Shielding had started automatically to comply, before he realized just
who it was that was speaking--and the particular tone that was being
used.
It was Conjerly and the tone was one of command.
* * * * *
Conjerly and Tempelmar had risen, and were standing there as solidly as
two obelisks--and indeed there was something unpleasantly monumental
in their intensified, self-satisfied composure. Before anyone realized
it, the center of attention of the meeting had shifted from Clawly and
Firemoor to these new figures--or rather to these old and familiar
figures suddenly seen in a new and formidable guise.
Shielding blinked at them a moment, as if he didn't know who they were.
Then, with a haste that was almost that of fear, he swung around and
flipped a beam on the board behind him.
Halfway up the terraced banks of gray squares, a panel came to life.
A man in black uniform looked down from it.
"Communications Center 1 seized for the Servants," he announced crisply
in a queerly accented though perfectly intelligible voice.
Shielding stood stock-still for a moment, then flipped another beam.
"The soldiers of the Servants are in control at this point," said the
second black-uniformed individual, speaking with equal crispness.
With a stifled, incredulous gasp, Shielding ran his hand down the
board, flipping on all the panels in the Opal Cross sector.
Most of them showed black-uniformed figures. Of the remainder, the
majority were empty.
And then it became apparent that not all the black-uniformed figures
were merely televised images. Some of them were standing between the
panels, in the Sky Room itself, holding weapons trained.
By a psychological illusion, the figures of Conjerly and Tempelmar
seemed to grow taller.
"Yes," Conjerly said, soberly, almost kindly, "your government--or,
rather, that absence of all sane control which you call a
government--is now in the capable hands of the Servants of the People.
Clawly's assertions were all quite correct, though fortunately we were
able to keep you from believing them--a necessary deception. There is
an invasion going on--an invasion that is in the best interests of all
worlds, and one from which yours will benefit greatly. It is being
made across time, through a region that has become common to both our
worlds. That region is our transtime bridgehead. And, as is plain to
see, our bridgehead coincides with your headquarters."
* * * * *
Clawly was not listening. He was watching a figure that was striding
down the paneled terraces, its smilingly curious eyes fixed upon him.
And as he watched, Firemoor and Shielding and some others began to
watch too, slack-faced, dully amazed at this secondary impossibility.
The approaching figure was clad in black military flying togs whose
sleek cut and suavely gleaming texture marked them as those of an
individual of rank. But so far as physique and appearance were
concerned, down to the last detail of facial structure, including even
a similarity of expression--a certain latent sardonic mockery--he was
Clawly's duplicate.
There was something very distinctive about the way the two eyed each
other. No one could have said just when it started, but by the time
they were facing each other across the control table, it was very
plain; the look of two men come to fight a duel.
Clawly's face hardened. His gaze seemed to concentrate. His duplicate
started, as if at a slight unexpected blow. For an instant he grinned
unpleasantly, then his face grew likewise grim.
Neither moved. There was only that intense staring, accompanied by a
silent straining of muscles and a breathing that grew heavy. But none
of those who watched doubted but that an intangible duel was being
fought.
Conjerly, frowning, stepped forward. But just then there grew a look of
sudden desperate terror in the contorted face of Clawly's black-clad
duplicate. He staggered back a step, as if to avoid falling into a pit.
An unintelligible cry was wrenched out of him, and he snatched at his
holster.
But even as he raised the weapon, there flashed across the first
Clawly's features a triumphant, oddly _departing_ smile.