Joe allowed his perceptual sense to range through the town, his
sensitive antennae erect and rigid. Through the murky welter of
conflicting thought patterns he sought the familiar, gentle sensation
created by the furred Canopans.
"It's hard to find them," he transmitted to Grey. "I know they must be
in town somewhere. They came on the bus before ours. But there are too
many Terrans about and it is bad...."
* * * * *
Jed Grey knew precisely how bad it was. Habitually en rapport with his
Canopan partner, he sensed in every nerve the hostile atmosphere of the
street, tearing at the hard shell of defense which he had learned to
erect.
The Arcturians, habitually suspicious of strange planetary types, were
sufficiently unpleasant in their thought patterns. However, it was from
the native earthmen, whose blue uniforms vastly outnumbered all others,
that the bulk of the torment arose.
Grey could sense it even though he avoided observing their faces. He
could feel the alcoholic thoughts of the mechanic across the street:
"An earthman holding hands with a snake! Damned snake man!"
It was now months since Grey had learned what that meant. The pain with
which he had learned that was by now gone. He did not think that Joe's
tentacles looked like snakes, and he cared nothing for the opinions of
the others. Yet it was difficult to keep out of his mind the intruding
thoughts of the Fleetmen who glared at him with disgust on their faces.
"I have found the others," Joe thought to Grey. "They are in a small
bar at the other end of town called the Purple Claw. It seems to be an
interesting place."
There was no need for Joe to ask, "Shall we go there?" For there was
no place else to go. This was a repetition of the problem which always
occurred when the pair arrived at a new base or a new town. Where could
they spend an evening?
It never occurred to Grey that he might go off by himself.
Making their way through the crowded street was no longer the ordeal
which it had been when Jed Grey and Joe had first been assigned to
work together. By this time it no longer turned Grey sick when a
highly-painted female hysterically turned around and whined: "It's
reading my mind! The damn snake's reading my mind!"
"I see that the Arcturians hang out at the Zig Zag," Joe observed.
The Zig Zag's brilliant mercury-vapor sign made Grey's complexion a
virulent blue as they passed beneath it.
"And extra police floating around," Grey noticed. "This is a bad town.
Many transients here--on their way in or out. Coming to town for a big
time--either the last one or the first one in months."
* * * * *
The Purple Claw was housed in a ramshackle building of ancient
vintage, and sported as publicity a modest violet lobster which glowed
erratically above the door.
Within, the air reeked of tobacco smoke, beer, tekla. It heaved
with the beat of something which was part American jazz, part
Sirian drum-music, with a flavor of strains from half a dozen other
star-systems.
Behind the bar was a monstrously fat character whose hair was white
as the clouds of Venus, and whose face was as black as space itself.
Elby Jones had a love for wine and women which was matched only by his
addiction to the music which the small band in the corner emitted.
He nodded to the pair as they entered, and waddled over to the small
table where they seated themselves.
"Evenin', Joe and Mister Grey," he greeted them. "You'll have Space
Punch and smokes?"
This, casually--even though never before had they been in this place.
Just as casual was Grey's reply, "Sure enough, Elby. Nice place you've
got."
No need to show surprise at the fact that Jones was, himself, a
telepath. The very fact that his place was the congregating point for
the Canopan crowd attested to that probability.
With a goblet of warm Space Punch between his hands, Grey leaned back
and absorbed the peace and relaxation which he had sensed within these
walls the moment he had stepped through the door. Joe, immune to
alcohol, took the first ecstatic drag from a long white cigarette--a
cigarette of very ordinary tobacco.
Through the dimly-lit, smoke-laden atmosphere of the room, Grey could
see the musicians at the far end, the small tables at which the Terrans
sat with their Canopan partners, the few Sirians who sat alone with
their tekla glasses.
Joe, performing an indescribable feat of mental recognition, happily
greeted a Sirian who sat across the room. To Grey the Sirians all
appeared identical, but he received the impression that this was the
one they'd gone on a tear with last month in Joplin. It had been a most
memorable occasion. He suddenly laughed uproariously as he recalled the
picture they'd made marching down Joplin's main thoroughfare singing
the Sirian national anthem in harmony--with Joe taking two of the parts
simultaneously--both mentally.
Joe, having no vocal apparatus, performed his music telepathically.
At times it was indescribable, and at other times it
was--well--magnificent.
Within the Purple Claw there was music permeating the smoky air,
coursing through the nerve channels of the listeners. It was slow and
hot, loose and tight at the same time.
Grey slipped down farther into his chair. A horn took a high passage,
and the chill began to pass up and down Grey's spine. He knew, then,
that he was in--that the night was good and the music right.
* * * * *
Joe's antennae swayed quietly, in time with the beat, in time with
the antennae of the other Canopans who sat there, spreading a net
of rapport through the room. Imperceptibly there was produced an
augmentation of the music, a heightened receptivity, as though the
entire audience was in itself a musical instrument, guided by the band,
and in return leading the band ahead.
"Lawdy, that was good," Grey sighed when the spell finally broke and
the audience shuffled feet, scraped chairs, ordered fresh drinks, and
relit forgotten smokes.
These moments of complete retreat had become more and more rare during
the past few months.
The mobilization had been accelerating, and the training periods had
become more and more intense, in preparation for this day when they
were now assigned to a ship and were about to push off for a training
run, followed by the long trip to the battle sector.
It had been slightly more than a year ago that the first enigmatic
events had been noticed in a corner of the galaxy which was just newly
being explored and developed. Ships had failed to return--colonies had
ceased communicating with their prime bases.
To Jed Grey, a young man still in school on Terra, far within the
borders of the civilized galaxy, these events had seemed distant
and impersonal. They had been words in the newspapers, on the news
broadcasts. They had been vague events taking place on just another
of the many hundreds of habitable planets which by that time had been
discovered.
Then the knowledge had grown that the events taking place thousands of
light years distant were to have an impact on the life of Jed Grey and
the others living on Terra. Gradually it developed that the civilized
galaxy was rapidly becoming immersed in a struggle for existence
against an enemy whose character was initially somewhat obscure, but
whose unfriendly aims were quite definite.
Overnight, it seemed to Grey, Terra flew into a turmoil of
mobilization, manufacture of spaceships and weapons, research for the
creation of new weapons and new defenses against the strange attack
methods of the enemy. In the tiny circle of existence in which he
walked, that which he observed was the increased crowds of people on
their way to work in the factories, the increased difficulty of buying
various items, and inevitably the card which had ordered him to the
mobilization center.
Among the many classification tests which they gave Grey was a curious
one which seemed nonsensical until later on in the course of his
training its purpose became quite obvious. It was given by a young man
with very large and quiet eyes, who was seated beside an individual
with soft, silky fur that changed color from moment to moment, and
whose antennae had a fascinating, restless mobility. The four tentacles
were brown and graceful, while the total attitude of the creature was
one of repose and dignity.
* * * * *
Grey stared at this personage with curiosity, and with a slight chill.
From photographs he knew the form of the natives of the fourth planet
of Canopus, and from rumors and bar-room tales he had heard sufficient
concerning them to ring a note of alarm in his brain.
Yet, as he sat there for a moment, the alarm died away for although to
his untrained eyes the Canopan was practically featureless, there was
an aura of pleasantness about it appearing from a source which at that
time he was not able to identify.
Into his mind the thought came, "What if they _can_ read my mind, like
everybody says? He doesn't look like he would hurt me. But...."
The voice of the examiner cut his thoughts short.
"Here are ten cards lying face down on the table. Tell me what markings
are on the front of these cards."
"But how can I tell you if the cards are face down?"