No. Beyond belief.
But how else to explain what had happened to his men ? Schizophrenia wasn’t contagious, was it? It was hard to swallow the fact that three men had gone out to the aliens and three men had returned… changed. That was the only word for it. And changed retroactively. Crosley even denied the validity of the tape he had made.
By morning, Wharton knew what his only choice was. He was no longer concerned primarily with protecting Terra’s sovereignty. That was important, but not as important as finding out just what kind of hocus-pocus the Halivanu had pulled on his men. And the only way to find out was to go to the aliens himself.
But, of course, certain necessary precautions ought to be taken—just in case.
When morning came he sent for Captain Lowell, one of the senior officers—the senior officer, with both Breckenridge and Crosley on the unreliable list. “Lowell, I’m going to make a trip to the Halivanu ship myself. You’re in charge of the base till I get back. And—listen carefully—I’m going to give the Halivanu four hours to get off this planet. At the end of four hours’ time I want you to blast them with the heavy-cycle guns, even if I order you not to do it. Got that? Go against my direct order, if you have to.”
Lowell looked utterly befuddled. “Sir, I don’t understand—”
“Don’t try to understand. Just listen. I’ve made a tape of this conversation. Keep it safe and play it for me when I get back.”
Leaving behind a sorely confused Lowell, Wharton made his way out to the jetsled. Smithson, who had piloted Breckenridge, was again at the controls.
They traveled in silence, the jets boosting the sled quickly and smoothly over the flat plains. The sun rose higher as they traveled. Wharton found himself yearning for the comfort of Deepsleep. But that would have to wait a few more hours, he thought The matter would be settled, one way or another, in a few hours. If only Lowell would have the guts to disobey him, in case he came back changed. Wharton smiled. He was confident he’d return in full command of his senses.
It was midmorning when the sled reached the plateau where the Halivanu had established camp. Wharton saw tents surrounding the sleek alien-looking spaceship, and half a dozen Halivanu were busily setting up instrumentation. They were tall, thin beings with coarse-grained, glossy gray-green skin. As the sled pulled up, one of them detached himself from the group and came toward Wharton.
“You Earthmen must enjoy paying us visits,” the alien said in the Fawdese dialect. “By my count, you’re the third.”
“And the last,” Wharton said. Despite himself, he felt an uneasy chill. The Halivanu had a strange, sickly-sweet odor and was nearly seven feet tall.
“What is your message?” the Halivanu asked, and in the same instant Wharton felt something like a feather brushing the back of his skull.
“I… what are you doing?” He put his hand to the back of his head—but the feather still tickled him—
And then his panic died away.
“Well?” the alien demanded.
Wharton smiled. “I’m the Terran commander. I’ve come to … to tell you that it’s all right… that you can stay here until you’re through.”
“Thank you,” said the Halivanu gravely. He smiled, revealing black gums, and Wharton returned the smile. “Is that all?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s all,” Wharton said. He looked at Smithson. “We didn’t have anything else to say, did we, Smithson?”
Smithson shrugged. “I don’t think so, sir.”
“Good. We might as well go back, then.”
Lowell greeted him as the jetsled rumbled into the center of the compound. “Did all go well, sir?”
“Fine,” Wharton said.
“The Halivanu are leaving, then?”
“Leaving?” Wharton frowned. “Why should they be leaving? They’ve only begun their work.”
“But… Colonel—”
“Yes, what is it?” Wharton snapped testily.
“You left an order—you said that at the end of four hours we should open fire on the Halivanu if they were still here,”
Wharton frowned and started to walk on. “Must have been a mistake, Lowell. Order countermanded.”
Lowell ducked around and put himself in front of the colonel. “I’m sorry, sir. You told me to proceed on schedule even against your direct order.”
“Nonsense!”
“There’s a tape recording in your office—”
“I don’t care. The Halivanu have permission to stay here. Let’s have no talk of going against my direct orders, shall we?”
Mottled blotches appeared on Lowell’s jowly face. “Colonel, I know this sounds strange, but you yourself insisted—”
“And I myself countermand the order! Do I have to make it any clearer, captain ? Please get out of my way. I say ‘please’ because you’re an officer, but—”
Lowell stood his ground. Sweat rolled down his forehead. “The tape—”
“Will you give ground, Lowell?”
“No, sir. You definitely specified that I should not listen to any subsequent order countermanding your original one. And therefore—”
“Any commanding officer who gives a nonretractable order has to be out of his head,” Wharton snapped. He signaled to two of the men nearby. “Place Captain Lowell in restrictive custody. I may be easy-going, but I won’t tolerate insubordination.”
Lowell, still protesting, was borne away. Wharton went on into his office. A tape was in the recorder. With a thoughtful frown he nudged the playback knob and listened.
“…I’m going to give the Halivanu four hours to get off this planet. At the end of four hours’ time I want you to blast them with the heavy-cycle guns, even if I order you not to do it. Got that? Go against my direct order…”
Wharton’s shaggy eyebrows lifted questioningly. Beyond a doubt it was his own voice. But why should he have said such a thing? The Halivanu had every right to be here. Why, right here on his desk was the authorization from Terra, allowing them to stop here for a while and make solar observations. The paper was right here—he fumbled through a pile of documents without coming across it. He shrugged. It had probably been misfiled. But he knew it was here, somewhere. He had seen it with his own eyes, after all.
What about the tape, then? Colonel Wharton shook his head and decided he must be getting old, to have ever given Lowell weird orders like that. Somewhere deep in his mind a silent voice was lifted in inner protest, but the complaint, wordless, never reached conscious levels. Yawning wearily, Wharton flipped the erase knob on the tape recorder, waited until the message was completely obliterated, and ambled over to the infirmary for his ninety minutes of Deepsleep.