TWENTY-ONE
Exactly forty-four hours later, Kleo Appleton turned on her TV set. Marge At Large, her favorite mid-afternoon program. Something cranked out by clever New Men to lull Old Men into thinking their plight was not so bad… but, when the screen lit, there was nothing on it. Only a smear of herringbone patterns, and, from the four speakers, only the rush of static.
She tried another channel. The same.
She tried all sixty-two channels. All off the air.
Provoni must be almost here, she realized.
The apartment door opened and Nick strode in, going directly to the closet.
‘Your lovely clothes,’ Kleo said. ‘Yes, don’t forget to take them. And there’s still your personal things in the bathroom; I can box them for you, if you want to wait a minute.’ She did not feel anger, only a vague anxiety. Caused by the disruption of their marriage, his fling with the Boyer child.
‘That’s very nice of you,’ Nick said solemnly.
‘You can always come back,’ Kleo said. ‘You have a key – use it any time, day or night. As long as I live I’ll have a bed for you to sleep in – not my own, but a bed of your own. So you can feel more distant from me. Distance from me is what you want, really, isn’t it? That Charlotte Boyer – or is it Boyd? – girl is only an excuse. Your main relationship is still with me, even though momentarily it’s negative. But you’ll find she can’t give you anything. All she is is a wall of makeup. Like a robot or something, painted to look like a human.’
‘Android,’ he said. ‘No, she’s not that. She’s the tail of a fox and a field of wheat. And the light of the sun.’
‘Leave some of your shoes here,’ she said, trying not to make her sound a pleading one, but… she was pleading. ‘You won’t need ten pairs of shoes. Take two or three at the most. Okay?’
I’m sorry,’ Nick said, ‘to be doing this to you. I never sowed my wild oats; I guess, as you say, I’m doing it now.’
‘You realize that Bobby will be given a new test, a fair one. Do you realize that? Answer me. Do you?’
Nick stood staring at the TV screen. All at once he dropped his load of clothes and hurried to the set.
‘On all channels it’s the same,’ Kleo said. ‘Maybe the cable is out.’ She added, ‘Or it’s Provoni.’
‘Then he can’t be more than fifty million miles out.’
Kleo said, ‘How did you find an apartment for you and – this girl? All those people from the relocation camps… haven’t they rented every apartment in the U.S.A.?’
‘We’re staying with friends of hers,’ he said.
‘Could you give me the address?’ she asked. ‘Or the fone number? In case I have to reach you about something important. For instance, if Bobby is injured in some way, you’d want to—’
‘Be quiet,’ Nick said. He crouched down before the TV set, scrutinizing the screen. The white-noise roar of static had all at once ceased. ‘That means a transmitter’s on,’ Nick said. ‘They were off, all off; Provoni negated their signals. Now he’ll try to transmit.’ He turned toward his wife, his face enflamed, his eyes wide and staring like a child. Or as if he’s gone flump, she thought with vague alarm.
‘You don’t know what this means, do you?’ Nick asked.
‘Well, I guess that—’
‘That’s why I’m leaving you. Because you don’t understand anything. What does Provoni’s return mean to you? The most important event in history! Because with him—’
‘The Thirty Years War was the most important event in history,’ Kleo said, practically. She had majored in that era of Western culture and she knew what she was talking about.
On the screen appeared a face, jutting chin, massive ridges over the eyes, and the eyes small and fierce, like holes punched through the fabric of reality, of the envelope surrounding them, holding back utter darkness. ‘I am Thors Provoni,’ he said, and the reception was good; his voice came in even more accurately than the video image. ‘I am living inside a sentient organism that—’
Kleo burst into laughter.
“Shut up!’ Nick snarled.
‘“Hello world,”’ Kleo mimicked. ‘“I am alive and living inside a giant worm.” Oh, God, it strikes me up; it really—’
He slapped her, throwing her backward with the force of his blow. And then returned to the TV screen.
‘—in approximately thirty-two hours,’ Provoni was saying, in a hoarse, measured voice… he looked exhausted in a way that Nick had never seen in a human before. He spoke with massive efforts, as if each word spoken cost him a little more of his remaining vital energy. ‘—our missile screen has repelled over seventy types of missiles. But the body of my friend surrounds the ship, and he—’ Provoni took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘He handles them.’
To Kleo, who had sat up, rubbing her cheek dazedly, Nick said. ‘Thirty-two hours. Is that the time he lands? Is he that close? Did you hear?’ His voice rose almost to hysteria.
Tears filled her eyes; she turned away without answering and disappeared into the bathroom. To lock herself in until she was finished crying.
Cursing he ran after her; he pounded on the locked bathroom door. ‘God damn it, our lives depend on what Provoni does. And you won’t listen!’
‘You hit me.’
‘Christ,’ he said, futilely. And hurried back to the TV set. But the visual image was gone and the white-noise roar of static had resumed, too. And now, by degrees, the regular transmission of the network was fading back in.
The screen showed Sir Herbert London, the major news analyst for NBC. ‘We have been off the air,’ London said, in his calming, half-ironic, half-boyish way, ‘about two hours. So have all other video transmitters in the world; that is to say, we have been without any form of visual transmissions, even on closed, private circuits, such as the police use. Just now you heard Thors Provoni – or someone claiming to be him – inform the world that in thirty-two hours his ship, the Gray Dinosaur, will land in the middle of Times Square.’ Turning to his news partner, Dave Christian, he said, ‘Didn’t Thors Provoni, if that’s who he is, look terribly, terribly tired. As I listened to him speak and watched his face – the video signal was not as strong as the audio, but that would be natural – I got the distinct impression that here’s a man who has worn himself out, who has been defeated and knows it. I can’t see how he’s going to be able to do much of anything politicalwise for a while, not for a long, long period of rest.’
‘You’re right, Herb,’ Dave Christian said, ‘but it may be the alien with him who will conduct business… if that’s the right term. Anyhow, do what they’re here to do.’
‘Thors Provoni,’ Sir Herbert said, ‘in case you don’t know or have just forgotten, set out ten years ago in a commercial craft modified with a supra-C engine… he modified it himself, so we really don’t know what velocities he’s capable of. Anyhow, here he is, back, and apparently with the alien or aliens he vowed to bring, his “help” for the billions of Old Men, whom, he thinks, are being treated unfairly.’
‘Yes, Herb,’ Dave said, ‘his feeling was quite intense; he maintained the idea that the Civil Service tests were rigged… although a blue ribbon inquiry failed to run anything up concrete. So I think we can say they, of course, are not. But what we do not know – and this is perhaps the most vital question – is whether Provoni will try to negotiate with the Extraordinary Committee for Public Safety and Council Chairman Gram – in other words, will they sit down, assuming (chuckle) this alien can sit, and talk about it. Or are we simply going to be attacked thirty-two hours from now. Provoni has let us in on the fact that our government has sent a fairly large number of missiles into space, in his direction, but—’
‘Herb,’ Dave interrupted, ‘if I may. Provoni’s claim that he and his alien ally destroyed a large and varied number of interplan missiles may be untrue. The government may deny it. Provoni’s “success” at destroying the alleged missile-strikes may be merely propaganda, trying to implant in
our minds the idea that they have technological powers greater than our own.’
‘His ability to block video transmission throughout Earth,’ Herb said, ‘shows a certain amount of power; it must have been a terrific drain, and this might be part of the reason for Provoni’s obvious, blatant fatigue.’ The newscaster shuffled with papers. ‘Meanwhile, all over the Earth, gatherings are planned for the moment Provoni – and friends – land. There had been plans for gatherings in each city, but now that Provoni has said he will land in Times Square, it will be there that we can expect to find the greatest mob… some there out of Under Man convictions and faith in Provoni, or mere curiosity. Probably, in most cases, the latter.’
Nick said, ‘Notice the little twists they give the news. “Mere curiosity.” Doesn’t the government realize that, just by returning, he has already created a revolution? The camps are empty; the tests are no longer rigged—’ He broke off as a thought came to him. ‘Maybe Gram will capitulate,’ he said slowly. That was one thing he had not – nor had anyone else he knew – thought of. Immediate, total capitulation. The reins of government turned over to Provoni and the aliens.
But that wasn’t Willis Gram’s way. He was a fighter who had made his way to the top, literally, over a pile of bodies. Willis Gram is planning what to do right now, he realized. The total military capability will be compressed to take aim on this one ship, a ten-year-old junk heap… or maybe it wasn’t anymore. Maybe it shone like a god at day. A god visible in the shimmering sun.
‘I’m going to stay locked in the bathroom until you’re gone,’ Kleo said sniffily from behind the locked door.
‘Okay,’ he said. Lugging his armload of clothes, he headed for the elevator.
‘I am Amos Ild,’ the tall man with his huge white hairless head, his hydrocephalic-like head, supported by thin tubes of very strong plastic, said.
They shook hands. Ild’s paw was damp and cold, like his eyes, Gram thought. And then he thought, He never blinks. My God, he’s had his eyelids removed. He probably takes pills and works around the clock, twenty-four hours a day. No wonder Great Ear was progressing so well.
‘Sit down, Mr. Ild,’ Council Chairman Gram said. ‘It is very nice of you to come here, considering the immense value of your work.’
‘The officials who brought me here,’ Amos Ild said in a high-pitched squeaky voice, ‘tell me that Thors Provoni has returned and will land within less than forty-eight hours. Surely this is a far more important matter than Great Ear. Tell me – or give me the documents – that contain all that’s known about the aliens Provoni has reached.’
Gram said, ‘Then you believe it is Provoni? And he really has an alien or a bunch of aliens with him?’
Statistically,’ Amos Ild said, ‘by the third order of neutrologics, the analysis would have to deduce itself to that summation. It probably is Provoni; he probably has one or more aliens with him. They say he blacked out all video transmissions and then transmitted both video and audio bits from his ship. What else?’
‘Missiles,’ Gram said, ‘which reach his ship, do not detonate.’
‘Even if they’re not set on contact-detonation but proximity-detonation?’
‘Right.’
‘And he remained in hyperspace more than fifteen minutes?’
‘Yes,’ Gram said.
‘Then you should infer that he has an alien with him.’
‘On the TV program he said it was “wrapped around his ship”, you know – sort of sheltering it.’
‘Like a mother hen sheltering her eggs,’ Amos Ild said.
‘We may all be that, soon. Unhatched eggs sat on by a cosmic chicken.’
Gram said, ‘Everyone said I should get your opinion as to what to do.’
‘To destroy it; concentrate all your—’
‘We can’t destroy it. What I want from you is the answer as to how we should react when Provoni lands and emerges from it. Should we make one last try, with him outside the ship? Where the alien can’t help him? Or if we got him upstairs here, to my office, got him alone… it couldn’t follow.’
‘Why not?’
‘If it wrapped up his ship, it must weigh tons. The elevator couldn’t take it.’
‘Couldn’t it be a thin sort of shroud? Like a veil?’ Ild leaned toward him. ‘Have you calculated the weight, the mass, of his ship?’
‘Sure. Here.’ Gram riffled through a bunch of reports, found one, handed it to Ild.
‘One-eight-three million tons,’ Ild read. ‘No, it’s not a “thin sort of shroud.” It has enormous mass. I understand it’s landing in Times Square. You’ll have to have riot squads clear the area in advance; that’s obvious and mandatory.’
‘So what if he doesn’t have room to land on, except on the heads of his supporters?’ Gram asked irritably. ‘They know he’s coming; they know he’s going to plop down, retrorocketwise. If they’re too damn dumb to—’
Amos Ild said, ‘If you are going to consult with me, you must do precisely what I tell you. You will consult no other advisors, form no other opinions. In effect, I will become and act as the government until the crisis is over, but, of course, every decree will carry your signature. I particularly do not want you consulting Police Director Barnes. And secondly, you should not consult the Extraordinary Committee for Public Safety. I will stay with you twenty-four hours a day until this is over; I see you notice my missing eyelids. Yes, I take zaramide sulphate. I never sleep – I can’t afford to. There’s too much to be done. You will also stop consulting with whatever odd individual happens along, as you customarily do. I am the only one who will advise you, and if this is not satisfactory, I will return to Great Ear.’
‘Jesus,’ Gram said, aloud. He tuned himself into the brain of Amos Ild, searching for additional data. The interior thoughts were identical to the expression in words; clearly, Ild’s mind did not work like other people’s, who said one thing and thought another.
And then an idea came to him from his own mind, something Ild had missed. Ild would be his advisor. But Ild had not stipulated that he had to take the advice; he was under no obligation to do more than merely hear it.
‘I have taped what you just now said,’ he told Ild. ‘What we both said. Oral swearing is legal swearing, as ruled in Cobb versus Blaine. I swear to do as you say. And you swear to give me your undivided attention; during this crisis you have no employer but me. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ Ild said. ‘Now give me all the information you have dealing with Provoni. Biographical material, papers he did in graduate school, news reports; I want all news dispatched to me here in this building the moment it’s picked up by the media. They will pipe it to me and I will decide whether it should be publicly broadcast or otherwise released.’
‘But you can’t stop it from being released,’ Gram said. ‘Because he takes over the channels; he—’
‘I know that. I mean all news additional to the direct speeches made by Provoni over TV.’ Ild pondered. ‘Please have your technicians rerun Provoni’s telecast. I want to see it myself, immediately.’
Presently, on the far screen of the room, light appeared, the roar of static… and then the static cut out, and, after a moment, Provoni’s massive, weary face appeared on the screen.
‘I am Thors Provoni,’ he declared. ‘I am living inside a sentient organism that has not absorbed me but is protecting me, as it will you, soon. In approximately thirty-two hours his protection will manifest itself throughout Earth and there will be no more physical warfare. So far, our missile screen has repelled over seventy types of missiles. But the body of my friend surrounds the ship, and he’ – a weary pause – ‘he handles them.’
‘That’s sure true,’ Gram said aloud.
‘Do not fear physical confrontation,’ Provoni said. ‘We will hurt no one, and no one can hurt us. I will talk to you’ – he panted with fatigue; his eyes stared fixedly, rigidly – ‘at a later time.’ The video image shut off.
Amos Ild scratched his r
ather long nose and said, ‘The prolonged space voyage has nearly killed him. Probably the alien is keeping him alive; without it he would die. Perhaps he expects Cordon to make speeches. Do you know if he is aware that Cordon is dead?’
‘He may have monitored a newscast,’ Gram admitted.
‘The killing of Cordon was good,’ Ild said. ‘Also the opening of the camps and the general amnesty – that was good too; it made the Old Men misjudge the quid pro quo: they thought they gained, but Cordon’s death far outweighs the factor of the opening of the camps.’
‘Do you think,’ Gram said, ‘that the alien is one of those things that lands like a spider on the back of your neck, bores a hole to the upper ganglia of your nervous system, and then controls you like you’re a puppet? There was some very famous old book, back around 1950, where these creatures caused people to—’
‘Was it done on an individual basis?’
‘“Individual”? Oh, I see, one parasite for each host. Yes, it was one for each person.’
‘Evidently what they do will be done on a bulk basis.’ Ild pondered. ‘Like erasing tape. The whole reel at once, without passing the tape across the erase head.’ He seated himself, stabilizing his gigantic head with his hands as he did so. ‘I am,’ he said slowly, ‘going to assume it’s a bluff.’
‘By that you mean there’s no alien? He didn’t find them, he didn’t bring one back?’
‘He brought something back,’ Ild said. ‘But so far everything we’ve seen could have been done on a technological basis. Repelling the missiles, blanking out the TV – gadgets that he picked up on some world in another star system. They rebuilt his hull so that he could travel in hyperspace… maybe forever, if he wants. But I’m going to choose the choice neutrologics dictates. We have seen no alien; ergo until we see it, we must assume that probably it does not exist. Probably, I say. But I have to choose now, in order to arrange our defenses.’
Gram said, ‘But Provoni said there’d be no warfare.’
‘None by him. Only by us. Which there will be. Let’s see – the largest laser system on the East Coast is in Baltimore. Can you have it moved to New York, set up in Times Square, before the thirty-two hours elapse?’
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