Brave passed around anticohol tablets, those excellent remedies for
drunkenness developed in Japan in 1957; and they all ate them and drank
water and looked at one another and grinned. "That was quite a bat
while it lasted," said Don.
McEldownie rested his head on the couch and closed his eyes.
Occasionally the tablets would put one to sleep for a short time. Rob
Pope said, "We've had our reaction against all the shocks, and it was a
luxury I think we deserved; but now we've got to plot and plan."
"The telecast is our first big hope. Let's put our heads together."
"And produce a sickening thud," said Jim, opening his eyes. "Okay we'll
see what we can do. Or more likely," he said thoughtfully, "what we
can't do."
The door opened and Win came in, a look of contrition on her face.
They all gaped at her. "Well," she said to Alan, "it's like this. I'm
sorry. I blew my cork. I was insulted. I'm not any more. I know the
strain you've been under and I realize it was an awful coincidence to
happen just when it did. I forgive you and your tame flamingo with the
wandering hands. Can I help?"
"Take a pew," said Alan relieved beyond words. "We're talking out the
telecast. You can help, sweetheart."
* * * * *
When it was time to leave--they had decided to take Rob Pope's station
wagon rather than an air taxi--Brave locked up the house. Both he and
Alan felt they might not be able to come back to it, at least not
soon. Just before he shut the front door, a brown blur shot past him
and landed on Alan's chest. Unquote clung there, claws entangled in
his jacket, great blue eyes begging with false humility to be taken
along. "I nearly forgot you, kitten," he said. He boosted her up to his
shoulder and the eight of them got into the station wagon, which Brave
then wheeled about and sent roaring toward Manhattan.
* * * * *
Just before eight they entered the studio. McEldownie said, "How about
you lads waiting in the reception room? If anybody comes raging into
the place for our hides, you can cause 'em a certain amount of trouble
before they get to Doc and me."
Brave looked reluctant, then agreed. The others trooped out. Jim said,
"You can watch it on the monitor," and locked the door behind them.
"There's an extra precaution. Now for it, Doc. Cross your fingers."
* * * * *
The lights came on.
Alan talked well. Just at first, while McEldownie was giving him a
purposely vague introduction, he felt rather light-headed; this passed
quickly. He had the feeling that something had tried to insert itself
into his thoughts. Whatever it was, it failed, he said thankfully. Mac
finished his introduction. Alan began to speak.
He gave it to his audience straight and fast, without preamble, lest an
engineer or official with access to the controls should be a mutant or
alien.
"_Listen to me. There are enemies among us, enemies from another world,
or perhaps sports of our own species. We are all in deadly danger._"
He spoke coolly and sanely. There could be no mistaking his competence
to talk on the subject, he thought, I sound like an old statesman. And
if that's vanity, let it be.
After sketching in the incidents which had led to his suspicions, he
told of the disks' unsuspected power, and of the pilot who could expand
his body inhumanly in any direction. He did not mention Grady's death.
He stressed the need for immediate action. "What that action must be, I
don't presume to suggest. There are many men more qualified to tell you
that than I am. But here are ideas...."
Seek them out, he said. Try to recall incidents, accidents, that made
no sense to you. Try to remember instances of lack of pain. I'm sorry I
can't give you more identifying traits, but that's all we know so far.
Except the lack of pores, the heightened senses.
There will be trouble. I feel sure there will be bloodshed. Don't
quail, don't despair. We'll beat them. We're essentially a decent race
and from all indications they are devious, malevolent, and evil.
And we outnumber them, that's pretty certain.
Don't flinch. Don't hesitate. Seek them out. Capture them, kill them,
but _find them_!
He was really a little proud of himself as the telecast ended. He even
felt light-headed again, and ascribed it to pride.
McEldownie clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, boy, if this mess pans
out okay, you and I can take our pick of soft government posts, or
retire on the bounty of a grateful world. Let's see what the gang
thought of it."
He unlocked the door and opened it. Brave stood on the threshold, his
dark face bewildered; the others crowded behind him, worried, tense.
"Alan," said his friend, "what went wrong?"
Alan's belly shrank back and sweat broke out on his palms. "What do you
mean, Brave? Didn't it go on the air?"
"It must have," Jim said. "I was watching a monitor."
"It went on, all right." Brave sighed. He looked as beaten as an Indian
can ever look. "I should have guessed they wouldn't let you do it.
They'd get to you some way, both of you."
"For the love of God, Brave, what are you talking about?" cried Alan.
The other rested his hands on the scientist's shoulders.
"Son," he said quietly, "you talked about fuel. The two of you talked
for fifteen minutes about the newest developments in rocket fuel. You
never said a damned word about the enemy race!"