he said. He began to rub his hands over one another. His growing excitement and his hatred bubbled just below the surface of his mind; Julia could feel the emotions without him being aware that she could.
My, she thought. He’s going to take a lot of re-educating before he makes a very good husband.
*
When they entered the hotel room, Walt found his throat expanding with excitement.
Forential, he thought, will be pleased that I have killed her in secret. No one on Earth will ever know who she was killed by. When she is dead, I can slip out of the hotel and . . . and invisible, I can steal food and drink and stay in empty rooms until the invasion comes; and when it does, then I can start teleporting earthlings and slaying them with my hands, and . . . . She doesn’t suspect, he thought, that I am going to kill her in just a moment.
He complimented himself on how cleverly he had concealed his intentions.
Covertly he surveyed the room. The pitcher on the table? The chair? What with? A sudden numbing blow—like the blow Calvin delivered to John. Then, afterwards, hands, knees, fingers—and she will be dead.
He saw himself rising triumphant from her still body. Saw Forential (when, later, he heard of it) smiling approval, saw his mates listening awe struck . . . . His breath trembled in his throat; his arms ached to be moving.
“Won’t you sit down?” she said.
I will wait until she is off guard, he thought. Smiling in anticipation, he sat down.
. . . she doesn’t, he thought, seem like a traitor. Such bright, clear eyes. She seems, so nice, so trusting, so innocent. It was foolish to have been afraid of meeting her. She’s small and harmless. I wish she weren’t a traitor; maybe—
But Forential knows.
(How about the war? Why did Forential say there was a war?)
Forential knows. He said to kill her.
Julia, studying him with faint amusement, said “Have you looked at your brain? I have a picture of a human brain here. I want to show you how alike they are.”
“Lyrians have a superficial resemblance to earthlings.”
“Look at this. Very similar. The same, almost.”
Walt shifted uneasily. Her eyes did not move from his face. What was she getting at?
“I wonder,” she said, “why we . . . Lyrians . . . have had certain powers given to us just recently? Why, before, we were no different than earthlings?”
Walt frowned. He didn’t want to think about it. He had a job to do.
“There’s a—call it—a bridge in our minds. It’s just recently been closed.”
(It was ten minutes before the larger transmitter was to be turned off for twelve hours.)
Walt decided on the pitcher. The answer to her question was suddenly obvious. “That means we’re ready to invade.”
She watched him very closely. Her fingers tapped her knee. “ . . . you said you were on a ship?”
It’s almost time to kill her, he thought. I’m sorry, he wanted to say: but I really must. “Yes. A space station.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Twenty-seven; twenty-eight, counting me.”
“That’s not many. Not enough.” She bent forward. “You said you saw a Lyrian female on the ship. I think there’s another group of Lyrians on the ship. I think they’re going to invade first. That’s the war your group is supposed to come in on the end of. You’re going to be used as a clean-up group.”
“Forential would have told us,” Walt said.
“The question is: Why didn’t he tell you?”
Walt realized how terribly sly and dangerous she was. She was too smart to be harmless. Suppose she should warn—but who could she warn? Earthlings? Could they get their atom bombs ready?
He felt his skin prickle. Look behind you! he thought to her. It had worked with the officer; it worked with her.
She turned.
Savagely, he grasped the pitcher with the mental fingers of teleportation. He hurled it as hard as he could at the back of her head.
*
Julia was ready for the blow. She had the molecules of the pitcher displaced before it was half way to her. It passed through her body easily and smashed against the far wall.
She turned quickly enough to avoid Walt’s rush.
On her feet now, she wavered into partial displacement.
Snarling harshly, he advanced on her.
(There was less than five minutes remaining. One of the aliens hovered at the larger transmitter.)
He tried to grab her. His hand passed through her body.
She smiled.
He tried to adjust to her level of displacement. He choked. Quickly he realized what was wrong; he rectified the air so he could breathe. She changed to normal just as he sprang. He hurtled through her as through the air itself.
She turned to face him. He was panting. “When I was a kid,” she said, “I used to throw rocks when I got mad.”
Damn you! His fists clenched. He towered over her.
She did not have any more time to waste with him. ‘That means,’ he had said, ‘we’re ready to invade.’
How much time did she have? The full extent of the menace was gradually taking form in her mind. With an army of indoctrinated mutants . . . . Invasion! Murder! Destruction! For an instant she wanted to collapse and cry like a frightened little girl.
What am I going to do? what am I going to do? what am I going to do? she thought frantically.
I’ve got to see someone! I’ve got to convince someone—I’ve got to show people my mutant powers: they’ll have to believe me! The President, the Army . . . .
How much time?
She made a distortion field. Invisible, she rushed to the door. She paused, returned for her handbag. Holding it, she passed through the door.
I haven’t got time to beat reason into his head, she thought. I’ll tend to him later.
Half way down the stairs, she suddenly became visible.
Chapter VII
Oh, damn! she thought. This happened once before. How long will it last this time?
A
