A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  The attaché nodded in embarrassment “Nothing doing. He ran us in circles.” Towne’s scowl deepened. “Did you give him the Treatment?”

  “He just wasn’t having any, sir. Said he’d answer to a Joint Council hearing, and nothing less.”

  “Stubborn old goat. He knows I’ve got nothing that will stand up in a Council hearing.” Towne went back to the papers again, still tapping the floor with the cane. “Damn that Roberts!”

  The attaché glanced down at Benjamin Towne with some curiosity. It was easy to see how the man drew such powerful support from his constituents. There was something overwhelming about his appearance—the heavy jaw and grim mouth line, the shock of sandy hair that fell over his forehead, the burning green eyes, the stout, well muscled body. The attaché’s eyes drifted down to the withered left leg and the grotesque twisted foot, and he looked away in embarrassment. What was so aweinspiring about a crippled man who accumulated great power? Towne certainly had done that. Some said that Ben Towne was the most powerful man in North America. Some also said that he was the greatest man, but that was something quite different indeed. And some said that he was the most dangerous man alive. The attaché shivered. That was none of his business. If he went probing that line too far they’d be calling him Psi-High, and he liked his job too much to risk that.

  The inner door opened and a tall man with prematurely gray hair strode in, followed by a girl in her early twenties. “Sorry to keep you, Councilman,” the man said. “No, no, don’t get up. We can talk right here.”

  Towne had made no effort to rise. He glared at the man, and then his eyes drifted to the girl and widened angrily. “I said a private conference, Roberts. I don’t want one of these damned brain-picking snakes in the same room with me.”

  The man nodded cooly to the girl. “Sit down, Jean. Councilman, this is Jean Sanders. If you’re here about the Alien investigation, I want her to sit in.”

  Ben Towne slowly set the papers down on the floor. “Record this, Roger,” he said to the attaché. His eyes turned to Roberts. “I understand he slipped out of your hands again yesterday,” he said with vicious smoothness. “A pity.”

  Roberts reddened. “That’s right. He slipped out clean.”

  “No pictures, no identifications, no nothing, eh?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Towne’s voice was deadly. “Mr. Roberts, an unidentified Alien creature has been at large in this country for three solid weeks, and your Federal Security teams, haven’t even gotten near him. I want to know why.”

  “I’d suggest that if you read our reports—”

  “Damn you, man, I didn’t come here for insolence!” Towne slammed the cane down with a clatter. “You’re answerable to the Joint Senatorial Council of the North American States for every wretched thing you do, and I’m ready to bring charges of criminal negligence against you in this Alien investigation—”

  “Criminal negligence!” Roberts jumped up, his eyes blazing. “My god, Councilman! We’ve thrown everything we have into this search. This creature has played us for fools every step of the way! We didn’t even get a look at his ship. It blew up. right in our faces! Do you realize what we’re fighting here?”

  “I realize quite well,” said Towne, frostily. “You’re fighting an Alien who has slipped into our population, somehow, and just vanished. There’s no way to tell what he wants or what he’s doing. The potential danger of his presence is staggering. And you’ve fumbled and groaned for three weeks without even turning up a hot trail. You haven’t even a coherent description of him—”

  “We’re fighting a telepath,” Roberts said softly. “An Alien with telepathic powers like nothing we’ve ever dreamed of. That’s what we’re fighting. And we’re losing, too.”

  The girl across the room stirred uneasily. Ben Towne’s green eyes shot over to her viciously. “And you’re using freaks like her to help him hide, I suppose.”

  “Jean Sanders is not a freak.” Robert’s voice grated in the still air of the room. “She’s Psi-High, and she’s the most valuable asset we’ve got in this search at the present moment. It’s a real pity there aren’t more Psi-Highs that have had her training.”

  “And you sit there and tell me you’d dare use Psi-Highs in an investigation as critical as this?”

  Roberts sighed in disgust. “Councilman, you don’t have any idea what you’re saying.”

  “I beg to differ,” Towne’s eyes flashed. “I happen to be aware that there are a group of individuals wandering around loose who will have this country in chains in a hundred years if they’re allowed to develop as they please. Psi-Highs are a vicious menace, nothing more nor less. We can’t help it that we have them. The fools in the government were blind two hundred years ago when they first started appearing, and psi-factors are gene-controlled. But they can’t use their extra-sensory powers without training.”

  He picked up the cane and leaned forward at Roberts. “Thanks to Reuben Abram’s meddling over at the Hoffman Center, some of them are already developing their psi-faculties, learning to use a treacherous power that has no place in civilized society. Well, I don’t want them working in Security! Is that clear enough?” Roberts sighed tiredly and leaned back in his chair. “You’re confused a little,” he said. “This is not the Rotary Club. It’s not a Federal Isolationist rally, and it’s not the Senate floor, either. It’s just me you’re talking to. And to my knowledge, you haven’t succeeded as yet in removing all Psi-High rights. You’ve gotten laws through Congress to make them take tests and submit to registration; you’ve passed laws to prevent them from marrying; you’ve blocked their education and hamstrung their training and development, but you haven’t, as yet, been able to strip them of their citizenships—”

  “Not as yet,” said Ben Towne.

  “And you can’t, as yet, dictate the activities of the Federal Security Commission;”

  “Not as yet.”

  Roberts’ eyes blazed. “All right. Now you can listen to me for a minute, Councilman,

  recording or no recording. We’ve got an enemy in our midst—an Alien we’ve never even seen. We can thank a psi-positive citizen out in Des Moines for spotting him in the first place. He had the sense and the loyalty to report it to us. Normal psi-negative individuals can’t see him, can’t identify him, can’t even get near him. We haven’t tried Psi-High agents against him yet but we’re going to have to, whether you like it or not. Psi-negatives are strapped. The Alien can run circles around them. Our only hope of catching him is to use psi-positive agents, the best-trained we can get our hands on. Like Jean, here. And if you want to stop me you’ll have to reorganize Federal Security to do it.”

  Towne lurched to his feet, his face white. “I may do that, Roberts.” He readied for his cane. “I may just do that.”

  “You’ll have to throw the Liberal Council out of office first. They’re supporting me, and outvoting your American Council two to one.”

  Towne gave him a shrewd look. “Better start watching the telecasts, and newstapes,” he said bluntly. “Already there are rumors going around about a mysterious Alien fugitive. Oh, I know it’s top secret, but you know how news leaks.” He gave a nasty smile. “People get nervous about rumors like that, especially when the Administration denies them so sharply. You’d better catch him pretty quick.” He nodded to his attaché, and limped to the door. Then he glanced back over his shoulder. “Be sure to watch the telecasts,” he said, and slammed the door behind him.

  Jean Sanders stood up, white-faced and trembling. “What a vicious man,” she murmured. “What did he mean. Bob?”

  Robert Roberts shook his head, and fished a cigar from a desk drawer. “I’m not sure that I know,” he said slowly.

  III

  PAUL FAIRCLOTH finished reading the teletape briefing just as the little jet plane slipped down toward the hangar slot in South Chicago. He slapped the spools into the erasure can and flipped the control switch to activate the distortion field insid
e the can. He stretched his legs, then, wondering vaguely whether he was going to come out of this whole mess alive.

  Jean’s parting hug was still warm in his memory, and he remembered the worry in her big grey eyes as she had kissed him and said, “Be careful, darling. I wish I could go, too. I couldn’t bear to have anything happen—” It was the first time she had ever actually spoken that word to him, and he was glad she had. Almost defiantly glad. She had said it aloud, and she had said so much, much more without words. Only vague shadows in Faircloth’s untrained mind, but he knew the meaning of those shadows.

  A man was waiting down below on the platform for him. The hangar vault was dark and deserted. He took the agent’s card and scanned it briefly. “Marino? I’m Paul Faircloth. Better give me a late briefing.”

  Marino nodded. He was small and wiry, with catlike movements and exceedingly bright eyes under his jet black eyebrows. “We’d be wise to get on over while we talk,” he said.

  Faircloth nodded and stepped into the little tube-car that was waiting at the end of the platform. It was a tight fit for two men, and Paul ducked by reflex as it gave a lurch and dipped down the chute into a narrow tunnel, hanging free and speeding ahead on its electronic guide beam. “Is the Condor Building where he was spotted?”

  Marino nodded. “In Center City, Chicago. First thirty-six floors are commercial, and the twenty above are residential. He’s pinned pretty definitely on the forty-second, in a large residential suite. No idea why he chose it or how long he’s been there—” He turned apologetic eyes to Faircloth. “I’m Psi-High—I guess you know. We’ve got him located and triangulated, and we can keep him pretty well pinned if he doesn’t try to give us a shower. We’re pretty sure he knows we’re there.”

  “Shower?”

  Marino nodded, grimly tapping his forehead. “A barrage, the works. This Alien’s got a powerful psi. And I mean-powerful. He gave it to one of our Psi-High men yesterday. It was savage. Nearly ripped him apart.”

  Faircloth shivered. “But you can keep track of him.”

  “Yes.” Marino lit a cigarette with nervous fingers. “Roberts put Psi-Highs out to spot him, but he doesn’t want any Psi-Highs in on the kill.” His voice was flat with disappointment. “Political pressure, I guess. People couldn’t bear to give a Psi-High credit for anything—” He glanced at Faircloth and reddened. “Sorry. No offense. It just slipped out.” He bit his lip. “Anyway, that’s what you’re here for. Half a dozen other psi-negatives will help you. I hope God’ll be helping you too.”

  Faircloth grinned tightly. “Got you nervous?”

  “It’s got me plenty nervous.”

  Faircloth nodded again, rubbing a hand across his eyes. “All right. I want your best men, every one of them, to go in with me. I don’t care whether they’re Psi-High or not. Neither does Roberts; he’s with you folks all the way. But we’ve got to get this creature and get him cold. He’s slick. Is the building sewed up?”

  “Tight as a vacutainer.”

  “Good. Keep it under cover, and try to keep the Psi-Highs from broadcasting any more than necessary.”

  Marino gave him a queer look. “They’ll do their best, of course.”

  “Right.” Faircloth ran a hand through his brown hair and loosened his tie a trifle. “As soon as the building is cleared from rush hour, I want the power shut off all over the building. Elevators, lights, everything. We’ll be on the 41st floor, and a squad will be on the 43rd. We’ll close in together.”

  Marino shook his head. “I hope it works. They had him just as tight in Des Moines last week, and he slid right through.” The man’s eyes were worried. “We just don’t know what we’re fighting. That’s the whole trouble. Even the Psi-Highs are up a tree.”

  THE car gave a lurch and slid to a stop.

  They stepped out into a shiny tunnel filled with people emptying out of the huge building above. The two men waited to board an express surface elevator, and stepped off on the main concourse of the Condor Building. The last sunset rays made a dazzling golden display on the banks of heliomirrors, and Faircloth blinked, shielding his eyes a moment after the softer light below. Then he glanced at his watch. “Let’s coffee up,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes.”

  They slid into an eating booth on the concourse and dropped in coins for coffee. It was so clumsy, Faircloth thought. Three and a half weeks since the ship had been spotted down along the Mississippi, and they were still just learning how clumsy they were. They had even thought that the visitor, whoever he was, had been killed in landing until the first Security Team had gotten to the ship. They’d gotten to within just ten feet of it when it had exploded. And even then they hadn’t realized what they’d found, until tire report came from Des Moines, and they started following up leads. They had followed the alien, true, from the first farmhouse where he had stopped the night he landed, west through the farm country to Des Moines, then northeast to the great Chicago metropolis. But when it came to contacting the creature or capturing him—Faircloth shook his head. Clumsy just wasn’t the right word.

  He glanced at Marino, and then reached across the booth and buzzed for a news-tape. He glanced over the Washington news hurriedly. Another upheaval in the Liberal Council. The Northern Democrats were trying to drum up Civil Rights Party and One World Party support for their new South American Developement program, and they weren’t getting to first base. And there was another vicious attack by Ben Towne on the Hoffman Center’s training program for Psi-Highs. Towne had even named Reuben Abrams as a leader there, and worked in some high-grade anti-Semitic innuendo into the association. Paul went tense, searching for Jean’s name. It was not mentioned. He took a deep breath. If that filthy dog ever dragged her name into public. He finished his coffee, and gave the repeat button a vicious jab.

  Then his eye caught a small item with a Des Moines dateline, well hidden down at the bottom of the backside of the tape. He read it, frowning:

  WOMAN CHARGES PSI-HIGH CONSPIRACY

  Des Moines, Ia., 27 June, 2157. A woman whose name was withheld today placed charges against Miss Martha Bishop, 23, of Oak Park Section, Chicago, whose name is listed in the Federal psi-positive registry. The charge was made at local Federal Security offices, and accused Miss Bishop of mental interference. The victim, who allegedly had information concerning the rumors of an Alien visitor which have been persistently appearing lately, claimed that Miss Bishop had attempted to prevent her from reporting her information. After failing in this attempt, Miss Bishop was charged with using her psi-powers to erase the information from the woman’s mind. Miss Bishop could not be reached for comment.

  Mr. J.B. Dunlap, spokesman for the Liberal Senatorial Council in Washington, has repeatedly denied that the rumor of alien visitors has any basis in fact. Nevertheless, the charges against Miss Bishop are being investigated fully—

  Faircloth crumpled the tape with a snarl and returned to his coffee. Finally he nodded to Marino. “Drink up,” he said, “and get in touch with your men. It’s time to go.” Ted Marino left for the elevators to corral his men, arranging to meet Faircloth in the concourse five minutes later. Paul found a visiphone relay booth, and sank his long, lean body down in a relaxer facing the screen. The last of the rush-hour people were still drifting by in the corridor; Paul watched them anxiously. Then he gave a nervous laugh, forcing himself to relax for a moment. If only Jean were here! He battled an impulse to call her. Finally he dialed the priority code for the Federal Security Commision offices in Washington.

  The relays clicked, and the code carried him through the front-line secretaries without any trouble. He gave a sigh of relief. He was in no mood to argue with secretaries. A moment later he was blinking at Roberts’ tri-di image on the screen.

  Roberts’ face looked haggard. He nodded to Faircloth. “You got there, then. Good. How does it look, Paul?”

  “Everything’s just real nice,” Faircloth growled. “They think they’ve got him pinned. The building here has a ce
ntral power source, and we can bottleneck the whole place if we time it right.”

  “Don’t miss, Paul.” Roberts’ voice was tense. “Whatever you do, don’t miss.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Ben Towne has worked his way into this.”

  “Oh, god!”

  “Well, I can’t help it, there was nothing I could do. He has the whole American Council behind him, and the Liberals can’t hold out long on negative results. Towne has the whole picture now, and if we don’t wrap it up fast, things here in the Capitol are going to blow sky high.”

  Faircloth scowled. “Did you see the news-tapes tonight?”

  “You mean the Bishop girl in Des Moines?” Roberts nodded unhappily. “Got the report from Des Moines on it this afternoon. Trumped up from beginning to end.

  I tell you, Towne is not playing around.

  I don’t know how he plans to work things, but I’m afraid that story was just a starter. He’ll do everything he can to tie the Alien up with the Psi-Highs in the public eye—and you know Ben Towne when he gets rolling. He’ll play this rumor business up to the hilt. And the way things are in the Senate now, that could mean real trouble.”

  “Who’s controlling Security news releases?”

  Roberts gave a short laugh. “Take a guess. Just one guess. Don’t miss tonight, my friend.”

  FAIRCLOTH nodded and signalled off.

  He sat swearing quietly to himself for a few moments. Then Marino came by, and he swung out into the hall again, glancing at his watch. “Ready?”

  Marino nodded. “Got the squads placed on the 41st and 43rd. Power goes off when we step off the elevator on the 41st. Okay?” Faircloth grunted, and spread out a floor plan of the 42nd floor. “Is the building all clear?”

  “All the commercial levels, yes. And autolocks go on all the doors but the one we want when the power goes off.”