The talk about the blue men amused him deeply. They existed in Norstrilian folklore, as a race of faraway magicians who, through science or hypnotism, could render themselves invisible to other men whenever they wished. Rod had never talked with an Old North Australian security officer about the problem of guarding the stroon treasure from attacks by invisible men, but he gathered, from the way people told stories of blue men, that they had either failed to show up in Norstrilia or that the Norstrilian authorities did not take them very seriously. He was amazed that the Earth people did not bring in a couple of first-class telepaths and have them sweep the deck of the tower for every living thing, but to judge by the chatter of voices that was going on, and the peering with eyes which occurred, Earth people had fairly weak senses and did not get things done promptly and efficiently.
The question about Eleanor was answered for him.
One of the soldiers joined the group, waited after saluting, and was finally allowed to interrupt C’mell’s and A’gentur’s endless guessing as to how many blue men there might have been on the tower, if there had been any at all.
The subchief nodded at the soldier, who said,
“Beg to report, Sir and Subchief, the body is not a body. It is just a robot which looks like a person.”
The day brightened immeasurably within Rod’s heart. Eleanor was safe, somewhere further down in this immense tower.
The comment seemed to decide the young officer. “Get a sweeping machine and a looking dog,” he commanded the sergeant, “and see to it that this whole area is swept and looked down to the last square millimeter.”
“It is done,” said the soldier.
Rod thought this an odd remark, because nothing at all had been done yet.
The subchief issued another command: “Turn on the kill-spotters before we go down the ramp. Any identity which is not perfectly clear must be killed automatically by the scanning device. Including us,” he added to his men. “We don’t want any blue men walking right down into the tower among us.”
C’mell suddenly and rather boldly stepped up to the officer and whispered in his ear. His eyes rolled as he listened, he blushed a little, and then changed his orders: “Cancel the kill-spotters. I want this whole squad to stand body-to-body. I’m sorry, men, but you’re going to have to touch these underpeople for several minutes. I want them to stand so close to us that we can be sure there is nobody extra sneaking into our group.”
(C’mell later told Rod that she had confessed to the young officer that she might be a mixed type, part human and part animal, and that she was the special girlygirl of two off-Earth magnates of the Instrumentality. She said she thought that she had a definite identity but was not sure, and that the kill-spotters might destroy her if she did not yield a correct image as she went past them. They would, she told Rod later, have caught any underman passing as a man, or any man passing as an underman, and would have killed the victim by intensifying the magnetic layout of his own organic body. These machines were dangerous things to pass, since they occasionally killed normal, legitimate people and underpeople who merely failed to provide a clear focus.)
The officer took the left forward corner of the living rectangle of people and underpeople. They formed tight ranks. Rod felt the two soldiers next to him shudder as they came into contact with his “cat” body. They kept their faces averted from him as though he smelled bad for them. Rod said nothing; he just looked forward and kept his expression pleasantly stupid.
What followed next was surprising. The men walked in a strange way, all of them moving their left legs in unison, and then their right legs. A’gentur could not possibly do this, so with a nod of the sergeant’s approval, C’mell picked him up and carried him close to her bosom. Suddenly, weapons flared.
These, thought Rod, must be cousins of the weapons which the Lord Redlady carried a few weeks ago, when he landed his ship on my property. (He remembered Hopper, his knife quivering like the head of a snake, threatening the life of the Lord Redlady; and he remembered the sudden silent burst, the black oily smoke, and the gloomy Bill looking at the chair where his pal had existed a moment before.)
These weapons showed a little light, just a little, but their force was betrayed by the buzzing of the floor and the agitation of the dust.
“Close in, men! Right up to your own feet! Don’t let a blue man through!” shouted the subchief. The men complied.
The air began to smell funny and burned.
The ramp was clear of life except for their own. When the ramp swung around a corner, Rod gasped.
This was the most enormous room he had ever seen. It covered the entire top of Earthport. He could not even begin to guess how many hectares it was, but a small farm could have been accommodated on it. There were few people there. The men broke ranks at a command of the subchief. The officer glared at the cat-man Rod, the cat-girl C’mell and the ape A’gentur:
“You stand right where you are till I come back!” They stood, saying nothing. C’mell and A’gentur took the place for granted. Rod started as though he would drink up the world with his eyes. In this one enormous room, there was more antiquity and wealth than all Old North Australia possessed. Curtains of an incredibly rich material shimmered down from the thirty-meter ceiling; some of them seemed to be dirty and in bad repair, but any one of them, after paying the twenty million percent import duty, would cost more than any Old North Australian could afford to pay. There were chairs and tables here and there, some of them good enough to deserve a place in the Musuem of Man on New Mars. Here they were merely used. The people did not seem any the happier for having all this wealth around them. For the first time, Rod got a glimpse of what the spartan self-imposed poverty had done to make life worthwhile at home. His people did not have much, when they could have chartered endless argosies of treasure, inbound from all worlds to their own planet, in exchange for the life-prolonging stroon. But if they had been heaped with treasure they would have appreciated nothing and would have ended up possessing nothing. He thought of his own little collection of hidden antiquities. Here on Earth it would not have filled a dustbin, but in the Station of Doom it would afford .him connoisseurship as long as he lived.
The thought of his home made him wonder what Old Hot and Simple, the Hon. Sec., might be doing with his adversary on Earth. “It’s a long, long way to reach here!” he thought to himself.
C’mell drew his attention by plucking at his arm. “Hold me,” commanded she, “because I am afraid I might fall down and E’ikasus is not strong enough to hold me.”