Elwar Forell leaned back in his chair, looking about the small dining
salon. The usual couples were there, he noticed. Of course, the faces
were different from those of last evening, but the poses were similar.
And the people were there for the same reasons. They were enjoying the
food and drinks, just as many others had enjoyed them before. But like
all those others, their greater enjoyment was in the company of one
another. Forell glanced at the vacant chair across the table from him
and sighed.
It would be nice, he thought, if-- But any arrangement involving a
permanent companion would be hardly practical under his circumstances.
After all, prudence dictated limits.
He picked up his cup and drained it, then leaned back and beckoned the
waiter over.
"The reckoning, please," he ordered.
He looked again at the letter on the table before him, then folded it
and put it in his pocket. It was well, he thought. His latest book of
fairy tales and fantasy had enjoyed good acceptance. And the check in
the letter had been of satisfactory size. He smiled to himself. There
were compensations in this job of his. It seemed to be profitable to
have a purpose other than the obvious and usual one.
He paid his bill and left the restaurant, to walk slowly along the
street, enjoying the mild, spring air.
As he passed a sidewalk café, a man beckoned from one of the tables.
"Oh, Forell," he called. "I was hoping I'd see you this evening." He
held up a book.
"Just finished your 'Tales of the Sorcerers,'" he added. "Some of those
yarns of yours seem almost real."
Elwar Forell nodded. They should, he thought. Factual material, however
disguised, often shines through its fictional background. And he had an
inexhaustible source of material, drawn from many sources. He twisted
his face into a gratified smile.
"That's my objective," he said aloud. "I do all in my power to place the
reader inside the story."
Charo Andorra nodded. "It's the secret of good fiction, I know," he
admitted, "and every storyteller tries to do it. But I seem to see more
than that in your stuff. There's an almost believable pattern." He
hesitated. "You know, while I'm reading it, I can almost see beings of
superior powers walking the earth. And sometimes, I visualize us working
with them." He laughed shortly.
"Of course, I may be more credulous and imaginative than most. Probably
why I'm a critic. And I really should know better." He looked down at
the book in his hands.
"But that stuff of yours can be mighty convincing." He tilted his head.
"Somehow, I can't help but look at some of the old legends--and some of
the things that have happened in more recent years, too. Can't help but
wonder if we actually are babes of the cosmos, and if we haven't been
visited and watched by some form of extra-planetary life at one time or
another."
Forell looked closely at his friend. Andorra, he knew, was a clear
thinker in his own right. And he just might start a serious
analysis--and publish it. He grimaced. It wasn't time for that, he knew.
Many years must pass before it would be time.
He placed a hand on the back of Andorra's chair, remembering the words
of one of the teachers.
_"Remember, Elwar," he had been told, "your objective is clear, but your
methods must be most indirect--even unclear. Some things you must
obscure in a mass of obviously imaginative detail, while you bring
others to the fore. You must hint. You must suggest. You should never
fully explain or deny. And you must never be guilty of definite, direct
falsehood._
_"There may come a time when you will be directly questioned--when
discovery of your real background and purpose seems imminent, and you
will have to take positive action. For such an eventuality, I cannot
outline any steps, or even any definite plan of action, since I neither
fully understand many of the factors involved, nor have any way of
knowing the circumstances which may arise. You'll have to prepare
yourself for almost anything, always keeping in mind the peculiarities
and capabilities of your own people."_
It looked as though the time might have come. If Andorra, a clever,
influential critic, should guess at the real background and the sources
of the Forell tales, and if he should misunderstand the motives behind
those tales, he would probably publish his thoughts. And those thoughts
would be widely read. Many would smile as they read and regard the thing
as a hoax. But others might start their own analyses. And some of those
might come to highly undesirable conclusions and cause undesirable,
even disastrous, reactions. It would be many generations before clear
explanations could be made and definite principles outlined without
causing misunderstanding and serious damage. The Forell tales were
evasive and preparatory as well as vaguely instructive.
[Illustration]
He recovered his self-discipline and waved his hand negligently.
"You know, Charo," he said laughingly, "I've been thinking along similar
lines for a long while. Of course, you know I must have built up some
sort of fantasy world to base my yarns on?"
Andorra nodded. "That's obvious. I've been wondering about some of your
basic theory. Like to see your notes some time."
Forell spread his hands. "You're quite welcome to look them over," he
said. "Come on up to my rooms now." He smiled. "As a matter of fact,
I've been doing a little extension on my dream world. Built up a little
sketch a while ago, and I'm not just sure what to do with it."
* * * * *
As they entered the study, Forell walked across to his desk. He fumbled
for a few seconds under the desk, then opened a drawer. For a moment, he
paused, looking inside, then pulled out a thin folder. Again, he
hesitated. At last, he picked a small, metallic object from the drawer
and held it in his left hand.
"Might need this," he told himself. "If I'm wrong, it'll take a sector
patrolman to straighten out the mess. And I could be wrong--two ways."
Casually, he placed his left hand in his pocket, then he turned toward
Andorra, holding out the folder.
"Here," he said. "See what you think of this one."
Andorra opened the folder, taking out a few sheets of paper. He read for
a moment, then looked up quizzically.
"A little different from your usual style, isn't it?"
Forell nodded, watching the man tensely. "I'm trying something new," he
said. "Go ahead and read it, then tell me what you think."
He busied himself with a bottle and glasses.
* * * * *