"Over there on the third terrace to the left. That table. There seem
to be six of them in the party."
We heard Francis' voice; he was in Halsey's lower Manhattan office,
with this same image before him. "We'll get a closer view."
The table in question was no more than a square inch on our image. We
could see an apparently gay party of men and women. One of the couples
was gigantic, a Martian man and woman, obviously. The others seemed to
be Earth or Venus people.
Francis' voice added: "I've got an audio magnifier on them. Foley's
been listening for an hour. Nice, clear English. Much good it does us;
this fellow is as cautious as a director of the lower air-lane. Here's
your near-look."
Our image shifted to another view. The lens-eye with which we were
connected now gave us a view directly over the Martian's table. We
were looking down diagonally upon the table, at a distance of no more
than ten feet.
There were three Earthwomen in the party. There was nothing peculiar
about them. They were rather handsome, dissolute in appearance, all of
them obviously befuddled by alcholite. There was a man who could have
been Anglo-Saxon. A wastrel, probably, with more money than wit; he
wore a black dinner suit edged with white.
Our attention focussed upon the other two. They were tall, as are all
Martians. The young woman, _Setta_ Meka, seemed perhaps twenty or
twenty-five years of age, by Earth reckoning, in stature perhaps very
nearly my own height, which is six feet two. It is difficult to tell a
Martian's age, but she was very handsome, even by Earth standards; and
in Ferrok-Shahn she would be considered a beauty. Her gray-black hair
was parted and tied at the back with a plaited metal rope. Her short
dark cloak, so luminous a fabric that it caught and reflected the
sheen of all the gaudy restaurant lights, was parted, its ends thrown
back over her shoulders. Beneath it she wore the characteristic
Martian leather jacket, and short, wide leather trousers ornamented
with spun metal fringes and tassels. Most Martian women have an
amazonian aspect, but I saw now that _Setta_ Meka was an exception.
Her brother, who sat beside her, was a full seven feet or more. A
hulking sort of fellow, far less spindly than most of his race, he
might have come from the polar outposts beyond the Martian Union. He
was bare-headed, his gray-black hair clipped close upon a round bullet
head, with the familiar Martian round eyes.
I gazed into the face of Molo, as momentarily he turned his head. It
was a rough-hewn, strongly masculine face with a hawk-like nose, bushy
black brows frowning above deepset round eyes. The face of a keen
scoundrel, I could not doubt, though the smooth-plucked gray skin was
flushed now with alcholite, and the wide, thin-lipped mouth was
leering at the woman across the table from him.
Like his sister, he had thrown back his cloak, disclosing a brawny,
powerful figure, leather clad, with a wide belt of dangling ornaments,
some of which probably were weapons.
How long we gazed at this silent colored image of the restaurant table
I do not know. I was aware of Halsey's quiet voice: "Look him over,
Miss Venza. It depends on you."
Another interval passed. It seemed, as we watched, that Molo's
interest in his party was very slight. I got the impression, too, that
though at first he had seemed to be intoxicated, actually he was not.
Nor was his sister. Anxiety seemed upon her; the smile she had for
jests seemed forced; and at intervals she would cast a swift, furtive
glance across the gay restaurant scene.
More drinks arrived. The Earthpeople at the table here seemed upon the
verge of stupor; and suddenly it appeared that Molo had completely
lost interest in them. With a gesture to his sister, he abruptly rose
from his seat. She joined him. They left the table, and a red-clad
floor manager of the restaurant came at their call. Then in a moment
they were moving across the room.
Halsey called sharply into his audiphone: "Francis! Hold us to them if
you can."
They were standing now by the opened door of one of the Red Spark's
private insulated rooms. We caught a glimpse of its interior, a gaily
set table with a bank of colored lights over it.
The figure of a man was in there. He was on his feet, as though he had
just arrived to meet the Martians here, and a hooded long cloak
enveloped him. It may have been a magnetic "invisible" cloak, with the
current now off.
We caught only the fleetest of impressions before the insulated door
closed and barred our vision. The glimpse was an accident. Molo, taken
by surprise at this appearance of his visitor, could hardly have
guarded against it. The waiting figure was very tall, some ten feet,
and very thin. The hood shrouded his face and head. In his hand he
held a large circular box of black shiny leather, of the sort in which
women carry wide-brimmed hats. As Molo joined him he put the box
gently on the floor. He handled it as though it were extraordinarily
heavy; and as he took a step or two, he seemed weighted down. Just as
the room door was hastily closing, Meka sliding it from the inside, we
caught a fleeting glimpse of horror.
The lid of the hat box had lifted up. Inside was a great round thing
of gray-white, a living thing; a distended ball of membrane, with a
network of veins and blood-vessels showing beneath the transparent
skin.
For the instant we gazed, stricken. The ball was palpitating,
breathing! I saw convolutions of inner tissue under the transparent
skin of membrane; a little tentacle, like an arm with a flat-webbed
hand, was holding up the lid of the box. The lid rose a trifle
higher; the colored lights overhead gave us a brief but clear view of
it.
The thing in the box was a huge living brain. I saw goggling,
protruding eyes; an orifice that could have been a nose, and a gash
upended for a vertical mouth. It was a face. And the little tentacle
arm holding up the box-lid was joined to where the ear should have
been.
Was this something human? A huge distended human brain, with the body
withered to that tiny arm?
The palpitating thing sank down in the box and the lid dropped. And
upon our horrified gaze the insulated door of the room slid too.
"By the gods!" exclaimed Halsey. "One of them dares come to the Red
Spark. Here, almost in public."
So Halsey knew what this meant. His eyes were blazing now; his face
was white, with an intensity of emotion that transfigured it.
"Francis, tell Foley I'll be in the manager's office in five minutes."
He snapped off; our image connection with the Red Spark went dead.
"We're going to the Red Spark," he announced. "This changes
everything, yet I don't know. Venza, I may need you more than ever,
now."
Halsey herded us to the office door. From his desk he had snatched up
a few portable instruments, and he flung on a cloak.
It was a brief trip to the Red Spark, on foot through the sub-cellar
arcade to where, under Park Circle 29, we went up in a vertical lift
to the roof. We were in the side entrance oval of the restaurant in
five minutes.
In the dim metal room of Orentino, the Red Spark's manager, a barrage
was up and Foley was waiting for us. We could hear it faintly humming.
Now we could talk.
Halsey slammed the door down. He said swiftly, "My men caught one of
these things this morning. They have it now and I think Molo does not
yet know we captured it. A brain; we're convinced it understands
English and can talk, but no one has been able to make it talk yet.
Foley, order that damned Orentino to de-insulate the room Molo is in.
Now, by the gods, we may see and hear something."
The frightened manager of the Red Spark was in the control room.
Halsey killed our barrage to let the outside connections get through
to us. We all crowded around the mirror-grid which stood on Orentino's
desk. Foley gave us connection with the control room. We saw
Orentino's face, his eyes nearly popping with fright. "Colonel Halsey,
I will do whatever you tell me."
"What room is that Martian occupying?"
"Insulated 39."
"Break off the insulation. Do it slowly and he may not notice. Then
give us connection, audio and vision."
"But I have no image-finders in the insulated rooms."
"Cut off the barrage. I'll get connection there."
Foley was already setting up his eavesdropper on the desk. The mirror
blurred a little; then it clarified. We had the interior of the secret
room, and voices were coming out of Foley's tiny receiver.
The image showed the box on the floor, with its lid down. The tall
hooded shape of the stranger stood with Molo and his sister by the
table. They were talking in swift, vehement undertones. The language
was Martian, a dialect principally used in Ferrok-Shahn. Our equipment
brought it in and I could understand it.