The only way to get rid of a
temptation is to yield to it.
--Oscar Wilde
The pilot said virtually nothing to us on the long trip, except that
during the final orbital glide he asked me where I wanted to get out. I
said I'd prefer it to be as close as possible to downtown Washington.
His cockpit was completely isolated from the passenger compartment and
we communicated by intercom. I was sure he could hear everything Joy
and I said, so we talked only inconsequentials and spent quite a bit of
the time dozing in our comfortable lounge chairs.
The pilot took me at my word and landed on the mall near the Washington
Monument. It was just getting dark.
He said "Duty" and I replied "Duty and dedication." He took off again
without another word.
Joy and I watched his silent climb into the sky. So did a few
pedestrians and the group of people waiting to go up to the Monument. A
policeman started toward us, not running but with a purposeful walk, so
I hailed a cab and we got away from there.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"White House," I said, to give him some place to head for. He drove
off. The cop decided not to chase us.
Joy said, "We can't go to the White House. We'd be walking right into
their jaws."
"I know," I said. "But if they were after us we'd never have got this
far. Our dutiful pilot would have seen to that."
"They must have found the fake Sam Kent by now," Joy said. "They can't
still think you're him. Something's fishy."
"You're right, of course. We'd better catch up on what's been going on."
"We'll go to my place," Joy said. She gave the driver a South-East
address and said to me, "We can listen to the newscasts and pick up the
papers on the way."
Joy lived in a top-floor apartment in a new building from which you
could see the dome of the Capitol.
"There's the radio and TV and there's something in the cabinet over
the sink in the kitchen if you want to make a drink," she said.
"Make yourself at home. I'm going to take a shower and get into some
different clothes. I've been in this outfit so long it feels like a
uniform."
I'd bought the _Post_, the _Star_, the _News_, the _Baltimore Sun_ and
the _New York Times_. I dropped them and myself on the couch and turned
on the radio. She'd had it tuned to WGMS and for a while I got nothing
but good music. I looked over the front pages to muted sounds of Mozart
and the bathroom shower.
The morning papers, the _Post_ and _Times_, had similar headlines,
something to the effect that a blueprint for interplanetary peace had
been charted at the Ultra summit conference.
The afternoon papers headlined the return to Earth of the summiteers.
The tabloid _News_ said all over its front page:
GOV BACK FROM SPACE;
HAILS SUMMIT TALK AS
'TRIUMPH FOR MANKIND'
The conservative _Star_ gave it an eight-column banner:
WORLD LEADERS RETURN FROM ULTRA;
CONFERENCE WITH MONOLITHIANS SEEN
INSURING GENERATIONS OF PEACE
I looked in vain for the story Rod Harris and I had written, or for
anything like it. There was no hint anywhere that the threat of El
Spaniola had been a hoax and certainly no indication that the President
and his fellow chiefs of state were any different than before they'd
left for Ultra.
Nor was there any word about Gov's press secretary being missing. In
fact there were several quotes from good old Samuel L. C. Kent, saying
in substance that there was nothing that could be added to what was in
the official statements and giving a few homey details about how the
President had enjoyed his first trip into space.
"He had a fine time," I was quoted as saying at Dulles International
Airport, where the spaceships had landed on their return from Ultra,
"and he looks forward to making another trip--perhaps even to
Monolithia itself after he leaves the White House."
What this meant, of course, was that my double had got loose in time
to rejoin the other duplicated Earthpeople before they got back to
Washington. It also meant that the Monolithians had known who I was
during my flight back with Joy and that they had a good reason for not
stopping us. I wondered what that reason was.
The throbbing in my head began again.
Joy came out of the bathroom wearing an extremely attractive wrapper,
belted rather insecurely at the waist. She'd washed her hair and had
combed it straight back in a pony-tail. She wore no makeup except
lipstick and had left off her glasses. She was barefoot and desirable.
I wanted to kiss her.
"Well," she said, "that's a lot better. Nothing like getting rid of the
grime of two planets. What, no drink, Mr. Sam? You _are_ a dedicated
one."
"Do something for me, Joy. Call my home and ask for me. If I'm not
there make some excuse and hang up."
"All right." She went to the phone, "And if you are there?"
"Hang up anyway."
She dialed the Bethesda number. It answered almost immediately.
"Hello," I heard her say; "is Jim there?... James Fairchild.... Oh,
isn't this Empire 3-6573?... I'm sorry; I must have the wrong number."
She put the phone down and said to me, "It was you."
Throb-throb. My head again. It wasn't a pain but an insistent hammering
in the center of my skull.
"That means Mae's with ... him," I said. "And she thinks it's me again."
"Poor Sam. I'm going to make you a good stiff Scotch. You need it."
"I need something." Maybe cold water would help. "I think I'll take a
shower while you fix the drinks. It's awfully hot."
"Help yourself. The folded towel is the dry one."
I took off my jacket and dropped it on the couch. In the bathroom I
noticed that Joy squeezed her toothpaste tube from the middle, just
like Mae. She had various wispy nylon things drying on racks and used
a perfume called _Suivez-moi_. I picked up the bottle and sniffed it.
Throb-throb.
I turned on the shower full cold, undressed and stood under it. The
pounding in my head eased. Shivering, I turned the handle toward hot
and soaped.
When I emerged, Joy had put my jacket away and two tall drinks stood on
the coffee table in front of the couch.
"Feel better?" she asked.
"Much." I sat down beside her and took a big swallow. She handed me a
lit cigarette. It had lipstick traces on the filter end. Throb-throb.
"I prefer my lipstick firsthand," I said. I put the cigarette down and
pulled her toward me. Her eyes looked into mine, then closed. I kissed
her. The scent of _Suivez-moi_ and the softness of her lips and body
made the room tilt.
Her nails dug through my shirt into my back. Her lips went to my ear
and she whispered, "Oh, Sam. I've wanted this for so long!"
Throb-throb. I was torn between two desires. This enchanting woman,
whispering in my ear, her single garment--for that's all she
wore--slipping off her shoulders, was a temptation that Sam Kent,
Earthman, could not have resisted.
But the throbbing inside my skull reminded me that I was more than
that. I was pseudo-Sam, the Monolithian man, bent on a greater
mission. Duty and dedication were mine. I was no mere single entity.
I was one of a group--one of many, all devoted to the same ideal. The
distractions of Earth were nothing to me and easy to deny. I pushed Joy
away from me. The throbs had become stabbing pains.
"A typewriter," I said flatly. "I require a typewriter."
Joy sat up, pulling her wrapper around her. Her eyes, which a moment
ago were melting, had grown cold.
"You want _what_?" she said icily.
"You heard me, Earthwoman," I said. "A typewriter. At once!"
Joy stood up. She gave me a look of hatred and went to her bedroom,
slamming the door behind her.
I found Joy's portable in its case on the bottom shelf of the bookcase.
I set it up on the coffee table, rolled a sheet into it and thought for
a moment.
Then, spurred by pain, I typed:
"Now here on Earth do I declare myself, racked and driven by motives
outside my understanding, to be not what I seem, nor yet entirely what
I am. Blessed is he who knows himself wholly--"
I stopped typing. I wasn't saying it. I opened the window wide and
shouted toward the Capitol:
"Hear this! The hour approaches! Mend your ways lest the evil
consequences overtake you! Hear me, Earthlings! You are all a part of
the greater scheme and each must take the responsibility. Hark, before
it is too late!"
"Shut up, you drunk," said a voice from below.
I slammed the window and picked up the phone. "Give me Western Union, I
want to send a telegram.... Take this down and send it to the FBI and
the CIA: This is bigger than your spies and your communist agents. Let
me put you wise to an interstellar conspiracy. Drop everything else
and arrest the President of the United States.... Who? The supervisor?
Get off the line, I'm dictating a vital telegram.... I'll tell you who
I am when I get to the signature.... Well, nuts to you, Madam."
I hung up and ran into the kitchen. I turned on the cold water and
stuck my head under the faucet. It eased the pain. I picked up the
bottle of Scotch and swallowed three times, then ran gasping back to
the telephone.