Norma missed Herb. There was the glamor of the unknown about him and
the appeal of the familiar. He was two individuals, a little boy,
confused and puzzled and mute and needing her, and a man, strong and
wise and belonging to a strange world she could not enter as she had
entered all too easily the masculine world of Earth.
She was with Frank when Bud made his television announcement.
Bud beamed happily in the glare of uncounted millions of dollars of
publicity. "At my invitation," he said, "the starmen have consented to
return."
Frank winced to see what he thought to be a decent cause advancing the
personal fortunes of a fool, a hypocrite, and a coward.
Bud--it was a little difficult to imagine (without having heard it) how
he managed it--at the high point of his speech inserted a few remarks
about home, mother, and the virtues of honesty and hard work. He was,
he explained, a poor but honest man, holding certain principles dear to
his heart. He was at a loss to account for the fact that he had been
chosen to lead this great crusade for the starmen. "We can thank All
Mighty God that they have consented to return. _They will return._ I do
not believe there are enough Communists in the country today to prevent
it."
Frank shuddered to think what might happen now. Suppose Bud
should--God, no!--become President out of all this; suppose the people,
in gratitude, or the politicians seeking a popular hero, contrived his
election.
Frank felt that he might have erred in using bad means to gain good
ends. For Bud, hunting subversives, socialists, liberals, and critics,
could rapidly reduce the country to conformism and with native
ingenuity, pervert starscience into a political weapon.
The first radio message, on Earth frequency, to the President requested
that Bud be given the job of handling all negotiations. If, it said,
Senator Council finds it in his heart to accept the responsibility.
Many people did not understand the last.
Bud did.
* * * * *
The morning of the day the starmen returned, Norma came into Bud's
office. She was practically bursting with excitement. Thoughts of what
their knowledge would contribute to Earth, the marvelous advances in
medicine, in physics, in art that hovered just within reach....
On her way through the secretary's office, she passed a slight, nattily
dressed man wearing a hat.
For a puzzled second she furrowed her brow. Then memory came. He had
been investigated by the Senate Crime Committee. She bit her lip in
exasperation. Why would Bud be willing to see someone like that?
"Wasn't that--?" she demanded, bursting into Bud's office.
He got up with quick awkwardness. His face was bloodless. "Ohhhhhh," he
sighed. "I didn't expect--Hello, Sis."
"Wasn't that--?" she began again.
"It's, it's, it's, he, he...." Bud indicated the box on his desk. "From
an old friend."
"What's wrong? Don't you feel well, Bud?"
"Fine, fine," Bud said. "I feel fine.... I'm very busy just now."
Norma sat down. The box rested on the desk between them. Warily Bud
sank into his chair. She saw his face framed above the box, almost
as if the head were hanging suspended and bodiless, and she felt an
unaccountable tremor of superstitious fear.
"You poor dear," she said. "You've been worrying so much about the
starmen.... You're losing weight. Have Frank give you a checkup, Bud;
you ought to take things easier."
"... I will. I've been intending to.... I'll have him look me over.
Where is he; do you know where he is?"
"He went out last night. I expect him back any time."
He stood up. He was calmer now. He rested one hand on the box. "Yes, I
wouldn't worry. He'll show up. I am tired, terribly tired. You saw the
Secret Service men out there? They're out to kill me, Norma! _Senator
Stilson is hiring them!_"
Norma started to protest.
"I tell you, they are. If the Secret Service weren't out there to
protect me, I'd be dead right now. But God has given me a job to do. I
can't let them kill me until I have done His will."
"Bud, you're just overworked. Nobody's trying to do a thing like that.
Frank says it's just publicity, and I thought...."
"Ahhhhh," Bud said darkly. "Would the President have assigned me a body
guard if it weren't true? _Would he?_ There are extremists in this
country--Communists and Socialists--who stop at nothing to prevent the
starmen from coming back. Even Frank...."
Norma's face grew a shade paler. "But he's the one...."
"You can never tell! But I'll tell you this. I pray every night, Sis.
I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will let me live long
enough." Bud's mind suddenly flashed back to his childhood, and he
remembered praying that God would let him assassinate Stalin. God
needed only to arm him and transport him to the Kremlin. He could have
done the rest. He shook his head darkly again. "You don't understand
the dangers." He felt courageous. It took _guts_ to face the Communist
menace.
She wanted to run. She clenched her fists. This is Bud, your brother,
she thought. He's just upset. "I just wanted to see you for a moment,"
she said. "It wasn't about anything important."
Bud rubbed his hand caressingly over the box. "Yes?"
"I'll let you get back to work."
She stood up and started for the door.
"Don't worry about Frank!" Bud said sharply. "He's all right. Nothing's
happened to him."
Norma was gone.
Bud began to cry, and looking at the box, he whispered, "It's all your
fault. You made me do it. You did, _you made me_!"