Slowly the plan was forming itself in his mind and he knew that it was either wisdom — or the most foul stupidity. And he knew that somehow he would carry it through.
Then he went back to the port and into the tunnel and shut himself in the small craft. The large port behind him opened and the imprisoned air gouted out. The craft moved backward, scraping at first and then lifting free of the tunnel floor as it crossed into the ungravitated area.
He emerged on manual controls, turned slowly and set the control table for the proper oscillation, cutting into his own headquarters frequently with a rough disregard for his own comfort. Acceleration stood with leaden feet on his chest and thumbed back his eyes and plunged a gnarled fist into his belly. And then it eased off.
On the tenth minute of his trip a space-worn freighter blundered up out of the atmosphere of Strada, too common a ship to warrant more than a glance from the guard crew who had already plotted their Chief’s course and time of arrival.
On the seventy-third minute of his trip the Chief stopped daydreaming and gasped as the collision screen showed him that some blind fool of a freighter pilot was staggering into an interception course.
As his hand flicked out to make the shift from automatic to manual he felt the motor nerves deaden. His hand touched the edge of the control table, lay there. The utmost power of his will could not move it. He sat forward in the seat, able to change the focus but not the direction of his eyes. Fear was suddenly gone in his savage appreciation of the wryness of the jest.
Chapter VII
Bluff
The woman came to the door of the room and stared at Martha. “Get up.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
Martha saw the slight narrowing of the woman’s eyes and she immediately concentrated on making as clear as possible her mental image of the wall. She was barely in time. She felt the thrust press against the wall, fade away.
“He was a fool to teach you that,” the woman said.
“What are you going to do to me?”
“You are not going to be harmed, Martha. After breakfast we will all drive into Harlingen. We want you to be seen with us. And then we’re coming back here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What good will it do for you to believe or disbelieve? Get up. Stop being a child.”
Martha slowly got out of bed. The woman stood and watched her.
“Only the sickest ones among us are as weak as you Earthpeople. I could break your back with my hands.”
“That must make you very proud and happy.”
“I am proud and happy to be what I am.”
Martha pulled her dress down over her head, closed the zipper at the waist. She turned and smiled at the woman. “What are you really? When you aren’t going around looking like what you aren’t? Some horrid thing with eight legs and leathery wings?”
“At least you have imagination of a sort.”
“Oh, thank you,” Martha said bitterly.
“Use it while you can, my dear,” the woman said softly.
The words set a cold knot of fear growing in Martha’s heart. “What — do — you — mean?”
“Please hurry. You are to prepare food for the three of us.”
“Where’s Quinn?”
“We told you Quinn’s dead.”
“You know who I mean. The other one.”
“His name is Amro — was Amro. For I am quite sure that he is dead by now also. What is the matter? You look ill. Don’t tell me that you feel anything but hate for any of us. Haven’t you wondered what Amro might really look like?”
“Yes. But I don’t care. He isn’t like you and... and the other one out there. He’s more like us. He’s harder and colder and crueler than we are, I know. But he’s more like us than you are.”
The woman smiled. “Please understand that I am only amusing myself by talking to you. You could no more affect me by your good or bad opinion than you could be similarly affected by a stray kitten on the street. Our race is so far superior to yours in every way that I have the utmost difficulty in trying to consider you a rational creature. Fasten your ridiculous clothing and go to the kitchen.”
“Did you ever wonder if it was possibly that you might be the inferior race? Creatures from a sort of second-rate civilization?”
“Is that the sort of thing you told Amro?”
“It might be.”
“Then poor Amro must have been very unstable when he was sent on this operation.” The woman reached out quickly and took Martha’s wrist. She smiled and slowly increased the pressure until Martha felt the thin grating of the bones. She cried out, despising her own weakness.
“Now be obedient,” the woman said.
Though unable to move he was completely conscious as his small craft was drawn into the belly of the freighter. He saw a glistening flash from the corner of his eye and guessed that it was the substitute being sent out in the identical type of craft. Even trapped as he was he was forced to admire the timing and cleverness of the operation.
They had de-accelerated him so recklessly that it had broken the webbing and thrown him against the table. He could feel the runlet of blood on his cheek.
Endless helpless minutes passed and then he was moved, still inside his craft, into another hull. Then he was in darkness. Through the hull of his own tiny ship he heard the rising whine of the ship enclosing him and he knew that it was fast — very fast.
And, helpless in the darkness, he began to plan once more — this time with even greater care.
Somehow they had got on a first name basis during the long vigil. The taller one was named Henry and his co-worker was Will. They called him Jake when their questions were casual, Ingram when they were of a more serious nature.
Both Jake and Henry held glasses on the house. The position of the sun put a harsh glare on the water which reflected back at them.
“There they are!” Jake said in a husky whisper, forgetting that the sound of the waves would keep them from hearing anything short of a shout.
They had appeared at the north end of the house, walking diagonally over toward the two cars. The taller woman with black hair wore a pale blue bare-midriff dress. Martha Kaynan wore a yellow print dress and sandals. The man wore slacks and a sport shirt.
They were walking slowly and the tall woman appeared to be talking to the man. Jake silently cursed, knowing how ordinary they must look to his two new friends.
“The big man isn’t there any more,” Jake said. “I got a hunch he isn’t inside either.”
“Watch this!” Henry said. The smaller woman had lagged behind. Suddenly she turned and began to sprint down the beach.
“She doesn’t go so fast,” Will said.
“I told you she isn’t one of the funny-acting ones.”
The other two made no attempt at pursuit. They turned and calmly watched Martha. The girl stumbled and fell headlong. She got up slowly and turned and walked back toward the other two.
“Look how she’s walking,” Henry said.
“Just find me an answer,” Jake said, “to why she runs up the beach like she was scared out of her wits and then walks back.”
“Maybe she’s a little off upstairs,” Henry suggested.
“I talked to her. I don’t think so.”
“She came back of her own free will,” Henry said. “I don’t see how we have anything to go on, Ingram.”
“I wish he’d pull something fancy so you could see him,” Jake mumbled.
It happened as though in answer to Jake’s request. The convertible was parked on the other side of the sedan. The two women walked around the back of the sedan. The man took two quick running steps and vaulted the sedan, not making a close thing of it but arcing up and over and down with ample room to spare.