talked on. Her voice was sincere and intense and compelling. As he listened, Walt felt the case against the aliens grow stronger.
Can’t think clearly, he told himself. Trust Forential.
No.
He did lie about the war.
Forential lied about that.
He’d lie about . . . about other things?
They kept me in ignorance, he thought. Perhaps they really were afraid I’d discover my real nature.
I don’t know; I can’t think; I can’t think!
As he watched Julia, the female who had (the truth of this slowly dawned on him) actually saved his life, he felt the first stirrings of an emotion he was not prepared to cope with. How pretty she looked, standing before him, her eyes serious and her face intent. He wanted to nestle her.
The footprints, he thought. She couldn’t find mine among the birth certificates she had. She could have faked a set if she’d wanted to. Does the fact she didn’t mean she’s not lying?
I think I’m sorry I threw the picture at her.
“If you could have heard Mrs. Savage on the phone,” Julia said, “you’d understand better. She lost her son—had him stolen—and she was still saving the birth certificate, after this long. She told me she knew she’d find him some day.”
Mrs. Savage sounds just like Forential, Walt thought.
“She’s been waiting all these years,” Julia said. “She’s never given up hope.”
Still waiting for her . . . son, Walt thought. Still waiting, still needing her son.
Walt had never thought much of his parents until now. They were obscured by Forential; they existed somewhere on Lyria. But suppose Julia were telling the truth? Would they have been more fond of him than Forential? Could they have been?
There were so many things he did not understand. He must ask Forential about the process by which babies are created; what was the connection between parent and child? It was all so puzzling.
. . . why not ask Julia?
“Wait a minute,” Walt interrupted. “I understand so very little. How are babies made?”
And there was a harsh, peremptory knock on the door. The manager’s angry voice came booming through the paneling:
“The bell boy tells me you’ve got a man tied to the bed in there! We can’t have that sort of thing in this hotel! Open the door, you hear me? Open the door!”
Chapter X
“Oh, oh,” Julia whispered. “You keep your mouth shut, Walt.”
She projected a distortion field around him.
The bed now appeared untenanted.
Walt was silent.
Julia opened the door. The manager stormed in.
“You, you creature!” he cried. “Tying a defenseless man on the bed for God knows what evil pur—oh. Hummm,” he stared at the bed.
“Oh,” he said.
“There’s no one here but me.”
“The bell boy—”
The manager searched the room. He looked in the closet. He looked in the shower. His face slowly began to take on color.
Foolishly he got down on his knees and peered under the bed.
“Well,” he said, dusting off his trousers as he stood up, “well . . . oh . . . . Is the service all right, Miss? Do you have any complaints? Plenty of towels? Soap? Did the bell boy raise the window—yes, I see he did. There’s enough heat? I, I seemed to have—I was on the wrong floor entirely. You see—”
His face grew even more puzzled. “There’s a woman on the, on the ninth floor I guess it is—how could I ever have made such a mistake? this is the seventh floor, isn’t it?—has a man in her bed.” His face got redder. He waved his hands. “Tied to the bed.”
“Oh, my,” Julia said.
“Yes, isn’t it. Now, if you want anything, don’t hesitate to ring. I’m sorry about this mistake. Silly of me. This is the seventh floor . . . isn’t it?”
“Yes, this is the seventh floor.”
The manager left.
Julia locked the door behind him.
She dissolved the distortion field.
“Whew!” she said. “He was mad, wasn’t he?”
Walt tried to sit up.
“No—wait. I think I’ll take a chance. I’m going to leave you alone to think over what I’ve said. Then I’m going to come back and untie you. You’re going to help me, Walt.”
“I, I don’t know what to think.”
“Here’s one thing I want you to remember when you’re thinking everything out. People can be convinced of anything as long as they have no way of checking beliefs against facts. Remember that. Forential had complete control over you. You believed what he told you to. Now you’ve had a chance to see for yourself. You’re just like an earthling. There is no war. Things like that. Think for yourself, Walt.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Julia gathered up her handbag. She folded the birth certificates and stored them in it. “I don’t know. I’ve got to convince someone of some facts that are going to be very hard to believe.” She paused at the door. “I won’t forget you, Walt. I’ll be back soon.” She smiled almost shyly. “If Calvin contacts you again, don’t go away. I’ll just have to hunt you down.”
*
After she had gone, Walt relaxed. His body was still weak. He lay staring at the ceiling. Outside, the sun’s rays slanted even more. A breeze, chill with approaching night, rustled the curtain.
There were shadows along the far wall.
I’ve been an instrument, Walt thought, a piece of metal, to be used as Forential saw fit: if she were not lying. My parents are somewhere down here on this planet, the third from the sun. They are not on Lyria. I might have killed them during the invasion. That would be worse than killing Forential, even. If Julia weren’t lying to me. Forential has been raising me to fight my own people!
Forential. Saucer eyed. Tentacled. Moist and slippery. Breathing in labored gasps under high gravity. Air bubbling in his throat. Tentacles caressing, fondling—not with affection (if Julia is right) but with calculating design: to fashion my personality to his purpose . . . .
