I went to the bio lab, could not find its chief, and talked to an assistant. He did not know anything about a girl in connection with Project Interview; the subject had been a man-he knew; he had seen the stereo. I told him to take a close look at me. He did and said, "Oh, were you that guy? Pal, you sure took a beating." He went back to scratching himself and shuffling reports.
I left without saying thank you and went to the Old Man's office. There seemed to be no choice.
There was a new face at Miss Haines's desk. I never saw Miss Haines again after the night I got taken. Nor did I ask what had become of her; I did not want to know. The new secretary passed in my I.D. code and, for a wonder, the Old Man was in and would see me.
"What do you want?" he said grumpily.
I said, "Thought you might have some work for me," which was not at all what I intended to say.
"Matter of fact, I was just fixing to send for you. You've loafed long enough." He barked something at his desk phone, stood up and said, "Come!"
I felt suddenly at peace, and followed him. "Cosmetics?" I asked.
"Your own ugly face will do. We're headed for Washington." Nevertheless we did stop in Cosmetics, but only for street clothes. I drew a gun-my own had gone where the woodbine twineth-and had my phone checked.
The door guard made us bare our backs before he would let us approach and check out. Then we tucked our shirts in and went on up, coming out in the lower levels of New Philadelphia, the first I had known as to the location of the Section's new base. "I take it this burg is clean?" I said to the Old Man.
"If you do, you are rusty in the head," he answered. "Keep your eyes peeled."
There was no opportunity for more questions. The presence of so many fully clothed humans bothered me; I found myself drawing away from people and watching for round shoulders. Getting into a crowded elevator to go up to the launching platform seemed downright reckless. When we were in our car and the controls set, I said so. "What in the devil do the authorities in that dump think they are doing? I could swear that at least one cop we passed was wearing a hump."
"Possibly. Even probably."
"Well, for crying in church! What goes on? I thought you had this job taped and that we were fighting back on all fronts."
"We're trying to. What would you suggest we do about it?"
"Why, it's obvious-even if it were freezing cold, we ought not to see a back covered up anywhere, not until we know they are all dead."
"That's right."
"Well, then-Look, the President knows the score, doesn't he? I understand that-"
"He knows it."
"What's he waiting for? For the whole country to be taken over? He should declare martial law and get action. You told him, a long time ago."
"So I did." The Old Man stared down at the countryside. "Son, are you under the impression that the President runs the country?"
"Of course not. But he is the only man who can act."
"Mmmm-They sometimes call Premier Tsvetkov 'the Prisoner of the Kremlin'. True or not, the President is the prisoner of Congress."
"You mean Congress hasn't acted?"
"I have spent my time the past several days-ever since we stopped the attempt on the President-trying to help the President convince them. Ever been worked over by a congressional committee, son?"
I tried to figure it out. Here we sat, as stupid as dodoes walking up a gangplank to be slugged-yes, and Homo sapiens would be as extinct as the dodo if we did not move. Presently the Old Man said, "It's time you learned the political facts of life. Congresses have refused to act in the face of dangers more obvious than this one. This one isn't obvious, not until a man has had it in his lap, the way we have. The evidence is slim and hard to believe."
"But how about the Assistant Secretary of the Treasury? They can't ignore that."
"Can't they? The Assistant Secretary had one snatched off his back, right in the East Wing, and we killed two of his Secret Service guards. And now the honorable gent is in Walter Reed with a nervous breakdown and can't recall what happened. The Treasury Department gave out that an attempt to assassinate the President had been foiled-true, but not the way they meant it."
"And the President held still for that?"
"His advisers told him to wait until he can get congressional support. His majority is uncertain at best and there are stalwart statesmen in both houses who want his head on a platter. Party politics is a rough game."
"Good Lord, partisanship doesn't figure in a case like this!"
The Old Man cocked an eyebrow. "You think not, eh?"
I finally managed to ask him the question I had come into his office to ask: where was Mary?
"Odd question from you," he grunted. I let it ride; he went on, "Where she should be. Guarding the President."
We went first to a room where a joint special committee was going over evidence. It was a closed session but the Old Man had passes. When we got there they were running stereos; we slipped into seats and watched.
The films were of my anthropoid friend. Napoleon-the ape himself, shots of him with the titan on his back, then close-ups of the titan. It made me sick to see it. One parasite looks like another; but I knew which one this was and I was deeply glad it was dead.
The ape gave way to me myself. I saw myself being clamped into the chair. I hate to admit how I looked; real funk is not pretty. A voice off screen told what was going on.
I saw them lift the titan off the ape and onto my own bare back. Then I fainted in the picture-and almost fainted again. I won't describe it and it upsets me to tell about it. I saw myself writhing under the shocks given the titan-and I writhed again. At one point I tore my right hand free of the clamps, something I had not known, but which explained why my wrist was still not healed.
And I saw the thing die. That was worth sitting through the rest.
The film ended and the chairman said, "Well, gentlemen?"
"Mr. Chairman!"
"The gentleman from Indiana is recognized."
"Speaking without prejudice to the issue, I must say that I have seen better trick photography from Hollywood." They tittered and someone called out, "Hear! Hear!" I knew the ball game was gone.
The head of our bio lab testified, then I found myself called to the stand. I gave my name, address, and occupation, then perfunctorily was asked a number of questions, about my experiences under the titans. The questions were read from a sheet and the chairman obviously was not familiar with them.
The thing that got me was that they did not want to hear. Two of them were reading newspapers.
There were only two questions from the floor. One senator said to me, "Mr. Nivens-your name is Nivens?"
I agreed that it was. "Mr. Nivens," he went on, "you say that you are an investigator?"
"Yes."
"F.B.I., no doubt?"
"No, my chief reports directly to the President."
The senator smiled. "Just as I thought. Now Mr. Nivens, you say you are an investigator-but as a matter of fact you are an actor, are you not?" He seemed to be consulting notes.
I tried to tell too much truth. I wanted to say that I had once acted one season of summer stock but that I was, nevertheless, a real, live, sure-enough investigator. I got no chance. "That will do, Mr. Nivens. Thank you."
The other question was put to me by an elderly senator whose name I should have known. He wanted to know my views on using tax money to arm other countries-and he used the question to express his own views. My views on that subject are cloudy but it did not matter, as I did not get to express them. The next thing I knew the clerk was saying, "Stand down, Mr. Nivens."