I shivered. "The number of sightings of strange lights in the sky that
have been made, for one thing. And population statistics for another.
Our birthrate has been declining for some time. But in recent years the
population has shot way up. More than it should."
"It's the veterans. Starting new families."
"Yeah? How many vets do you know with a lot of kids?"
"Anything else?" Fred asked softly.
"It's the perfect time for it," I mumbled. "World's all mixed up,
everything is in a state of flux. They could land and how could you
tell? DP's come into the country every day. That's one reason why we
never notice."
"And you can't tell the aliens from human beings, can you?"
"No, you can't." I paused and wiped away the sweat from my forehead.
"They're perfect copies. There's no way of finding them out. The man
in the store could have been one. The driver was--and I couldn't have
guessed." I laughed. "You could be one, too, for that matter."
He was up at the fireplace, stirring the embers again. When I finished
talking he turned around, the poker clutched in his hand. His face was
impassive.
"Not only could be, Charley. I am."
I suppose there's a time in everybody's life when the chips are down
and you have to react automatically, you have no room for thought. I
let him have the bottle square in the face and then the poker glanced
off my shoulder and he was on me.
He gripped me by the throat and forced me back against the wall.
"You'll never leave alive," he said and it was like ice-water down my
neck because he said it in a monotone, with no emotion at all. I tried
to break his grip and couldn't and then the world turned a spotty black
and I could feel my life start to slip away like a bar of wet soap.
I fell to the floor and doubled my knees and drove my heavy boots into
his stomach. He had to loosen his hold then and for a moment I was
free. I didn't waste time and I didn't bother about fighting fair.
We both went for the poker but I got there first.
I killed a man that night. Without compunction, without regrets,
without any hesitation. I killed Fred and buried him in the woods and
loaded the car that same night.
When I started the car it kicked right over and I spun out of there,
gravel spraying from beneath the wheels. I didn't breathe any easier
until I was a hundred miles away.
* * * * *
I thought a lot about what I was going to do on the way back. I'm
not the hero type but I just can't see them move in on Earth without
fighting back. And I consider Fred only the downpayment on John
Kelley's murder.
One important thing. I've found a flaw, a weak spot.
The invaders are imitators. The perfect imitators. They're a lot like
Fred was. They never have original ideas of their own, they parrot the
editorial pages and even the stock of jokes they save for stag parties
aren't funny because you've heard them all before.
You can see them on the street-car on their way to work. Half will
sit with blank stares on their faces, reading the transitads, while
the other half will sit with their noses buried in their papers. Watch
them. If they looked alike you'd be reminded of the rockettes on the
stage of the RCA Music Hall. Or walk into a bar when the fights are
on and watch the customers with their faces glued to the TV sets. All
with their glasses of beer in the right hand, all with the same rapt
expressions on their faces.
You see, they're imitating human beings. And they've got an
organization. They've infiltrated the government bureaucracy. How do I
know? Read some of the pamphlets the government puts out. There's one
on washing dishes that starts out with the proper size pan. Silly. But
not for somebody for whom washing dishes is a brand new experience. And
there's another pamphlet that says younger married men and women own
more sports clothes, older men wear hats, and older women have more
fur coats. Very interesting data. Like when I was in the army and they
briefed us on foreign customs before going out on a pass.
There's probably thousands of Imitators in the government itself,
weighing, analyzing, and surveying humanity so they can issue reports
on how to act ... like a human being. Reports and pamphlets that are
point for point instruction books for the new arrivals.
There's an organization. And there has to be somebody at the top of
that organization. That's the man I want to get.
Fred knew a lot of people, he had a lot of contacts, and I'm
investigating them one by one. It isn't going to be too long before
I meet somebody that Fred knew back ... home. And then I'll find out
about the organization and I'll be on my way.
I already have a good idea whom I'm looking for. He's an average man
with maybe a wife and a couple of kids, driving last year's car and
living in a house that isn't all paid for. He likes TV and he drinks
beer and he's drummed up a hell of a lot of interest in baseball
games. He probably wears blue serge and white shirts and small figured
ties and silk socks and black shoes. Maybe he even wears a hat, he's
probably that age.
And I think there's even a good chance he's reading this magazine. It's
become pretty popular, it's the thing to do.
But it isn't going to do any good to run or hide or doubt your friends.
Someday I'm going to find you.