by Allen Wold
"I'm going out for a while," he told the office secretary when she answered. "Cancel any appointments until after lunch." He hung up and fingered the notes he'd made. He started to put the paper in his pocket, then decided against it. Better not have anything like that on him if he got stopped at a checkpoint. He went down to the parking lot, got in his car, and headed toward highway 54 and the Research Triangle Park. The people at Diger-Fairwell Zoologicals, he thought, would have a better idea of what to do with this information than anybody else in the area.
Leon and two of his assistants, Vivian and Edmond, drove the special car with balloon tires along the newly made track through the second-growth forest between their laboratory complex and the sand barrens to the north. While Edmond drove, Leon examined the map folder, comparing its symbols with the actual terrain.
"You can see right here," Vivian said, riding on the flat bed behind, "where the soil changes character. Still lots of clay, but it's being replaced by quartz rock and red gravel. The trees are all shorter and spindlier. At the bottom of the slope"—she pointed in their direction of travel—"the sand takes over completely." Behind her were bolted several large instruments for taking readings on the depth and quality of the soil over which they traveled.
"Looks almost like some places I've seen back home," Edmond said as they neared the sand fields. "Except for the plants, of course."
"Let's follow the perimeter to the right," Leon suggested as they drove onto the sandy area. "I want a detailed analysis of the entire margin."
Edmond drove more slowly as Vivian turned to the control panels and readouts on the bulky instruments. She switched them on, and they emitted a soft hum. "A little more to the right," she told Edmond, who steered the vehicle so that they rode right above the edge of the sand.
"Let me have the earphones," he said, coming to a stop. Vivian handed him a pair, and he set them on his head. With these, he could hear the probe echoes as they came up from the ground, and according to the volume and pitch, he could steer the vehicle precisely, instead of having to depend on visual clues, which could be misleading.
Vivian gave Leon another wire with a jack at the end, which he plugged into the map folder As Edmond drove them slowly along the margin of the sand fields, depth and density data under the vehicle and for several yards on either side were translated into a graphic image which was superimposed over the map and stored within the folder's memory.
The sand-lake margin was surprisingly regular for about a third of the way around its circumference. As they approached the north, where the fine porous gravel replaced the clay, the border became less distinct and they had to go more slowly. Leon wanted to make sure that there was no way out of the sand fields, or that if there was it could be cut off without too much difficulty. He had six of his experimental animals in there now, and while they were too large to get through any gaps the initial survey might have missed, the females would be birthing soon, and the young ones could easily escape.
They found no gaps, but on the west side the sand and clay mixed in a way that was less than optimum. Though denser than the animals liked, it would be possible for a strong male or a large female to force its way through, especially if it were hungry enough, and if the soil dried out any further. As they now rode south just inside the fence line between them and their farmer neighbor to the west, Leon made special note of the quality and depth of the soil.
"We may need to put in a barricade along here," he said to Vivian.
"I've got that already under consideration," the technician told him. "I don't think we need to hurry, though. The friable soil is only about four feet deep, and far too dense for pups. It does extend quite a way into that field there, but if we keep the animals well fed, they shouldn't come up here at all."
"We'll want this section well secured by next spring, however," Leon said. "Fall and winter rains will keep them where the drainage is better, but when we have thirty or forty half-grown youngsters, they'll feel cramped and will try anywhere."
"I figure four hundred yards of comb rod will do it," Vivian said as Edmond followed the signals away from the fence line and back toward a portion of the perimeter with a more distinct interface.
They finished the rest of the circuit quickly and headed back to the house. Leon left his two technicians to put the vehicle away, and went upstairs to his office, where Freda was waiting for him.
"Here's the report on Attweiler," she said, handing him another folder.
"Good. And here's the update on the sand-fields perimeter." He gave her the map and she left to integrate it with her main data file.
Leon sat at his desk, opened the folder, and touched the "on" icon. The left half of the folder showed several pictures of Durk Attweiler, while the right half was filled with alien text. He did no more than read the summary, though the report itself was several thousand words long. In brief, Durk Attweiler was a bachelor almost forty years old, and his family had lived on that farm for over one hundred fifty years. He'd served in the Army, had one year of college education, and was on the thin edge of poverty. Quiet, solitary, with few friends.
Leon looked at the pictures. Yes, he'd seen the man before, up at that tavern that Chang had taken him to. He put the folder away, relieved that his closest neighbor offered so little to worry about.
Chapter 5
It was getting on toward lunch, but Morton Barnes didn't dare call his secretary to tell her he would be late getting back to campus. And after what he'd learned from Dr. Van Oort and her two assistants during the last half hour, he was sorry he'd come here at all.
The four of them sat in Lucia's private parlor adjacent to her office at Diger-Fairwell. "Crivits," Lucia said. "At least we have a name for them."
"That's what Kenny Borgman called them," Morton said. "Guard animals that burrow through the sand trenches around their prison camps."
"No Earth reptile has tentacles such as you describe," Penny said, "but that doesn't mean that such creatures can't exist. Of course they might not be reptiles; they could be mollusks."
"I think that question is rather academic," Lucia said. "The real question is, why this secret breeding project? I'd think the animals would do just fine where they are normally kept."
"It's monstrous," Morton Barnes said. "Breeding food animals I can understand. But predators! You don't suppose they intend to set them loose on us, do you?"
"That doesn't seem very likely," JoAnn said. "These crivits need a very specialized environment. The Visitors have to dig trenches around their camps and fill them with sand just for that purpose. Crivits would be as helpless in the heavy clay soils around here as a shark would."
"We need more information," Lucia said. She turned to Barnes. "Now that we have something concrete to tell our sources," she said, "they should be able to dig more data out of what they're recording."
"Fine," Morton said, "but I don't want to know about it."
"You don't need to know any more than you do," Lucia told him. "But we need just a little bit more from you. You don't have to name names, but it would help if we knew where this informant of yours saw the crivit."
Barnes stared at her blankly for a moment. "I haven't the slightest idea where he lives," he said at last. "He just walked into my office this morning because he'd overheard me talking about Kenny Borgman at the FCX a few days ago."
"Do you know his name?"
"Yes, I do. All right, do you have phone books for the area?"
"Raleigh, Durham, Chapel Hill, right there on the sideboard," Lucia said. Morton went over to them and flipped through.
"He's not listed anywhere," he said. "Look, I'm going to have to get back to campus. I'm already going to be late for a one o'clock lecture, and I haven't had lunch yet. I'll see what I can find out and let you know."
"We'd appreciate it," Lucia said. "But be careful when you call."
"I will. I'll figure something out." Hurriedly he got to his feet and departed.
"I'll writ
e up a report," Penny said, "and take it over to the drop this evening."
"I didn't want to frighten Professor Barnes," Lucia said, going over to the phone, "but I don't think we can wait for that." She dialed a number. "May I speak to Dr. Marino, please," she asked when the call was answered. She waited a moment, then, "Anne, Lucia here. How about lunch today? That'd be fine, see you there."
"Try to get hold of any information you can on crivits," she told her assistants as they left the parlor. "Needless to say, take no chances."
"You be careful too," Penny cautioned.
The one advantage to a fast-food place, Anne Marino thought as she and Mark Casey walked into the McDonald's, was that even if it were bugged, there was so much conversation and noise going on, nobody could make much sense out of what they heard.
Lucia Van Oort was already seated when they took their orders into the main room. "I know at least part of what Leon's up to," Lucia said as they took their seats, then told them what she and her assistants had learned from Professor Barnes.
"I'm afraid I can't appreciate all the implications," Mark said around a mouthful of hamburger, "but knowing that much will help us assign some meaning to some of the other transcriptions we've got."
"One thing's for sure," Anne said. "They wouldn't be doing that kind of research here if they didn't want it secret, and if it weren't important. When we know where their breeding station is, I think we should go down and check it out."
"Do you dare take that chance?" Lucia asked.
"The more we know about what's going on," Mark said, "the better we'll be able to do something to counter not only this project, but anything else the Visitors are doing. You know from your own experience just how constrained we are in everything we do. Part of the reason for this whole espionage bit is to figure out a way to defeat their surveillance, diminish their control, and reduce their effectiveness. We can't throw the lizards off by force of arms; that's been tried. Even the toxin that the people in L. A. put into the atmosphere was only partially effective. We've got to find some other way."
"I agree, of course," Lucia said. "I don't need to tell you that we have a project or two of our own that we're working on. I'm sure every company in the Research Triangle has some kind of angle. But if you go down snooping around, you may jeopardize not only your own safety, but that of everybody else if you get caught."
"But if we don't go," Anne said, "then we learn nothing. You've seen what kind of information we can get from phone taps. Thin. Useful, but thin. What really helps is comparing that with firsthand observation. Like comparing a satellite radar image of the ground with a field survey. Without the survey, you don't know what the radar images mean. It's got to be done."
"If you just happen to pick up one of these crivits," Lucia said, "or one of the other animals they have down there, do bring it back, will you?"
"We'll sure give it a try," Mark said.
Morton Barnes did not get his lunch and did not make his lecture. Instead, as soon as he got back to campus shortly after one o'clock, he went straight to the Geology Department and went in to see Mary Kennedy, an old friend who specialized in North Carolina land formations.
"Don't ask me why," he said after a hurried greeting, "but I need to know about particularly sandy areas around here, within, say, twenty miles or so of Chapel Hill."
"Shouldn't be too hard to find out," Mary said, getting up to go to a large map case and pulling out a drawer. "You look frightened, Morton."
"I am. Look, you don't want to know."
"Nothing to do with our Visitors, I hope," Mary said, taking several large-scale maps out and laying them down on top of the counter
"Mary, if I told you anything, you'd wish I hadn't." He came over to look over her shoulder. The maps were barely recognizable as being of Orange, Durham, Alamance, Chatham, and Churchill counties. Instead of the familiar highways and cities, each map was composed of irregular shapes of different colors and combinations of colors.
He felt her eyes on him and looked up from the multicolored surface.
"Those students," she started to say.
"Mary, be still. I'm sorry, I mean it. Look, maybe there's no danger, I don't know. But if there is, I want to get this over with as quickly as possible. Now show me, where is there a lot of sand?"
She continued to stare at him. "If you want sand," she said slowly, "you go to the beaches. And then there's the sand-hills region around Fort Bragg and Fayetteville."
"Too far. Within twenty miles, or ten more likely. Close enough for somebody to drive from there to Chapel Hill at seven in the morning without putting himself out."
At last she returned her gaze to the maps. "All right," she sighed. She scanned the first one, then flipped it aside to look at the one beneath. "Right here," she said, pointing. "Northeast corner of Churchill County, several hundred acres of alluvial sand, Carolina gravel, trapped in an ancient rocky quartz formation. Will that do?"
"Any farming possible in that area?" Morton asked. He took out an old envelope and started noting down names, highway numbers, and other landmarks.
"All of it's pretty poor," Mary said. "Look, Morton, if you have sand, you can't have a good farm."
"Doesn't have to be good. Thanks a lot, Mary. I'll tell you about it later, if I can."
Back in his office, Morton Barnes stared for a long time at the scribbled notes on the back of the envelope. Maybe, he thought, he was just being paranoid. But if Dr. Van Oort had been so careful about eavesdropping and bugs, who was he to just assume that his office, or Mary Kennedy's office, was free of surveillance? If the Visitors were spying on him, he just hoped they hadn't overheard his conversation with the geologist, or if they had that they wouldn't understand what had been said and implied.
He looked at his phone. He would have to make the call, either that or drive down to Churchill County in person.
Of course, he thought with a sinking stomach, if his office was bugged, his talk with Durk Attweiler this morning was more than sufficient to get him into trouble. The fact that the Visitors hadn't approached him about it yet was no reassurance.
At last he picked up the phone, got information, and asked for Durk Attweiler's number. The operator gave it to him, he thanked her and hung up. He dialed the number, and the phone rang and rang. Just as he was about to decide that Attweiler was out in his fields somewhere, the farmer answered.
"Mr Attweiler, this is Professor Barnes."
"Yes, sir," Attweiler said, "what can I do for you?"
"It's about that livestock," Barnes said. "I think I may have a buyer for you."
"Uh, right," Attweiler answered, and even over the phone Barnes could hear the tension in his voice. "They want to take a look at it?"
"They can't very well make you an offer until they see what you have. No need to bring it up here, though. We can come down and meet you some time this afternoon if that would be all right."
"You don't know how to get to my place. I'll be at the Five Star Bar at three."
"That would be perfect. I won't be coming down myself, but they'll know how to find you." He said a few words more and rang off.
Well, he thought, he was committed now. He felt like some kind of secret agent, talking in code like that. Probably a waste of time, might as well just come out and say what he meant.
He flipped through the Research Triangle Park section of the Chapel Hill phone book until he found Dr Van Oort's number. But caution got the better of him. Maybe his own safety was compromised, but there was no sense in letting anybody else know that Dr. Van Oort had anything to do with this business. He went back downstairs and up to Franklin Street. There were phone booths in the arcade between the North Carolina National Bank offices and Papagayo's restaurant. He called from there.
"I've found your livestock," he said without introducing himself, and gave instructions on how to meet Attweiler. Dr. Van Oort just said "thank you" when he'd finished, and hung up.
And that takes care of
that, Barnes thought as he walked hack to campus. Either he was damned, or he was off the hook, but he wouldn't have to get involved in this business any further.
Lucia Van Oort did her own spell of thinking before calling Anne Marino at Data Tronix. She wanted to convey the message clearly without giving anything away to the eavesdropper she knew would be listening in. At last she dialed the number and asked for Dr. Marino.
"Anne," she said, "Lucia here. I feel like breaking off early. Would you and Mark like to meet me at the Five Star Bar at three for a couple drinks?"
"I'm sorry," Anne said. "There's no way we can get away right now. We've got visitors." She didn't have to capitalize the last word for Lucia to get the message.
"Another time, then," Lucia said, and hung up in a cold sweat. Visitors in the offices? she wondered, or just watching the building from outside? She dialed an inside line. "Penny, could you come up here please?"
Peter Frye hadn't seen much of his friends that day. Right after breakfast the five students, along with maybe twenty other new prisoners, had been marched to a building in the adjacent compound where they'd been given a battery of intelligence and personality tests while hooked up to some kind of EEG machine. As the testing progressed, one after another was told that they were through, and led away, while those remaining went on to further questions. When they were through with the two-hour-long session, only four other prisoners besides Benny, Greta, Dave, and Edna were left. He didn't know if that was good or bad.
But he didn't have time to talk it over with the others, because they were immediately separated and taken to other buildings. Peter was put in charge of a machine which created the marvelously elastic fabric from which Visitor uniforms were made. He was convinced, because of the mindlessness of the job, that it was either just make-work, or another form of test. All he had to do was watch a bank of gauges, and whenever a needle went from the blue into the orange, he had to press a button. He hardly ever saw samples of the finished product.