The next day Fitzgerald looked for Kerry at lunch, but the younger man did not appear. He telephoned the house, and Martha answered the call.
“Hello! When did you get back?”
“Hello, Fitz. About an hour ago. My sister went ahead and had her baby without me-so I came back.” She stopped, and Fitzgerald was alarmed at her tone.
“Where’s Kerry?”
“He’s here. Can you come over, Fitz? I’m worried.”
“What’s the matter with him?”
“I-I don’t know. Come right away.”
“O.K.,” Fitzgerald said, and hung up, biting his lips. He was worried. When, a short while later, he rang the Westerfield bell, he discovered that his nerves were badly out of control. But sight of Martha reassured him.
He followed her into the living room. Fitzgerald’s glance went at once to the console, which was unchanged, and then to Kerry, seated motionless by a window. Kerry’s face had a blank, dazed look.
His pupils were dilated, and he seemed to recognize Fitzgerald only slowly.
“Hello, Fitz,” he said.
“How do you feel?”
Martha broke in. “Fit; what’s wrong? Is he sick? Shall I call the doctor?”
Fitzgerald sat down. “Have you noticed anything funny about that radio?”
“No. Why?”
“Then listen.” He told the whole story, watching incredulity struggle with reluctant belief on Martha’s face. Presently she said, “I can’t quite—”
“If Kerry takes out a cigarette, the thing will light it for him. Want to see how it works?”
“N-no. Yes. I suppose so.” Martha’s eyes were wide.
Fitzgerald gave Kerry a cigarette. The expected happened.
Martha didn’t say a word. When the console had returned to its place, she shivered and went over to Kerry. He looked at her vaguely.
“He needs a doctor, Fitz.”
“Yes.” Fitzgerald didn’t mention that a doctor might be quite useless.
“What is that thing?”
“It’s more than a robot. And it’s been readjusting Kerry. I told you what’s happened. When I checked Kerry’s psychology patterns, I found that they’d altered. He’s lost most of his initiative.”
“Nobody on earth could have made that—”
Fitzgerald scowled. “I thought of that. It seems to be the product of a well-developed culture, quite different from ours. Martian, perhaps. It’s such a specialized thing that it naturally fits into a complicated culture. But I do not understand why it looks exactly like a Mideastern console radio.”
Martha touched Kerry’s hand. “Camouflage?”
“But why? You were one of my best pupils in psych, Martha. Look at this logically. Imagine a civilization where a gadget like that has its place. Use inductive reasoning.”
“I’m trying to. I can’t think very well. Fitz, I’m worried about Kerry.”
“I’m all right,” Kerry said.
Fitzgerald put his finger tips together. “It isn’t a radio so much as a monitor. In this other civilization, perhaps every man has one, or maybe only a few-the ones who need it. It keeps them in line.”
“By destroying initiative?”
Fitzgerald made a helpless gesture. “I don’t know! It worked that way in Kerry’s case. In others-I don’t know.”
Martha stood up. “I don’t think we should talk any more. Kerry needs a doctor. After that we can decide upon that.” She pointed to the console.
Fitzgerald said, “It’d be rather a shame to wreck it, but—” His look was significant.
The console moved. It came out from its corner with a sidling, rocking gait and walked toward Fitzgerald. As he sprang up, the whiplike tentacles flashed out and seized him. A pale ray shone into the man’s eyes.
Almost instantly it vanished; the tentacles withdrew, and the radio returned to its place. Fitzgerald stood motionless. Martha was on her feet, one hand at her mouth.
“Fitz!” Her voice shook.
He hesitated. “Yes? What’s the matter?”
“Are you hurt? What did it do to you?”
Fitzgerald frowned a little. “Eh? Hurt? I don’t—”
“The radio. What did it do?”
He looked toward the console. “Something wrong with it? Afraid I’m not much of a repairman, Martha.”
“Fitz.” She came forward and gripped his arm. “Listen to me.” Quick words spilled from her mouth.
The radio. Kerry. Their discussion.
Fitzgerald looked at her blankly, as though he didn’t quite understand. “I guess I’m stupid today. I can’t quite understand what you’re talking about.”
“The radio-you know! You said it changed Kerry—” Martha paused, staring at the man.
Fitzgerald was definitely puzzled. Martha was acting strangely. Queer! He’d always considered her a pretty level-headed girl. But now she was talking nonsense. At least, he couldn’t figure out the meaning of her words; there was no sense to them.
And why was she talking about the radio? Wasn’t it satisfactory? Kerry had said it was a good buy, with a fine tone and the latest gadgets in it. Fitzgerald wondered, for a fleeting second, if Martha had gone crazy.
In any case, he was late for his class. He said so. Martha didn’t try to stop him when he went out.
She was pale as chalk.
Kerry took out a cigarette. The radio walked over and held a match.
“Kerry!”
“Yes, Martha?” His voice was dead.
She stared at the-the radio. Mars? Another world-another civilization? What was it? What did it want? What was it trying to do?
Martha let herself out of the house and went to the garage. When she returned, a small hatchet was gripped tightly in her hand.
Kerry watched. He saw Martha walk over to the radio and lift the hatchet. Then a beam of light shot out, and Martha vanished. A little dust floated up in the afternoon sunlight.
“Destruction of life-form threatening attack,” the radio said, slurring the words together.
Kerry’s brain turned over. He felt sick-dazed and horribly empty. Martha-His mind churned. Instinct and emotion fought with something that smothered them. Abruptly the dams crumbled, and the blocks were gone, the barriers down. Kerry cried out hoarsely, inarticulately, and sprang to his feet.
“Martha!” he yelled.
She was gone. Kerry looked around. Where-What had happened? He couldn’t remember.
He sat down in the chair again, rubbing his forehead. His free hand brought up a cigarette, an automatic reaction that brought instant response. The radio walked forward and held a lighted match ready.
Kerry made a choking, sick sound and flung himself out of the chair. He remembered now. He picked up the hatchet and sprang toward the console, teeth bared in a mirthless rictus.
Again the light beam flashed out.
Kerry vanished. The hatchet thudded on to the carpet.
The radio walked back to its place and stood motionless once more. A faint clicking proceeded from its radioatomic brain.
“Subject basically unsuitable,” it said, after a moment. “Elimination has been necessary.” Click!
“Preparation for next subject completed.”
Click.
“We’ll take it,” the boy said.
“You won’t be making a mistake,” smiled the rental agent. “It’s quiet, isolated and the price is quite reasonable.”
“Not so very,” the girl put in. “But it is just what we’ve been looking for.”
The agent shrugged. “Of course, an Unfurnished place would run less. But—”
“We haven’t been married long enough to have any furniture,” the boy grinned. He put an arm around his wife. “Like it, hon?”
“Hm-m-m. Who lived here before?”
The agent scratched his cheek. “Let’s see. Some people named Westerfield, I think. It was given to me for listing just about a week ago. Nice place. If I didn’t own my own house, I’d jump at it myself.”