bombers,” the general said. “I hope we’ve got enough of them. As for the populations, I hope they don’t land in our cities.” He puckered his lips. “I’ve alerted all our ground forces. We’ll have our whole supply of atomic artillery available. Whenever we discover a focus rod in operation, we intend to hit the center of the area of destruction with everything we’ve got.”
“What do you honestly think?” Julia asked.
He shuffled papers, thinking. He looked up from the report. “ . . . it will take us over a week to get even partially ready. If they strike before that, we’ll be able to kill some of them. If they give us a week, we might even hope to kill half of them—half of the first wave—before we’re destroyed . . . . I was hoping you might offer us an alternative, or a supplement; or something.”
Julia took another cigarette. She fumbled in her handbag for a match. She lit the cigarette. “No,” she said.
“I rather thought not,” he said. “I expected you’d have already told us.”
“I’ve thought about it every way I know how . . . . I thought about displacing all of them when they land; keeping them displaced, where they couldn’t reach us . . . . But there’ll be too many of them. I might be able to hold one mutant in displacement, even if he resisted me. I know more than he does. But five hundred?” She shook her head.
“Could we build a machine to do that job?”
“You’d have the rocket done much sooner.”
“ . . . I expect that’s right. I hope they just give us time.”
“If I think of anything else—”
“Oh, I wanted to mention that,” the general said. “I want to give you a phone number. You can reach me any time, day or night, through it.” He wrote it on a piece of paper.
Julia memorized it at a glance.
The general made a few more notes. He glanced at his watch again. “I guess that’s the size of it, Julia.”
*
In the space station, the aliens were readying for the invasion.
Lycan had just finished issuing clothing to the mutants in the larger compartment. Once dressed, they were indistinguishable from earthlings. And more important, when the larger transmitter was eventually cut off, Forential’s mutants would easily mistake them for earthlings.
Forential had finished assigning sectors of Earth to his own charges. Each was to cover a given area. They were told that the war on the planet was nearing its conclusion; destruction was everywhere. There would be no opposition to bother them. (In reality, Lycan’s mutants, the first wave, having taken care of that.) They could clean up their assigned sectors slowly, thoroughly, methodically. Forential instructed them in all the details of detecting and tracking down earthlings. A month after their arrival, they would be, Forential said, the only survivors.
**It is,** the Elder commented covetously, **one of the prettiest little planets I’ve ever seen. We will be well rewarded for our work.**
Chapter XI
Julia awakened with a start very early Saturday morning. It was not yet three o’clock. Washington lay silent beyond her window. The dark, chill air of the room was motionless.
I forgot to seal Walt’s mind off from Calvin’s! she thought in blind terror.
She fumbled her bed clothes off and swung her feet to the carpet.
But once she was standing, the effects of the nightmare began to dissipate. She was surprised to find herself trembling. She laughed nervously. She had dreamed that Walt was crossing the carpet toward her bed, walking in silent invisibility. He had raised a knife to plunge it into her heart—had raised a great rock to smash her skull—had aimed a pistol at her brain—while she lay in chill terror, waiting, helpless.
The cold made goose pimples on her naked skin. But her own laugh reassured her.
A second of concentration and blood flowed skin-ward, warming her.
She found the light switch.
When the light came on, she heard the guard outside the door shuffle restlessly.
She began to dress. She needed no more sleep. She was anxious to get back on the job—trying to stop the invasion; although now, in spite of her mutant powers, now that the course of action was outlined, she seemed more in the way than of assistance.
Now why, she thought, would it suddenly seem so important that I should seal off Walt’s mind? Yesterday, when he was so tired, I almost gave him back his mutant powers. I do trust him, don’t I? Of course. After all the help he’s given us, I know—there’s not the tiniest doubt, really—that he’s completely on our side.
Now why—?
Seal . . . off . . . mind . . . .
She tried to ignore the thought. It isn’t that important, she argued with herself.
Seal . . . off . . . mind . . . .
Whoa! she thought.
Seal off minds!
Minds.
Harmonics . . . powerful signal . . . transmit . . . blanket . . . .
Pulling her blouse hastily over her head, she realized that it might be remotely possible!
As she reached for the phone, she tried to see the mathematics involved. I’ll have to consult Dr. Norvel, she thought.
She dialed. Her hand began to tremble with eagerness.
The phone rang in her ear. Once. Twice. Three times.
“Hello?”
“Hello, this is Julia. Let me speak to the general. Hurry!”
Whoever was on the other end of the line moved quickly. Julia could hear a phone ringing in the receiver.
“Yes?” the general said, sleepy-voiced.
“Julia, General.”
“Yes?”
“I think I’ve got something for you.”
“Yes?”
“If we can transmit a powerful enough signal, we might be able to create harmonics that would interfere throughout the possible displacement area. Interfere with the frequency that closes our bridges, I mean. It’s the same principle as concussion affecting the displacement area.”
“Wait a minute. Okay, go on. I’m recording this, now.”
“If our television and radio transmitters will handle the signal, we can blanket the whole planet with interference. Any mutant that hits it will automatically
