"I'm a cornered rat," I said thickly. "And so I'm scared. I want out of
here in one piece. I'm so scared that if I'm intercepted, I may get
panicky, and if I do someone is likely to get hurt. Understand?"
"Perfectly," said Mr. Macklin calmly.
"Are you going to let him get away with this?" snapped the eldest son.
"Fred, a nervous man with a revolver is very dangerous. Especially one
who lacks the rudimentary training in the simpler forms of burglary."
I couldn't help but admire the older gentleman's bland self-confidence.
"Young man," he said to me, "You've made a bad mistake."
"No I haven't," I snapped. "I've been on the trail of something concrete
for a long time, and now that I've found it I'm not going to let it go
easily." I waved the .375 and they all cringed but Mr. Macklin.
He said, "Please put that weapon down, Mr. Cornell. Let's not add
attempted murder to your other crimes."
"Don't force me to it, then. Get out of my way and let me go."
He smiled. "I don't have to be telepath to tell you that you won't pull
that trigger until you're sorely driven," he replied calmly. He was so
right that it made me mad. He added, "also, you've got four shells left
since you carry the firearm on an empty chamber. Not used to guns, are
you, Mr. Cornell?"
Well, I wasn't used to wearing a gun. Now that he mentioned it, I
remembered that it was impossible to fire the shell under the hammer by
any means except by pulling the trigger.
What he was telling me meant that even if I made a careful but bloody
sweep of it with my four shells, there would be two of them left, and
even the twins were more than capable of taking me apart inch by inch
once my revolver was empty.
"Seems to be an impasse, Mr. Cornell," he said with an amused smile.
"You bland-mannered bunch of--"
"Ah now, please," he said abruptly. "My wife is not accustomed to such
language, nor is my daughter, although my son and the twins probably
know enough definitions to make them angry. This is an impasse, Mr.
Cornell, and it behooves all of us to be extremely polite to one
another. For one wrong move and you'll fire; this will mean complete
chaos for all of us. One wrong word from you and someone of us will take
offense, which will be equally fatal. Now, let's all stand quietly and
talk this over."
"What's to talk over?" I demanded.
"A truce. Or call it an armistice."
"Do go on."
He looked at his family, and I followed his gaze. Miss Macklin was
leaning against the wall with a look of concentrated interest. Her elder
brother Fred was standing alert and ready but not quite poised for a
leap. Mrs. Macklin had a motherly-looking smile on her face which for
some unknown reason she was aiming at me in a disarming manner. The
twins were standing close together, both of them puzzled-looking. I
wondered whether they were esper or telepath (twins are always the same
when they're identical, and opposite when fraternal). The thing that
really bothered me was their attitude They all seemed to look at me as
though I were a poor misguided individual who had unwittingly tromped on
their toes after having fallen in among bad company. They reminded me of
the Harrisons, who looked and sounded so sympathetic when I'd gone out
there seeking Catherine.
A fine bunch to trust! First they swipe my girl and erase all traces of
her; then when I go looking they offer me help and sympathy for my
distress. The right hand giveth and the left hand taketh away, yeah!
I hated them all, yet I am not a hero-type. I wanted the whole Highways
in Hiding rolled up like an old discarded corridor carpet, with every
Mekstrom on Earth rolled up in it. But even if I'd been filled to the
scuppers with self-abnegation in favor of my fellow man, I could not
have pulled the trigger and started the shambles. For instead of blowing
the whole thing wide open because of a batch of bodies, the survivors
would have enough savvy to clean up the mess before our bodies got cold,
and the old Highways crowd would be doing business at the same old
stand. Without, I might add, without the minor nuisance that people call
Steve Cornell.
What I really wanted was to find Catherine.
And then it came to me that what I really wanted second of all was to
possess a body of Mekstrom Flesh, to be a physical superman.
"Suppose," said Miss Macklin unexpectedly, "that it is impossible?"
"Impossible?" I roared. "What have you got that I haven't got?"
"Mekstrom's Disease," replied Miss Macklin quietly.
"Fine," I sneered. "So how do I go out and get it?"
"You'll get it naturally--or not at all," she said.
"Now see here--" I started off, but Mr. Macklin stopped me with an
upraised hand.
"Mr. Cornell," he said, "we are in the very awkward position of trying
to convince a man that his preconceived notion is incorrect. We can
produce no direct evidence to support our statement. All we can do is to
tell you that so far as we know, and as much as we know about Mekstrom's
Disease, no one has ever contracted the infection artificially."
"And how can I believe you?"
"That's our awkward position. We cannot show you anything that will
support our statement. We can profess the attitudes of honesty, truth,
honor, good-will, altruism, and every other word that means the same
thing. We can talk until doomsday and nothing will be said."
"So where is all this getting us?" I asked.
"I hope it is beginning to cause your mind to doubt the preconceived
notion," he said. "Ask yourself why any outfit such as ours would
deliberately show you evidence."
"I have it and it does not make sense."