"Let's hope so."
Prule readied himself at the open airlock. Kunklin threw a switch,
there was a deep, subtle hum, and a magnetic beam dosed down on the man
below. He flipped straight up toward the ship, like a hooked minnow.
But he was not one of the stronger Faktors. He was dead before he
reached the door.
* * * * *
In the late afternoon, when the wind had died and the day was quiet,
the door opened.
The same two men--she had begun to be able to tell them apart--came in
and, this time, bowed.
Ivy yawned, rose up on an elbow and blinked her eyes.
The two men, surprised, stared at her.
"All right, what is it?" Ivy said as briskly as she could, trying to
force down the sudden fear. "Stop that damned bowing. A sillier bunch
of skinny idiots I never saw. Men! Huh! You're dying out, all right,
that's obvious."
The two men looked at each other. Then one of them recaptured his grin.
"It is time for your breeding," he said lecherously.
Ivy yawned again, started to rise.
"Okay, I'll be with you in a minute. I hope it doesn't take too long.
I've lost a lot of sleep."
She managed to stand up calmly, with composure. The only thing she
could think of to do now was to regard this whole thing lightly, and
to make an occasional remark about the rather obvious defects of her
captors.
There was no sense in collapsing.
The two men, puzzled, followed her with their eyes as she fluffed up
her hair.
"No need of that," one of them said quickly, "you will be prepared by
others."
Ivy let her hair fall. "Okay Oscar. Whatever you say." In a very
unladylike manner, she yawned again, scratched herself. She grinned at
them both.
"I don't mean to be nasty, fellas, but why don't you pull up a chair
for a minute? Old guys like you shouldn't be running around all day--"
The near one growled. The other one restrained him, smiled thinly.
"We have no need of rest," he said slowly. "We possess a
certain--vitality." His smile broadened. "As you shall presently see
for yourself."
Ivy did not look at him, walked suddenly past him and out the door.
They made a motion to grab her, but held back as she stopped. She
stood in the afternoon sun and stretched lazily.
"To your left," the man behind her said.
She waited for a moment, and then she walked. She strode upon bare
ground, upon soft grass, unable to be flippant now, looking stiffly
ahead toward a flat gray building. The door was open and she could see
the far wall, which was richly hung and colored in a strange deep red.
The two men left her at the door, where another man, very old and white
gowned and prissy, took her by the arm.
The man prepared her. She dropped all pretense at hardness, at
disinterest, and sat like a stone. In with the other, the breeder, she
would have to be icy. She became vaguely aware of a thick fragrance
around her, a musky, oily smell. Then the man released her. She was
prepared. He stood her up, waved at the door at the far end of the room.
"There," he said without interest, turning away.
She took a deep breath and walked forward.
* * * * *
It was a long way up and Web went most of the way at a crouch, the
knife and the gun both ready at his belt. He had taken off his coat and
tie; it was chilly in the woods but he did not feel it.
Four miles north of Alford, the old man had said. Just a half mile
off the highway, on the tallest hill, the really steep one. He kept
the highway to his right going up, beginning to wonder at last if the
alien had told the truth. For all he knew, the camp might really be in
northern Tibet, and he could be stealing his way ever so stealthily
through total emptiness. But no. The old man had been scared to death.
Literally. And anyway, the thing he was walking into was undoubtedly a
trap, and knowing it did not do much good.
He cleared the first rise and climbed in among some rocks. Nearby below
he could see the highway, empty. The sun was high in the afternoon.
Four miles was not a long way, even crouching, and he could probably
make it before dark. In the dark shadows of the bushes around him,
nothing moved. He went up the next hill.
When he reached the top he was beginning to perspire. He sat down for
a moment to think.
Now that he was close and the moment of contact was so near he could
almost touch it, his mind began to function with a cold, comforting
clarity. It was time to make a plan. His target was the ship, yes,
but he would have to proceed on the assumption that they knew he was
coming. They would have some kind of warning system, and a variety of
weapons. But for the time being he held the ace.
He grinned cheerlessly to himself and headed for the next rise.
On the other side of this one there was a long flat space, scrub-bushed
and empty, and then the last hill, the steep one, began. He went
forward across the open space in broad daylight. He felt like he was
walking into the mouth of a primed cannon. In effect, he was.
It was in among a clump of pines, silent and green, that the thing fell
to the ground near him. He froze, momentarily panic-stricken, his hand
to his belt. The fallen thing lay on the ground a few inches from his
right hand, stiff and unmoving, dark among the leaves.
He relaxed slightly.
It was only a bird.
A dead bird. He stared at it for a long while, motionless. Out of the
trees above him a dead bird had fallen.
Coincidence?
Or were they now turning on the power?
He lay flat on the ground. They knew where he was and they did not
like it. They had fired on him. He did not know whether the thing that
killed the bird had missed him, or whether it had hit him too and his
incredible immunity had protected him. Perhaps they had already fired
on him with the other gun, the one from the satellite. He did not know
that either. But in front of him lay the dead bird.
And now, if he tripped another electronic eye, they would probably come
out in person.
All for the best. He peered intently through the trees up the hill,
searching for some sign of buildings. If he could get to the edge of
a clearing, could see, he would stand a better chance. But there was
nothing but bushes, the bare brown shafts of trees. Now that they knew
where he was, he was deeply thankful that he'd had the sense to bring
the gun.
He moved forward on his hands and knees, watching, listening, praying
that he didn't trip another eye.
The bushes crackled around him. The wind, dammit.
He stopped and listened, heard his heart beating in his throat. He
decided he could crawl just as well with one hand, so he took out the
gun. It was at that moment that he saw the first Faktor.
An instant silhouette through the trees ahead, moving silently toward
him. They were coming.
* * * * *
He dropped to his stomach, crawled with a cold silent slide into the
nearest bush clump. Although they probably knew to the foot where he
was, he had to lie still.
In a brief, brutal flash of reproach and disgust, he realized what an
idiot he'd been to come out here alone.
But there was no helping that now. He moved down behind a fallen log,
laid the barrel of the .45 on the trunk and sighted through the leaves.
Now he could hear them. They were small, but sloppy. Maybe they didn't
care. That didn't figure. But by now they had undoubtedly understood
his immunity, were coming to kill him in the bloody ways of Earth.
He had no way of knowing that the Faktors had been terrified to realize
that a Galactic was approaching, but immensely relieved to see that
the Galactic was afoot. To the Faktors, Web was one of two things: a
hybrid, or a stranded Galactic. For no agent would ever approach on
foot, not in his right mind. Short of a force field, no armor known
will stop a high velocity missile. And a Galactic on foot could not
have that.
The killing of a Galactic was a rare thing, a delectable thing. Seven
Faktors converged on Web.
He let them come in very close, counting them and noting their
positions, before he fired. When the nearest man was ten yards away,
crawling toward Web at an angle, the white round eyes looked past him.
In the last second he saw that they were circling the wrong spot. They
had not expected his sideward movement. He fired.
The heavy police bullet caught the Faktor in the head. He died where he
lay, instantly. There were swift, rising, horribly frightened screams
from the bushes around him.
Web rolled back from the log, crawled around to the other side of the
tree. The god-awful things were whimpering.
He peered furtively around the tree looking for another shot while the
shooting was good, wondering how in hell they'd ever gotten the nerve
to come in after him. And then he looked at the body of the alien he'd
killed, saw the small brown bomb in his hand, and knew.
They'd never intended to get in close. They probably hadn't even
expected him to be armed.
He grinned viciously, turning his head the while to look for a way out.
In that instant he saw another alien move. He fired.
The shot went home. There were more screams.
Good God, he said, almost aloud, shocked. He did not fire again, the
fear of the things was revolting. He wanted to get out.
He started to move, but they located him. The first bomb hit on the
other side of the tree, blew with a white blinding flash, a thin,
screaming, ripping explosion.
The tree saved him. He fell flat, tried to crawl away. Two more bombs
let go on the other side of the tree, spattered among the bushes and
leaves, cut the tree in half. The tree fell in the direction of another
bomb, the top of it was blown away. In frantic desperation, the Faktors
were giving it everything they had.
There was a tense moment of silence. Web started to rise. He had to
get away. He fired again and again into the woods around him, rose and
started to run, hoping that the shooting would keep the aliens flat,
that some of them at least had died of fear and that he could outrun
them. He made it as far as another fallen log before the next bomb let
go, giving him a great crunching shove in his back. He fell face down
over the log.
Oh hell, he said painfully, oh hell oh hell oh hell. A bomb fell near
him, and another, and he turned to rise and fire back just once more,
swearing, his flesh rising to greet the one last killing explosion, and
damn it all, he was going to die.
A huge fist hit him squarely between the eyes. He fell over backwards.
And there was dark, blessed silence.
* * * * *
The doors opened automatically when Prule pushed the right button.
Three hundred and twelve young girls and two hundred and fourteen
young men, all of them the cream of Earth's children and most of them
mother-naked, peered out cautiously, furtively, into the gathering
dusk. One made a move, then another. A rather brazen young woman,
nude, walked right out into the center of the camp. And then they all
emerged, wide-eyed and taut, looking for the Faktors.
"All gone," said Kunklin, waving his hands expressively. But since his
suit was recharged and working, nobody saw him.
They did not see the Faktors either. They began to gather and talk with
each other, some dangerously close to shock, some excitedly none the
worse for wear. Most of the women were recovered so far as to return to
modesty, began to search for covering.
This did not please Kunklin at all. He was tempted to push the button
again and close all the doors, thereby making all clothing unavailable,
but--after a thoughtful look at Prule--he let it go. It had been an
extraordinary sight, a delectable sight, and his opinion of the virtues
of Earth was skyrocketing.
Right then and there Kunklin decided the spot for his next vacation.
And now at last, as they watched, the men and the girls began to leave.
It was growing dark and quite cold and they could not stay here. One by
one, in varying degrees of undress, they strode off down the mountain.
The sensation they created in Alford was nothing next to the sensation
they created the next day, in newspapers the world over.
Kunklin watched them go with mixed torture and delight.
Prule brought him back to the next order of business.
"The Earthman," he said gloomily.
"Um?"
"The man from the satellite. Where is he?"
"Um," said Kunklin, sobering. "Where is he indeed?"
Prule pointed a lean finger at the near woods.
"There were explosions going on over there when we flew down. I
suppose--" he fixed his eyes reproachfully on Kunklin--"they bombed
him."
Kunklin shrugged. "The man came all the way up here. Really. You know,
you have to admire these people, in more ways than one. I--"
He broke off.
For out of the woods, stumbling, holding his head in one hand and his
colt .45 in the other, came the great battered figure of Web Hilton. He
was scarred and bloody, one eye was closed and he walked with a heavy
limp, but he was walking at least, and Kunklin brightened.
"Well by Jupiter, he made it!"
Prule smiled happily.
"We must have just got here in time. The Faktors were probably bombing
him when they disappeared."
"Yes, yes. Well, well, well." Kunklin fussed with a knob, turned off
his bender and switched on the translator. "I suppose, now that it's
all over, we owe this fellow an explanation. Lord, man, we owe him more
than that. He's one of us!" He started walking quickly toward Web. "Ho!
Hey! You there!"
Web stopped, peered confusedly through bleary eyes at the incredible
figures on the mountain side before him. His gun was in his hand, but
he had forgotten it. He had not yet collected himself and there was an
awful ringing in his head.
Kunklin and Prule surrounded him, babbling away cheerfully, set him
down and gave him first aid. In an astonishingly short time he was
feeling well again and the Galactics did their best to bring him up
to date on what had occurred, being careful to praise his undeniable
courage in the face of such odds. They admitted to using him as decoy,
but told him nothing about the recording business. They saw no reason
to tell this boy that he had, during the course of recent events, died
twice. No telling how he would react. Although really, since he was
atom for atom identical with the original Web Hilton, what difference
did it make?
"--and so we finally found a Faktor with some strength of will--had to
inject the man as he came aboard--then came out here and eliminated the
rest of them."
Web stared dazedly around at the empty buildings.
"All gone?"
"Completely." Kunklin grinned. "We used the same device on them that
they used on your people. We thought it only fitting. Quite a weapon.
Used to be the most dangerous weapon in this part of the universe until
we found immunity. You could wipe out whole planets without a single
leaf being harmed--"
"Yes, yes," said Prule, "but the job is ended. Thank you my friend. You
have been of great help. Any time you need us. Kunklin?"
"What?" said Kunklin, straightening. "You mean leave him here? Well
really, Prule, that's hardly--" And then his whole face brightened. He
clapped Web heavily on the back. "Why Prule, this boy's a Galactic!
After all he's done for us, the least we can do is take him back with
us"--Prule jumped--"to headquarters, at least, and introduce him
around. Why, the boy has a heritage! You can see that from the way he
held up his end. Oh yes, yes, we'll have to take him back."
Web looked up blearily, beginning to understand.
"Back where?"
But Kunklin reached down and took him by the arm, and began leading
him toward the ship. He explained, as painlessly as he could, the
fact of Web's Galactic parentage. He did not say that it was Web's
father--which, for biological reasons, it had to be--but only that some
ancestor, somewhere along the line, had been extraterrestrial.
And while Web was downing that, and Prule was protesting, Kunklin spoke
gaily on.
"You'll need time, my boy, won't you, before you come along with us?
You'll need time, eh?"
"I have to see Dundon--"
"Of course, of course," Kunklin chuckled, "take all the time you want.
Take weeks, take months. And in the meantime," he grinned toward Prule,
in whom just now a great light was dawning--"in the meantime Prule and
I will wander the byroads of your lovely planet. Eh, Prule? A vacation!"
And in a mood of genial lechery--for Earthman, Galactic, Faktor, this
one thing is constant--the three men climbed into the ship, and then,
the sky.
* * * * *
Ivy Jean Thompson, to complete the story in the coldest of truth, never
set eyes on Web Hilton in her life. And if she had, it would have made
little difference, for the fact of the matter is that Ivy Jean Thompson
had had quite enough of men. Any kind of men. The disappearance of
the Faktors had occurred, coincidentally, at the last possible moment
for the saving of Ivy's virtue. It was, understandably, an unnerving
experience.
She opened her eyes to find nobody there. She left the camp firmly
convinced that there should never be anybody there. She retired to a
small town in north Jersey where she became a particularly grouchy
librarian spinster, the last of all the casualties in the case of the
Blood Brother.