got to convince them, she thought.
In spite of her superiority, she felt like a little girl venturing into a big, unfamiliar world.
Shortly, the car drew up at the huge Pentagon building.
Inside it, army men—officers and enlisted men—were scurrying about, up and down ramps, in and out of the endless maze of corridors. There was a brisk hum of voices; it was like a giant bee hive. The high heeled shoes of female personnel chattered efficiently from room to room.
“Stay close,” the colonel said. “It’s easy to get lost.”
*
All the noises of the building were swallowed up when the colonel closed the office door on the third floor. The elderly female receptionist at the desk looked up.
“They’re waiting, Colonel Robertson. Go right in.”
“Right through here,” the colonel said.
Walt and Julia followed.
He opened the door, and they issued into the conference room. Talking broke off; faces swung to confront them.
“Gentlemen,” the colonel said, “this is the girl, and this—this is the man from the space station.”
The audience around the table rustled.
“You’ll sit right here,” the colonel told them. He helped Julia to her chair. When they were both seated, the colonel withdrew.
Chairs scraped and squeaked.
One of the men across from Julia cleared his throat. He was in civilian clothes. He was slightly stooped and partly bald. He wiped his glasses nervously. “We would like a demonstration of your—your, um, um unusual propensities.” He adjusted his glasses.
The glasses disengaged themselves from his ears and floated toward Julia. Julia stood up and walked through the table toward them.
She reached out. Both she and the glasses vanished.
One of the general officers made a check mark on his note book. “I’d say our report is substantially correct.”
The other civilian in the room, a youngish blonde woman, lit another cigarette. The ash tray before her was overflowing. Her fingers were nicotine stained. “Very extraordinary.”
Julia materialized back in her chair. She replaced the glasses.
The conferees began to whisper softly.
The blonde nodded her head. She turned to Julia. “About this space station—”
“This is Doctor Helen Norvel,” one of the general officers told Julia.
Dr. Norvel ignored him. “Is there some way we could detect it?”
“I’d like to try to explain the nature of the distortion field surrounding it to a physicist.”
“Dr. Norvel,” someone said, “is one of our better experimental physicists.”
“Oh?”
“Gentlemen,” Dr. Norvel said, “let me talk to her in the next room while you question this man.”
The bald civilian said, “Go right ahead, Doctor.”
The doctor stood up. Lighting another cigarette, she said, “We’ll go right in there, if you don’t mind.”
Julia got to her feet.
When they had gone, a lieutenant sitting beside the civilian looked up from a sheaf of papers in front of him. “Walt Johnson, isn’t it?”
Walt gulped. He felt clammy and frightened.
“I’m supposed to interrogate you—ask you some questions.”
“All, all right,” Walt said nervously.
“Now, Mr. Johnson, if you’ll just tell us—take it slowly; take your time—about life on this space station. Any details you can remember will prove helpful. Describe your quarters, the nature of the aliens—anything at all.”
*
Walt twisted in the seat. He looked around at the waiting faces. A general lit a cigarette. The heating system hummed softly.
Walt began to talk.
From time to time, someone interrupted him with a question.
It seemed to go on forever.
“About this focus rod?”
“It sends out a, a radiation. Something. I don’t understand too well. It’s lethal.”
“What is the radius of destruction?”
“I don’t know; I don’t remember.”
Pens scribbled.
“Please continue,” the lieutenant said.
Walt’s throat grew dry as he talked. Someone got him a drink of water.
“Could you estimate the number of mutants in this other compartment?”
“I couldn’t say. I couldn’t swear that there is another compartment.”
“A hundred? Five hundred?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“I see.”
“About,” a general asked, “how much of the total area of the ship would you say your compartment occupied?”
On and on.
“Let’s go over the description of that machine again. Did you ever see this Fierut disassemble any part of it?”
Walt was limp and exhausted. His mind was dulled by the effort of concentrating continuously. “Yes.” “No.” “To understand that . . . .” “I don’t know.” “No, no more than that . . . . Please. I’m getting confused.”
“You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Johnson,” the lieutenant said. “Gentlemen, I’m afraid he’s getting a little tired. Shall we postpone further questioning?”
“I believe we better. Would you call in Dr. Norvel, please.”
Walt slumped down in his seat.
The conferees whispered among themselves and compared notes.
Julia and the doctor came back.
“It took longer than I thought,” Dr. Norvel said. “I had to teach her quite a bit of math.”
“What’s
