"I'll put you another question with no answer," I said. "If one space ship lands in Iowa yesterday, how many will land in North Dakota tomorrow? Or in Brazil?"
"Yes, there's that." He looked still more troubled. "I'll answer it by telling you how long is your piece of rope."
"Huh?"
"Long enough to choke you to death. You kids go wash up and enjoy yourselves; you may not have another chance. Don't leave the offices."
I went back to Cosmetics, got my own skin color back and in general resumed my normal appearance, had a soak and a massage, and then went to the staff lounge in search of a drink and some company. I looked around, not knowing whether I was looking for a blonde, brunette, or redhead, but feeling fairly sure that I could spot the right chassis.
It was a redhead. Mary was in a booth, sucking on a drink and looking much as she had looked when she was introduced to me as my sister. "Hi, Sis," I said, sliding in beside her.
She smiled and answered, "Hello, Bud. Drag up a rock," while moving to make room for me.
I dialed for bourbon and water which I needed for medicinal purposes and then said, "Is this your real appearance?"
She shook her head. "Not at all. Zebra stripes and two heads. What's yours?"
"My mother smothered me with a pillow the first time she saw me, so I never got a chance to find out."
She again looked me over with that side-of-beef scrutiny, then said, "I can understand her actions, but I am probably more hardened than she was. You'll do, Bud."
"Thanks." I went on, "Let's drop this 'Bud-and-Sis' routine; I find it gives me inhibitions."
"Hmm . . . I think you need inhibitions."
"Me? Not at all. Never any violence with me; I'm more the 'Barkis-is-willing' type." I might have added that, if I laid a hand on her and she happened not to like it. I'd bet that I would draw back a bloody stump. The Old Man's kids are never sissies.
She smiled. "So? Well, note it down that Miss Barkis is not willing, at least not this evening." She put down her glass. "Drink up and let's reorder."
We did so and continued to sit there, feeling warm and good, and, for the moment, not worried. There aren't many hours like that, especially in our profession; it makes one savor them.
One of the nicest things about Mary was that she did not turn on the sex, except for professional purposes. I think she knew-I'm sure she knew-what a load of it she possessed. But she was too much of a gentleman to use it socially. She kept it turned down low, just enough to keep us both warm and comfortable.
While we sat there, not saying much, I got to thinking how well she would look on the other side of a fireplace. My job being what it was, I had never thought seriously about getting married-and after all, a babe is just a babe; why get excited? But Mary was an agent herself; talking to her would not be like shouting off Echo Mountain. I realized that I had been lonely for one hell of a long time.
"Mary-"
"Yes?"
"Are you married?"
"Eh? Why do you ask? As a matter of fact I'm not-now. But what business-I mean, why does it matter?"
"Well, it might," I persisted.
She shook her head.
"I'm serious," I went on. "Look me over. I've got both hands and both feet. I'm fairly young, and I don't track mud in the house. You could do worse."
She laughed, but her laugh was kindly. "And you could work up better lines than that. I am sure they must have been extemporaneous."
"They were."
"And I won't hold them against you. In fact, I'll forget them. Listen, wolf, your technique is down; just because a woman tells you that she is not going to sleep with you tonight is no reason to lose your head and offer her a contract. Some women would be just mean enough to hold you to it."
"I meant it," I said peevishly.
"So? What salary do you offer?"
"Damn your pretty eyes. If you want that type of contract, I'll go along; you can keep your pay and I'll allot half of mine to you . . . unless you want to retire."
She shook her head. "I didn't mean it; I'd never insist on a settlement contract, not with a man I was willing to marry in the first place-"
"I didn't think you would."
"I was just trying to make you see that you yourself were not serious." She looked me over soberly. "But perhaps you are," she added in a warm, soft voice.
"I am."
She shook her head again. "Agents should not marry. You know that."
"Agents shouldn't marry anyone but agents."
She started to answer, but stopped suddenly. My own phone was talking in my ear, the Old Man's voice, and I knew she was hearing the same thing. "Come into my office," he said.
We both got up without saying anything. Mary stopped me at the door, put a hand on my arm, and looked up into my eyes. "That is why it is silly to talk about marriage. We've got this job to finish. All the time we've been talking, you've been thinking about the job and so have I."
"I have not."
"Don't play with me! Consider this, Sam-suppose you were married and you woke up to find one of those things on your wife's shoulders, possessing her." There was horror in her eyes as she went on, "Suppose I woke up and found one of them on your shoulders."
"I'll chance it. And I won't let one get to you."
She touched my cheek. "I don't believe you would."
We went on into the Old Man's office.
He looked up just long enough to say, "Come along. We're leaving."
"Where to?" I answered. "Or shouldn't I ask?"
"White House. See the President. Shut up."
I shut.
Chapter 3
At the beginning of a forest fire or an epidemic there is a short time when a minimum of correct action will contain and destroy. The B. W. boys express it in exponential equations, but you don't need math to understand it; it depends on early diagnosis and prompt action before the thing gets out of hand. What the President needed to do the Old Man had already figured out-declare a national emergency, fence off the Des Moines area, and shoot anybody who tried to slip out, be it a cocker spaniel or grandma with her cookie jar. Then let them out one at a time, stripping them and searching them for parasites. Meantime, use the radar screen, the rocket boys, and the space stations to spot and smash any new landings.
Warn all the other nations including those behind the Curtain, ask for their help-but don't be fussy about international law, for this was a fight for racial survival against an outside invader. For the moment it did not matter where they came from-Mars, Venus, the Jovian satellites, or outside the system entirely. Repel the invasion.
The Old Man had cracked the case, analyzed it, and come up with the right answer in a little more than twenty-four hours. His unique gift was the ability to reason logically with unfamiliar, hard-to-believe facts as easily as with the commonplace. Not much, eh? I have never met anyone else who could do it wholeheartedly. Most minds stall dead when faced with facts which conflict with basic beliefs; "I-just-can't-believe-it" is all one word to highbrows and dimwits alike.
But not to the Old Man-and he had the ear of the President.
The Secret Service guards gave us the works, politely. An X-ray went beep! and I surrendered my heater. Mary turned out to be a walking arsenal; the machine gave four beeps and a hiccough, although you would have sworn she couldn't hide a tax receipt under what she was wearing. The Old Man surrendered his cane without waiting to be asked; I got the notion he did not want it to be X-rayed.
Our audio capsules gave them trouble. They showed up both by X-ray and by metal detector, but the guards weren't equipped for surgical operations. There was a hurried conference with a presidential secretary and the head guard ruled that anything embedded in the flesh need not be classed as a potential weapon.
They printed us, photographed our retinas, and ushered us into a waiting room. The Old Man was whisked out and in to see the President alone.