Three to Conquer

8. Conscripted

There were only two men waiting this time. One had stem, leathery features famous throughout the world: General Conway, tall, gray-haired, distinguished. The other one was Benfield, now decidedly grim.

"So!" rumbled General Conway, fixing Harper with a cold eye. "You are the mind-reader?"

"Putting it that way makes me seem like a vaudeville act," said Harper, far from overawed.

"Quite probably," agreed the general, thinking it wasn't so far removed, either. He examined the other carefully, from the shoes up, letting his gaze linger longest on a pair of thick and exceedingly hairy wrists. His mental diagnosis was not flattering: it determined the subject to be a powerful and presumably intelligent man, who would have the misfortune to look like an ape when in officer's uniform. Too broad, squat and hirsute to fit the part of a captain or colonel.

Harper said informatively, "That's nothing; you ought to see me naked. I resemble a curly rug. Hence the word rugged."

The general stiffened authoritatively. Jameson looked appalled. Benfield was too preoccupied to have any reaction.

"If you know what is in my mind, there's little need to speak," declared General Conway. "What does it tell you?"

"An awful ruckus has started," replied Harper, without hesitation. "And I'm certified sane."

The other nodded. "Your witness has confirmed that the men in that car were the same three who set out for Venus about eighteen months ago. The F.B.I, is following their trail forward and backward, and already has found two more witnesses who say the same." He rested on a table-edge, folded his arms, gazed steadily at his listener. "This is a most serious business."

"It'll get worse," Harper promised, "if that is any consolation."

"This is a poor time for levity," reproved the general. "We are treating the matter with the importance it deserves. All forces of law and order in the west are combining in an effort to trace that Thunderbug back to its starting-point, in the hope that the ship may be located in that area. A forward trace is also being made, despite the fact that it's likely to prove futile, the machine having been abandoned by this time."

"Neither the ship nor the car matters very much. It's those three rampaging—"

"We are after those as well," Conway interrupted. "All police, military and ancillary organizations have been, or soon will be, alerted. Photographs, fingerprint formulae, and other necessary information is being distributed as fast as we can produce. The capture is being given top priority, all other criminological investigations to be dropped pending its achievement. Unfortunately, at this stage, we cannot warn the public as a whole without creating widespread alarm and consequences that may get out of control."

"Good enough," approved Harper. "So this is where I go out."

"On the contrary, this is where you stay in. We have you, and we intend to keep you. There's a war on, and you're drafted."

"Then I apply for indeterminate leave forthwith."

"Permission denied," snapped Conway, too concerned even to smile. He walked around the table, sat down behind it, let' his fingers tap restlessly on its surface. "The air forces are out in full strength scouting for that ship. Every civilian plane that can be mustered is under orders to assist. We have confiscated the bodies of that girl and the trooper, and handed them over to scientists for special examination. Everything that can be done has been or soon will be done. The issue of the moment is that of how to deal with you."

"Me?"

"Yes. There are a lot of questions that must he answered. Have you any explanation of your telepathic power? Can you say how it originated?"

"No."

"It just happened?"

"So far as I can recall, I was born that way."

"H'm!" Conway was dissatisfied. "We are making exhaustive search into the backgrounds of your parents and grandparents. If possible, we must discover the reason why you are what you are."

"Personally," remarked Harper, "I couldn't care less about the reason. It has never interested me."

"It interests us. We must determine, as soon as we can, whether any more of your kind may be hanging around and, if so, in what number. Also, whether there is any positive method of finding them and conscripting them until this crisis is over."

"After which, they in turn will be treated from the crisis viewpoint," thrust Harper. "And your big problem will be how to put them out of hum's way until such time as they may be needed again."

"Now see here—"

"I know what you're thinking, and you cannot conceal it from me. I know that authority is squatting on the horns of a large and sharp-pointed dilemma. A telepath is a menace to those in power, but a protection against foes such as we are facing right now. You cannot destroy the menace without depriving yourselves of the protection. You cannot ensure mental privacy except at the prospective price of mental slavery. You're in a first-class jam that doesn't really exist because it's purely imaginary, and born of the conditioning of non-telepathic minds."

Conway made no attempt to dispute this vigorous revealing of his thoughts. He sat in silence, his cold attention on Harper, and spoke only when he had finished.

"And what makes you say that there is no such quandary?"

"Because all the irrational bigots swarming on this cockeyed world invariably jump to the conclusion that anyone radically different from themselves must be bad. It inflates badly shrivelled egos to look at things that way. Every man his own paragon of virtue and goodness." He glowered at General Conway and said with ire, "A telepath has a code of ethics fully as good as anyone else's, and perhaps a damn-sight better because he has to beat off more temptation. I don't listen unless circumstances make it necessary. I don't hear unless I'm shouted at."

The other was blunt enough to appreciate straight talk; he was openly impressed. Leaning back in his chair, Conway surveyed Harper afresh.

"We've done a great deal of checking on you already. You heard Trooper Alderson from a distance of approximately six hundred yards. Without listening, I presume?"

"I heard his death-cry. On the neural band, it's as effective as a scream; I couldn't help hearing."

"You have helped nail a number of wanted criminals, and it is now obvious how you did it. But you never listen?"

"Guilt yells across the street. Fear bellows like an angry bull."

"Is there anything that broadcasts on a level sufficiently muted to escape your attention?"

"Yes — ordinary, everyday, innocent thoughts."

"You do not listen to those?"

"Why on earth should I bother? Do you try to sort out every spoken word from the continual hum of conversation around you in a restaurant? Does a busy telephone operator take time off to absorb the babble going through her switchboard? If I went around trying to pick up everything that's going on, I'd have qualified for a straitjacket ten years ago. Continual, ceaseless mental yap can torture a telepath unless he closes his mind to it."

By now, Conway was three-quarters convinced. His mind had made considerable readjustment. He resumed his table-tapping, cast an inquiring glance at Benfield and Jameson. They immediately put on the blank expressions of impartial onlookers, not qualified to make decisions.

"I understand," continued Conway, "that to date you have not encountered another telepath?"

"No," agreed Harper regretfully.

"But if two of you passed by.without listening, neither of you would become aware of the other's existence?"

"I suppose so; but I couldn't swear to it. If we radiate more powerfully than the average human—"

"Yes, but your lack of contact is no proof of your uniqueness? For all we know to the contrary there may be fifty or a hundred telepaths in this very city?"

"I think it most unlikely, but wouldn't define it as impossible."

"What is your effective range?" asked Conway.

"About eight hundred yards. It varies from time to time. On rare occasions, I have received at three times that distance. Other times it drops to a hundred or less."

"Do you know the cause of such variation? Is it due to the nature of surroundings, blanking by big buildings, or anything similar?"

"I could not say for sure, not having subjected the matter to systematic test. Surroundings make no difference and that's all I'm certain about."

"But you have a theory?" Conway pressed.

"Yes," admitted Harper. "I suspect that on any given occasion, my range is determined by the amplitude of the other person's radiations. The more powerfully he broadcasts, the greater the distance over which I can pick him up. The weaker, the less distance. As I've said, it would require scientific tests to establish the truth or falsity of that notion."

"Are you willing to undergo such tests?"

"I am not," declared Harper.

"Why not?"

"The immediate problem is not that of what to do about telepaths; it's what to do about invading Venusians. Nobody is going to use me for a guinea pig."

"Don't view it in that light, Mr. Harper," Conway soothed. "We appreciate to the full the excellent part you have played. The trouble is that we're not satisfied. We want more of you. We want all you can give. In fact, we need it so badly that we demand it as of right."

"What do you require of me?"

"All the information we can get out of you now, and perhaps some action later."

"Go ahead. Let no man say Wade Harper was unable to suffer."

Conway signed to Benfield. "Switch on that tape-recorder." He returned his attention to Harper. "This one is of the utmost importance; I want you to answer it with the greatest clarity you can command. What impelled you to shoot Jocelyn Whittingham?"

"That's a tough question," Harper replied. "I cannot translate it into terms you understand; it's like trying to describe a rose to a man blind from birth."

"Never mind. Do your best."

"All right. It was somewhat like this: you're in your wife's bedroom. You notice a new and pretty jewel box on her dressing table. Full of curiosity, you open it. The thing contains a live whip snake. The snake sees you the same instant. It leaps out. Despite the shock, you act fast. You swipe it in mid-air, knock it to the floor, crush it under heel. That's how it was."

"I see." Conway stared at him thoughtfully, then asked, "Can't you express it in a manner more in keeping with what actually happened?"

"She started up the steps. I knew she might be the girl I was seeking. I made a stab at her mind for the sole purpose of identifying her. The moment I touched, I realized what I had touched. At the same moment—"

"What did you touch?" inquired Conway.

"Something not human; I cannot describe it more accurately. I planted a telepathic hand fairly and squarely on the mental field of a non-human entity. At the same instant, it felt my touch. That was additional confirmation, if any were needed, because no normal human being can sense a telepathic probe. I realized several things in that split second: First, she didn't know whence the probe had come. She had no directional sense such as I possess. But she correctly assumed that it came from me, because I was in plain sight and already racing toward her."

"She did not know it was you?" repeated Conway. "You mean, she was in no way telepathic herself?"

"I hadn't any evidence of it. There was only that abnormal sensitivity which, I suppose, has been developed as a defense-mechanism somewhere else. She did know, beyond all doubt, that suddenly and without warning, a strange and dangerous mind had lifted her mask and seen beneath. She gave out a panicky thought that she must get away, she must warn the others that they're not as well-hidden as they think, that they can be exposed."

"A-a-ah!" Conway displayed hopefulness. "So she knew the precise location of these others? She knew how to get into touch with them?"

"If so," Harper, "her mind did not admit it. Things were moving fast. We were both thunderstruck by the encounter. Her mind was yelling, 'Escape, escape, escape!' while mine ordered imperatively, 'Stop her, stop, stop… kill, kill!' I shot her down without any compunctions whatsoever. I'd quite forgotten that she was a girl, or had been a girl. For the moment she was something else, something that had to be laid good and cold. I gave her the magazine right through the head. I heard the alien mentality cease sizzling and fade to nothingness. That showed it could die."

"Then you went away, without making further examination?"

"I did; I had no time for further horsing around. I didn't dare risk being picked up anywhere but here. To tell this story in any police barracks or sheriff's office, where they didn't know the score, would eventually land me in an asylum."

"Couldn't you have saved time, trouble and anxiety by calling us long distance?"

"How far would I have got that way? Some underling would have sent police to the booth to pick up a loony. I've had a tough enough job reaching the right people in person."

None of the listeners relished that remark, but were unable to deny the truth of it. A formidable guard of minor officials stood between the high executive and a besieging force of malcontents, theorists, halfwits and world-doomers. Perforce they also held at bay the rare individual with something genuinely worth hearing.

General Conway harumphed, decided that there were no satisfactory methods of overcoming this difficulty, went on to say, "You have made contact with an alien life-form. So far as we know, you're the only one who has done so and remained able and willing to talk about it. Can you add anything that may help us to determine the true nature of the foe?"

"I didn't see it with my own two eyes. Therefore, I cannot assist you with an accurate description."

"Quite so. But you must have gained some kind of an impression."

Thinking it over, Harper conceded, "Yes, that's true."

"Let us have it. No matter how vague or fleeting, we need every datum we can get on this subject."

"For no apparent reason, I felt that alien ownership of another body is a natural phenomenon. That is to say, I knew, more or less instinctively, that the thing occupying the body of Jocelyn Whittingham was functionally designed for such a purpose. It was perfectly at home, and knew how to use what it had gained. The girl was a human being, from toes to hair, in all respects but one: another and different life-spark had been substituted."

"Which suggests that it's nature, is wholly parasitic?" asked Conway. "It normally exists in possession of some other life-form?"

"Yes. It's an old hand at that game."

"And that, in turn, suggests that when it acquires another body, it also gains the data within the brain, all the knowledge, the memory and so forth?"

"Undoubtedly. It could not survive without doing so; otherwise, its own incompetence would betray it at once."

Turning his attention to Benfield, the general remarked, "The inevitable deduction is that Venus harbors various life-forms, some of which are the natural prey of a possessive parasite. Also, that this parasite is capable of taking over a form higher than any in its own habitat. It can adapt right out if its own environment and, if I may put it that way, it can raise itself by its own bootstraps."

Benfield nodded agreement.

"Also," continued Conway, "It is probably microscopic, or germlike. That's my guess; I'll have to leave that angle to others more expert. They'll be able to make shrewder estimates of its characteristics."

"It would help more than somewhat if we could discover how that girl was mastered," Harper pointed out. "Her body might tell the story."

'That is being looked into. We have confiscated her corpse, despite violent objections from her relatives."

Harper looked at him, eyes glowing. "Which of them raised the biggest outcry?""

About to add something more, Conway paused and registered momentary bafflement.

"Why?"

"We Venusians must stick together."

"You mean—?"

"Yes, I mean what you're now thinking."

Firming his lips, Conway reached for the phone, ordered, "Take the entire Whittingham family into safekeeping at once. No, it is not an arrest; there are no charges. Tell them it's for their own protection. Eh? If their lawyer chips in, refer him directly to me."

"That will do a fat lot of good," remarked Harper. "If one or more of the Whittinghams is no longer of this world, you're helping him create a bunch of Venusian cops out west."

"It's a risk we'll have to take."

"Not necessarily. You could put them in animal cages, and feed them with long tongs. Anything — anything, so long as they can't get near enough to help themselves to their own guards."

"That would be gross violation of their constitutional rights. We could get away with such tactics only by justifying them before the public. To do that, we must release information that we wish to reserve, at least for the time being." His eyes questioned Harper as if to say, "What's the answer to that?"

Harper took it up promptly. "Tell the Whittinghams that Jocelyn died of a new, malignant and highly contagious disease. They must be isolated until found free from it. The black plague again."

"What, when they know she was shot?"

"I had the disease. I was raving mad with it. I touched her, contaminated her; she's lucky to be dead. You've got to give a clean bill of health to whoever handled her afterward. Some clause in the health laws can be finagled to cover their incarceration. No protectors of civil liberties are going to bawl about the freedom of suspected lepers — and the story will be substantially true, won't it?"

"You may have something there." Conway used the phone again, gave instructions, finished, "Consult Professor Holzberger about the technical description of a suitable pretext. What is needed is something strong enough to convince, but not strong enough to cause a panic." He ended, said to Harper, "And now what?"

"When there's a chance, let me go out there to look them over. If I find them all clean, give them a mock check-up by some worried-looking medico and let them go. They'll be too relieved to gripe."

"But if one of them is possessed?"

"I'll smell him at first sniff; he'll know it, too. Keep him at all costs. When the others have gone, pull him apart. You could do that without a qualm, because you'll be carving an animated corpse. With luck you might be able to isolate whatever it is."

Conway frowned. Jameson looked slightly sick. Benfield didn't enjoy it, either; he was visualizing his hands shaving himself at another's behest."

"We'll take that up shortly," said Conway. "There is one more cogent point- yet to be considered. You say that the instant you recognized the Whittingham girl, her immediate thought was of escape?"

"Yes."

"But not to a specific place?"

"No."

"Therefore her impulse to flee was instinctive, and no more?"

"Not entirely. She experienced the shock of somebody deprived, without warning, of a long-established and greatly valued truth — namely, that recognition is impossible. She was confronted with an irrefutable fact which was contrary to all experience. She felt the dire need to get away from me and tell the others."

"Which others? Where?"

"I don't know."

"You know only that she didn't know?"

Harper fidgeted around, brooded at the floor. "Frankly, I'm unable to give a satisfactory answer; she may have known, but succeeded in suppressing the knowledge. That I doubt. Or—"

"Or what?"

"She may have possessed some alien sense which enables her kind to contact each other. "Something like the homing instinct of pigeons or dogs, but on a species basis."

"But you are convinced that she was not telepathic?"

"Not in the way that I am."

"In some other way, perhaps?"

"Nothing is impossible," said Harper flatly. "It is beyond my power to list the attributes of things native to some place umpteen millions of miles away, after a one-second glance. Catch me another dozen. I'll take a longer look, and tell you more."

Responding to Conway's gesture, Benfield switched off the tape-recorder.

"Catch you another dozen," echoed Conway. "How the devil are we going to do that? We know of three, and it's not beyond our resources to find and seize them sooner or later. Getting any others who may be around is a different matter. We have nothing to go upon, no details concerning them, no way of identifying them." His gaze came up, levelled on Harper. "Excepting through you. That's why you're drafted. We require your services to test every suspect we can lay hands on."

"So I'm expected to stay put, wait for your lineups, look them over and say yes or no?" –

"Exactly. There is no other way."

"There is," Harper contradicted.

"For instance?"

"You could use me for bait."

"Eh?"

"They want me as badly as you want them. They need to learn what makes me a nuisance, fully as much as you need to learn about them. In that respect, they have an advantage. You must try to grab an unknown number of unknown pseudo-people; they have to snatch one man whose name, address and car-tag number have been shouted all over the country. Give them half a chance, and they'll swarm around me. Then all you need do is step in."

Conway breathed heavily and objected, "It's a risk, a grave risk."

"Think I'm tickled pink about it?"

"If anything should go wrong, we'll have lost our most effective counter-weapon, and be without means to replace it."

"The beauty of that will be," said Harper cheerfully, "that I will no longer care one-tenth of a damn. The dead are splendidly indifferent about who wins a war, or gains a world."

"Perhaps not; but well still be living."

"That won't concern me, either. My great-grandmother doesn't give a hoot about the hole in my sock."

"And you may still be living," retorted Conway. "Even though dead.

"I'll be a goner, either way," Harper gave back. "What if some midget alien is wearing me like mink?"

He grinned at them, enjoying the repulsion in their minds.