Part 13 (1/2)

”All right. We know they've sent ten creatures to our planet from infinity--that's as good a word to use as any. The next question is, why?”

”d.a.m.nit, that question is obvious.”

”And from my point of view, the answer is obvious.”

”Then I wish to h.e.l.l you'd give it to me.”

”Logic, man, logic! A race as far advanced as this one could certainly move in and occupy us without trouble. Wouldn't you think?”

”Certainly. That's what bothers me. Why all the p.u.s.s.y-footing around with synthetic men who keep dropping dead?”

”I think it's because they themselves are unable to exist in the climatic and atmospheric conditions existent on our planet.”

Brent Taber's eyes opened as Entman went on. ”They plan to occupy us, certainly--this we must a.s.sume--so they're trying to create an ent.i.ty through which they can do it. The process is really no different, even though a little more dramatic, than our science creating a mechanical unit that functions to the best efficiency under specified conditions.”

Taber's finger snapped up. He pointed at Entman's desk. ”They'd like to know why their androids died. Maybe they weren't alike--at least, not exactly alike. Maybe there were differences you haven't found yet--maybe they turned out ten models and they want to know which one worked the best.”

”You get the point,” Entman beamed.

”They'd like the data you're a.s.sembling--those reports you've got in front of you.”

”I imagine they'd find them quite interesting.”

”Do you think we can a.s.sume the tenth android died also?”

”Perhaps. We have no proof that it killed the one found slain in Greenwich Village.”

”I'm satisfied to a.s.sume that. But I'm wondering just what contact those 'people,' as you call them, had with their androids. Could a part of the brain have been a sending and receiving device?”

”It would be difficult to tell. I delved in far enough to find a mechanical device, if there had been one. It did not exist in those I dissected. There is another possibility though, except that we often make the mistake of a.s.suming that what we humans on earth can't do, can't be done. Consider telepathy. Who's to say they were not made capable of communicating in that way--at whatever distance?” He paused for a moment, deep in thought, before going on. ”Has it occurred to you that the tenth android might be a supervisor, the boss, the captain? If he is still alive, why haven't you found him? You have the men and facilities at your command.”

Brent Taber sprang to his feet. ”Doctor,” he answered, scowling, ”Did you ever hear of a project so secret that it couldn't even be given enough personnel to make it work?”

Entman smiled sympathetically. ”Was.h.i.+ngton is a strange place in some ways, son. Usually it's the other way around. You get so much help they get in each other's way. I'm glad I'm not involved in those phases of it.”

Brent paced the floor, occupied with his own thoughts. It was more than mere frustration. It went deeper. There was his resentment of the dressing-down he'd taken from Authority; the subtle coolness that had begun to permeate his relations with those upstairs.

He jerked his mind away from such thoughts. Nerves. That was it. He was tense. He was imagining things. They were certainly too well aware of the gravity of this situation to let petty politics interfere.

Or were they?

”Okay, Doc,” Brent said crisply. ”Thanks for letting me pick your brain.”

”Good luck, son.”

Entman went back to his work and Taber left. As he walked down the corridor, he a.n.a.lyzed the cheerful tone of Entman's voice and told himself that even Entman didn't really believe it. Entman had the evidence before his eyes but he still couldn't get the concept of alien creatures from s.p.a.ce really taking us over. It was too unbelievable.

_Am I the only one who really believes it?_ He asked himself this question as he hailed a cab in the street and watched a fat man in a bowler hat slip in and take it away from him.

”You're slipping, Taber,” he muttered. ”You're definitely slipping.”