"How would I know?" the Old Man answered testily. "I don't know whether their ships are built for it or not. More probably they would do it by infiltration, through the supply rockets."
There was discussion as to whether or not the space stations could already have been taken over; Schedule Bare Back did not apply to the stations. Although we had built them and paid for them, since they were technically United Nations territory, the President had to wait until the United Nations acted on the entire matter.
"Don't worry about it," Rexton said suddenly.
"Why not?" the President asked.
"I am probably the only one here who has done duty in a space station. Gentlemen, the costume we are now wearing is customary in a station. A man fully dressed would stand out like an overcoat on the beach. But we'll see." He gave orders to one of his assistants.
The President resumed studying the map. "So far as we know," he said, pointing to Grinnell, Iowa, "all this derives from a single landing, here."
The Old Man answered, "Yes-so far as we know."
I said, "Oh, no!"
They all looked at me and I was embarrassed. "Go ahead," said the President.
"There were at least three more landings-I know there were-before I was rescued."
The Old Man looked dumbfounded. "Are you sure, son? We thought we had wrung you dry."
"Of course I'm sure."
"Why didn't you mention it?"
"I never thought of it before." I tried to explain how it feels to be possessed, how you know what is going on, but everything seems dreamy, equally important and equally unimportant. I grew quite upset. I am not the jittery type, but being ridden by a master does something to you.
The Old Man put his hand on me and said, "Steady down, son." The President said something soothing and gave me a reassuring smile. That stereocast personality of his is not put on; he's really got it.
Rexton said, "The important point is: where did they land? We might still capture one."
"I doubt it," the Old Man answered. "They did a cover-up on the first one in a matter of hours. If it was the first one," he added thoughtfully.
I went to the map and tried to think. Sweating, I pointed to New Orleans. "I'm pretty sure one was about here." I stared at the map. "I don't know where the others landed. But I know they did."
"How about here?" Rexton asked, pointing to the East Coast.
"I don't know. I don't know."
The Old Man pointed to the other East Coast danger spot. "We know this one is a secondary infection." He was kind enough not to say that I had been the means of infecting it.
"Can't you remember anything else?" Martinez said testily. "Think, man!"
"I just don't know. We never knew what they were up to, not really." I thought until my skull ached, then pointed to Kansas City. "I sent several messages here, but I don't know whether they were shipment orders, or not."
Rexton looked at the map; around Kansas City was almost as pin-studded as Iowa. "We'll assume a landing near Kansas City, too. The technical boys can do a problem on it. It may be subject to logistic analysis; we might derive the other landing."
"Or landings," added the Old Man.
"Eh? 'Or landings'. Certainly. But we need more reports." He turned back to the map and stared at it thoughtfully.
Chapter 16
Hindsight is confoundedly futile. At the moment the first saucer landed the menace could have been stamped out by one determined man and a bomb. At the time "The Cavanaughs"-Mary, the Old Man, and I-reconnoitered around Grinnell and in Des Moines, we three alone might have killed every slug had we been ruthless and, more important, known where they all were.
Had Schedule Bare Back been ordered during the fortnight after the first landing it alone might have turned the trick. But by the next day it was clear that Schedule Bare Back had failed as an offensive measure. As a defense it was useful; the uncontaminated areas could be kept so, as long as the slugs could not conceal themselves. It had even had mild success in offense; areas contaminated but not "secured" by the parasites were cleaned up at once... Washington itself, for example, and New Philadelphia. New Brooklyn, too-there I had been able to give specific advice. The entire East Coast turned from red to green.
But as the area down the middle of the country filled in on the map, it filled in red, and stayed so. The infected areas stood out in ruby light now, for the simple wall map studded with push pins had been replaced by a huge electronic military map, ten miles to the inch, covering one wall of the conference room. It was a repeater map, the master being located down in the sublevels of the New Pentagon.
The country was split in two, as if a giant had washed red pigment down the Central Valley. Two zigzag amber paths bordered the great band held by the slugs; these were overlap, the only areas of real activity, places where line-of-sight reception was possible from both stations held by the enemy and from stations still in the hands of free men. One such started near Minneapolis, swung west of Chicago and east of St. Louis, then meandered through Tennessee and Alabama to the Gulf. The other cut a wide path through the Great Plains and came out near Corpus Christi. El Paso was the center of a ruby area as yet unconnected with the main body.
I looked at the map and wondered what was going on in those border strips. I had the room to myself; the Cabinet was meeting and the President had taken the Old Man with him. Rexton and his brass had left earlier. I stayed there because I had not been told where to go and I hesitated to wander around in the White House. So I stayed and fretted and watched amber lights blink red and, much less frequently, red lights blink amber or green.
I wondered how an overnight visitor with no status managed to get breakfast? I had been up since four and my total nourishment so far had been one cup of coffee, served by the President's valet. Even more urgently I wanted to find a washroom. I knew where the President's washroom was, but I did not have the nerve to use it, feeling vaguely that to do so would be somewhere between high treason and disorderly conduct.
There was not a guard in sight. Probably the room was being scanned from a board somewhere; I suppose every room in the White House has an "eye & ear" in it; but there was no one physically in view.
At last I got desperate enough to start trying doors. The first two were locked; the third was what I was looking for. It was not marked "Sacred to the Chief" nor did it appear to be booby-trapped, so I used it.
When I came back into the conference room, Mary was there.
I looked at her stupidly for a moment. "I thought you were with the President?"
She smiled. "I was, but I got chased out. The Old Man took over for me."
I said, "Say, Mary, I've been wanting to talk with you and this is the first chance I've had. I guess I-Well, anyway, I shouldn't have, I mean, according to the Old Man-" I stopped, my carefully rehearsed speech in ruins. "Anyhow, I shouldn't have said what I did," I concluded miserably.
She put a hand on my arm. "Sam. Sam, my very dear, do not be troubled. What you said and what you did was fair enough from what you knew. The important thing, to me, is what you did for me. The rest does not matter-except that I am happy again to know that you don't despise me."
"Well, but-Damn it, don't be so noble! I can't stand it!"
She gave me a merry, lively smile, not at all like the gentle one with which she had greeted me. "Sam, I think you like your women to be a little bit bitchy. I warn you, I can be so." She went on, "You are still worried about that slap, too, I think. All right, I'll pay it back." She reached up and patted me gently on the cheek, once. "There, it's paid back and you can forget it."