I did not have an answer. He went on, "Just the same-about you knowing the score: why didn't you tell me the score, son? Why did you hold out on me?"
"Huh?"
"You didn't tell me how it felt. Son, I had no idea that a man could feel such a sense of peace and contentment and well-being. This is the happiest I've been in years, the happiest since-" he suddenly looked puzzled, and then went on, "since your mother died. But never mind that; this is better. You should have told me."
Disgust suddenly poured over me and I forgot the cautious game I was playing. "Maybe I didn't see it that way. And neither would you, you crazy old fool, if you didn't have a filthy slug riding you, talking through your mouth, thinking with your brain!"
"Take it easy, son," he said gently-and so help me, his voice did soothe me. "You'll know better in a little while. Believe me, this is what we were intended for, this is our destiny. Mankind has been divided, warring with himself. The masters will make him whole again."
I thought to myself that there were probably custard heads just screwy enough to fall for such a line-surrender their souls willingly for a promise of security and peace. But I did not say so; I was clamping my jaws to keep from throwing up.
"But you need not wait much longer," he said suddenly, glancing at the board. "I'll nail her down in the groove." He adjusted his dead-reckoner bug, checked his board, and set his controls. "That's a relief. Next stop: Yucatan. Now to work." He got out of his chair and knelt beside me in the crowded space. "Got to be safe," he said, as he strapped the safety belt across my middle.
I brought my knees up in his face.
He reared up and looked at me without anger. "Naughty, naughty. I could resent that-but the masters don't go in for resentment. Now be good." He went ahead, checking my wrists and feet. His nose was bleeding but he did not bother to wipe it. "You'll do," he said. "Now be patient; it won't be long."
He went back to the other control seat, sat down and leaned forward, elbows on knees. It brought his master directly into my view.
Nothing happened for some minutes, nor could I think of anything to do other than strain at my bonds. By his appearance, the Old Man was asleep, but I placed no trust in that.
A line formed straight down the middle of the horny brown covering of the slug.
As I watched it, it widened. Presently I could see the clotted opalescent horror underneath. The space between the two halves of the shell widened-and I realized that the slug was fissioning, sucking life and matter out of the body of my father to make two of itself.
I realized, too, with rigid terror, that I had no more than five minutes of individual life left to me. My new master was being born and soon would be ready to mount me.
Had it been humanly possible for flesh and bone to break the ties on me I would have broken them. I did not succeed. The Old Man paid no attention to my struggles. I doubt if he were conscious; the slugs must surely give up some measure of control while they are occupied with splitting. It must be that they simply immobilize the slave. As may be-the Old Man did not move.
By the time I had given up, worn out and sure that I could not break loose, I could see the ciliated silvery line down the center of the slug proper which means that fission is about to be complete. It was that which changed my line of reasoning, if there were reason left in my churning skull.
My hands were tied behind me, my ankles were tied, and I was belted tight across the middle to the chair. But my legs, even though fastened together, were free from my waist down; the seat had no knee belts.
I slumped down in the chair to get even more reach and swung my legs up high. I brought them down smashingly across the board-and set off every launching unit in her racks at once.
That adds up to a lot of g's-how many, I don't know, for I don't know how full her racks were. But there were plenty. We were both slammed back against the seats. Dad much harder than I was, since I was strapped down. He was thrown against the back of his seat, with his slug, open and helpless, crushed between the two masses.
It splashed.
And Dad himself was caught in that terrible, total reflex, that spasm of every muscle that I had seen three times before. He bounced forward against the wheel, face contorted, fingers writhing.
The car dived.
I sat there and watched it dive, if you call it sitting when you are held in place only by the belt. If Dad's body had not hopelessly fouled the controls I might have been able to do something about it-gotten her headed up again perhaps-with my bound feet. As it was, I tried but with no success at all. The controls were probably jammed as well as fouled.
The altimeter was clicking away busily. We had dropped to eleven thousand feet before I found time to glance at it. Then it was nine . . . seven . . . six-and we entered our last mile.
At fifteen hundred the radar interlock with the altimeter cut in and the nose units fired one at a time. The belt buffeted me across the stomach each time and I finally did throw up. I was thinking that I was saved, that now the ship would level off-though I should have known better. Dad being jammed up against the wheel as he was.
I was still thinking so as we crashed.
I came to by becoming slowly aware of a gently rocking motion. I was annoyed by it, I wanted it to stop; even a slight motion seemed to cause me more pain than I could bear. I managed to get one eye open-the other would not open at all-and looked dully around for the source of my annoyance.
Above me was the floor of the car, but I stared at it for a long time before I placed it as such. By the time I figured out what it was I was somewhat aware of where I was and what had happened. I remembered the dive and the crash-and realized that we must have crashed not into the ground but into some body of water-the Gulf of Mexico-but I did not really care.
With a sudden burst of grief I mourned my father.
The broken belt of my seat was flapping uselessly just above me. My hands were still tied and so were my ankles, and one arm at least seemed to be broken. One eye was stuck shut and it hurt me to breathe; I quit taking stock of my injuries. Dad was no longer plastered against the wheel and that puzzled me. With painful effort I rolled my head over to see the rest of the car with my one good eye. He was lying not far from me, three feet or so, from my head to his. He was bloody and cold and I was sure that he was dead. I think it took me about a half hour to cross that three feet.
I lay face to face with him, almost cheek to cheek. So far as I could tell there was no trace of life, nor, from the odd and twisted way in which he lay, did it seem possible.
"Dad," I said hoarsely. Then I screamed it. "Dad!"
His eyes flickered but did not open. "Hello, son," he whispered. "Thanks, boy, thanks-" His voice died out.
I wanted to shake him but all I could do was shout. "Dad! Wake up-are you all right?"
He spoke again, as if every word were a painful task. "Your mother-said to tell you . . . she was-proud of you." His voice died out again and his breathing was labored in that ominous dry-stick sound.
"Dad," I sobbed, "don't die-I can't get along without you."
His eyes opened wide. "Yes, you can, son." He paused and labored, then added, "I'm hurt, boy." His eyes closed again.
I could not get any more out of him, though I shouted and screamed. Presently I lay my face against his and let my tears mix with the dirt and blood.
Chapter 35
And now to clean up Titan!
Each of us who are going is writing one of these reports, for we know that we may not come back. If not, this is our legacy to free human beings-all that we learned and all that we know of how the titan parasites operate and what must be guarded against. For Kelly was right; there is no getting Humpty-Dumpty back together. In spite of the almost complete success of Schedule Mercy there is no way to be sure that the slugs are all gone. No longer ago than last week it was reported that a bear was shot, up Yukon way, wearing a hump.