Chapter 6

In the space station, Forential sat in his cubicle in mental conference with the other aliens. Behind their flow of thoughts was the unreferred-to but ever-present fear for their own lives. Cowardice was taken for granted; it was so deeply a part of their own culture (if it wasn’t somehow a racial characteristic) that it did not need to be acknowledged.

The aliens always let other races fight their wars of conquest.

Forential knew that his own personal existence might well hinge on the outcome of the next few hours. None of the aliens knew how much knowledge Julia possessed. Unlike the other mutants, she had not been kept in ignorance of the basic laws of nature. How dangerous she might be, they could only guess. Was she capable of attacking them?

Forential was physically ill; he wanted to flee. If he had had a ship capable of traveling interstellar distances, he would have embarked without delay. But the huge interstellar ship of his race would not be back for another thirty years. There was no escape from the space station; there was no place to go.

And if the earthlings were not destroyed, if the invasion of Earth failed, retaliation from the planet would not be long coming. Once the Earth located the space station (and Earth would, once Earth realized its existence) even human normals would be able to destroy it--one rocket with an atomic war head would do--long before the interstellar ship returned.

Walt could not fail; the invasion could not fail.

Let’s try to make peace with the earthings, one of the aliens thought. It’s better than ... than exposing ourselves to physical violence!

That would be suicide: once they realized what we had been planning to do to them.

I don’t trust them.

Let Forential send down all his charges to kill the female!

Don’t be hysterical! the Elder thought hysterically.

Forential knew that to send down his charges first might alert Earth to the danger of invasion: twenty-seven saucer-ships would not go unnoticed. But even if they would, even if Earth remained unaware, such a course would completely disrupt the plan of conquest.

She hasn’t realized the menace yet, the Elder thought. Walt will kill her. Walt will kill her, won’t he, Forential?**

Yes. If only one of us went to make sure, Forential thought. To help him ... no ... None of us would risk it. It’s too dangerous.

The aliens did not have any equipment to make their single person ships invisible. It took bulky distortion machinery; the single person ships were too large to cover with mental shielding.

Twenty years ago, yes (Forential thought) we could have risked it. But now the radar screens around all the major countries are too tight. We could not, like Walt, destroy our ship. We would need it to return in.

We must give him all the help we can, Forential thought.

We must.

We must.

Lycan, the Elder thought. Can you cut the power of your charges?

An extended period might have a bad psychological effect...

They won’t realize the implication--that they’re not Lyrians, that we control them--until too late.

If we could give Walt twelve hours, Forential thought. ... we’ve got to give him every chance!**

When do you think he’ll be close to her? the Elder asked.

Forential consulted his maps. He calculated rapidly.

If he travels fast--if he has luck--by another five hours.

Lycan, the Elder instructed, continue with training until then. We’ll cut off the greater transmitter five hours from now. Twelve hours should give Walt more than enough time to kill her. It will be mutant trying to kill an earth-normal. He can’t fail!**

He can’t fail, they echoed nervously.

Will twelve hours be enough?

If he does, somehow, fail, we can’t risk delaying the invasion more than that.

I will see that it doesn’t delay the invasion, Lycan promised. I’ll train them right through normalcy.

Walt had arrived in Hollywood. Wait for me there. Julia (dressing carefully) projected to him. I’ll be right over to get you.

She finished combing her hair. She went to her handbag, snapped it closed decisively, and slipped it over her arm. She was smiling.

On her way out of the room, she picked up the book on brain surgery that she hadn’t yet had the chance to read. She skimmed through it in the taxi on the way to pick Walt up.

She paused a fraction of a second over one of the illustrations; in that time, she was able to memorize it. My brain, she thought, is different right there; but I can’t see my own brain well enough to tell much; I want to look at his for a minute if I can.

Having finished the book, she held it primly in her lap, tapping impatiently on it with her fingers.

There’s a lot of things funny about this boy, she thought. I’ve got to get more information about him. I’ve got a suspicion he’s going to be in for a few surprises.

(It was less than an hour before the aliens would cut off the larger transmitter.)

When I first located him for sure, she thought, he was traveling much too fast; faster and higher than any experimental rocket I’ve ever heard of.

I’ve got to check on the old flying saucer reports, she thought. They’re the only things I can remember reading about that were supposed to move that fast.

“This is him waiting up here,” Julia said to the driver. “Just pull over to the curb.”

A moment later, opening the door, she said, “Get in. I’m Julia.”

“I’m Walt Johnson,” he said, flexing his hands. “Let’s go someplace where we can be alone.”

“Well,” she said. “It’s good to see you, Walt.” She extended her hand.

He had sealed off his thoughts. His hand was moist in hers; it responded uncertainly to her warm pressure. She drew him inside. She caught a wisp of thought that he was not quite able to conceal. “Back to the hotel,” she told the driver.

Now I’m sure, she thought, that he really tried to teleport me out of my hotel room. I wonder why he wanted to? Why should he want to kill me?

I’ll have to keep an eye on him. But he’s such a baby. He can’t even control his emotions.

“Your clothing,” she said, studying him with professional concern, “is all wrong. We’ll just have to get some more. Some to fit your personality better. I’ll do that tomorrow.”

Anger crossed his face. He rubbed his hand over his knee and looked down at his trousers. “I like them,” he said in a surly voice.

She was not afraid of him. She had no need to be. He was such an innocent!

Why, she thought, he doesn’t seem to have any information to draw on hardly at all; he’ll be harmless as long as I wish him so.

“I’m a Lyrian traitor, too,” he said.

“You are?”

His accent. She could not remember any accent on Earth like that. He had not learned his English from an earthman. A Lyrian had taught him?

“What are you doing here?” he said.

Boy! she thought. Is his conversation naive! Keep him talking, girl!

She studied his face. She thought: Get ‘em young and raise ‘em to suit yourself, Julia.

She added up the facts she had already discovered. He was, like herself, a human mutant. (I must check, she thought, to see if there were any human babies missing during the last flying saucer scare twenty-four years ago, the year I was born.) The mutants had been collected at birth, but the collectors had overlooked her. Walt had traveled here from (where? Mars? Luna?) in order to rectify this oversight by putting her out of the way. Why? Obviously he owed allegiance to the collectors (Lyrians?) from whom he had probably learned--among other things--his atrocious accent. He was--

She had ignored his question, so he asked another one. “Where is the war?”

“War?” Julia repeated. She frowned delicately. “There’s no war. Not right now. The international situation is getting better, I think.” War? she asked herself. He’s got a lot of misinformation about us.

She kept trying to see into the physical structure of his brain. Ah, she thought, yes. Right there--