The Puppet Masters

by Robert Anson Heinlein

  She shook her head. "I didn't mean it; I'd never insist on a settlement contract, not with a man I was willing to marry in the first place-"

  "I didn't think you would."

  "I was just trying to make you see that you yourself were not serious." She looked me over soberly. "But perhaps you are," she added in a warm, soft voice.

  "I am."

  She shook her head again. "Agents should not marry. You know that."

  "Agents shouldn't marry anyone but agents."

  She started to answer, but stopped suddenly. My own phone was talking in my ear, the Old Man's voice, and I knew she was hearing the same thing. "Come into my office," he said.

  We both got up without saying anything. Mary stopped me at the door, put a hand on my arm, and looked up into my eyes. "That is why it is silly to talk about marriage. We've got this job to finish. All the time we've been talking, you've been thinking about the job and so have I."

  "I have not."

  "Don't play with me! Consider this, Sam-suppose you were married and you woke up to find one of those things on your wife's shoulders, possessing her." There was horror in her eyes as she went on, "Suppose I woke up and found one of them on your shoulders."

  "I'll chance it. And I won't let one get to you."

  She touched my cheek. "I don't believe you would."

  We went on into the Old Man's office.

  He looked up just long enough to say, "Come along. We're leaving."

  "Where to?" I answered. "Or shouldn't I ask?"

  "White House. See the President. Shut up."

  I shut.

  Chapter 3

  At the beginning of a forest fire or an epidemic there is a short time when a minimum of correct action will contain and destroy. The B. W. boys express it in exponential equations, but you don't need math to understand it; it depends on early diagnosis and prompt action before the thing gets out of hand. What the President needed to do the Old Man had already figured out-declare a national emergency, fence off the Des Moines area, and shoot anybody who tried to slip out, be it a cocker spaniel or grandma with her cookie jar. Then let them out one at a time, stripping them and searching them for parasites. Meantime, use the radar screen, the rocket boys, and the space stations to spot and smash any new landings.

  Warn all the other nations including those behind the Curtain, ask for their help-but don't be fussy about international law, for this was a fight for racial survival against an outside invader. For the moment it did not matter where they came from-Mars, Venus, the Jovian satellites, or outside the system entirely. Repel the invasion.

  The Old Man had cracked the case, analyzed it, and come up with the right answer in a little more than twenty-four hours. His unique gift was the ability to reason logically with unfamiliar, hard-to-believe facts as easily as with the commonplace. Not much, eh? I have never met anyone else who could do it wholeheartedly. Most minds stall dead when faced with facts which conflict with basic beliefs; "I-just-can't-believe-it" is all one word to highbrows and dimwits alike.

  But not to the Old Man-and he had the ear of the President.

  The Secret Service guards gave us the works, politely. An X-ray went beep! and I surrendered my heater. Mary turned out to be a walking arsenal; the machine gave four beeps and a hiccough, although you would have sworn she couldn't hide a tax receipt under what she was wearing. The Old Man surrendered his cane without waiting to be asked; I got the notion he did not want it to be X-rayed.

  Our audio capsules gave them trouble. They showed up both by X-ray and by metal detector, but the guards weren't equipped for surgical operations. There was a hurried conference with a presidential secretary and the head guard ruled that anything embedded in the flesh need not be classed as a potential weapon.

  They printed us, photographed our retinas, and ushered us into a waiting room. The Old Man was whisked out and in to see the President alone.

  "I wonder why we were brought along?" I asked Mary. "The Old Man knows everything we know."

  She did not answer, so I spent the time reviewing in my mind the loopholes in the security methods used to guard the President. They do such things much better behind the Curtain; an assassin with any talent could have beaten our safeguards with ease. I got to feeling indignant about it.

  After a while we were ushered in. I found I had stage fright so badly I was stumbling over my feet. The Old Man introduced us and I stammered. Mary just bowed.

  The President said he was glad to see us and turned on that smile, the way you see it in the stereocasts-and he made us feel that he was glad to see us. I felt all warm inside and no longer embarrassed.

  And no longer worried. The President, with the Old Man's help, would take action and the dirty horror we had seen would be cleaned up.

  The Old Man directed me to report all that I had done and seen and heard on this assignment. I made it brief but complete. I tried to catch his eye when it came to the part about killing Barnes, but he wasn't having any-so I left out the Old Man's order to shoot and made it clear that I had shot to protect another agent-Mary-when I saw Barnes reach for his gun. The Old Man interrupted me. "Make your report complete."

  So I filled in the Old Man's order to shoot. The President threw the Old Man a glance at the correction, the only expression he showed. I went on about the parasite thing, went on, in fact, up to that present moment, as nobody told me to stop.

  Then it was Mary's turn. She fumbled in trying to explain to the President why she expected to get some sort of response out of normal men-and had not gotten it out of the McLain boys, the state sergeant, and Barnes. The President helped her . . . by smiling warmly, managing to bow without getting up, and saying, "My dear young lady, I quite believe it."

  Mary blushed, then went on. The President listened gravely while she finished. He asked a couple of questions, then sat still for several minutes.

  Presently he looked up and spoke to the Old Man. "Andrew," he said, "your section has been invaluable. On at least two occasions your reports have tipped the balance in crucial occasions in history."

  The Old Man snorted. "So it's 'no', is it?"

  "I did not say so."

  "You were about to."

  The President shrugged. "I was going to suggest that your young people withdraw, but now it does not matter. Andrew, you are a genius, but even geniuses make mistakes. They overwork themselves and lose their judgment. I'm not a genius but I learned to relax about forty years ago. How long has it been since you had a vacation?"

  "Damn your vacations! See here, Tom, I anticipated this; that's why I brought witnesses. They are neither drugged nor instructed. Call in your psych crew; try to shake their stories."

  The President shook his head. "You wouldn't have brought witnesses who could be cracked. I'm sure you are cleverer about such things than anyone whom I could bring in to test them. Take this young man-he was willing to risk a murder charge to protect you. You inspire loyalty, Andrew. As for the young lady, really, Andrew, I can't start what amounts to war on a woman's intuition."

  Mary took a step forward. "Mr. President," she said very earnestly, "I do know. I know every time. I can't tell you how I know-but those were not normal male men."

  He hesitated, then answered, "I do not dispute you. But you have not considered an obvious explanation-that they actually were, ah, 'harem guards'. Pardon me, Miss. There are always such unfortunates in the population. By the laws of chance you ran across four in one day."

  Mary shut up. The Old Man did not. "God damn it, Tom-" I shuddered; you don't talk to the President that way. "-I knew you when you were an investigating senator and I was a key man in your investigations. You know I wouldn't bring you this fairy tale if there were any way to explain it away. Facts can't be ignored; they've got to be destroyed, or faced up to. How about that space ship? What was in it? Why couldn't I even reach the spot where it landed?" He hauled out the photograph taken by Space Station Beta and shoved it under the President's nose.
/>   The President seemed unperturbed. "Ah, yes, facts. Andrew, both you and I have a passion for facts. But I have several sources of information other than your section. Take this photo-you made quite a point of it when you phoned. I've checked the matter. The metes and bounds of the McLain farm as recorded in the local county courthouse check precisely with the triangulated latitude and longitude of this object on this photograph." The President looked up. "Once I absent-mindedly turned off a block too soon and got lost in my own neighborhood. You weren't even in your own neighborhood, Andrew."

  "Tom-"

  "Yes, Andrew?"

  "You did not trot out there and check those courthouse maps yourself?"

  "Of course not."

  "Thank God for that-or you would be carrying three pounds of pulsing tapioca between your shoulder blades this minute-and God save the United States! You can be sure of this: the courthouse clerk and whatever agent was sent to see him, both are hag-ridden by filthy parasites this very moment." The Old Man stared at the ceiling. "Yes, and the Des Moines chief of police, newspaper editors around there, dispatchers, cops, all sorts of key people. Tom, I don't know what we are up against, but they know what we are, and they are pinching off the nerve cells of our social organism before true messages can get back-or they cover up the true reports with false ones, just as they did with Barnes. Mr. President, you must order an immediate, drastic quarantine of the whole area. There is no other hope!"

  "Barnes," the President repeated softly, as if he had heard nothing else. "Andrew, I had hoped to spare you this, but-" He broke off and flipped a key at his desk. "Get me stereo station WDES, Des Moines, the manager's office."

  Shortly a screen lighted on his desk; he touched another switch and a solid display in the wall lighted up. We were looking into the room we had been in only a few hours before.

  Looking into it past the shoulders of a man who filled most of the screen-Barnes.

  Or his twin. When I kill a man, I expect him to stay dead. I was shaken but I still believed in myself-and my heater.

  The man in the display said, "You asked for me, Mr. President?" He sounded as if he were dazzled by the honor.

  "Yes, thank you. Mr. Barnes, do you recognize any of these people?"

  He looked surprised. "I'm afraid not. Should I?"

  The Old Man interrupted. "Tell him to call in his office force."

  The President looked quizzical but did just that. "Barnes" looked puzzled but complied. They trooped in, girls mostly, and I recognized the secretary who sat outside the manager's door. One of them squealed, "Ooh-it's the President," and they all fell to buzzing.

  None of them identified us-not surprising with the Old Man and me, but Mary's appearance was just as it had been in that same office, and I will bet that Mary's looks would be burned into the mind of any woman who had ever seen her.

  But I noticed one thing about them-every single one of them was round-shouldered.

  The President eased us out. He put a hand on the Old Man's shoulder. "Seriously, Andrew, take that vacation." He flashed the famous smile. "The Republic won't fall-I'll worry it through till you get back."

  Ten minutes later we were standing in the wind on the Rock Creek platform. The Old Man seemed shrunken and, for the first time, old. "What now, boss?"

  "Eh? For you two, nothing. You are both on leave until recalled."

  "I'd like to take another look at Barnes's office."

  "Don't go near the place. Stay out of Iowa. That's an order."

  "Mmm-what are you going to do, if I may ask?"

  "You heard the President, didn't you? I am going down to Florida and lie in the sun and wait for the world to go to hell. If you have any sense, you'll do the same. There's damned little time."

  He squared his shoulders and stumped away. I turned to speak to Mary, but she was gone. His advice seemed awfully good, and it had suddenly occurred to me that waiting for the end of the world might not be too bad, with her help.

  I looked around quickly but could not spot her. I trotted off and overtook the Old Man. "Excuse me, Boss. Where did Mary go?"

  "Huh? On leave no doubt. Don't bother me."

  I considered trying to relay to her through the Section circuit, when I remembered that I did not know her right name, nor her code, nor her I. D. number. I thought of trying to bull it through by describing her, but that was foolishness. Only Cosmetics Records knows the original appearance of an agent-and they won't talk. All I knew about her was that she had twice appeared as a redhead, at least once by choice-and that, for my taste, she was "why men fight". Try punching that into a phone!

  Instead I found a room for the night. After I found it I wondered why I had not left the Capital and gone back to my own apartment. Then I wondered if the blonde were still in it. Then I wondered who the blonde was, anyway? Then I went to sleep.

  Chapter 4

  I woke up at dusk. The room I was in had a real window-the Section pays well and I could afford little luxuries. I looked out over the Capital as it came to life for the night. The river swept away in a wide bend past the Memorial; it was summer and they were adding fluorescine to the water above the District so the river stood out in curving sweeps of glowing rose and amber and emerald and shining fire. Little pleasure boats cut through the colors, each filled, I had no doubt, with couples up to no good and enjoying it.

  On the land, here and there among the older buildings, the bubble domes were lighting up, giving the city a glowing fairyland look. Off to the east, where the Bomb had landed, there were no old buildings at all and the area was an Easter basket of color giant Easter eggs, lighted from within.

  I've seen the Capital at night oftener than most, because of my business, and, while I like the place, I had not thought much about it. But tonight I had that "Last Ride Together" feeling. It was so beautiful it hurt but it was not its beauty that choked me up; it was knowing that down under those warm lights were people, alive and individual people, going about their lawful occasions, making love or having spats, whichever suited them . . . doing whatever they damn well pleased, each under his own vine and his own fig tree with nobody to make him afraid, as it says.

  I thought about all those gentle, kindly people (with only an occasional heel) and I thought about them each with a gray slug clinging to the back of his neck, twitching his legs and arms, making his voice say what the slug wished, going where the slug wanted to go.

  Hell's bells-life under the commissars couldn't be that bad. I know-I've been behind the Curtain.

  I made myself a solemn promise: if the parasites won. I'd arrange to be dead before I would let one of those things ride me the way one had ridden Barnes. For an agent it would be simple; just bite my nails– or, if your hands happen to be off, there are a couple of other ways. The Old Man planned for all professional necessities.

  But the Old Man had not planned such arrangements for such a purpose and I knew it. It was the Old Man's business-and mine-to keep those people down there safe, not to run out on them when the going got rough.

  I turned away from the window. There was not a confounded thing I could do about it now; I decided that what I needed was company. The room contained the usual catalog of "escort bureaus" and "model agencies" that you'll find in almost any big hotel except maybe the Martha Washington. I thumbed through it, looking the girls over, then slammed it shut. I didn't want a whoopee girl; I wanted one particular girl-one who would as soon shoot as shake hands and would bite in the clinches. And I did not know where she had gone.

  I always carry a tube of "tempus fugit" pills; most agents do, as one never knows when giving your reflexes a jolt will get you through a tight spot. Despite the scare propaganda, tempos pills are not habit-forming, not the way the original hashish is.

  Nevertheless a purist would say I was addicted to them, for I had the habit of taking them occasionally to make a twenty-four hour leave seem like a week. I admit that I enjoyed the mild euphoria which the pills induced as a side effect. Prima
rily, though, they just stretch out your subjective time by a factor of ten or more, chop time into finer bits so that you live longer for the same amount of clock and calendar.

  What's wrong with that? Sure, I know the horrible example story of the man who died of old age in a calendar month through taking the pills steadily, but I took them only once in a while.

  Maybe he had the right idea. He lived a long and happy life-you can be sure it was happy-and died happy at the end. What matter that the sun rose only thirty times? Who is keeping score and what are the rules anyhow?

  I sat there, staring at my tube of pills and thinking that I had enough to keep me hopped up and contented for what would be, to me, at least two "years". If I wanted to, I could crawl in my hole and pull it in after me.

  I took out two pills and got a glass of water. Then I put them carefully back in the tube, put on my gun and phone, left the hotel and headed for the Library of Congress.

  On the way I stopped in a bar for a quick one and looked at a newscast. There was no news from Iowa, but when is there any news from Iowa?

  At the Library I went to the general catalog, put on blinkers, and started scanning for references. "Flying Saucers" led to "Flying Discs", then to "Project Saucer", then "Lights in the Sky", "Fireballs", "Cosmic Diffusion Theory of Life Origins", and two dozen blind alleys and screwball branches of literature. I needed some sort of a Geiger counter to tell me what was pay dirt and what was not, especially as what I wanted was almost certain to carry a semantic-content code key classing it somewhere between Aesop's fables and the Lost Continent myths.

  Nevertheless, in an hour I had a double handful of selector cards. I handed them to the vestal virgin at the desk and waited while she fed them into the hopper. Presently she said, "Most of the films you want are in use. The rest will be delivered to study room 9-A. Take the south escalator, puhlease."