnel around the +Institute, knew of Stanton's abilities, but he didn't know the purpose +of the long series of operations that had made him what he was. Such +persons knew about Stanton himself, but they knew nothing of any +connection with the Nipe, although they might suspect. And all of them +kept their knowledge and their suspicions to themselves. + +"I guessed," Stanton said. "What is it, George?" He flexed his muscles +under the caress of the hot, moist currents in the box. + +He wondered why it was so important that the psychologist interrupt him +while he was relaxing after strenuous exercise. Yoritomo looked excited +in spite of his attempt to be calm. And yet Stanton knew that, whatever +it was, it wasn't anything tremendously urgent or Dr. Yoritomo would be +acting a great deal differently. + +Yoritomo leaned forward in his chair, his thin lips in an excited smile, +his black-irised eyes sparkling. "I had to come tell you. The sheer, +utter beauty of it is too much to contain. Three times in a row was +almost absolute, Bart. The probability that our hypotheses were correct +was computed as straight nines to seven decimals. But now! The fourth +time! Straight nines to _twelve_ decimals!" + +Stanton lifted an eyebrow. "Your Oriental calm is deserting you, George. +I'm not reading you." + +Yoritomo's smile became broader. "Ah! Sorry. I refer to the theory we +have been discussing. About the peculiar mentality of our friend, the +Nipe. You remember?" + +Stanton remembered. After six years of watching the recorded actions of +the Nipe, Dr. Yoritomo had evolved a theory about the kind of mentality +that lay behind the four baleful violet eyes in that snouted alien head. +In order that his theory be validated, it was necessary that the theory +be able to predict, in broad terms, the future actions of the Nipe. +Evidently that proof had now come. The psychologist was smiling and +rubbing his long, bony hands together. For Dr. George Yoritomo, that was +almost the equivalent of hysterical excitement. + +"We have been able to predict the behavior of the Nipe!" he said. "For +the fourth time in succession!" + +"Great," Stanton said. "Congratulations, George. But how does that fit +in with the rule you once told me about? You know, the one about +experimental animals." + +"Ah, yes," Yoritomo said, nodding his head agreeably. "The Harvard Law +of Animal Behavior. 'A genetically standardized strain, under precisely +controlled laboratory conditions, when subjected to carefully calibrated +stimuli, will behave as it damned well pleases.' Yes. Very true." + +He held up a cautionary finger. "But an animal could not do otherwise, +could it? Only as it pleases. Could it do anything else? It could not +please to behave as something it is not, could it?" + +"Draw me a picture," Stanton said. + +"What I mean," Yoritomo said, "is that any organism is limited in its +choice of behavior. A hamster, for example, cannot choose to behave in +the manner of a rhesus monkey. A dog cannot choose to react as a mouse +would react. If I prick a white mouse with a needle, it may squeal or +bite or jump--but it will not bark. Never. Nor will it, under any +circumstances, leap to a trapeze, hang by its tail, and chatter curses +at me. Never." + +Stanton chuckled, but he didn't comment. + +"By observing an organism's reactions," the psychologist continued, "one +can begin to see a pattern. After long enough observation, the pattern +almost approaches certainty. If, for instance, I tell you that I put an +armful of hay into a certain animal's enclosure, and that the animal +trotted over, ate the hay, and brayed, then you will be able to tell me +with reasonable certainty whether or not the animal had long ears. Do +you see?" + +"Sure. But you haven't been able to pinpoint the Nipe's activities that +easily yet, have you?" Stanton asked. + +"Ah, no," said Yoritomo. "Not at all. That was merely an analogy, and we +must not make the mistake of carrying an analogy too far. The more +intelligent a creature is, the greater, in general, is its scope of +action. The Nipe is far from being so simple as a monkey or a hamster. +On the other hand--" He smiled widely, showing bright, white teeth. +"--he is not so bright as a human being." + +"_What?_" Stanton looked at him skeptically. "I wouldn't say he was +exactly stupid, George. What about all those prize gadgets of his?" He +blinked. "Wipe the sweat off my forehead, will you? It's running into my +eyes." + +Dr. Yoritomo wiped with the towel as he continued. "Ah, yes. He is quite +capable in that respect, my friend. Quite capable. That is because of +his great memory--at once his finest asset and his greatest curse." + +He draped the towel around Stanton's head again and stepped back, his +face unsmiling. "Imagine having a near-perfect memory, Bart." + +Stanton's jaw muscles tightened a little before he spoke. "I think I'd +like it," he said. + +Yoritomo shrugged slightly. "Perhaps you would. But it would most +certainly not be the asset you think. Look at it very soberly, my +friend. + +"The most difficult teaching job in the world is the attempt to teach an +organism something that that organism already knows. True? Yes. If a man +already knows the shape of the Earth, it will do you no good to teach +him. If he _knows_, for example, that the Earth is flat, but round like +a pancake, your contention that it is round like a ball will make no +impression upon his mind whatever. He _knows_, you see. He _knows_. + +"Now. Imagine a race with a perfect memory--a memory that never fades. A +memory in which each bit of data is as bright and as fresh as the moment +it was imprinted, and as readily available as the data stored in a +robot's mind. It is, in effect, a robotic memory. + +"If you put false data into the memory banks of a mathematical +computer--such as telling it that the square of two is five--you cannot +correct that error simply by telling it the true fact that the square of +two is four. No. First you must remove the erroneous data. Not so?" + +"Agreed," Stanton said. + +"Very good. Then let us look at the Nipe race, wherever it was spawned +in this universe. Let us look at the race a long time back--way back +when they first became _Nipe sapiens_. Back when they first developed a +true language. Each little Nipe child, as it is born or hatched or +budded--whatever it is they do--is taught as rapidly as possible all +the things it must know in order to survive. And once a little Nipelet +is taught a thing, it _knows_. That knowledge is there, and it is +permanent, and it can be brought instantly to the fore. And if it is +taught a falsehood, then it cannot be taught the truth. You see?" + +Stanton thought about it. "Well, yes. But eventually there are going to +be cases where reality doesn't jibe with what he's been taught, aren't +there? And wouldn't cold reality force a change?" + +"Ah. In some cases, yes. In most, no," said Yoritomo. "Look: Suppose one +of these primordial Nipes runs across a tiger--or whatever large +carnivore passes for a tiger on their home planet. This Nipe, let us +say, has never seen a tiger before, so he does not observe that this +particular tiger is old, ill, and weak. It is, as a matter of fact, on +its last legs. Our primordial Nipe hits it on the head, and it drops +dead. He drags the body home for the family to feed upon. + +"'How did you kill it, Papa?' + +"'Why, it was the simplest thing in the world, my child. I walked up to +it, bashed it firmly on the noggin, and it died. That is the way to kill +tigers.'" + +Yoritomo smiled. "It is also a good way to kill Nipes. Eh?" He took the +towel and wiped Stanton's brow again. + +"The error," he continued, "was made when Papa Nipe made the +generalization from _one_ tiger to _all_ tigers. If tigers were rare, +this erroneous bit of lore might be passed on for many generations +unchecked and spread through the Nipe community as time passed. Those +who did learn that most tigers are _not_ conquered by walking up to them +and hitting them on the noggin undoubtedly died before they could pass +this new bit of information on. Then, perhaps, one day a Nipe survived +the ordeal. His mind now contained conflicting information which must be +resolved. He _knows_ that tigers are killed in this way. He also +_knows_ that this one was not so obliging as to die. What is wrong? Ha! +He has the solution! Plainly, _this_ particular beast _was not a +tiger_!" + +"How does he explain that to the others?" Stanton asked. + +"What does he tell his children?" Yoritomo asked rhetorically. "Why, +first he tells them how tigers are killed. You walk up to one and bash +it on the head. But then he warns his little Nipelets that there is an +animal around that looks _just like_ a tiger, but it is _not_ a tiger. +One should not make the mistake of thinking it _is_ a tiger or one will +get oneself badly hurt. Now, since the only way to tell the true tiger +from the false is to give it a hit on the head, and since that test may +prove rather injurious, if not absolutely fatal, to the Nipe who tries +it, it follows that one is better off if one scrupulously avoids all +animals that look like tigers. You see?" + +"Yeah," said Stanton. "Some snarks are boojums." + +"Exactly! Thank you for that allusion," Yoritomo said with a smile. "I +must remember to use it in my report." + +"It seems to me to follow," Stanton said musingly, "that there would +inevitably be some things that they'd never learn the truth about, once +they had gotten the wrong idea into their heads." + +"Ah! Indeed. Absolutely true. It is precisely that which led me to +formulate my theory in the first place. How else are we to explain that +the Nipe, for all his tremendous technical knowledge, is nonetheless a +member of a society that is still in the ancient ritual-taboo stage of +development?" + +"A savage?" + +Yoritomo laughed softly. "As to his savagery, I think no one on Earth +would disagree. But they are not the same thing. What I do mean is that +the Nipe is undoubtedly the most superstitious and bigoted being on the +face of this planet." + +There was a knock on the door of the steam room. + +"Yes?" said Dr. Yoritomo. + +The physical therapist stuck his head in. "Sorry to interrupt, but the +clam is done. I'll have to give him a rubdown, Doc." + +"Perfectly all right," Yoritomo said. "We had almost finished. Think +over what I have said, eh, Bart?" + +"Yeah, sure, George," Stanton said abstractedly. Yoritomo left, and +Stanton got up on the rubdown table and lay prone. The therapist, seeing +that his patient was in no mood for conversation, proceeded with the +massage in silence. + +Stanton lay on the table, his head pillowed in his arms, while the +therapist rubbed and kneaded his muscles. The pleasant sensation formed +a background for his thoughts. For the first time, Stanton was seeing +the Nipe as an individual--as a person--as a thinking, feeling being. + +_We have a great deal in common, you and I_, he thought. _Except that +you're a lot worse off than I am._ + + * * * * * + +_I'm actually feeling sorry for the poor guy_, Stanton thought. _Which, +I suppose, is a hell of a lot better than feeling sorry for myself. The +only real, basic difference between us freaks is that you're more of a +freak than I am. "Molly O'Grady and the Colonel's lady are sisters under +the skin."_ + +_Where'd that come from? Something I learned in school, no doubt--like +the snarks and the boojums._ + + _He would answer to_ Hi! _or to any loud cry, + Such as_ Fry me! _or_ Fritter my wig! + +_Who was that? The snark? No. The snark had a flavor like that of +will-o'-the-wisp. And I must remember to distinguish those that have +feathers, and bite, from those that have whiskers, and scratch._ + +Damn _this memory of mine!_ + +_Or can I even call it mine when I can't even use it?_ + +_"For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I +know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known."_ + +_Another jack-in-the-box thought popping up from nowhere._ + +_The only way I'll ever get all of this stuff straightened out in my +mind is to get more information. And it doesn't look as though anyone is +going to give it to me on a platter, either. The Institute men seem to +be awfully chary about giving information away, even to me. George even +had to chase away old rub-and-pound (That feels good!) before he would +talk about the Nipe. Can't blame 'em for that, of course. There'd be +hell to pay for everyone around if the general public ever found out +that the Nipe has been kept as a pet for six years._ + +_How many people has he killed in that time? Twenty? Thirty? How much +blood does Colonel Mannheim have on his hands?_ + + _Though they know not why, + Or for what they give, + Still, the few must die, + That the many may live._ + +_I wonder whether I read all that stuff complete or just browsed through +a copy of Bartlett's_ Quotations. + +_Fragments._ + +_We've got to get organized around here, brother. Colonel Mannheim's +puppet is going to have to cut his strings and do a Pinocchio._ + + + + +_[16]_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim unlocked the door of his small suite of rooms +in the Officers' Barracks. God! he was tired. It wasn't so much physical +exhaustion as mental and emotional release from the tension he had been +under for the preceding few hours. Or had it been years? + +He dropped his heavy briefcase on a nearby chair, took off his cap and +dropped it on the briefcase. + +He stood there for a moment, looking tiredly around. Everything was in +order, as usual. He seldom came to Government City any more. Twenty or +so visits in the last ten years, and only a dozen of them had been long +enough to force him to spend the night in his old suite at the World +Police Headquarters at the southern end of the island. He didn't like to +stay in Government City; it made him uneasy, being this close to the +Nipe's underground nest. The Nipe had too many taps into government +communication channels, too many ways of seeing and hearing what went on +here in the nerve center of civilization. + +One of the most difficult parts of this whole operation had been the +careful balancing of information flow through those channels that the +Nipe had tapped. To stop using them would betray immediately to that +alien mind that his taps had been detected. The information flow must go +on as usual. There was no way to censor the information, either, +although it was known that the Nipe relied on them for planning his +raids. But since there was no way of knowing, even after years of +observation, what sort of thing the Nipe would be wanting next, there +was no way of knowing which information should be removed from the +tapped channels. + +And, most certainly, removing _all_ information about every possible +material that the Nipe might want would make him even more suspicious +than simply shutting down the channels altogether. To shut them down +would only indicate that the human government had detected his taps; to +censor them heavily would indicate that a trap was being laid. + +It was even impossible to censor out news about the Nipe. That, too, +would have invited suspicion. So a special corps of men had been set up, +a group whose sole job was to investigate every raid of the Nipe. Every +raid produced a flurry of activity by this special group. They rushed +out to look over the scene of the raid, prowled around, and did +everything that might be expected of an investigative body. Their +reports were sent in over the usual channels. All the actual data they +came up with was sent straight through the normal channels--but the +conclusions they reached from that data were not. Always, in spite of +everything, the messages indicated that the police were as baffled as +before. + +All other information relating to the Nipe went through special channels +known to be untapped by the Nipe. + +And yet, there was no way to be absolutely certain of the sum total of +the information that the Nipe received. Believing, as he did, in the +existence of Real People, he would necessarily assume that _their_ +communication systems were hidden from him, and the more difficult they +were to find, the more certain he would be that they existed. And it was +impossible to know what information the Nipe picked up when he was out +on a raid, away from the spying devices that had been hidden in his +tunnels. + +Mannheim walked across the small living room to the sideboard that stood +against one wall and opened a door. Fresh ice, soda, and a bottle of +Scotch were waiting for him. He took one of the ten-ounce glasses, +dropped in three of the hard-frozen cubes of ice, added a precisely +measured ounce and a half of Scotch, and filled the glass to within an +inch of the brim with soda. Holding the glass in one hand, he walked +around the little apartment, checking everything with a sort of +automatic abstractedness. The air conditioner was pouring sweet, cool, +fresh air into the room; the windows--heavy, thick slabs of paraglass +welded directly into the wall--admitted the light from the courtyard +outside, but admitted nothing else. There was no need for them to open, +because of the air conditioning. A century before, some buildings still +had fire escapes running down their outsides, but modern fireproofing +had rendered such anachronisms unnecessary. + +But his mind was only partly on his surroundings. He went into the +bedroom, sat down on the edge of the bed, took a long drink from the +cold glass in his hand, and then put it on the nightstand. Absently he +began pulling off his boots. His thoughts were on the Executive Session +he had attended that afternoon. + +_"How much longer, do you think, Colonel?"_ + +_"A few weeks, sir. Perhaps less."_ + +_"There was another raid in Miami, Colonel. Another man died. We could +have prevented that death, Colonel. We could have prevented a great many +deaths in the past six years."_ + +And what answer was there to that? The Executive Council knew that the +deaths were preventable in only one way--by killing the Nipe. And they +had long ago agreed that the knowledge in that alien mind was worth the +sacrifice. But, as he had known would happen when they made the decision +six years before, there were some of them who had, inevitably, weakened. +Not all--not even a majority--but a minority that was becoming stronger. + +It had been, to a great degree, Mannheim's arguments that had convinced +them then, and now they were tending to shift the blame for their +decision to Mannheim's shoulders. + +Most of the Executives were tough-minded, realistic men. They were not +going to step out now unless there were good reason for it. But if the +subtle undercutting of the vacillating minority weakened Mannheim's own +resolve, or if he failed to give solid, well-reasoned answers to their +questions, then the whole project would begin to crumble rapidly. + +He had not directly answered the Executive who had pointed out that many +lives could have been saved if the Nipe had been killed six years ago. +There was no use in fighting back on such puerile terms. + +_"Gentlemen, within a few weeks, we will be ready to send Stanton in +after the Nipe. If that fails, we can blast him out of his stronghold +within minutes afterwards. But if we stop now, if we allow our judgment +to be colored at this point, then all those who have died in the past +six years will have died in vain."_ + +He had gone on, exploring and explaining the ramifications of the plans +for the next few weeks, but he had carefully kept it on the same level. +It had been an emotional sort of speech, but it had been purposely so, +in answer to the sort of emotionalism that the weakening minority had +attempted to use on him. + +Men had died, yes. But what of that? Men had died before for far less +worthwhile causes. And men, do what they will, will die eventually. In +the back of his mind, he had recalled the battle-cry of some sergeant of +the old United States Marines during an early twentieth-century war. As +he led his men over the top, he had shouted, "_Come on, you sons of +bitches! Do you wanna live forever?_" + +But Mannheim hadn't mentioned it aloud to the Executive Council. + +Nor had he pointed out that ten thousand times as many people had died +during the same period through preventable accidents. That would not +have had the effect he wanted. + +These particular men had died for this particular purpose. They had not +asked to die. They had not known they were being sacrificed. None of +them could be said to have died a hero's death. They had died simply +because they were in a particular place at a particular time. + +They had been allowed to die for a specific purpose. To abort that +purpose at this time would be to make their deaths, retroactively, +murder. + +Mannheim put his head on the pillow and lifted his feet up on the bed. +All he wanted was a few minutes of relaxation. He'd get ready for sleep +later. He pressed the control button on the bedframe that lifted the +head of the bed up so that he was in a semi-reclining position. He +picked up his drink and took a second long pull from it. + +Then he touched the phone switch and put the receiver to his ear. + +"Beta-beta," he said when he heard the tone. + +He heard the hum, and he knew that the ultraprivate phone on the desk of +Dr. Farnsworth, in St. Louis, was signaling. Then Farnsworth's voice +came over the linkage. + +"_F_ here." + +"_M_ here," Mannheim replied. Then he asked guardedly, "Any sign of our +boy?" + +"None." + +"Keep on him," Mannheim said. "Let me know immediately." + +"Will do. Any further?" + +"No. Carry on." Mannheim cut off the phone. + +Where the hell had Stanton disappeared to, and why? He had wanted to +bring the young man to Government City to show him off before the +Executives. It would have helped. But Stanton had disappeared. + +Mannheim was well aware that Stanton had been in the habit of leaving +the Institute for long walks during the evenings, but this was the first +time he had been gone for twenty-four hours. And even Yoritomo, that +master psychologist, had been unable to give any solid reason for +Stanton's disappearance. + +"You must remember, my dear Colonel," Yoritomo had said, "our young Mr. +Stanton is a great deal more complex in his thinking than is our friend +the Nipe." + +_A hell of a job for a police officer_, Mannheim thought to himself. _I +know where the criminal is, but I have to hunt for the only cop on Earth +who can arrest him._ + +He drained his glass, put it on the nightstand, and closed his eyes to +think. + + * * * * * + +An operator on duty at the spy screens that watched every move of the +Nipe while he was in the tunnels underneath Government City thumbed down +a switch and said, "All stations alert. Subject is moving southward +toward exit, carrying raiding equipment." + +It was all that was necessary. The Nipe could not be followed after he +left his lair, but the proper groups would be standing by. Somewhere, +the Nipe would hit and raid again. Somewhere, there were human lives in +danger. + +All anyone could do was wait. + + * * * * * + +Cautiously and carefully, the Nipe lifted his head out of the cool salt +water of the Hudson River, near the point where it widened into New York +Harbor--still so called after the city that had been the greatest on the +North American continent before the violence of a sun bomb had +demolished it forever. + +He looked around carefully to get his bearings, then submerged again. +The opening into the ancient sewer was nearby. Once into that network, +he would know exactly where he was heading. It had taken weeks to find +his way around within the unexplored maze of the old sewers, and he had +been uncertain whether they would lead him to the place he intended to +visit, but luck had been with him. + +Now he knew exactly where he wanted to go, and exactly what he would +find there. + +He had avoided Government City itself since his first appearance there, +shortly after his arrival, just as he had, as much as possible, avoided +ever striking in the same place more than once. But now that it had +become necessary, he went about his work with the same cool +determination that had always marked his activities. + +He knew his destination, too. He knew the two rooms thoroughly, having +explored them carefully and gone away undetected. And now that he knew +the one he sought was in those rooms, he was ready to make his final +investigation of the man. + +He swam on through the utter blackness of the brackish water until his +head broke surface again. Then he went on along the great conduits that +were above the level of the sea. + + * * * * * + +Captain Davidson Greer sat in the gun tower that overlooked the +Officers' Barracks and the courtyard surrounding the five-story +building. He was a tall, solidly built man in his early thirties, with +dark gray-green eyes and dark blond hair. He didn't particularly care +for gun-tower duty, but this sort of thing couldn't be left to anyone +who was not in on the secret of the Nipe. As long as Colonel Mannheim +was here in Government City, there would be special officers guarding +him instead of the usual guard contingent. + +Not that Captain Greer was actually expecting the Nipe to make any +attempt on the colonel's life; that was too remote to be worried about. +But the gun towers had been erected fifty or more years before because +there were always those who wanted to attempt assassination. Officers of +the World Police had not enjoyed great popularity during the +reconstruction period after the Holocaust. The petty potentates who had +set themselves up as autocratic rulers in various spots over the Earth +had quite often decided that the best way to get the WP off their backs +was to kill someone, and quite often that someone was a Police officer. +Disgruntled nationalists and fanatics of all kinds had tried at various +times to kill one officer or another. The protection was needed then. + +Even now there were occasional assassins who attempted to invade World +Police Headquarters, but they were usually stopped long before they got +into the enclosure itself. + +Still, there was always the chance. There had been, in the past few +years, an undercurrent of rebellion all over Earth because of the Nipe. +The monster hadn't been killed, and there were those who screamed that +the failure was due to the inefficiency of the Police. + +One attempt had already been made on the life of a Major Thorensen +because he had failed to get the Nipe after a raid in Leopoldville. The +would-be assassin had been cut down just before he threw a grenade that +would have killed half a dozen men. Captain Greer had been assigned to +make sure that no such attempt would succeed with Colonel Mannheim. + +He could see the length of the hallway that led to Colonel Mannheim's +suite. The hallway had been purposely designed for watching from the gun +tower. To one who was inside, it looked like an ordinary hallway, +stretching down the length of the building. But it was walled with a +special plastic that, while opaque to visible light, was perfectly +transparent to infra-red. To the ordinary unaided eye, the walls of the +building presented a blank face to the gun tower, but to the eye of an +infra-red scope, the hallways of all five floors looked as though they +were long, glass-enclosed terraces. And those walls were neither the +ferro-concrete of the main building nor the pressure glass of the +windows, but ordinary heavy-gauge plastic. To the bullets that could be +spewed forth from the muzzle of the heavy-caliber, high-powered machine +gun in the tower, those walls were practically nonexistent. + +Captain Greer surveyed the hallways with his infra-red binoculars. +Nothing. The halls were empty. He lowered the binoculars and lit a +cigarette. Then he put his eyes to the aiming scope of the gun and +swiveled the muzzle a little. The aiming scope showed nothing either. + +He leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Mannheim blinked and looked at the ceiling. It took him a minute +to re-orient himself. Then he grinned rather sheepishly, realizing that +he had dozed off with his clothes on. Even worse, the pressure at his +hip told him that he hadn't even bothered to take his sidearm off. He +sat up and swung his feet to the floor, then glanced at his wrist. Three +in the morning. + +_And the moral of that, my dear Walther_, he told himself, _is that a +tired man should put on his pajamas first, before he lies down and +drinks a Scotch_. + +He stood up. Might as well put his pajamas on and get to bed. He would +have to be back in St. Louis by ten in the morning, so he ought to get +as much sleep as possible. + +The phone chimed. + +He scooped it up and became instantly awake as he heard the voice of +Captain Greer from the gun tower that faced the outer wall. "Colonel, +the Nipe is just outside the wall of your apartment, in the hallway. I +have him in my sights." He was trying to stay calm, Mannheim could tell +by his voice, but he rattled the words off with machine-gun rapidity. + +Mannheim thought rapidly. Whatever the Nipe was up to, it wouldn't +include planting a bomb or anything that might kill anyone accidentally. +If there was a life in danger, it was his own, and the danger would come +from the Nipe's hands, not from any device or weapon. + +He was thankful that it was Captain Greer up in that tower, not an +ordinary guard who would have fired the instant he saw the alien through +the infra-red-transparent walls. Even so, he knew that the captain's +fingers must be tightening on those triggers. No human being could do +otherwise with that monster in his sights. + +Mannheim spoke very calmly and deliberately. "Captain, listen very +carefully. Do _not_--I repeat, do _not_, under any circumstances +whatever, fire that gun. Understand?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What's he doing?" + +"I can't tell, sir. He has some sort of gadget in his hands, but he just +seems to be squatting there." + +"At the door?" + +"No. To the left of it, at the wall." + +"You have your cameras going?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"All right. Get everything that happens. Under no circumstances shoot or +give the alarm--_even if he kills me_. Let him go. I don't think that +will happen, but if it does, let him go. I think I can talk to him. I +don't think there's much danger. I'm going to leave the phone open so +you can record everything, and--" + +There was a muffled noise from the living room. He heard Captain Greer's +gasp as he turned. He could see through the bedroom door to the wall of +the living room. A large section of the ferro-concrete wall had sagged +away and collapsed, having suddenly lost its tensile strength. On the +top of the rubble, frozen for a long instant, stood the Nipe, watching +with those four glowing violet eyes. + +Mannheim let go the phone and turned to face the monster, and in that +instant he realized his mistake. + + * * * * * + +The Nipe stared at the human being. Was this, at last, a Real Person? It +was surprising that the man should be awake. Only a minute before, the +instruments had shown him to be in the odd cataleptic state that these +creatures lapsed into periodically, similar to, but not identical with, +his own rest state. And yet he was now awake and fully dressed. Surely +that indicated-- + +And then the man turned, and the Nipe saw the weapon in the holster at +his waist. There was a blinding instant of despair as he realized that +his hopes had been shattered-- + +--and then he launched himself across the room. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Mannheim's hand darted toward the gun at his hip. It was purely +reflex action. Even as he did it, he was aware that he would never get +the weapon out in time to bring it to bear on the onrushing monster, and +he was content that it should be so. + + * * * * * + +Twenty-five minutes later, the Nipe, after carefully licking off the +fingers of his first pair of hands, went back into the hallway and +headed down toward the sewers again. + +The emotion he felt is inexpressible in human terms. Although he had not +wished to kill the man, it cannot be said that the Nipe felt contrition. +Although he had had no desire to harm the family, if any, of the late +Colonel Mannheim, it cannot be said that the Nipe felt sadness or +compassion. + +Nor, again, although his stomachs churned and his body felt sluggish +and heavy, can it be said that he felt any regret for what he had done. + +That is not to say that he felt _no_ emotion. He did. His emotions were +as strong and as deep as those of a very sensitive human being. His +emotions could bring him pain and they could bring him pleasure. They +could crush him or exalt him. His emotions were just as real and as +effective as any human emotions. + +But they were _not_ human emotions. + +They were emotions, but not _human_ emotions. + +It is impossible to render into any human terms the simple statement: +"The Nipe felt that he had properly rendered homage to a validly slain +foe." + +That cannot even begin to indicate the emotion the Nipe felt as he moved +down toward the sewer and escape. + + * * * * * + +Captain Davidson Greer, his eyes staring with glassy hatred through the +infra-red gunsight, was registering a very human emotion. His trigger +fingers were twitching spasmodically--squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. + +But his fingers were not on the triggers. + + + + +_[17]_ + + +"It is not your fault, Bart," said George Yoritomo softly. "You had a +perfect right to go." + +Bart Stanton clenched his fists and turned suddenly to face the Japanese +psychologist. "Sure! Hell, yes! We're not discussing my _rights_, +George! We're discussing my criminal stupidity! I had the right to leave +here any time I wanted to, sure. But I didn't have the right to +exercise that right--if that makes any sense to you." + +"It makes sense," Yoritomo agreed, "but it is not the way to look at it. +You could not have been with the colonel every minute of every day. +There was no way of knowing--" + +"Of course not!" Stanton cut in angrily. "But I should have been there +_this_ time. He wanted me there, and I was gone. If I'd been there, he'd +be alive at this moment." + +"Possibly," Yoritomo said, "and then again, possibly not. Sit down over +there on your bed, my young friend, and listen to me. Sit! That's it. +Take a deep breath, hold it, and relax. I want your ears functioning +when I talk to you. That's better. + +"Now. I do not know where you went. That is your business. All you--" + +"I went to Denver," Stanton said. + +"And you found?" + +"Nothing," Stanton said. "Absolutely nothing." + +"What were you looking for?" + +"I don't know. Something about my past. Something about myself. I don't +know." + +"Ah. You went to look up your family. You were trying to fill the holes +in your memory. Eh?" + +"Yes." + +"And you did not succeed." + +"No. No. There wasn't anything there that I didn't remember. In general, +I mean. I found the files in the Bureau of Statistics. I know how my +father died now, and how my mother died. And what happened to my +brother. But all that didn't tell me anything. I'm still looking for +something, and I don't know what it is. I was stupid to have gone. I +suppose I should have asked you or Dr. Farnsworth or the colonel." + +"But you thought we wouldn't answer," Yoritomo said. + +"I guess that's about it. I should have asked you." + +Yoritomo shook his head. "Not necessarily. It was actually better that +you looked for yourself. Besides, we could not have given you any answer +if you yourself do not know the question. We still can't." + +"I have a feeling," Stanton said, "that you know the question as well as +the answer." + +"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But there are some things that every man must +find out for himself. You were right to do as you did. If you had asked +Colonel Mannheim for permission, he would have let you go. He would not +have asked you to go to Government City with him. We--" + +"That's the whole damned trouble!" Stanton snapped. "I'm the star +boarder around here, the indispensable man. So I'm babied and I'm +coddled, and when I goof off I'm patted on the back." + +"And just how did you goof off?" Yoritomo asked. + +"I should have been here, ready to go with the colonel." + +"Very well. Suppose you had gone. Do you think you could have saved his +life? He could have saved his own life if he'd wanted to. Instead, he +specifically ordered the guard not to shoot under any circumstances. If +you had been there, the results would have been the same. He would have +forbidden you to do anything at all. The time is not yet ripe for you to +face the Nipe. You would not have been able to protect him without +disobeying his orders." + +"I might have done just that," said Stanton. + +Yoritomo was suddenly angry. "Then it is better that you were in Denver, +young fool! Colonel Walther Mannheim believed that no single human life +is worth the loss of the knowledge in that alien's mind! He proved that +by sacrificing his own life when that became necessary. I like to think +that I would have done the same thing myself. I am certain Dr. +Farnsworth would. We would rather _all_ be dead than allow that fund of +data to be lost to the rest of humanity!" + +"But--but who will carry on, with him dead?" Stanton asked. "He was the +one who co-ordinated everything. You and Farnsworth aren't cut out for +that sort of thing. Nor am I." + +"No," Yoritomo said. "But that has already been taken care of. Mannheim +had a replacement ready. A message is being sent out in Mannheim's name, +since we are keeping the colonel's death secret for the time being. +_You_ are the only indispensable man, Stanton. The rest of us can easily +be replaced. The lives of dozens of human beings have been +sacrificed--five years of your own life have been sacrificed--to put you +in the right place at the right time. And the job you are to do does not +and never has included acting as bodyguard for Colonel Mannheim or +anyone else. Understand?" + +Stanton nodded slowly. "I understand, George. I understand." + + + + +_[18]_ + + +The detective pushed his way out of the crowded courtroom before the +rest of the crowd started to move. The members of the jury were still +filing in, and he knew that no one else would leave the room until the +verdict was in. + +He didn't care. He knew what the verdict ought to be. He knew also that +juries had occasionally been swayed by histrionics on the part of the +defense counsel, and had been persuaded to free guilty men. He knew, +too, that prosecutors had railroaded innocent men. But such things as +that didn't happen often in the Belt. A man doesn't live too long in +the Belt unless he's capable of recognizing Truth when he sees it. + +But even if the wrong verdict had been brought in, there would have been +nothing he could do about it now. He had done his part. He had done +everything he could. He had brought them in. He had testified. All the +rest of it was up to the Jury and the Court--those two enigmatic halves +of Justice and Judgment. + +The point was that this was the perfect time to leave the courtroom. +When he reached his office, he could, if he wanted--and, he thought +ruefully, he probably _would_ want to, in spite of his pretended +indifference--call up to find out what the verdict had been. But, during +these few moments, all eyes were on the jury box. No one was watching +who left quietly by the side door of the big courtroom. + +He moved silently and with assurance in the fractional-gee field of the +planetoid. One of the uniformed guards looked at him and smiled, +throwing him an informal salute. + +The detective returned both. "If any of those news reporters ask which +way I went," he said amiably, "tell 'em I went thataway." He gestured +over his shoulder with a thumb. + +"I ain't even seen you, Mr. Martin," said the guard. + +The detective waved his thanks and kept going. It wasn't that he +disliked newsmen. Most of them were fairly intelligent, pleasant people. +But he didn't want to be asked any questions right now. He had given +them interviews aplenty during the trial, and they could use those, now +that the end of the trial had lifted the news ban. They had plenty of +quotations from Stan Martin without asking him what he thought of the +verdict itself. + +Ten minutes later, he was in his own office in the Lloyd's Area. Helen, +his secretary, was just cutting off the phone as he walked into the +outer office. She flashed him a big smile. + +"They just gave the verdict, Mr. Martin! Guilty all the way down the +line--conspiracy, extortion, kidnapping, and all the others. The only +'not guilty' verdict was a minor one. They decided that Hedgepeth wasn't +involved in the actual kidnapping itself, and therefore wasn't guilty of +the physical assault of the guard." + +"They're probably right," the detective said, "but, as you said, it's a +minor point. It doesn't much matter whether he was physically present at +the time the boy was taken or not; he was certainly in on the plot." He +paused, frowning. "That's over and done with, except for a possible +appeal. And it's unlikely that that would involve us, anyway. Get Mr. +Pelham on the phone, will you? I'll take it in my office." + +"The _Morton_ case?" she asked. + +"Yeah. There's something fishy about the wreck of the spaceship +_Morton_, and I want Pelham to let me work on it." + +He went on into his office and had barely sat down when the phone +hummed. "Yes?" he said, depressing the switch. + +"Mr. BenChaim would like to speak to you, sir," Helen said formally. + +"Oh?" In order to have gotten here so quickly, BenChaim, too, must have +left before the verdict was delivered. He was hardly more than a minute +behind the detective. And that was unusual in a man who was waiting at +the trial of the kidnappers of his own son. Still, Moishe BenChaim was +an unusual man. + +"Tell him to come right on in," the detective said. "Oh, and Helen ... +hold off on that Pelham call for a little while." He didn't want to be +talking business while BenChaim was in the office. + +"Yes, sir," she said. + +A few seconds later, the door opened, and Moishe BenChaim came in. He +was not a big man, but he was broad of shoulder and broad of girth, +built like a wrestler. He had a heavy, graying beard, and wore it with a +patriarchal air. He was breathing rather heavily as he came through the +door, and he stopped suddenly to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. He +began coughing--harsh, racking, painful coughs that shook his heavy +frame. + +"Sorry," he said after a moment. "Damn lungs. Shouldn't try to move so +fast." He wiped his lips and put the handkerchief away. + +The detective didn't say anything. He knew that Moishe BenChaim had +injured his lungs eighteen years before. An accident in space had +ruptured his spacesuit, and the explosive decompression that had +resulted had almost killed him. He had saved his own life by holding the +torn spot with one hand and turning up the air-tank valve full blast +with the other. The rough patch job had held long enough for him to get +back inside his ship, but his lungs had never been the same, and his +eyes were eternally bloodshot from the ruptured and distended +capillaries. + +"I noticed you'd slipped out of the courtroom," he went on. "I hope you +don't mind my following you." + +"Of course not, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said. "Sit down." + +BenChaim sat in the chair across the desk from the detective. "I didn't +wait for the verdict," he said. "I knew the conviction was certain after +you testified." + +"Thanks. My secretary got the news just before you came in. Guilty +straight across the board. But your son's testimony was a lot more +telling than mine." + +"Guilty," BenChaim repeated with satisfaction. "Naturally. What else? I +admit my son's testimony was good," he continued; "Little Shmuela told +his story like a little man up there in the witness-box. Never looked +scared, never got mixed up. But Shmuela's testimony was your testimony +too, Mr. Martin. If it hadn't been for you, he wouldn't be here to +testify, for which I'm grateful to God." Then he leaned back and spread +his hands apart in a gesture of dismissal. + +"But that's all over and done with," he said. "I came about a different +matter." Again he paused, as if picking his words carefully. "Do you +know a man named Barnabas Nguma?" + +"Nguma? Yes; I met him once. Why?" + +"He was in the courtroom today. He came to see me just before court +convened." + +"Oh?" the detective said noncommittally. + +"Yes. He claims to represent an organization on Earth which has been +trying to hire you for a job there. Is that right?" + +"That's right," the detective said warily. "What did he want with you?" + +"Now, that's a funny thing," BenChaim said. "It seems that he's under +the impression that you turned down his job to take on this kidnapping. +Is that right?" + +"Not exactly," the detective said tightly. "I was working on your son's +case before he and a couple of other men came out here to talk to me. +But they'd written to me long before that." He wondered what BenChaim +was getting at. He didn't owe any explanations to the industrialist, +but, on the other hand, he couldn't be impolite to him. + +"I see," BenChaim said, nodding his head slowly. "Like most Earthies, +Mr. Nguma is suffering under a misapprehension. He seems to think that I +have some sort of hold over you, that I was the one who made you turn +down his job, so that you'd take _my_ case." + +"Oh? Was he angry because you'd put your own selfish interests ahead of +his unselfish ones?" the detective asked with a trace of hard sarcasm in +his voice. + +"Oh, no," said BenChaim. "Oh, no. Not at all. He said he understood +perfectly. But he wondered if, now that my boy had been returned safely, +I might not put a little pressure on you to get you to take his case." + +"And what did you say?" + +Moishe BenChaim scowled. "I told him exactly where he could head in. I +told him that I had no power over you whatever, that I hadn't hired you +at all, that I didn't even know that you were working on the case until +after you rescued Shmuel. I told him that even if I held the power of +life and death over you I would never lift so much as a finger against +you. I told him that it was just the other way around, in fact. I told +him that you have such a power over me because of what you did for +Shmuel that it is _I_ who will jump through _your_ hoop if ordered, not +the other way around. I was quite angry." BenChaim relaxed a little +before going on. "Actually, I'm sorry I blew up. He's a well-meaning +man, I think." + +"No doubt," the detective said. "Did he tell you what the job was?" + +"With most heart-rending particulars," said BenChaim. "I was told all +about how this Nipe has been killing and eating people, as if I didn't +know already. But it wasn't until I heard him talk that I realized how +scared people are back there on Earth. You know, Martin, we're insulated +out here. We don't feel that terror, even when we read about it or see +the reports on the newscasts. If everybody on Earth is as scared as that +Mr. Nguma is, it's a wonder they haven't all panicked and taken to +running around in circles." + +"As a matter of fact, Mr. BenChaim," the detective said levelly, "they +have begun to do just that. Mr. Nguma and his friends have been after me +for a long time to take their job. They have pulled every trick they can +think of--including this last one with you--to get me to go back to +Earth and find that monster. I have refused them so often and so firmly +that they are convinced I'm afraid to tackle the Nipe. They are +convinced that I know I'll fail. And yet they keep after me. If that +isn't running around in circles, it'll do until a better example comes +along." + +"They're out of their minds," BenChaim said flatly. "Of _course_ no man +in his right mind would try to face down that thing! It would be as +silly as trying to outrun a bullet or do arithmetic faster than a +computer. That's common sense. That's showing a healthy respect for the +Nipe--not fear. At least, not fear in the way that those men are +afraid." + +Suddenly the detective knew why the industrialist had come. He knew that +Moishe BenChaim wanted to reassure Stanley Martin, to tell him that he +was doing the sensible thing in turning down so dangerous an assignment. +He could almost have predicted word for word what BenChaim was going to +say next. + +"Nguma may be here at any minute," said the industrialist. "He told me +that he was going to come as soon as the trial was over. What are you +going to tell him this time? I know it's none of my business, but I'm +asking, just the same." + +"I'm going to tell him _no_," the detective said. "I will not return to +Earth for any reason whatever." + +"Good," said BenChaim. "Good. That's the smart thing to do. And don't +let him buffalo you. We know you out here in the Belt, Martin. I've been +out here for thirty years, and I know what kind of guts it takes to do +the things you've done. Those men don't understand space. Nobody +understands space until he's lived in it and worked in it, and had cold +death only a fraction of an inch away from his skin for hours and days +at a time. No matter what those Earthies say, we know you've got more +guts than anybody else in the Belt--to say nothing of those +stay-at-homes on Earth." + +"Thank you. I appreciate that," the detective said. But they were only +words. He knew that BenChaim meant exactly what he said--or thought he +meant it. But he also knew that BenChaim and others would always wonder +why he had turned the job down. + +_God!_ he thought, _I wish I knew!_ The thought was only momentary. +Then, as it had done so many times before, his mind veered away from the +dangerous subject. + +Moishe BenChaim stood up. "Well, that's all I had to say, Mr. Martin. I +just wanted to warn you that that man might be coming around and to tell +you how I felt. Remember what I said about jumping through a hoop. Any +time you need me, for anything at all, you just say so. Understand?" + +"I understand," the detective said, forcing a smile. He rose and shook +the industrialist's outstretched hand. "And thanks again," he added. + +After BenChaim had gone, the detective sat thinking, toying with a +pencil on his desk. Moishe BenChaim, like so many others in the Belt, +had come out with nothing but his brain and his two hands and the +equipment necessary to keep him alive. In thirty years, he had parlayed +that into one of the biggest fortunes in the Solar System. It was men +like that whose respect he valued, and, on the surface, he apparently +had that respect. But refusing the Nipe job would dull the bright sheen +of that respect, and he knew it. BenChaim had talked about how foolish +it would be to try to beat the Nipe in a face-to-face encounter, but he +hadn't meant it. He knew perfectly well that all Stanley Martin would be +expected to do would be to find out where the Nipe's hideout was. Once +that had been accomplished, men and machines--most especially +machines--could wipe the monster from the face of the Earth. One +well-placed bomb would do it, if the authorities only knew where to +place that bomb. If only-- + +Again his mind veered away, refusing to consider the Nipe too carefully +or too closely. + +The intercom on his desk hummed, and he pressed the switch. + +"Yes, Helen?" + +"That Mr. Nguma was here while Mr. BenChaim was with you, Mr. Martin. I +followed your instructions and told him that you would not see him." + +"Fine. Thanks, Helen." + +"Also, there's a radiogram for you from Earth." + +"If it's from one of Nguma's colleagues," the detective said, "I don't +want to see it. File it in the cylindrical file--under _W_." + +"I don't think it is," the secretary said doubtfully. "I can't make any +sense out of it. I'd better bring it in." + +"Okay. And then put that call through to Pelham. I want to get going on +that _Morton_ spaceship wrecking. I'm getting itchy for action." + +She brought in the radiogram and put it on his desk before calling +Pelham. She had already read it, of course. It was her job to read such +things. + +The detective picked up the sheet of paper and read it. + + THE OPERATION IS ABOUT TO BEGIN. I NEED + + THE OTHER HALF OF MY FORCEPS. COME HOME + + AND JOIN THE BIG PARADE. + + MANNHEIM + +It took a second for the words to really impress themselves on his mind. +He read them over again. + +And the veil began to drop from the closed-off part of his mind. + +Memories began to swarm back into his mind--memories that had been +walled off and kept away from his conscious mind by the hypnotic +suggestion implanted so long ago. + +Oddly, it did not surprise or shock him. He was an expert at hypnosis, +especially self-hypnosis. He recognized the message for exactly what it +was: a series of code phrases designed to break the blockage that had +been placed in his mind. + +His only reaction was to laugh aloud. "By God!" he said. "It worked! It +actually worked! Nearly six years, and I never suspected once!" + +The phone hummed. He switched it on. "Mr. Pelham is on the phone, Mr. +Martin," Helen said. + +He watched as the florid, smiling face of Pelham, his superior, appeared +on the screen. "What can I do for you, Martin?" he asked. + +"I have a favor to ask, Mr. Pelham." + +"Anything within reason," Pelham said. "After this BenChaim affair, +you're in good standing around here." He chuckled. + +"I want a leave of absence," the detective said. + +Pelham looked a little surprised. "Well, I guess you deserve it. You +need a rest, I imagine." + +"No," the detective said. "No, it isn't that. I'm going after bigger +game, is all." + +"What's that?" + +"I'm going to Earth to find the Nipe." + + + + +_[19]_ + + +From the very moment he had heard that "Stanley Martin" had arrived to +take charge of the project, Bart Stanton pushed all thoughts of his +brother out of his mind. He had fouled up once by thinking of himself +rather than thinking of what had to be done; he would not make that +mistake again. + +Nor, apparently, did Martin have any desire to meet Bart Stanton. He +took control of the project smoothly. Apparently Mannheim had taken into +account the possibility of his own death and had arranged things +accordingly. Although Martin was not a member of the World Police, his +own record showed that he had the ability to handle the job, and an +Executive Session had unanimously accepted Colonel Mannheim's wishes in +the matter. There was little else they could do; the very fact that +Mannheim had died in the way he had, ordering the guard to hold his +fire, had stilled those voices on the Executive Council who had been +wavering before. + +Martin had come in to Earth almost secretly, without fanfare, and the +general public was totally unaware that anything at all had happened. + +Special messages, going through the channels known to be tapped by the +Nipe, said that it would not be in the public interest to admit that the +Nipe could actually penetrate the defenses of World Police Headquarters, +so the Nipe was not surprised when the public news channels announced +quietly that Colonel Walther Mannheim, the man who had been decorated +twelve years before for the quelling of the Central Brazilian +Insurrection, had died peacefully in his sleep. The funeral was quiet, +but with full honors. + +Stanton stopped worrying about such things. Until he had done the job +that he had been rebuilt for, he was determined to make that goal his +sole purpose. As the weeks sped by, he kept determinedly to his regime, +exercising regularly to keep himself in top physical condition, and +studying the three-dimensional motion studies of the Nipe in action. + +Only one of these made him ill the first time he watched it, but it was +the only recording of the Nipe actually in the process of killing a +man, so he watched, over and over again, the shots taken from the gun +tower when the Nipe attacked Colonel Mannheim. + +A full-sized mockup of the Nipe's body had been built, with the best +approximation possible of the Nipe's bone structure and musculature, and +Stanton worked with it to determine what, if any, were the Nipe's +physical limitations. + +His only periods of relative relaxation occurred when he discussed the +psychological peculiarities of the Nipe mind with George Yoritomo. + +One afternoon, after a particularly strenuous boxing session, he walked +into Yoritomo's office with a grin on his face. "I've been considering +the problem of the apparent paradox of a high technology in a +ritual-taboo system." + +Yoritomo grinned back delightedly and waved Stanton to a chair. +"Excellent! It is always much better if the student thinks these things +out for himself. Now, while I fill this hand-furnace with tobacco and +fire up, you will please explain to me all about it." + +Stanton sat down and settled himself comfortably. "All right. In the +first place, there's the notion of religion. In tribal cultures, the +religion is usually--uh--animistic, I think the word is." + +Yoritomo nodded silently. + +"They believe there are spirits everywhere," Stanton said. "That sort of +belief, it seems to me, would grow up in any race that had imagination, +and the Nipes must have had plenty of that, or they wouldn't have the +technology that we know they do have. Am I on the right track?" + +"Very good. _Very_ good," Yoritomo said in approval. "But what evidence +have you that this technology was not given to them by some other, more +advanced race?" + +"I hadn't thought of that." Stanton stared into space for a moment, then +nodded his head. "Of course. It would take too long to teach them. It +wouldn't be worth all the trouble it would take to make them unlearn +their fallacies and learn the new facts. It would take generations to do +it unless this hypothetical other race killed off all the adult Nipes +and started the little ones off fresh. And that didn't happen, because +if it had, the ritual-taboo system would have died out, too. So that +other-race theory is out." + +"The argument is imperfect," Yoritomo said, "but it will suffice for the +moment. Go on about the religion." + +"Okay. Religious beliefs are not subject to pragmatic tests. That is, +the spiritual beliefs aren't. Any belief that _could_ be disproven by +such a test would eventually die out. But beliefs in ghosts or demons or +angels or life after death aren't disprovable by material tests, any +more than they are provable. So, as a race increases its knowledge of +the physical world, its religion would tend to become more and more +spiritual." + +"Agreed. Yes. It happened so among human beings," said Yoritomo. "But +how do you link this fact with ritual-taboo?" + +"Well, once a belief gains a foothold," Stanton said, "it is very +difficult to wipe it out, even among human beings. Among Nipes, it would +be well-nigh impossible. Once a code of ritual and of social behavior +had been set up, it became permanent." + +"For example?" Yoritomo urged. + +"Well, shaking hands, for example," Stanton said after a pause. "We +still do that, even if we don't have it fixed solidly in our heads that +we _must_ do it. I suppose it would never occur to a Nipe not to perform +such a ritual." + +"Just so," Yoritomo agreed vigorously. "Such things, once established in +the minds of the race, would tend to remain. But it is a characteristic +of a ritual-taboo system that it resists change. Change is evil. Change +is wrong. We must use what we know to be true, not try something that +has never been tried before. In a ritual-taboo system, a thing which is +not ritual is, _ipso facto_, taboo. How, then, can we account for their +high technological achievements?" + +"The pragmatic engineering approach, I imagine," Stanton said. "If a +thing works, then go ahead and use it. It is usable. If not, it isn't." + +"Approximately," said Yoritomo. "But only approximately. Now it is my +turn to lecture." He put his pipe in an ashtray and held up a long, bony +finger. "Firstly, we must remember that the Nipe is equipped with a +functioning imagination. Secondly, he has in his memory a tremendous +amount of data, all ready at hand. He is capable of working out theories +in his head, you see. Like the ancient Greeks, he finds no need to test +such theories--_unless_ his thinking indicates that such an experiment +would yield something useful. Unlike the Greeks, he has no aversion to +experiment. But he sees no need for useless experiment, either. + +"Oh, he would learn, yes. But once a given theory proved workable, how +resistant he would be to a new theory. Innovators, even in our own +culture, have a very hard time working against the great inertia of a +recognized theory. How much harder it would be in a ritual-taboo society +with a perfect memory! How long--how _incredibly_ long--it would take +such a race to achieve the technology the Nipe now has!" + +"Hundreds of thousands of years," said Stanton. + +Yoritomo shook his head briskly. "Puh! Longer! Much longer!" He smiled +with satisfaction. "I estimate that the Nipe race first invented the +steam engine not less than ten million years ago!" + +He kept smiling into the dead silence that followed. + +After a long minute, Stanton said: "What about atomic energy?" + +"At least two million years ago," Yoritomo said. "I do not think they +have had the interstellar drive more than some fifty thousand years." + +"No wonder our pet Nipe is so patient," Stanton said with a touch of awe +in his voice. "How long do you suppose their individual life-span is?" + +"Not so long, in comparison," said Yoritomo. "Perhaps no longer than our +own at the least, or perhaps as much as five hundred years. Considering +the tremendous handicaps against them, they have done quite well, I +think. Quite well, indeed, for a race of illiterate cannibals." + +"How's that again?" Stanton realized that the scientist was quite +serious. + +"Hadn't it occurred to you, my friend, that they must be cannibals?" +Yoritomo asked. "And that they must be very nearly illiterate?" + +"No," Stanton admitted, "it hadn't." + +"The Nipe, like man, is omnivorous," Yoritomo pointed out. +"Specialization tends to lead any race up a blind alley, and dietary +restrictions are a particularly pernicious form of specialization. A +lion would starve to death in a wheat field. A horse would perish in a +butcher shop full of steaks. A man will survive as long as there is +something around to eat--even if it's another man." + +Yoritomo picked up his pipe and began tapping the ashes out of it. +"Also," he went on, "we must remember that Man, early in his career of +becoming top dog on Earth, began using a method of removing the unfit. +Ritual traces of it remain today in some societies--the Jewish Bar +Mitzvah, for instance, or the Christian Confirmation. Before and +immediately after the Holocaust, there were still primitive societies on +Earth--in New Guinea, for instance--which still made a rather hard +ordeal out of the Rite of Passage, the ceremony whereby a boy becomes a +man--if he passes the tests." + +Yoritomo was filling his pipe, a look of somber satisfaction on his lean +face. "A few millennia ago, a boy who underwent those tests was killed +outright if he failed. And was eaten. He had not shown the ability to +overrule with reason his animal instincts. Therefore, he was not a human +being, but an animal. What better use for a young and succulent animal +than to provide meat for the common larder?" + +"And you think the same process must have been used by the Nipes?" +Stanton asked. + +Yoritomo nodded vigorously as he applied a match flame to the tobacco in +his pipe. "The Nipe race must, of necessity, have had some similar +ritualistic tests or they would not have become what they are," he said +when he had puffed the pipe alight. "And we have already agreed that +once the Nipes adopted something of that kind, it remained with them. +Not so? Yes. + +"Also, it can be considered extremely unlikely that the Nipe +civilization--if such it can be called--has any geriatric problem. No, +indeed. No old-age pensions, no old folks' homes, no senility. No, nor +any specialists in geriatrics, either. When a Nipe becomes a burden +because of age, he is ritually murdered and eaten with all due +solemnity." + +Yoritomo pointed his pipestem at Stanton. "Ah. You frown, my friend. +Have I made them sound heartless, without the finer feelings of which we +humans are so proud? Not so. When Junior Nipe fails his puberty tests, +when Mama and Papa Nipe are sent to their final reward, I have no doubt +that there is sadness in the hearts of their loved ones as the honored +T-bones are passed around the table." + +He put the pipe back in his mouth and spoke around it. "My own +ancestors, not too far back, performed a ritual suicide by disemboweling +themselves with a long, sharp knife. Across the abdomen--_so!_--and up +into the heart--_so!_ It was considered very bad form to faint or die +before the job was done. Nearby, a relative or a close friend stood with +a sharp sword, to administer the _coup de grace_ by decapitation. It was +all very sad and very honorable. Their loved ones bore the sorrow with +great pride." + +His voice, which had been low and tender, suddenly became very brisk. +"Thank goodness it has gone out of fashion!" + +"But how can you be _sure_ they're cannibals?" Stanton asked. "Your +argument sounds logical enough, but you can't be basing your theory on +that alone." + +"True! True!" Yoritomo jabbed the air twice with a rapid forefinger. +"Evidence for such a theory would be most welcome, would it not? Very +well, I give you the evidence. He eats human beings, our Nipe." + +"That doesn't make him a cannibal," Stanton objected. + +"Not _strictly_, perhaps. But consider. The Nipe is not a monster. He is +not a criminal. No. He is a gentleman. He always behaves as a gentleman. +He is shipwrecked on an alien planet. Around him, he sees evidence in +profusion that ours is a technological society. But that is a +contradiction! A paradox! + +"For _we_ are not civilized! No! We are not rational! We are not sane! +We do not obey the Laws; we do not perform the Rituals. We are animals. +Apparently intelligent animals, but animals nevertheless. How can this +be? + +"_Ha!_ says the Nipe to himself. These animals must be ruled over by +Real People. It is the only explanation. Not so?" + +"Colonel Mannheim mentioned that," Stanton said. "Are you implying that +the Nipe thinks there are other Nipes around, running the world from +secret hideouts, like the villains in a Fu Manchu novel?" + +"Not quite," said Yoritomo, laughing. "The Nipe is not at all incapable +of learning something new. In point of fact, he is quite good at it, as +witness the fact that he has learned many Earth languages. He picked up +Russian in less than eight months simply by listening and observing. +Like our own race, his undoubtedly evolved a great many languages during +the beginnings of its progress--when there were many tribes, separated +and out of communication with each other. It would not surprise me to +find that most of these languages have survived and that our distressed +astronaut knows them all. A new language would not bother him in the +least. + +"Nor would strangely shaped intelligent beings make him unhappy. His +race should be aware, by now, that such things must exist. But it is +very likely that he equates _true_ intelligence with technology, and I +do not think it likely that he has ever met a race higher than the +barbarian level before. Such races were not, of course, human--by his +definition. They showed possibilities, perhaps, but they had not by any +means evolved far enough. And, considering the time span involved in +their own progress toward a technological civilization, it is not at all +unlikely that the Nipe thinks of technology as something that evolves in +a race in the same way that intelligence does--or the body itself. + +"So it would not surprise him to find that the Real People of this +system were humanoid in shape instead of--ah--Nipoid? A bad word, but it +will do for the nonce. To find Real People of a different shape is +something new, but he can absorb it because it does not contradict +anything he _knows_. + +"_But--!_ Any truly intelligent being that did not obey the Law and +follow the Ritual _would_ be a contradiction in terms. For our Nipe has +no notion of a Real Person without those characteristics. Without those +characteristics, technology is, of course, utterly impossible. Since he +sees technology all around him, it follows that there must be Real +People around somewhere that have those characteristics. Anything else +is unthinkable." + +"It seems to me that you're building an awfully involved theory out of +pretty flimsy stuff," Stanton said. + +Yoritomo shook his head. "Not at all. Not at all. Every scrap and shred +of evidence we have points toward it. Why, do you suppose, does the Nipe +conscientiously devour his victims, often risking his own safety to do +so? Why do you suppose he never uses any weapon but his own hands to +kill with?" + +Yoritomo leaned forward and speared out at Stanton with a long, bony +forefinger. "Why? To tell the Real People that he is a gentleman!" + +He sat back with a satisfied smile and puffed complacently at his pipe, +remaining silent while Bart Stanton considered his last remark. + +"Just one thing," Stanton said after a minute. "It seems to me that he +would be able to judge that some races have different Laws and Rituals +than he does. Wouldn't they have a science comparable to our +anthropology?" + +Yoritomo grinned. "Nipology, shall we say? Well, he might, but it would +not tell him what our anthropology tells us. + +"Consider. How have we learned much of our knowledge of the early +history of Man? By the study of ritual-taboo cultures. The so-called +'primitive' cultures. It is from these tribes that we have learned the +multifarious ways in which a group of human beings can evolve a culture +and a society. But does the Nipe have any such other tribes to study?" + +"Why wouldn't he?" Stanton asked. + +"Because there are none," Yoritomo said. "How could there be? Consider +again. Once a race has evolved a fairly high technological level, it is +capable of wiping out races which have not achieved that level. If the +technologically advanced tribe is still at the ritual-taboo level, it +will consider that all tribes which do not use the same Laws and Rituals +as it does must be animals--dangerous animals that must be wiped out. +Take a look at the history of our own race. In a few short centuries, we +find that the technologically advanced civilization and culture of +Renaissance Europe has spread over the whole globe. By military, +economic, and religious conquest, it has, in effect, westernized the +majority of Mankind. + +"The same process would take place on the Nipe's world, only more +thoroughly. The weaker tribes would vanish, the stronger would +amalgamate." + +"That process would take a lot of time," Stanton said. + +"Indeed! Oh, yes, indeed," Yoritomo agreed. "But they have had the time, +have they not? Eh? What Western European Man has partially achieved in +less than a thousand years, surely the Nipe equivalent could have +achieved in ten thousand thousand. Eh?" + +"But I'd think that the Nipe would have realized, after ten years, that +there is no such race of Real People," Stanton said. "He's had access to +our records and books and such things. Or does he reject them all as +lies?" + +"Possibly he would, if he could read them," Yoritomo said. "Did I not +say he was illiterate?" + +"You mean he's learned to speak our languages, but not to read them?" + +The psychologist smiled broadly. "Your statement is accurate, my friend, +but incomplete. It is my opinion that the Nipe is incapable of reading +any written language whatever. The concept does not exist in his mind, +except vaguely." + +Stanton closed one eye and gave Yoritomo the glance askance. "Aw, come +_awwn_, George! A technological race without a written language? That's +impossible!" + +"Ah, no. No, it isn't. Ask yourself: What need has a race with a perfect +memory for written records? At least, in the sense that we think of +them. Certainly not to remember things. What would a Nipe need with a +memorandum book or a diary? All of their history and all of their +technology exists in the collective mind of the race. + +"Think, for a moment, of their history. If it is somewhat analogous to +human history--and, as we have seen, there is reason to believe that +this is so--then we can, in a way, trace the development of writing. +We--" + +"Wait a minute!" Stanton held up his hand. "I think I see what you're +driving at." + +"Ah. So?" Yoritomo nodded. "Very well. Then _you_ expound." + +"I can give it to you in two sentences," Stanton said. "One: Their first +writing was probably pictographic and was learned only by a select +priestly class. Two: It still is." + +"Ahhhh!" Yoritomo's eyes lit up. "Admirable! Most admirable! And +succinctly put, too. And, to top it off, almost precisely correct. That +is what happened here on Earth; are we wrong in assuming that such may +have happened elsewhere in the Universe? (Remembering always, my dear +Bart, that we must not make the mistake of thinking like our friend, the +Nipe, and assuming that everybody else in the Universe has to be like us +in all things.) + +"You are correct. That is why I hedged when I said he was _almost_ +illiterate. There is a possibility that a written symbology does exist +for Nipes. But it is used almost entirely for ritualistic purposes, it +is pictographical in form, and is known only to a very few. For others +to learn it would be taboo. + +"Remember, I said that there is only one society, one culture remaining +on the Nipe planet. And remember that history is a very late development +in our own culture, just as written language is. One important event in +every ten centuries of Nipe history would still give a Nipe historian +ten thousand events to remember just since the invention of the steam +engine. What, then, does Nipe history become? A series of folk chants, +of _chansons de geste_." + +"Why?" Stanton asked. "If they have perfect memories, why would +histories be distorted?" + +"Time, my dear boy. Time." Yoritomo spread his hands in a gesture of +futility. "When one has a few million years of history to learn, it +_must_ become distorted, even in a race with a perfect memory. +Otherwise, no individual would have a chance to learn it all in a single +lifetime, even a lifetime of five hundred years, much less to pass that +knowledge on to another. So only the most important events are reported. +And that means that each historian must also be an editor. He must +excise those portions which he considers unimportant." + +"But wouldn't that very limitation induce them to record history?" +Stanton asked. "Right there is your inducement to use a written +language." + +Yoritomo looked at him with wide-eyed innocence. "Why? _What good is +history?_" + +"Ohhh," said Stanton. "I see." + +"Certainly you do," Yoritomo said firmly. "Of what use is history to the +ritual-taboo culture? Only to record what is to be done. And, with a +memory that can _know_ what is to be done, of what use is a historian, +except to remember the _important_ things. No ritual-taboo culture looks +upon history as we do. Only the doings of the great are recorded. All +else must be edited out. Thus, while the memory of the individual may +be, and _is_, perfect, the memory of the race is not. _But they don't +know that!_" + +"What about communications, then?" Stanton asked. "What did they use +before they invented radio?" + +"Couriers," Yoritomo said. "And, possibly, written messages from one +priestly scribe to another. That last, by the way, has probably survived +in a ritualistic form. When an officer is appointed to a post, let's +say, he may get a formal paper that says so. The Nipes may use symbols +to signify rank and so on. They must have a symbology for the +calibration of scientific instruments. + +"But none of these requires the complexity of a written language. I dare +say our use of it is quite baffling to him. + +"For teaching purposes, it is quite unnecessary. Look at what television +and such have done in our own civilization. With such tools as that at +hand--recordings and pictures--it is possible to teach a person a great +many things without ever teaching him to read. A Nipe certainly wouldn't +need any aid for calculation, would he? We humans must use a piece of +paper to multiply two ten-digit numbers together, but that's because our +memories are faulty. A Nipe has no need for such aids." + +"Are you really positive of all this, George?" Stanton asked. + +Yoritomo shrugged. "How can we be absolutely positive at this stage of +the game? Eh? Our evidence is sketchy, I admit. It is not as solidly +based as our other reconstructions of his background, but it appears +that he thinks of symbols as being unable to convey much information. +The pattern for his raids, for instance, indicates that his knowledge of +the materials he wants and their locations comes from vocal +sources--television advertising, eavesdropping on shipping orders, and +so on. In other words, he cases the joint by ear. If he could understand +written information, his job would be much easier. He could find his +materials much more quickly and easily. And, too, we have never seen him +either read a word or write one. From this evidence, we are fairly +certain that he can neither read nor write any terrestrial language--or +even his own." He spread his hands again. "As I said, it is not proof." + +"No," Stanton agreed, "but I must admit that the whole thing makes for +some very interesting speculation, doesn't it?" + +"Very interesting, indeed." Yoritomo folded his hands in his lap, smiled +seraphically, and looked at the ceiling. "In fact, my friend, we are now +so positive of our knowledge of the Nipe's mind that we are prepared to +enter into the next phase of our program." + +"Oh?" Stanton distinctly felt the back of his neck prickle. + +"Yes," said Yoritomo. "Mr. Martin feels that if we wait much longer, we +may run into the danger of giving the Nipe enough time to complete his +work on his communicator." He looked at Stanton and chuckled, but there +was no humor in his short laugh. "We would not wish our friend, the +Nipe, to bring his relatives into this little tussle, would we, Bart?" + +"That's been our deadline all along," Bart said levelly. "The object all +along has been to let the Nipe work without hindrance as long as he did +not actually produce a communicator that would--as you put it--bring his +relatives into the tussle. Have things changed?" + +"They have," Yoritomo acknowledged. "Why wouldn't they? We have been +working toward that as a _final_ deadline. If it appeared that the Nipe +were actually about to contact his confederates out there somewhere, we +would be forced to act immediately, of course. Plan Beta would go into +effect. But we don't want that, do we?" + +"No," said Stanton. "No." He was well aware what a terrible loss it +would be for humanity if Plan Beta went into effect. The Nipe would have +to be literally blasted out of his cozy little nest. + +"No, of course not." Yoritomo chuckled again, with as little mirth as he +had before. "Within a very short while, if we are correct, we shall, +with your help, arrest the most feared arch-criminal that Earth has ever +known. I dare say that the public will be extremely happy to hear of his +death, and I know that the rest of us will be happy to know that he will +never kill again." + +Stanton suddenly saw the fateful day for which he had been so carefully +prepared and trained looming terrifyingly large in the immediate future. + +"How soon?" he asked in an oddly choked voice. + +"Within days." Yoritomo lowered his eyes from the ceiling and looked +into Stanton's face with a mild, bland expression. + +"Tomorrow," he said, "the propaganda phase begins. We will announce to +the world that the great detective, Stanley Martin, has come to Earth to +rid us of the Nipe." + + + + +_[20]_ + + +The arrival of the great Stanley Martin was a three-day wonder in the +public news channels. His previous exploits were recounted, with +embellishments, several times during the next seventy-two hours. The +"arrival" itself was very carefully staged. A special ship belonging to +the World Police brought him in, and he was met by four Government +officials in civilian clothes. The entire affair was covered live by +news cameras. No one on Earth suspected that he had been on Earth for +weeks before; a few _knew_ it, but it never even occurred to the rest. + +Later, a special interview was arranged. Philip Quinn, a news +interviewer who was noted for his deferential attitude toward those whom +he had the privilege of interviewing, was chosen for the job. + +Stanley Martin's dynamic, forceful personality completely overshadowed +Quinn. + +But in spite of all the publicity, not one word, not one hint about the +method by which Stanley Martin intended to bring the Nipe in was +released. There were all kinds of speculations, ranging from the +mystically sublime to the broadly comical. One self-styled archbishop of +a California nut cult declared that Martin was a saint appointed by God +to exorcise the Demon Nipe that had been plaguing Mankind and that the +Millennium was therefore due at any moment. He was, he said, sending +Stanley Martin a sealed letter which contained a special exorcism prayer +that would do the job very nicely. Why hadn't he used it himself? +Because if anyone other than a saint or an angel used it, it would +backfire on the user and destroy him. Naturally the archbishop did not +claim himself to be a saint, but he knew that Martin was because he had +plainly seen the halo around the detective's head when he saw him on TV. + +An inventor in Palermo, Sicily, solemnly declared that he had sent +Stanley Martin the plans for a device that would render him invisible to +the Nipe and therefore make the Nipe easy to conquer. No, there was no +danger that the device might fall into the wrong hands and be used by +human criminals, since it did not render a person invisible to human +eyes, only to Nipe eyes. + +The first item was played up big in the newscasts. The second was +quashed--fast!--for the very simple reason that the Nipe just might have +believed it. + +One note throbbed in the background of every interview with responsible +persons. It was the unobtrusive note of a soft clarinet played in a +great symphony, all the more telling because it was never played loudly +or insistently, but it was there all the same. Whenever the question of +the Nipe's actual whereabouts came up, the note seemed to ring a trifle +more clearly, but never more loudly. That single throbbing note was the +impression given by everyone who was interviewed, or who expressed any +views on the subject, that the Nipe was hiding somewhere in the +Amazonian jungles of South America. It was the last place on Earth that +had still not been thoroughly explored, and it seemed to be the only +place that the Nipe could hide. + +Only a small handful of the vast array of people who were dispensing +this carefully tailored propaganda knew what was going on. More than +ninety-nine percent of the newsmen involved in the affair thought they +were honestly giving the news as they saw it, and none of them saw the +invisible but very powerful hand of Stanley Martin shifting the news +just enough to give it the bias he wanted. + +The comedians on the entertainment programs let the whole story alone +for the most part. There were no clever skits, no farcical takeoffs on +the subject of Stanley Martin and the Nipe. One comedian, who was +playing the part of a henpecked husband, did remark: "If my wife gets +any meaner, I'm going to send Stan Martin after _her_!" But it didn't +get much of a laugh. And the Government organization had nothing to do +with that kind of censorship; it was self-imposed. Every one of the +really great comics recognized, either consciously or subconsciously, +that the Nipe was not a subject for humor. Such jokes would have made +them about as popular as the Borscht Circuit comedian who told a funny +story about Dachau in 1946. + +Aside from the subtle coloring given it by the small, Mannheim-trained +group of propaganda experts, the news went out straight. + +The detective himself, after that one single interview, vanished from +sight. No one knew where he was, though, again, there were all kinds of +speculations, all of them erroneous. Actually, he was a carefully +guarded and willing prisoner in a suite in one of the big hotels in +Government City. + +On the fourth day, the big operation began without fanfare. The actual +maneuvering to capture the alien that had terrorized a planet began +shortly after noon. + +At a few minutes before three that afternoon, the man whom the world +knew as Stanley Martin suddenly suffered a dizzy spell and nearly +fainted. + +Then, almost like a child, he began to weep. + + + + +_FINAL INTERLUDE_ + + +Colonel Walther Mannheim said: "It will take five years, Stanton." + +He was looking at the young man seated in one of the three chairs in the +small, comfortable room. There was a clublike atmosphere about the room, +but none of the three men were relaxed. + +"Five years?" said the young man. He looked at the third man. + +Dr. Farnsworth nodded. "More or less. More if it's a partial +failure--less if it's a complete failure." + +"Then there _is_ a chance of failure?" the young man asked. + +"There is always a chance of failure in any major surgical undertaking," +Dr. Farnsworth said. "Even in the most routine cases, things can go +wrong. We're only men, Mr. Stanton. We're neither magicians nor gods." + +"I know that, Doctor," the young man said. "Nobody's perfect, and I +don't expect perfection. Can you give me a--an estimate on the +chances?" + +"I can't even give you any kind of guess," said Farnsworth. He smiled +rather grimly. "So far, we have had no failures. Our mortality rate is a +flat zero. We have never lost a patient because we've never had one. As +I told you, this will be the first time the operation has ever been +performed on a human being. Or, rather," he corrected himself, "I should +say series of operations. This is not one single--er--cut-and-suture +job, like an appendectomy." + +"All right, then, call it a series of operations," the young man said. +"I assume each of them has been performed individually?" + +"Not exactly. Some of them have never been performed on any human being +simply because they require not only special conditions, but they +require that the steps leading up to them have already been performed." + +"You don't make things sound very rosy, Doctor." + +"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to give you the facts. Personally, I +think we have a better than ninety percent chance of success. I wouldn't +try it if I thought otherwise. With modern mathematical methods of +analyzing medical theory, we can predict success for such an intricate +series of operations. We can predict what will happen when massive doses +of hormones and enzymes and such are used. But medicine still remains +largely an art in spite of all that. + +"In parallel operations, performed on primates, our results were largely +successful. But remember that not even every human being has the genetic +structure necessary to undergo this particular treatment, and a monkey's +gene structure is quite different from yours or mine." + +"I'll just ask you one question," the young man said firmly. "If _you_ +were being asked to undergo this treatment, would you do it?" + +Dr. Farnsworth didn't hesitate. "All things considered, yes, I would." + +"What do you mean, 'All things considered'?" + +"The very fact that the Nipe exists, and that this is the only method of +dealing with him that is even remotely possible would certainly +influence my opinion," Farnsworth said. "I might not be so quick to go +through it, frankly, if it were not for the fact that the future of the +entire human race would depend upon my decision." He paused, then added: +"I would hesitate to go through with it if there were no Nipe threat, +not because I would be afraid that the operations might fail, but +because of what I would be afterward." + +"Um. Yes." The young man caught his lower lip between his teeth and +thought for a moment. "Yes, I see what you mean. Being a lone superman +in a world of ordinary people mightn't be so pleasant." + +Colonel Mannheim, who had been sitting silently during the discussion +between the two men, said: "Look, Stanton, I know this is tough. +Actually, it's a lot tougher on you than it is on your brother, because +_you_ have to make the decision. _He_ can't. But I want you to keep it +in mind that there's nothing compulsory in this. Nobody's trying to +force you to do anything." + +There was a touch of bitterness in the young man's smile as he looked at +the colonel. "No. You merely remind me of the fact and leave the rest to +my sense of duty." + +Colonel Mannheim, recognizing the slightly altered quotation, returned +his smile and gave him the next line. "'Your sense of duty!'" + +The bitterness vanished, and the young man's smile became a grin. +"'Don't put it on that footing!'" he quoted back in a melodramatic +voice. "'As I was merciful to you just now, be merciful to me! I implore +you not to insist on the letter of your bond just as the cup of +happiness is at my lips!'" + +"'We insist on nothing,'" returned the colonel; "'we content ourselves +with pointing out _your duty_.'" + +Dr. Farnsworth had no notion of what the two of them were talking about, +but he kept silent as he noticed the tension fading. + +"'Well, you have appealed to my sense of duty,'" the young man +continued, "'and my duty is all too clear. I abhor your infamous +calling; I shudder at the thought that I have ever been mixed up with +it; but duty is before all--at any price I will do my duty.'" + +"'Bravely spoken!'" said the colonel. "'Come, you are one of us once +more.'" + +"'Lead on. I follow.'" + +And the two of them broke out in laughter while Farnsworth looked on in +total incomprehension. His was not the kind of mind that could face a +grim situation with a laugh. + +Even after he quit laughing, the smile remained on the young man's face. +"All right, Colonel, you win. We'll go through with it, Martin and I." + +"Good!" Mannheim said warmly. "Do you have the papers, Dr. Farnsworth?" + +"Right here," Farnsworth said, opening a briefcase that was lying on the +table. He was glad to be back in the conversation again. He took out a +thick sheaf of papers and spread them on the table. Then he handed the +young man a pen. "You'll have to sign at the bottom of each sheet," he +said. + +The young man picked up the papers and read through them carefully. Then +he looked up at Farnsworth. "They seem to be in order. Uh--about Martin. +You know what's the matter with him--I mean, aside from the radiation. +Do you think he'll be able to handle his part of the job after--after +the operations?" + +"I'm quite sure he will. The operations, plus the therapy we'll give +him afterward should put him in fine shape." + +"Well." He looked thoughtful. "Five more years. And then I'll have the +twin brother that I never really had at all. Somehow that part of it +just doesn't really register, I guess." + +"Don't worry about it, Stanton," said Dr. Farnsworth. "We have a complex +enough job ahead of us without your worrying in the bargain. We'll want +your mind perfectly relaxed. You have your own ordeal to undergo." + +"Thanks for reminding me," the young man said, but there was a smile on +his face when he said it. He looked at the release forms again. "All +nice and legal, huh? Well ..." He hesitated for a moment, then he took +the pen and wrote _Bartholomew Stanton_ in a firm, clear hand. + + + + +_[21]_ + + +Captain Davidson Greer sat in a chair before an array of TV screens, his +gray-green eyes watchful. In the center of one of the screens, the +Nipe's image sat immobile, surrounded by the paraphernalia in his hidden +nest. Other screens showed various sections of the long tunnel that led +south from the opening in the northern end of the island. At the +captain's fingertips was a bank of controls that would allow him to +switch from one pickup to another if necessary, so that he could see +anything anywhere in the tunnels. He hoped that wouldn't be necessary. +He did not want any of the action to take place anywhere but in the +places where it was expected--but he was prepared for alterations in the +plan. In other rooms, nearly a hundred other men were linked into the +special controls that allowed them to operate the little rat spies that +scuttled through the underground darkness, and the captain's system +would allow him to see through the eyes of any one of those rats at an +instant's notice. + +The screen which he was watching at the moment, however, was not +connected with an underground pickup. It was linked with a pickup in the +bottom of a basketball-sized sphere driven by a small inertial engine +that held the sphere hovering in the air above the game sanctuary on the +northern tip of Manhattan Island. In the screen, he had an aerial view +of the grassy, rocky mounds where the earth hid the shattered and +partially melted ruins of long-collapsed buildings. In the center of the +screen was a bird's-eye view of a man holding a rifle. He was walking +slowly, picking his way carefully along the bottom of the shallow gully +that had once been upper Broadway. + +"Barbell," the captain said. A throat microphone picked up the words and +transmitted them to the ears of the man in the screen. "Barbell, this is +Barhop. There are no wild animals within sight, but remember, we can't +see everything from up here, so keep your eyes open." + +"Right, Barhop," said a rather muffled voice in the captain's ear. + +"Fine. And if you do meet up with anything, shoot to kill." There were +plenty of wild animals in the game sanctuary--some of them dangerous. +Not all of the inhabitants of the Bronx Zoological Gardens had been +killed on that day when the sun bomb fell. Being farther north, they had +had better protection, and some of them, later, had wandered southward +to the island. Captain Greer knew perfectly well that Stanton, +bare-handed, was more than a match for a leopard or a lion, but he +didn't want Stanton to tire himself fighting with an animal. The rifle +would most likely never be used; it was merely another precaution. + +It would have been possible, and perhaps simpler, to have taken Stanton +to the opening by flyer, but that would have created other +complications. Traffic rules forbade flyers to go over the game +sanctuary at any altitude less than one thousand feet. One flyer, going +in low, would have attracted the attention of the traffic police, and +Stanley Martin wanted no attention whatever drawn to this area. Even the +procedure of instructing the traffic officers to ignore one flyer would +have attracted more attention than he wanted. They would have remembered +those instructions afterward. + +Stanton walked. + +Captain Greer's eye caught something at the edge of the screen. It moved +toward the center as the floating eye moved with Stanton. + +"Barbell," the captain said, "there's a deer ahead of you. Just keep +moving." + +Stanton rounded the corner of a pile of masonry. He could see the animal +now himself. The deer stared at the intruder for a few seconds, then +bounded away with long, graceful leaps. + +"Magnificent animal." It was Stanton's voice, very low. The remark +wasn't directed toward anyone in particular. Captain Greer didn't +answer. + +The captain lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, his eyes on +the screens. The Nipe still sat, unmoving. He was apparently in one of +his "sleep" states. The captain wasn't sure that that was the blessing +that it might have seemed. He had no way of knowing how much external +disturbance it would take to "wake" the Nipe, and as long as he was +sitting quietly, the chances were greater that he would hear movement in +the tunnel. If he were active, his senses might be more alert, but he +would also be distracted by his own actions and the noises he made +himself. + +It didn't matter, the captain decided. One way was as good as another in +this case. The point was to get Stanton into an advantageous position +before the Nipe knew he was anywhere around. + +He looked back at the image of Stanton, a black-clad figure in a +flexible, tough, skin-tight suit. The Nipe would have a hard time biting +through that artificial hide, but it gave Stanton as much freedom as if +he'd been naked. + +Stanton knew where he was going. He had studied maps of the area, and +had been taken on a vicarious tour of the route by means of the very +flying eye that was watching him now. But things look different from the +ground than from the air, and no amount of map study will familiarize a +person with terrain as completely as an actual personal survey. + +Stanton paused, and Captain Greer heard his voice. "Barhop, this is +Barbell. Those are the cliffs up ahead, aren't they?" + +"That's right, Barbell. You go up that slope to your left. The opening +is in that pile of rock at the base of the cliff." + +"They're higher than I'd thought," Stanton commented. Then he started +walking again. + +The tunnel entrance he was heading for had once been a wide opening, +drilled laterally into the side of the cliff, and big enough to allow +easy access to the tunnels, so that the passengers of those old +underground trains could get to the platforms where they stopped. But +the sun bomb had changed all that. The concussion had shaken loose rock +at the top of the cliff and a minor avalanche had obliterated all +indications of the tunnel's existence, except for one small, narrow +opening near the top of what had once been a wide hole in the face of +the cliff. + +Stanton walked slowly toward the spot until he was finally at the base +of the slope of rock created by that long-ago avalanche. "Up there?" he +asked. + +"That's right," said Captain Greer. + +"I think I'll leave the rifle here, Barhop," Stanton said. "No point in +carrying it up the slope." + +"Right. Put it in those bushes to your left. They'll conceal it, won't +they?" + +"I think so. Yeah." Stanton hid the rifle and then began making his way +up the talus slope. + +Captain Greer flipped a switch. "Team One! He's coming in. Are those +alarms deactivated?" + +"All okay, Barhop," said a voice. "This is Leader One. I'll meet him at +the hole." + +"Right." Captain Greer reversed the switch again. "Are you ready, +Barbell?" + +Stanton looked into the dark hole. It was hardly big enough to crawl +through, and ended in a seeming infinity of blackness. He took the +special goggles from the case at his belt and put them on. Inside the +hole, he saw a single rat, staring at him with beady eyes. + +"I'm ready to go in, Barhop," Stanton said. + +He got down on his hands and knees and began to crawl through the narrow +tunnel. Ahead of him, the rat turned and began to lead the way. + + + + +_[22]_ + + +The big tunnel inside the cliff was long and black, and the air was +stale and thick with the stench of rodents. Stanton stood still for a +minute, stretching his muscles. Crawling through that cramped little +opening had not been easy. He looked around him, trying to probe the +luminescent gloom that the goggles he wore brought to his eyes. + +The tunnel stretched out before him--on and on. Around him was the +smell of viciousness and death. Ahead ... + +_It goes on to infinity_, Stanton thought, _ending at last at zero_. + +The rat paused and looked back, waiting for him to follow. + +"Okay," Stanton muttered. "Let's go." + +The rat led him down the long tunnel, deep into the cliffside, until at +last they came to a stairway that led downward into the long tunnels +where the trains had once run. They came to the platform where +passengers had once waited for those trains. Four feet below the edge of +the platform were the rusted tracks that had once borne those trains. + +He lowered himself over the edge to stand on the rail. + +"Barbell," said a voice in his ear, "Barhop here. Do you read?" + +It was the barest whisper, picked up by the antennas in his shoes from +the steel rail that ran along the floor of the dark tunnel. + +"Read you, Barhop." + +"Move out, then. You've got a long stroll to go." + +Stanton started walking, keeping his feet near the rail, in case Greer +wanted to call again. As he walked, he could feel the slight motion of +the skin-tight woven suit that he wore rubbing gently against his skin. + +And he could hear the scratching patter of the rats. + +Mostly they stayed away from him, avoiding the strange being that had +invaded their underground realm, but he could see them hiding in corners +and scurrying along the sides of the tunnels, going about their +unfathomable rodent business. + +Around him, six rat-like remote-control robots moved with him, shifting +their pattern constantly as they patrolled his moving figure. + +Far ahead, he knew, other rat robots were stationed, watching and +waiting, ready to deactivate the Nipe's detection devices at just the +right moment. Behind him, another horde moved forward to turn the +devices on again. + +It had, he knew, taken the technicians a long time to learn how to shut +off those detectors without giving the alarm to the Nipe's instruments. + +There were nearly a hundred men in on the operation, controlling the +robot rats or watching the hidden cameras that spied upon the Nipe. +Nearly a hundred. And every single one of them was safe. + +They were all outside the tunnel and far away. They were with Stanton +only by proxy. They could not die here in this stinking hole, no matter +what happened. But Stanton could. + +There was no help for it, no other way it could be done. Stanton had to +go in person. A full-sized robot proxy might be stronger, although not +faster unless Stanton was at the controls, than the Nipe. But the Nipe +would be able to tell that the thing was a robot, and he would simply +destroy it with one of his weapons. A remote-control robot could never +get close enough to the Nipe to do any good. + +"We do not know positively," Dr. Yoritomo had said, "whether he would +recognize it as a robot or not, but his instruments would show the metal +easily enough, and his eyes would be able to tell him that the machine +was not covered with human skin. The rats are small enough so that they +can be made mostly of plastic, and they are covered with real rat hides. +In addition, our friend, the Nipe, is used to seeing them around. But a +human-sized robot? Ah, no. Never." + +So Stanton had to go in person, walking southward along the tracks, +through the miles of blackness that led to the nest of the Nipe. + +Overhead was Government City. + +He had looked out upon those streets only the night before, and he knew +that only a short distance away there was an entirely different world. + +Somewhere up there, his brother was waiting, after having run the gamut +of publicity. He was a celebrity. "Stanley Martin, the greatest +detective in the Solar System," they'd called him. Fine stuff, that. +Stanton wondered what the asteroids were like. What would it be like to +live out in space, where a man still had plenty of space to move around +in and could fashion his life to suit himself? Maybe there would be a +place in the asteroids for a hopped-up superman. + +Or maybe there would only be a place here, beneath the streets of +Government City, for a dead superman. + +_Not if I can help it_, Stanton thought with a grim smile. + +The walking seemed to take forever in one way, but, in another way, +Stanton didn't mind it. He had a lot to think over. Seeing his brother's +image on the TV had been unnerving yesterday, but today he felt as +though everything had been all right all along. + +His memory was still a long way from being complete, and it probably +always would be, he thought. He could still scarcely recall any real +memories of a boy named Martin Stanton, but--and he smiled a little at +the thought--he knew more about him than his brother did, even so. + +It made very little difference now. That Martin Stanton was gone. In +effect, he had been demolished--what little there had been of him--and a +new structure had been built on the old foundation. + +And yet, it was highly probable that the new structure was very like +that that would have developed naturally if the accident so early in +Martin Stanton's life had never occurred. + +Stanton kept walking. There was a timeless feeling about his march +through the depths of the ground, as though every step through the +blackness was exactly like every other step, and it was only the same +step over and over again. + +He skirted a pile of rubble on his right. There had been a station here, +once; the street above had caved in and filled it with brick, concrete, +cobblestones, and steel scrap, and then it had been sealed over when +Government City was built. + +A part of one wall was still unbroken, though. A sign built of tile said +125TH STREET, he knew, although it was hard to make it out in the dim +glow. He kept on walking, ignoring the rats that scampered over the +rubble. + +A mile or so farther on, he whispered: "Barbell to Barhop. How's +everything going?" + +"Barhop to Barbell," came the answer. "No sign of any activity from +Target. So far, none of the alarms have been triggered." + +"What's he doing?" Stanton whispered. It seemed only right to keep his +voice low, although he was fairly certain that his voice would not carry +to the Nipe, even through these echoing tunnels. He was still miles +away. + +"He's still sitting motionless," said Captain Greer. "Thinking, I +suppose. Or sleeping. It's hard to tell." + +"All right. Let me know if he starts moving, will you?" + +"Will do." + +_Poor unsuspecting beastie_, Stanton thought. _Ten long years of hard +work, of feeling secure in his little nest, and within a very short time +he's going to get the shock of his life._ + +Or maybe not. There was no way of knowing what kind of shocks the Nipe +had taken in the course of his life, Stanton thought. There was no way +of knowing whether the Nipe was even capable of feeling anything like +shock, as a matter of fact. + +It was odd, he thought, that he should feel a strong kinship toward both +the Nipe and his brother in such similar ways. He had never met the +Nipe, and his brother was only a dim picture in his old memories, but +they were both very well known to him. Certainly they were better known +to him than he was to them. + +And yet, seeing his brother's face on the TV screen, hearing his voice, +watching the way he moved about, watching the changing expressions on +his face, had been a tremendously moving experience. Not until that +moment, he thought, had he really known himself. + +Meeting him face to face would be much easier now, but it would still be +a scene highly charged with emotional tension. + +His foot kicked something that rattled and rolled away from him. He +stopped, freezing in his tracks, looking downward, trying to pierce the +dully glowing gloom. The thing he had kicked was a human skull. + +He relaxed and began walking again. + +There were plenty of human bones down here. Mannheim had told him that +the tunnels had been used as air-raid shelters when the sun bomb had hit +the island during the Holocaust. Men, women, and children by the +thousands had crowded underground after the warning had come--and they +had died by the thousands when the bright, hot, deadly gases had roared +down the ventilators and stairwells. + +There were even caches of canned goods down here, some of them still +perfectly sealed after all this time. The hordes of rats, wiser than +they knew, had chewed at them, exposing the steel beneath the thin tin +plate. And, after a while, oxidation would weaken the can to the point +where some lucky rat could gnaw through the rusty spot and find himself +a meal. Then he would move the empty can aside and begin gnawing at the +next in line. He couldn't get through the steel, but he would scratch +the tin off, and the cycle would begin again. Later, another rat would +find that can weak enough to bite through. It kept the rats fed almost +as well as an automatic machine might have. + +The tunnel before him was an endless monochromatic world that was both +artificial and natural. Here was a neatly squared-off mosaic of ceramic +tile that was obviously man-made; over there, on a little hillock of +earth, squatted a colony of fat mushrooms. In several places he had to +skirt little pools of dark, stagnant water; twice he had to climb over +long heaps of crumbling rust that had once been trains of subway cars. + +He kept moving--one man, alone, walking through the dark toward a +superhuman monster that had terrorized Earth for a decade. + +A drug that would knock out the Nipe would have been very useful, but to +synthesize such a drug would have required a greater knowledge of the +biochemical processes of the Nipe than any human scientist had. The same +applied to anesthetic gases, or electric shock, or supersonics. There +was no way of determining how much would be required to knock him out or +how much would be required to kill. There were no easy answers. + +The only answer was a man called Stanton. + + _Boots! Boots! Boots! Boots! Marchin' up and down again! + And there's no discharge in the war!_ + +Stanton hummed the song in his mind. It seemed that he had been walking +forever through the Kingdom of Hades, while around him twittered the +ghosts of the dead. + +_Poor shades_, he thought, entertaining the fancy for a brief moment, +_will I be one of you in a short while?_ + +There was no answer, though the squeaking continued. The sound of his +feet and the snarling chirping of the rats were the only sounds in the +world. + +"Barhop to Barbell," said a voice suddenly, sounding very loud in his +ear, "this is where you have to make your change to the other tunnel." + +"Barbell to Barhop. I know. I've been watching the markers." + +"Just precaution, Barbell," Captain Greer said. "How do you feel?" + +"I'd like to rest for a few minutes, frankly," Stanton said. + +"Feeling tired?" There was just the barest tinge of alarm in the +captain's voice. + +"No," Stanton said. "I just want to sit down and rest my feet for a few +minutes." + +There was a pause. Then the captain's voice came again. "Okay, go ahead +and relax, Barbell. Take ten. But be ready to move fast if I yell. These +alarm systems are tricky things to hold. And don't start moving again +without letting me know." + +"Right." + +Stanton lifted himself out of the trench in which the tunnel ran and sat +on the edge of the boarding platform. It wasn't far now. There was only +one more of the old entranceways between himself and the Nipe. This +particular one was a transfer point, where two different parts of the +tunnel network met and it was possible to transfer from one to another. +It required going up a couple of flights of stairs to the next higher +level, and changing to another tunnel going southward. + +There were other ways. This tunnel, the one he had been following for so +long, branched a little farther south. If he took one branch, he would +end up to the east of the Nipe; the other would bring him to a point on +the west. From either, he would have to travel laterally through +another set of tunnels, but neither route offered anything that this +one didn't have, and the most direct route would be best. + +"Barbell to Barhop," he whispered, "I'm ready to go." + +"It's only been five minutes." + +"I know. But I rest pretty fast, too. Let's move out." + +There were a few seconds of silence, then Captain Greer said: "All set, +Barbell. Move out." + +Stanton got to his feet and walked toward the stairway that led up to +the next level. Minutes later, he was in another tunnel exactly similar +to the first one, walking southward again. + +But now he was more careful. He watched the ground carefully, making +sure that he didn't step on anything that would snap or rattle. The Nipe +was still quite a distance away--three-quarters of a mile, or so--but +taking the chance that the beast couldn't hear him might be deadly +dangerous. The robot rat that he was following led him along a path that +had been unobtrusively cleared of rubble by the robot rats over a period +of months, but the robots weren't the only rats in the place. He kept +his eyes on the path. + +A while later, the voice in his ear said: "A hundred yards to go, +Barbell." + +"I know," Stanton whispered. "He hasn't moved?" + +"No. I'll yell if he does. You don't need to talk any more. His ears +might pick up even that whisper." + +_He hasn't moved_, Stanton thought. _Not for all this time. Not since I +came down into his private domain. All this time, he has been sitting +motionless--waiting. Wouldn't it be funny if he were dead? If his heart +had stopped, or something. Wouldn't that be absolutely hilarious? +Wouldn't that be a big joke on everybody? Especially me._ + +Ahead was the large area that had been one of the major junction points +of the tunnel network. This was the area that the Nipe had taken over to +build his home-away-from-home. Here were his workshops, his +laboratories, his storerooms. + +And somewhere here was the Nipe. + +He came out of the tunnel into another passenger-loading area. Just to +his left was another short stairway that led up to a slightly higher +level. He moved slowly and quietly. He didn't want to fight down here on +the tracks, and he didn't want to be caught just yet. + +Cautiously he lifted himself to the platform where long-gone passengers +had once waited for long-gone trains. + +The quality of the illumination at the head of the stairs was different +from that which he had been used to for the past three hours. He lifted +off the infra-red goggles. Enough light spilled over from the Nipe's +lair to give him illumination to see by. Silently, he put the goggles on +the floor of the platform. He wouldn't need them again. + +Then, step by step, he walked up the concrete stairway. + +At the head of the stairs, he paused to get his bearings. + +The illumination was not bright, but it was enough to-- + +"Barbell! He's heard you! Watch it!" + +But Stanton had already heard the movement of the Nipe. He jerked off +the communicator and threw it down the stairs behind him. He wanted no +encumbrances now! + +He ran quickly out into the center of the big underground room, away +from the open stairwell. + +And then, as fast as any express train that had ever moved through these +subterranean ways, the Nipe came around a corner thirty feet away, his +four violet eyes gleaming, his limbs rippling beneath his centipede-like +body. + +From fifteen feet away, he launched himself through the air, his +outstretched hands ready to kill. + +But Stanton's marvelous neuromuscular system was already in action. + +At this stage of the game, it would be utter suicide to let the Nipe +get in close. Stanton couldn't fend off eight grasping hands with his +own two. He leaped to one side, and the Nipe got his first surprise in +ten years when Stanton's fist slammed against the side of his snouted +head, knocking him in the direction opposite that in which Stanton had +moved. + +The Nipe landed, turned, and charged back toward the man. This time he +reared up, using his two rearmost pairs of limbs for locomotion, while +the two forward pairs were held out, ready to kill. + +He got surprise number two when Stanton's fist landed on the tip of his +rather sensitive snout, rocking his head back. His own hands met nothing +but air, and by the time he had recovered from the blow, Stanton was +well back, out of the way. + +_He's so small!_ Stanton thought wonderingly. Even when he reared up, +the Nipe's head was only three feet above the concrete floor. + +The Nipe came in again--more cautiously this time. + +Stanton punched again with a straight right. The Nipe moved his head +aside, and Stanton's knuckles merely grazed the side of the alien's +head, just below the lower right eye. + +At the same time, one of the Nipe's hands swung in in a chopping right +hook that took Stanton just below the ribs. Stanton leaped back with a +gasp of pain. + +The Nipe didn't use fists. He used his open hand, fingers together, like +a judo fighter. + +The Nipe came forward, and, as Stanton danced back, the Nipe made a grab +for his ankle, almost catching it. There were too many hands to watch! + +Stanton had two advantages: weight and reach. His arms were almost half +again as long as the Nipe's. + +Against that, the Nipe had all those hands; and with his low center of +gravity and four-footed stance, it would be hard to knock him down. On +the other hand, if Stanton lost his footing, the fight would be over +fast. + +Stanton lunged suddenly forward and planted a left in the Nipe's right +upper eye, then followed it with a right uppercut to the Nipe's jaw as +his head snapped back. The Nipe's four hands cut inward from the sides +like sword blades, but they found no target. + +Backing away, Stanton realized he had another advantage. The Nipe +couldn't throw a straight jab! His shoulders--if that's what they should +be called--were narrow and the upper arm bones weren't articulated +properly for such a blow. The alien could throw a mean hook, but he had +to get in close to deliver it. + +On the other side of the coin was the fact that the Nipe knew plenty +about human anatomy--from the bones out. Stanton's knowledge of Nipe +anatomy was almost totally superficial. + +He wished he knew if and where the Nipe had a solar plexus. He would +like to punch something soft for a change. + +Instead, he tried for another eye. He danced in, jabbed, and danced out. +The Nipe had ducked again, taking the blow on the side of his head. + +Then the Nipe came in low, at an angle, trying for the groin. For his +troubles, he got a knee in the jaw that staggered him badly. One +grasping hand clutched at Stanton's right thigh and grabbed hard. +Stanton swung his fist down like a pendulum and knocked the arm aside. + +But there was a slight limp in his movements as he back-pedaled away +from the Nipe. That full-handed pinch had hurt like the very devil! + +Stanton was angry now, with the hot, controlled anger of a fighting man. +He stepped in quickly and slammed two fast hard jabs into the point of +the Nipe's snout, jarring the monster backward. And this time it was +the Nipe who scuttled back out of the way. + +Stanton moved in fast to press his advantage and landed a beaut on the +Nipe's lower left eye. Then he tried a body blow. It wasn't too +successful. The alien had an endoskeleton, but he also had a tough hide +that was somewhat like thick, leathery chitin. + +Stanton pulled back, getting out of the way of the Nipe's open-handed +judo cuts. + +His fists were beginning to hurt, and his leg was paining him badly +where the Nipe had clamped onto it. And his ribs were throbbing where +the Nipe had landed that single blow. + +And then he realized that, so far, the Nipe had only landed that one +blow! + +_One punch and one pinch_, Stanton thought with a touch of awe. _The +only other damage he's inflicted has been to my knuckles!_ + +The Nipe charged in again, then he leaped suddenly and clawed for +Stanton's face with his first pair of hands. The second and third pairs +chopped in toward the man's body. The last pair propelled him off the +floor. + +Stanton stepped back and drove in a long, hard right, hitting him just +below the jaw, where his throat would have been if he had been human. + +The Nipe arced backward in a half somersault and landed flat on his +back. + +Stanton backed up a little more, waiting, while the Nipe wiggled feebly +for a moment. _The Marquis of Queensberry should have lived to see +this_, he thought. + +The Nipe rolled over and crouched on all eight limbs. His violet eyes +watched Stanton, but the man could read no expression on that inhuman +face. + +"_You did not kill._" + +For a moment, Stanton found it hard to believe that the hissing, +guttural voice had come from the crouching monster. + +"_You did not even_ try _to kill._" + +"I have no wish to kill you," Stanton said evenly. + +"_I can see that. Do you ... Are you ..._" He stopped, as if baffled. +"_There are not the proper words. Do you follow the Customs?_" + +Stanton felt a surge of triumph. This was what George Yoritomo had +guessed might happen! + +"If I must kill you," Stanton said carefully, "I, myself, will do the +honors. You will not go uneaten." + +The Nipe sagged a little, relaxing all over. "_I had hoped it was so. It +was the only thinkable thing. I saw you on the television, and it was +only thinkable that you came for me._" + +Stanton sighed inwardly. That part of Colonel Mannheim's strategy had +worked, too. The Nipe had seen all the publicity releases that had been +so carefully tailored for him. + +"_I knew you were out on the asteroids_," the Nipe went on. "_But I had +decided that you had come to kill. Since you did not, what are your +thoughts, Stanley Martin?_" + +"That we should help each other," Stanton said. + +It was as simple as that. + + + + +_[23]_ + + +Stanton sat in his hotel room, smoking a cigarette, staring at the wall, +and thinking. + +He was alone again. All the fuss and feathers and foofaraw were over. +Dr. Farnsworth was in another room of the suite, making his plans for a +complete physical examination of the Nipe. Dr. George Yoritomo was +having the time of his life, holding a conversation with the Nipe, +drawing the alien out, and getting him to talk about his own race and +their history. + +And Stanley Martin was plotting the next phase of the capture--the +cover-up. + +Stanton smiled a little. Colonel Mannheim had been a great one for +planning, all right. Every little detail was taken care of. It had +sometimes made his plans more complex than necessary, Stanton suspected. +Mannheim had tended to try to account for every possible eventuality, +and, after he had done that, he had set aside a few reserves here and +there, just in case they might be useful if something unforeseen +happened. + +All things considered, the Government had certainly done the right +thing. And, in picking Mannheim, they had picked the right man. + +Stanton got up, walked over to the window, and looked down at the +streets of Government City, eight floors below. + +What would those people down there think if they were told the true +story of the Nipe? What would the average citizen say if he discovered +that, at this very moment, the Nipe was being treated almost as an +honored guest of the Government? More, what would he say if he suspected +that the Nipe--the horrible, murderous, man-eating Nipe--could have been +killed easily at any time during the past six years? + +Would it be possible for anyone to explain to the common average man +that, in the long run, the knowledge possessed by the Nipe was +tremendously more valuable to the race of Man than the lives of a few +individuals? + +Could those people down there, and the others like them all over the +world, be made to understand that, by his own lights, the Nipe had been +behaving in the most civilized and gentlemanly fashion he knew? Could +they ever be made to understand that, because of the tremendous wealth +of priceless information stored in that alien brain, the Nipe's life had +to be preserved at any cost? + +Or would they scream for blood? + +Dr. Farnsworth assumed that Stanley Martin was going to spread a story +about the Nipe's death--a carefully concocted story about how Stanley +Martin had found the beast and the police had killed it. There might, +Farnsworth assumed, be a carefully made "corpse" for the mob to hiss at. +Maybe Farnsworth was right. But Stanton had the feeling that Martin and +George Yoritomo had something else up their collective sleeve. + +The phone hummed. Stanton walked over, thumbed the answer button, and +watched George Yoritomo's face take shape on the screen. + +"Bart! I have just had the privilege of viewing the tapes of your fight +with our friend, the Nipe. Incredible! I watched the original on the +screen, of course, but I had to run the tapes. I wanted to slow it down, +so that I could see what actually happened. Magnificent, that right of +yours! _So!_" He jabbed a fist out, shadowboxing with Stanton over the +phone circuit. + +"Awww, it weren't nuthin', Maw," Stanton drawled. "I jes' sorta flang +out a fist an' he got in the way." + +"Of course! But such a fling! Seriously, Bart, I want to run those tapes +over again, and I want you to tell me, as best you can, just what went +on in your mind at each stage of the fight. It will be most +informative." + +"You mean right now? I have an appointment--" + +Yoritomo waved a hand. "No, no. Later. Take your time. But I am honestly +amazed that you won so easily. I knew you were good, and I was certain +you'd win, but I must admit that I honestly expected you to be +injured." + +Stanton looked down at his bandaged hands and felt the ache of his +broken rib and the pain of the blue bruise on his thigh. In spite of the +way it looked, he had actually been hurt worse than the Nipe had. That +boy was _tough_! + +"The trouble was that he couldn't adapt himself to fighting in a new +way, just as you predicted," he told Yoritomo. "He fought me, I assume, +in just the way he would have fought another Nipe. And that didn't work. +I had the reach on him, and I could maneuver faster. Besides, he can't +throw a straight punch with those shoulders of his." + +"It appeared to me," Yoritomo said with a broad grin, "that you were +fighting him as you would fight another human being. Eh?" + +Stanton grinned back. "I was, in a modified way. But I wasn't confined +to a pattern. Besides, I won--the Nipe didn't. And that's all that +counts." + +"It is, indeed. Well, I'll let you know when I'm ready for your +impressions of the fight. Probably tomorrow some time--say, in the +afternoon?" + +"Fine." + +George Yoritomo nodded his thanks, and his image collapsed and faded +from the screen. + +Stanton walked back over to the window, but this time he looked at the +horizon, not the street. + +George Yoritomo had called him "Bart". It's funny, Stanton thought, how +habit can get the best of a man. Yoritomo had known the truth all along. +And now he knew that his pupil--or patient--whichever it was--was aware +of the truth. And still, he had called him "Bart". + +_And I still think of myself as Bart_, he thought. _I probably always +will._ + +And why not? Why shouldn't he? Martin Stanton no longer existed--in a +sense, he had never existed. And in actual fact, he had never had much +of a real existence. He was only a bad dream. He had always been a bad +dream. And now that the dream was over, only "Bart" was real. + +He thought back, remembering George Yoritomo's explanation. + +"Take two people," he had said. "Two people genetically identical. +Damage one of them so badly that he is helpless and useless--to himself +and to others. Damage him so badly that he is always only a step away +from death. + +"The vague telepathic bond that always links identical twins (they +'think alike', they say) becomes unbalanced under such conditions. + +"Normally, there is a give-and-take. One mind is as strong as the other, +and each preserves the sense of his own identity, since the two +different sets of sense receptors give different viewpoints. But if one +of the twins is damaged badly enough, then something must happen to that +telepathic linkage. + +"Usually it is broken. + +"But the link between you and your brother was not broken. Instead, it +became a one-way channel. + +"What happens in such a case? The damaged brother, in order to escape +the intolerable prison of his own body, becomes a receptor for the +stronger brother's thoughts. The weaker feels as the stronger feels. The +experience of the one becomes the experience of the other--the thrill of +running after a baseball, the pride of doing something clever with the +hands, the touch of a girl's kiss upon the lips--all these become the +property of the weaker, since he is receiving the thoughts of the +stronger. There is, of course, no flow in the other direction. The +stronger brother has no way of knowing that his every thought is being +duplicated in his brother's mind. + +"In effect, the damaged brother ceases to think. The thoughts in his +mind are those of the healthy brother. The feeling of identity becomes +almost complete. + +"To the outside observer, the damaged brother appears to be a cataleptic +schizophrenic, completely cut off from reality. And, in a sense, he is." + +Stanton walked over to the nightstand by the bed, took another cigarette +from the pack, lit it, and looked at the smoke curling up from the tip. + +_So Martin became a cataleptic schizophrenic_, he thought. + +The mind of Martin had ceased to think at all. The "Bart" part of him +had not wanted to be disturbed by the garbled, feeble sensory +impressions that "Mart's" body provided. Like many another +schizophrenic, Martin had been living in a little world cut off from the +actual physical world around his body. + +The difference between Martin's condition and that of the ordinary +schizophrenic had been that Martin's little dream world had actually +existed. It had been an almost exact counterpart of the world that had +existed in the perfectly sane, rational mind of his brother, Bart. It +had grown and developed as Bart had, fed by the one-way telepathic flow +from the stronger mind to the weaker. + +There had been two Barts--and no Mart at all. + +But there had been only one human being between them. Bart Stanton had +been a strong, capable, intelligent, active human being. The duplicate +of his mind was just a recording in the mind of a useless, +radiation-blasted hulk. + +And then the Neurophysical Institute had come into the picture. A new +process had been developed by Dr. Farnsworth and his crew, by which a +human being could be reconstructed--made, literally, into a superman. +All the techniques had been worked out in careful and minute detail. But +there was one major drawback. Any normal human body would resist the +process--to the death, if necessary--just as a normal human body will +resist a skin graft from an alien donor or the injection of an alien +protein. + +But the radiation-damaged body of Martin Stanton had had no resistance +of that kind. It had long been known that deep-penetrating ionizing +radiation had that effect on an organism. The ability to resist was +weakened, almost destroyed. + +With Martin Stanton's body--perhaps--the process might work. + +So Bartholomew Stanton, who had become Martin's legal guardian after the +death of their mother, had given permission for the series of operations +that would rebuild his crippled brother. + +The telepathic link, of course, had to be shut off--for a time, at +least. If it remained intact, Martin would never be able to think for +himself, no matter what was done to his body. Part of that cutting-off +process could be done during the treatment of Martin--but only if +Bartholomew would co-operate. He had done his part. He had submitted to +deep hypnosis, and had allowed himself to be convinced that his name was +Stanley Martin, to think of himself as Stanley Martin. The Martin name +was one that the real Martin's mind would reject utterly. That mind +wanted nothing to do with anything named Martin. + +"Stanley Martin," then, had gone out to the asteroids. In his mind had +been implanted the further instructions that he was not to return to +Earth nor to attempt to investigate the Nipe under any circumstances. +The simple change of name and environment had been just enough to snap +the link during a time when Martin's brain had been inactivated by cold +therapy and anesthetics. + +Only the sense of identity had remained. The patient was still +"Bart"--but now he was being forced to think for himself. + +Mannheim had used them both, naturally. Colonel Mannheim had the ability +to use anyone at hand, including himself, to get a job done. + +Stanton looked at his watch. It was almost time. + +Mannheim had sent for "Stanley Martin" when the time had come for him to +return in order to give the Nipe data that he would be sure to +misinterpret. A special series of code phrases in the message had +released "Stanley Martin" from the hypnotic suggestions that had held +him for so long. He knew now that he was Bartholomew Stanton. + +_And so do I_, thought the man by the window. _We have a lot to +straighten out, we two._ + +There was a knock at the door. + +Stanton walked over and opened it, trying not to think. + +It was like looking into a mirror. + +"Hello, Bart," he said. + +"Hello, Bart," said the other. + +In that instant, complete telepathic linkage was restored. In that +instant, they both knew what only one of them had known before--that, +for a time, the telepathic flow had been one-way again, but this time in +the opposite direction--that "Stanley Martin" had been shaken that +afternoon when his own mind had become the receptor for the other's +thoughts, and he had experienced completely the entire battle with the +Nipe. His release from the posthypnotic suggestion had made it possible. + +There was no need for further words. + +_E duobus unum._ + +There was unity without loss of identity. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Anything You Can Do ..., by Gordon Randall Garrett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANYTHING YOU CAN DO ... *** + +***** This file should be named 24436.txt or 24436.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/4/3/24436/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Geoffrey Kidd, Stephen Blundell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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