I Plinglot, Who You?

By Frederick Pohl

1

‘Let me see,’ I said, ‘this is a time for the urbane. Say little. Suggest much,’ So I smiled and nodded wisely, without words, to the fierce flash bulbs.

The committee room was not big enough, they had had to move the hearings. Oh, it was hot. Senator Schnell came leaping down the aisle, sweating, his forehead glistening, his gold tooth shining, and took my arm like a trap. ‘Capital, Mr. Smith,’ he cried, nodding and grinning, ‘I am so glad you got here on time! One moment.’

He planted his feet and stopped me, turned me about to face the photographers and threw an arm around my shoulder as they flashed many bulbs. ‘Capital,’ said the senator with a happy voice. ‘Thanks, fellows! Come along, Mr. Smith!’

They found me a first-class seat, near a window, where the air-conditioning made such a clatter that I could scarcely hear, but what was there to hear before I myself spoke? Outside the Washington Monument cast aluminium rays from the sun.

We’ll get started in a minute,’ whispered Mr. Hagsworth in my ear - he was young and working for the committee - ‘as soon as the networks give us the go-ahead.’

He patted my shoulder in a friendly way, with pride; they were always doing something with shoulders. He had brought me to the committee and thus I was, he thought, a sort of possession of his, a gift for Senator Schnell, though we know how wrong he was in that, of course. But he was proud. It was very hot and I had in me many headlines.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Will you state your name, sir?

A. Robert Smith.

Q. Is that your real name?

A. No.

Oh, that excited them all! They rustled and coughed and whispered, those in the many seats. Senator Schnell flashed his gold tooth. Senator Loveless, who as his enemy and his adjutant, as it were, a second commander of the committee but of opposite party, frowned under stiff silvery hair. But he knew I would say that, he had heard it all in executive session the night before.

Mr. Hagsworth did not waste the moment, he went right ahead over the coughs and the rustles.

Q. Sir, have you adopted the identity of ‘Robert P. Smith’ in order to further your investigations on behalf of this committee?

A. I have.

Q. And can you -

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Excuse me.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Certainly, Senator.

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Thank you, Mr. Hagsworth. Sir -that is, Mr. Smith - do I understand that it would not be proper, or advisable, for you to reveal - that is, to make public - your true or correct identity at this time? Or in these circumstances?

A. Yes.

Q. (Senator Loveless.) thank you very much, Mr. Smith. I just wanted to get that point cleared up.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Then tell us, Mr. Smith -

Q. (Senator Loveless.) It’s clear now.

Q. (The Chairman.) Thank you for helping us clarify the matter, Senator. Mr. Hagsworth, you may proceed.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Thank you, Senator Schnell. Thank you, Senator Loveless. Then, Mr. Smith, will you tell us the nature of the investigations you have just concluded for this committee?

A. Certainly. I was investigating the question of interstellar space travel.

Q. That is, travel between the planets of different stars?

A. That’s right

Q. And have you reached any conclusions as to the possibility of such a thing?

A. Oh, yes. Not just conclusions. I have definite evidence that one foreign power is in direct contact with creatures living on the planet of another star, and expects to receive a visit from them shortly.

Q. Will you tell us the name of that foreign power?

A. Russia.

Oh, it went very well. Pandemonium became widespread: much noise, much hammering by Senator Schnell, and at the recess all the networks said big Neilsen. And Mr. Hagsworth was so pleased that he hardly asked me about the file again, which I enjoyed as it was a hard answer to give. ‘Good theatre, ah, Mr. Smith,’ he winked.

I only smiled.

The afternoon also was splendidly hot, especially as Senator Schnell kept coming beside me and the bulbs flashed. It was excellent, excellent

Q. (Mr, Hagsworth.) Mr. Smith, this morning you told us that a foreign power was in contact with a race of beings living on a planet of the star Aldebaran, is that right?

A. Yes.

Q. Can you describe that race for us? I mean the ones you have referred to as ‘Aldebaranians’?

A. Certainly, although their own name for themselves is - is a word in their language which you might here render as Triops’. They average about eleven inches tall. They have two legs, like you. They have three eyes and they live in crystal cities under the water, although they are air-breathers.

Q. Why is that, Mr. Smith?

A. The surface of their planet is ravaged by enormous beasts against which they are defenceless.

Q. But they have powerful weapons ?

A. Oh, very powerful, Mr. Hagsworth.

And then it was time for me to take it out and show it to them, the Aldebaranian hand-weapon. It was small and soft and I must fire it with a bent pin, but it made a hole through three floors and the cement of the basement, and they were very interested. Oh, yes!

So I talked all that afternoon about the Aldebaranians, though what did they matter? Mr. Hagsworth did not ask me about other races, on which I could have said something of greater interest. Afterwards we went to my suite at the Mayflower Hotel and Mr. Hagsworth said with admiration: ‘You handled yourself beautifully, Mr. Smith. When this is over I wonder if you would consider some sort of post here in Washington.’

‘When this is over?’

‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I’ve been around for some years, Mr. Smith. I’ve seen them come and I’ve seen them go. Every newspaper in the country is full of Aldebaranians tonight, but next year? They’ll be shouting about something new.’

‘They will not,’ I said surely.

He shrugged. ‘As you say,’ he said agreeably, ‘at any rate it’s a great sensation now. Senator Schnell is tasting the headlines. He’s up for re-election next year you know and just between the two of us, he was afraid he might be defeated.’

‘Impossible, Mr. Hagsworth,’ I said out of certain knowledge, but could not convey this to him. He thought I was only being polite. It did not matter.

‘He’ll be gratified to hear that,’ said Mr. Hagsworth and he stood up and winked: he was a great human for winking. ‘But think about what I said about a job, Mr. Smith…. Or would you care to tell me your real name?’

Why not? Sporting! ‘Plinglot,’ I said.

He said with a puzzled face, ‘Plinglot? Plinglot? That’s an odd name.’ I didn’t say anything, why should I? ‘But you’re an odd man,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t mind telling you that there are a lot of questions I’d like to ask. For instance, the file folder of correspondence between you and Senator Heffernan. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me how come no employee of the committee remembers anything about it, although the folder turned up in our files just as you said?’

Senator Heffernan was dead, that was why the correspondence had been with him. But I know tricks for awkward questions, you give only another question instead of answer. ‘Don’t you trust me, Mr. Hagsworth?’

He looked at me queerly and left without speaking. No matter. It was time, I had very much to do. ‘No calls,’ I told the switchboard person, ‘and no visitors, I must rest.’ Also there would be a guard Hagsworth had promised. I wondered if he would have made the same arrangement if I had not requested it, but that also did not matter.

I sat quickly in what looked, for usual purposes, like a large armchair, purple embroidery on the headrest. It was my spaceship, with cosmetic upholstery. Zz-z-z-zit, quick like that, that’s all there was to it and I was there.

2

Old days I could not have timed it so well, for the old one slept all the day, and worked, drinking, all the night. But now they kept capitalist hours.

‘Good morning, gospodin,’ cried the man in the black tunic, leaping up alertly as I opened the tall double doors. ‘I trust you slept well.’

I had changed quickly into pyjamas and a bathrobe. Stretching, yawning, I grumbled in flawless Russian in a sleepy way: ‘All right, all right. What time is it?’

‘Eight in the morning, Gospodin Arakelian. I shall order your breakfast’

‘Have we time?’

‘There is time, gospodin, especially as you have already shaved.’

I looked at him with more care, but he had a broad open Russian face, there was no trickery on it or suspicion. I drank some tea and changed into street clothing again, a smaller size as I was now smaller. The Hotel Metropole doorman was holding open the door of the black Zis, and we bumped over cobblestones to the white marble building with no name. Here in Moscow it was also hot, though only early morning.

This morning their expressions were all different in the dim, cool room. Worried. There were three of them:

Blue eyes; Kvetchnikov, the tall one, with eyes so very blue; he looked at the wall and the ceiling, but not at me and, though sometimes he smiled, there was nothing behind it.

Red beard - Muzhnets. He tapped with a pencil softly, on thin sheets of paper.

And the old one. He sat like a squat, fat Buddha. His name was Tadjensevitch.

Yesterday they were reserved and suspicious, but they could not help themselves, they would have to do whatever I asked. There was no choice for them; they reported to the chief himself and how could they let such a thing as I had told them go untaken? No, they must swallow bait But today there was worry on their faces.

The worry was not about me; they knew me. Or so they thought. ‘Hello, hello, Arakelian,’ said Blue Eyes to me, though his gaze examined the rug in front of my chair. ‘Have you more to tell us today?’

I asked without alarm: ‘What more could I have?’

‘Oh,’ said Blue-Eyed Kvetchnikov, looking at the old man, ‘perhaps you can explain what happened in Washington last night.’

‘In Washington?’

‘In Washington, yes. A man appeared before one of the committees of their Senate. He spoke of the Aldebaratniki, and he spoke also of the Soviet Union. Arakelian, then, tell us how this is possible.’

The old man whispered softly: ‘Show him the dispatch.’

Red Beard jumped. He stopped tapping on the thin paper and handed it to me. ‘Read!’ he ordered in a voice of danger, though I was not afraid. I read. It was a diplomatic telegram, from their embassy in Washington, and what it said was what every newspaper said - it was no diplomatic secret, it was headlines. One Robert P. Smith, a fictitious name, real identity unknown, had appeared before the Schnell Committee. He had told them of Soviet penetration of the stars. Considering limitations, excellent, it was an admirably accurate account.

I creased the paper and handed it back to Muzhnets. ‘I have read it.’

Old One: ‘You have nothing to say?’

‘Only this.’ I leaped up on two legs and pointed at him. ‘I did not think you would bungle this! How dared you allow this information to become public?’

‘How-’

‘How did that weapon get out of your country?’

‘Weap-’

‘Is this Soviet efficiency?’ I cried loudly. ‘Is it proletarian discipline?’

Red-Beard Muzhnets intervened. ‘Softly, comrade,’ he cried. ‘Please! We must not lose tempers!’

I made a sound of disgust. I did it very well. ‘I warned you,’ I said, low, and made my face sad and stern. ‘I told you that there was a danger that the bourgeois-capitalists would interfere. Why did you not listen? Why did you permit their spies to steal the weapon I gave you?’

Tadjensevitch whispered agedly: ‘That weapon is still here.’

I cried: ‘But this report-’

‘There must be another weapon, Arakelian. And do you see? That means the Americans are also in contact with the Aldebaratniki.’

It was time for chagrin. I admitted: ‘You are right.’

He sighed: ‘Comrades, the Marshal will be here in a moment. Let us settle this.’ I composed my face and looked at him. ‘Arakelian, answer this question straight out. Do you know how this American could have got in touch with the Aldebaratniki now?’

‘How could I, gospodin?’

‘That,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘is not a straight answer but it is answer enough. How could you? You have not left the Metropole. And in any case the Marshal is now coming, I hear his guard.’

We all stood up, very formal, it was a question of socialist discipline.

In came this man, the Marshal, who ruled two hundred million humans, smoking a cigarette in a paper holder, his small pig’s eyes looking here and there and at me. Five very large men were with him, but they never said anything at all. He sat down grunting; it was not necessary for him to speak loud or to speak clearly, but it was necessary that those around him should hear anyhow. It was not deafness that caused Tadjensevitch to wear a hearing aid.

The old man jumped up. ‘Comrade Party Secretary,’ he said, not now whispering, no, ‘this man is P.P. Arakelian.’

Grunt from the Marshal.

‘Yes, Comrade Party Secretary, he has come to us with the suggestion that we sign a treaty with a race of creatures inhabiting a planet of the star Aldebaran. Our astronomers say they cannot dispute any part of his story. And the M.V.D. has assuredly verified his reliability in certain documents signed by the late - (cough) - Comrade Beria.’ That too had not been easy and would have been less so if Beria had not been dead.

Grunt from the Marshal. Old Tadjensevitch looked expectantly at me.

‘I beg your pardon?’ I said.

Old Tadjensevitch said without patience: The Marshal asked about terms.’

‘Oh,’ I bowed, ‘there are no terms. These are unworldly creatures, excellent comrade.’ I thought to mention it as a joke, but none laughed. ‘Unworldly, you see. They wish only to be friends - with you, with the Americans … they do not know the difference; it is all in whom they first see.’

Grunt. ‘Will they sign a treaty?’ Tadjensevitch translated.

‘Of course.’

Grunt. Translation. ‘Have they enemies? There is talk in the American document of creatures that destroy them. We must know what enemies our new friends may have.’

‘Only animals, excellent comrade. Like your wolves of Siberia, but huge, as the great blue whale.’

Grunt. Tadjensevitch said: ‘The Marshal asks if you can guarantee that the creatures will come first to us.’

‘No. I can only suggest. I cannot guarantee there will be no error.’

‘But if-’

‘If,’ I cried loudly, ‘if there is error, you have Red Army to correct it!’

They looked at me, strange. They did not expect that. But they did not understand.

I gave them no time. I said quickly: ‘Now, excellency, one thing more. I have a present for you.’

Grunt. I hastily said: ‘I saved it, comrade. Excuse me. In my pocket.’ I reached, most gently, those five men all looked at me now with much care. For the first demonstration I had produced an Aldebaranian hand weapon, three inches long, capable of destroying a bull at five hundred yards, but now for this Russian I had more. ‘See,’ I said, and took it out to hand him, a small glittering thing, carved of a single solid diamond, an esthetic statue four inches long. Oh, I did not like to think of it wasted: But it was important that this man should be off guard, so I handed it to one of the tall silent men, who thumbed it over and then passed it on with a scowl to the Marshal. I was sorry, yes. It was a favourite thing, a clever carving that they had made in the water under Aldebaran’s rays; it was almost greater than I could have made myself. No, I will not begrudge it them, it was greater; I could not have done so well!

Unfortunate that so great a race should have needed attention; unfortunate that I must now give this memento away; but I needed to make an effect and, yes, I did!

Oh, diamond is great to humans; the Marshal looked surprised, and grunted, and one of the silent, tall five reached in his pocket, and took out something that glittered on silken ribbon. He looped it around my neck. ‘Hero of Soviet Labour,’ he said, ‘First Class - With emeralds. For you.’

‘Thank you, Marshal,’ I said.

Grunt. ‘The Marshal,’ said Tadjensevitch in a thin, thin voice, ‘thanks you. Certain investigations must be made. He will see you again tomorrow morning.’

This was wrong, but I did not wish to make him right. I said again: ‘Thank you.’

A grunt from the Marshal; he stopped and looked at me, and then he spoke loud so that, though he grunted, I understood. ‘Tell,’ he said, ‘the Aldebaratniki, tell them they must come to us - if their ship should land in the wrong country…’

He stopped at the door and looked at me powerfully.

‘I hope,’ he said, That it will not,’ and he left, and they escorted me back in the Zis sedan to the room at the Hotel Metropole.

3

So that was that and z-z-z-z-zit, I was gone again, leaving an empty and heavily guarded room in the old hotel.

In Paris it was midday, I had spent a long time in Moscow. In Paris it was also hot and, as the grey-haired small man with the rosette of the Legion in his buttonhole escorted me along the Champs Elysees, slim-legged girls in bright short skirts smiled at us. No matter. I did not care one pin for all those bright slim girls.

But it was necessary to look, the man expected it of me, and he was the man I had chosen. In America I worked through a committee of their Senate, in Russia the Comrade Party Secretary; here my man was a M. Duplessin, a small straw but the one to wreck a dromedary. He was a member of the Chamber of Deputies, elected as a Christian Socialist Radical Democrat, a party which stood between the Non-Clerical Catholic Workers’ Movement on one side and the F.C.M., or Movement for Christian Brotherhood, on the other. His party had three deputies in the Chamber, and the other two hated each other. Thus M. Duplessin held the balance of power in his party, which held the balance of power in the Right Centrist Coalition, which held the balance through the entire Anti-Communist Democratic Front, which supported the Premier. Yes. M. Duplessin was the man I needed.

I had slipped a folder into the locked files of a Senate committee and forged credentials into the records of Russian’s M.V.D., but both together were easier than the finding of this right man. But I had him now, and he was taking me to see certain persons who also knew his importance, persons who would do as he told them. ‘Monsieur,’ he said gravely, ‘It lacks a small half-hour of the appointed time. Might one not enjoy an aperitif?’

‘One might,’ I said fluently, and permitted him to find us a table under the trees, for I knew that he was unsure of me; it was necessary to cause him to become sure.

‘Ah,’ said Duplessin, sighing and placed hat, cane and gloves on a filigree metal chair. He ordered drinks and when they came sipped slightly, looking away. ‘My friend,’ he said at last, ‘Tell me of les aldebaragnards. We French have traditions - liberty, equality, fraternity - we made Arabs into citizens of the Republic - always has France been mankind’s spiritual home. But, monsieur. Nevertheless. Three eyes?’

‘They are really very nice,’ I told him with great sincerity, though it was probably no longer true.

‘Hum.’

‘And,’ I said, ‘they know of love.’

‘Ah,’ he said mistily sighing again. ‘Love. Tell me, monsieur. Tell me of love on Aldebaran.’

‘They live on a planet,’ I misstated somewhat. ‘Aldebaran is the star itself. But I will tell you what you ask, M. Duplessin. It is thus: When a young Triop, for so they call themselves, comes of age, he swims far out into the wide sea, far from his crystal city out into the pellucid water where giant fan-tailed fish of rainbow colours swim endlessly above, tinting the pale sunlight that filters through the water and their scales. Tiny bright fish give off star-like flashes from patterned luminescent spots on their scales.’

‘It sounds most beautiful, monsieur,’ Duplessin said with politeness.

‘It is most beautiful. And the young Triop swims until he sees - Her.’

‘Ah, monsieur.’ He was more than polite, I considered, he was interested.

‘They speak not a word,’ I added, ‘for the water is all around and they wear masks, otherwise they could not breathe. They cannot speak, no, and one cannot see the other’s eyes. They approach in silence and in mystery.’

He sighed and sipped his cassis.

‘They,’ I said, ‘they know, although there is no way that they can know. But they do. They swim about each other searchingly, tenderly, sadly. Yes. Sadly - is beauty not always in some way sad? A moment. And then they are one.’

‘They do not speak?’

I shook my head.

‘Ever?’

‘Never until all is over, and they meet elsewhere again.’

‘Ah, monsieur!’ He stared into his small glass of tincture. ‘Monsieur,’ he said, ‘may one hope - that is, is it possible - oh, monsieur! Might one go there, soon?’

I said with all my cunning: ‘All the things are possible, M. Duplessin, if the Triops can be saved from destruction. Consider for yourself, if you please, that to turn such a people over to the brutes with the Red Star - or these with the forty-nine white stars - what difference? - is to destroy them.’

‘Never, my friend, never!’ he cried strongly. ‘Let them come! Let them entrust themselves to France! France will protect them, my friend, or France will die!’

It was all very simple after that, I was free within an hour after lunch and, certainly, z-z-z-z-zit.

My spaceship deposited me in this desert, Mojave, I think. Or almost Mojave, in its essential Americanness. Yes. It was in America, for what other place would do? I had accomplished much, but there was yet a cosmetic touch or two before I could say I had accomplished all.

I scanned the scene, everything was well, there was no one. Distantly planes howled, but of no importance: stratosphere jets, what would they know of one man on the sand four miles below? I worked.

Five round trips, carrying what was needed between this desert place and my bigger ship. And where was that? Ah. Safe. It hurled swinging around Mars: yes, quite safe. Astronomers might one day map it, but on that day it would not matter, no. Oh, it would not matter at all.

Since there was time, on my first trip I reassumed my shape and ate, it was greatly restful. Seven useful arms and ample feet, it became easy; quickly I carried one ton of materials, two thousand pounds, from my armchair ferry to the small shelter in which I constructed my cosmetic appliance. Shelter? Why a shelter, you may ask? Oh, I say, for artistic reasons, and in the remote chance that some low-flying plane might blundersomely pass, though it would not. But it might. Let’s see, I said, let me think, uranium and steel, strontium and cobalt, a touch of sodium for yellow, have I everything? Yes. I have everything, I said, everything, and I assembled the cosmetic bomb and set the fuse. Good-bye, bomb, I said with affection and, z-z-z-z-zit, armchair and Plinglot were back aboard my ship circling Mars. Nearly done, nearly done!

There, quickly I assembled the necessary data for the Aldebaranian rocket, my penultimate - or Next to Closing - task.

Now. This penultimate task, it was not a difficult one, no but it demanded some concentration. I had a ship. No fake, no crude imitation! It was an authentic rocket ship of the Aldebaranians, designed to travel to their six moons, with vent baffles for underwater takeoff due to certain exigencies (e.g., inimical animals ashore) of their culture. Yes. It was real. I had brought it on purpose all the way.

Now - I say once more - now, I did what I had necessarily to do; which was to make a course for this small ship. There was no crew. (Not anywhere.) The course was easy to compute, I did it rather well; but there was setting of instruments, automation of controls - oh, it took time, took time - but I did it. It was my way, I am workmanlike and reliable, ask Mother. The human race would not know an authentic Aldebaranian rocket from a lenticular Cetan shrimp, but they might, hey? The Aldebaranians had kindly developed rockets and it was no great trouble to bring, as well as more authentic. I brought. And having completed all this, and somewhat pleased. I stood to look around.

But I was not alone.

This was not a fortunate thing, it meant trouble.

I at once realized what my companion, however unseen, must be, since it could not be human, nor was it another child. Aldebaranian. It could be nothing else.

I stood absolutely motionless and looked, looked. As you have in almost certain probability never observed the interior of an Aldebaranian rocket, I shall describe: Green metal in cruciform shapes (‘chairs’), sparkling mosaics of coloured light (‘maps’), ferrous alloys in tortured cuprous-glassy conjunction (‘instruments’). All motionless. But something moved. I saw! An Aldebaranian ! One of the Triops, a foothigh manikin, looking up at me out of three terrified blue eyes; yes, I had brought the ship but I had not brought it empty, one of the creatures had stowed away aboard. And there it was.

I lunged towards it savagely. It looked up at me and squeaked like a bell: ‘Why? Why, Plinglot, why did you kill my people?’

It is so annoying to be held to account for every little thing. But I dissembled.

I said in moderate cunning: ‘Stand quiet, small creature, and let me get hold of you. Why are you not dead?’

It squeaked pathetically - not in English, to be sure! but I make allowances - it squeaked: ‘Plinglot, you came to our planet as a friend from outer space, one who wished to help our people join forces to destroy the great killing land beasts.’

‘That seemed appropriate,’ I conceded.

‘We believed you, Plinglot! All our nations believed you. But you caused dissension. You pitted us one against the other, so that one nation no longer trusted another. We had abandoned war, Plinglot, for more than a hundred years, for we dared not wage war.’

‘That is true,’ I agreed.

‘But you tricked us! War came, Plinglot! And at your hands. As this ship was plucked from its berth with only myself aboard I received radio messages that a great war was breaking out and that the seas were to be boiled. It is the ultimate weapon, Plinglot ! By now my planet is dry and dead. Why did you do it?’

‘Small Triop,’ I lectured, ‘listen to this. You are male, one supposes, and you must know that no female Aldebaranian survives. Very well You are the last of your race. There is no future. You might as well be dead.’

‘I know,’ he wept

‘And therefore you should kill yourself. Check,’ I invited, ‘my logic with the aid of your computing machine, if you wish. But please do not disturb the course computations I have set up on it.’

‘It is not necessary, Plinglot,’ he said with sadness. ‘You are right’

‘So kill yourself!’ I bellowed.

The small creature, how foolish, would not do this, no. He said: ‘I do not want to, Plinglot,’ apologetically. ‘But I will not disturb your course.’

Well, it was damned decent of him, in a figure of speech, I believed, for that course was most important to me; on it depended the success of my present mission, which was to demolish Earth as I had his own planet I attempted to explain, in way of thanks, but he would not understand, no.

‘Earth?’ he squeaked feebly and I attempted to make him see. Yes, Earth, that planet so far away, it too had a population which was growing large and fierce and smart; it too was hovering on the fringe of space travel. Oh, it was dangerous, but he would not see, though I explained and I am Plinglot. I can allow no rivals in space, it is my assigned task, given in hand by the great Mother. Well, I terrified him, it was all I could do.

Having locked him, helpless, in a compartment of his own ship I consulted my time.

It was fleeing I flopped onto my armchair; z-z-z-z-zit; once again in the room in the Hotel Mayflower, Washington, U.S.A.

Things progressed, all was ready. I opened the door, affecting having just awaked. A chambermaid turned from dusting pictures on the wall, said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ looked at me and -oh! - screamed. Screamed in a terrible tone.

Careless Plinglot! I had forgot to return to human form.

Most fortunately, she fainted. I quickly turned human and found a rope. It took very much time, and time was passing, while the rocket hastened to cover forty million miles; it would arrive soon where I had sent it. I hurried. Hardly, hardly, I made myself do it, though as anyone on Tau Ceti knows it was difficult for me; I tied her; I forced a pillowcase, or one corner of it, into her mouth so that she might not cry out; and even I locked her in a closet. Oh, it was hard. Questions? Difficulty? Danger? Yes. They were all there to be considered, too, but I had no time to consider them. Time was passing, I have said, and time passed for me.

It was only a temporary expedient. In time she would be found. Of course. This did not matter. In time there would be no time, you see, for time would come to an end for chambermaid, Duplessin, senators and the M.V.D., and then what?

Then Plinglot would have completed this, his mission, and two-eyes would join three-eyes, good-bye.

4

Senator Schnell this time was waiting for me at the kerb in a hollow square of newsmen. ‘Mr. Smith,’ he cried, ‘how good to see you. Now, please, fellows! Mr. Smith is a busy man. Oh, all right, just one picture, or two.’ And he made to shoo the photographers off while wrapping himself securely to my side. ‘Terrible men,’ he whispered out of the golden corner of his mouth, smiling, smiling, ‘how they pester me!’

‘I am sorry, Senator,’ I said politely and permitted him to lead me through the flash barrage to the large room for the hearings.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Mr. Smith, in yesterday’s testimony you gave us to understand that Russia was making overtures to the alien creatures from Aldebaran. Now, I’d like to call your attention to something. Have you seen this morning’s papers?

A. No.

Q. Then let me read you an extract from Pierce Truman’s column which has just come to my attention. It starts, ‘After yesterday’s sensational rev -’

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Excuse me, Mr. Hagsworth.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.)’- elations.’ Yes, Senator?

Q. (Senator Loveless.) I only want to know, or to ask, if that document - that is, the newspaper which you hold in your hand - is a matter of evidence. By this I mean an exhibit. If so, I raise the question, or rather suggestion, that it should be properly marked and entered.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Well, Senator, I—

Q. (Senator Loveless.) As an exhibit, I mean.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Yes, as an exhibit. I -

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Excuse me for interrupting. It seemed an important matter - important procedural matter, that is.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Certainly, Senator. Well, Senator, I intended to read it only in order to have Mr. Smith give us his views.

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Thank you for that explanation, Mr. Hagsworth. Still it seems to me, or at the moment it appears to me, that it ought to be marked and entered.

Q. (The Chairman.) Senator, in my view -

Q. (Senator Loveless.) As an exhibit, that is.

Q. (The Chairman.) Thank you for that clarification, Senator. In my view, however, since as Mr. Hagsworth has said it is only Mr. Smith’s views that he is seeking to get out, then the article itself is not evidence but merely an adjunct to questioning. Anyway, frankly, Senator, that’s the way I see it. But I don’t want to impose my will on the Committee. I hope you understand that, all of you.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Certainly, sir.

Q. (Senator Loveless.) Oh, none of us has any idea, or suspicion, Senator Schnell, that you have any such design, or purpose.

Q. (Senator Duffy.) Of course not.

Q. (Senator Fly.) No, not here…

Oh, time, time! I looked at the clock on the wall and time was going, I did not wish to be here when it started. Of course. Ten o’clock. Ten thirty. Five minutes approaching eleven. Then this Mr. Pierce Truman’s column at last was marked and entered and recorded after civil objection and polite concession from Senator Schnell and in thus wise made an immutable, permanent, in destructible part of the files of this mutable, transient, soon to be destroyed committee. Oh, comedy! But it would not be for laughing if I dawdled here too late.

Somehow, somehow, Mr. Hagsworth was entitled at last to read his column and it said as follows. Viz.

After yesterday’s sensational revelations before the Schnell Committee, backstage Washington was offering bets that nothing could top the mysterious Mr. Smith’s weird story of creatures from outer space. But the toppers may already be on hand.

Here are two questions for you, Senator Schnell. What were three Soviet U.N. military attaches doing at a special showing at the Hayden Planetarium last night? And what’s the truth beyond the reports that are filtering into C.I.A. from sources in Bulgaria, concerning a special parade scheduled for Moscow’s Red Square tomorrow to welcome ‘unusual and very special’ V.LP.’s, names unknown?

Exhausted from this effort, the committee declared a twenty-minute recess. I glowered at the clock, time, time!

Mr. Hagsworth had plenty of time, he thought, he was not worried. He cornered me in the cloakroom. ‘Smoke?’ he said graciously, offering a package of cigarettes.

I said thank you, I do not smoke.

‘Care for a drink?’

I do not drink, I told him.

‘Or -?’ he nodded towards the tiled room with the chromium pipes; I do not do that either, but I could not tell him so, only, I shook my head.

‘Well, Mr. Smith,’ he said again, ‘you make a good witness. I’m sorry,’ he added, ‘to spring that column on you like that But I couldn’t help it.’

“No matter,’ I said.

‘You’re a good sport, Smith. You see, one of the reporters handed it to me as we walked into the hearing room.’

‘All right,’ I said, wishing to be thought generous.

‘Well, I had to get it into the record. What’s it about, eh?’

I said painfully (time, time!), ‘Mr. Hagsworth, I have testified the Russians also wish the ship from Aldebaran. And it is coming close. Soon it will land.’

‘Good,’ he said, smiling and rubbing his hands, Very good! And you will bring them to us ?’

‘I will do,’ I said, ‘the best I can,’ ambiguously, but that was enough to satisfy him, and recess was over.

Q. (Mr. Hagsworth.) Mr. Smith, do I understand that you have some knowledge of the proposed movements of the voyagers from Aldebaran?

A. Yes.

Q. Can you tell us what you know?

A. I can. Certainly. Even now an Aldebaranian rocket ship is approaching the Earth. Through certain media of communication which I cannot discuss in open hearing, as you understand, certain proposals have been made to them on behalf of this country.

Q. And their reaction to these proposals, Mr. Smith?

A. They have agreed to land in the United States for discussions.

Oh, happy commotion, the idiots. The flash bulbs went like mad. Only the clock was going, going, and I commenced to worry, where was the ship? Was forty lousy million miles so much? But no, it was not so much; and when the messenger came racing in the door I knew it was time. One messenger, first. He ran wildly down among the seats, searching, then stopping at the seat on the aisle where Pierce Truman sat regarding me with an ophidian eye, stopped and whispered. Then a couple more, strangers, hatless and hair flying, also messengers, came hurrying in - and more - to the committee, to the newsmen -the word had got out.

‘Mr. Chairman! Mr. Chairman!’ It was Senator Loveless, he was shouting; some one person had whispered in his ear and he could not wait to tell his news. But everyone had that news, you see, it was no news to the chairman, he already had a slip of paper in his hand.

He stood up and stared blindly into the television cameras, without smile now, the gold tooth not flashing. He said: “Gentlemen, I -’ And stopped for a moment to catch his breath and to shake his head. ‘Gentlemen.’ he said, ‘gentlemen, I have here a report,’ staring incredulously at the scrawled slip of paper. In the room was quickly silence; even Senator Loveless, and Pierce Truman stopped at the door on his way out to listen. This report,’ he said, ‘comes from the Arlington Naval Observatory - in, gentlemen, my own home state, the Old Dominion, Virginia -’ He paused and shook himself, yes, and made himself look again at the paper. ‘From the Arlington Naval Observatory, where the radio telescope experts inform us that an object of unidentified origin and remarkable speed has entered the atmosphere of the Earth from outer space.!’

Cries. Sighs. Shouts. But he stopped them, yes, with a hand. ‘But gentlemen, that is not all! Arlington has tracked this object and it has landed. Not in our country, gentlemen! Not even in Russia! But -’ he shook the paper before him - ‘in Africa, gentlemen! In the desert of Algeria!’

Oh, much commotion then, but not joyous. ‘Double-cross!’ shouted someone, and I made an expression of astonishment. Adjourned, banged the gavel of the chairman, and only just in time; the clock said nearly twelve and my cosmetic bomb was set for one-fifteen. Oh, I had timed it close. But now was danger and I had to leave, which I did hardly. But I could not evade Mr. Hagsworth, who rode with me in taxi to hotel, chattering, chattering. I did not listen.

5

Now, this is how it was, an allegory or parable. Make a chemical preparation, you see? Take hydrogen and take oxygen - very pure in both cases - blend them and strike a spark. Nothing happens. They do not burn! It is true, though you may not believe me.

But with something added, yes, they burn. For instance let the spark be a common match, with so tiny you can hardly detect it, a quarter-droplet of water bonded into its substance -Yes, with the water they will burn - more than burn - kerblam, the hydrogen and oxygen fiercely unite. Water, it is the catalyst which makes it go.

Similarly, I reflected (unhearing the chatter of Mr. Hagsworth), it is a catalyst which is needed on Earth, and this catalyst I have made, my cosmetic appliance, my bomb. The chemicals were stewing together nicely. There was a ferment of suspicion in Russia, of fear in America, of jealousy in France where I had made the ship land. Oh, they were jumpy now! I could feel forces building around me; even the driver of the cab, half-watching the crowded streets, half listening to the hysterical cries of his little radio. To the Mayflower, hurrying. All the while the city was getting excited around us. That was the ferment, end by my watch the catalyst was quite near.

‘Wait,’ said Mr. Hagsworth pleading, in the lobby, ‘come have a drink, Smith.’

‘I don’t drink.’

‘I forgot,’ he apologized. ‘Well, would you like to sit for a moment in the bar with me? I’d like to talk to you. This is all happening too fast’

‘Come along to my room,’ I said, not wanting him, no, but what harm could he do? And I did not want to be away from my purple armchair, not at all.

So up we go and there is still time, I am glad. Enough time. The elevator could have stuck, my door could have somehow been locked against me, by error I could have gone to the wrong floor - no, everything was right. We were there and there was time.

I excused myself a moment (though it could have been forever) and walked into the inner room of this suite. Yes, it was there, ready. It squatted purple, and no human would think to look at it that it was anything but an armchair, but it was much more and if I wished I could go to it, - z-z-z-z-zit, I would be gone.

A man spoke.

I turned, looking. Out of the door to the tiled room spoke to me a man, smiling, red-faced, in blue coveralls. Well. For a moment I felt alarm. (I remembered, e.g., what I had left bound in the closet.) But on this man’s face was only smile and he said with apology: ‘Oh, hello, sir. Sorry. But we had a complaint from the floor below, plumbing leak. I’ve got it nearly fixed.’

Oh, all right. I shrugged for him and went back to Air. Hagsworth. In my mind had been - well, I do not know what had been in my mind. Maybe z-z-z-z-zit to the George V and telephone Duplessin to make sure they would not allow Russians or Americans near the ship, no, not if the ambassadors made of his life a living hell. Maybe to Metropole to phone Tadjensevitch (not the Marshal, he would not speak on telephone to me) to urge him also on. Maybe farther, yes.

But I went back to Mr. Hagsworth. It was not needed, really it was not. It was only insurance, in the event that somehow my careful plans went wrong, I wished to be there until the very end. Or nearly. But I need not have done it.

But I did. Z-z-z-z-zit and I could have been away, but I stayed, very foolish, but I did.

Mr. Hagsworth was on telephone, his eyes bright and angry, I thought I knew what he was hearing. I listened to hear if there were, perhaps, muffled kickings, maybe groans, from a closet, but there were none; hard as it was, I had tied well, surely. And then Mr. Hagsworth looked up.

He said, bleak: ‘I have news, Smith. It’s started.’

‘Started?’

‘Oh,’ he said without patience, ‘you know what I’m talking about, Smith. The trouble’s started. These Aldebaranians of yours, they’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, and now the stinging has begun. I just talked to the White House. There’s a definite report of a nuclear explosion in the Mojave desert.’

‘No!’

‘Yes,’ he said, nodding, ‘there is no doubt. It can’t be anything but a Russian missile, though their aim is amazingly bad. Can it?’

‘What else possibly?’ I asked with logic. ‘How terrible! And I suppose you have retaliated, hey? Sent a flight of missiles to Moscow?’

‘Of course. What else could we do?’

He had put his finger on it, yes, he was right, I had computed it myself. ‘Nothing,’ I said and wrung his hand, ‘and may the best country win.’

‘Or planet,’ he said, nodding.

‘Planet?’ I let go his hand. I looked. I waited. It was a time for astonishment, I did not speak.

Mr. Hagsworth said, speaking very slow, ‘Smith, or maybe I ought to say “Plinglot”, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Talk,’ I invited.

Outside there was sudden shouting. ‘They’ve heard about the bomb,’ conjectured Mr. Hagsworth, but he paid no more attention. He said: ‘In school, Plinglot, I knew a Fat Boy.’ He said: ‘He always got his way. Everybody was afraid of him. But he never fought, he only divided others, do you see, and got them to fight each other.’

I stood tall - yes, and brave! I dare use that word “brave”, it applies. One would think that it would be like a human to say he is brave before a blinded fluttering moth, ‘brave’ where there is no danger to be brave against; but though this was a human only, in that room I felt danger. Incredible, but it was so and I did not wish it.

I said, ‘What are you talking about, Mr. Hagsworth?’

‘An idea I had,’ he said softly with a face like death. ‘About a murderer. Maybe he comes from another planet and, for reasons of his own, wants to destroy our planet. Maybe this isn’t the first one - he might have stopped, for example, at Aldebaran.’

‘I do not want to hear this,’ I said, with truth.

But he did not stop, he said: ‘We human beings have faults, Plinglot, and an outsider with brains and a lot of special knowledge - say, the kind of knowledge that could get a file folder into our records, in spite of all our security precautions - such an outsider might use our faults to destroy us. Senate Committee hearings - why, some of them have been a joke for years, and not a very funny one. Characters have been destroyed, policies have been wrecked - why shouldn’t a war be started? Because politicians can be relied on to act in a certain way. And maybe this outsider, having watched and studied us, knew something about Russian weaknesses too, and played on them in the same way. Do you see how easy it would be?’

‘Easy?’ I cried, offended.

‘For someone with very special talents and ability,’ he assured me. ‘For a Fat Boy. Especially for a Fat Boy who can go faster than any human can follow from here to Moscow, Moscow to Paris, Paris to the Mojave, Mojave to - where? Somewhere near Mars, let’s say at a guess. For such a person, wouldn’t it, Plinglot, be easy?’

I reeled, I reeled; but these monkey tricks, they could not matter. I had planned too carefully for that, only how did they know?

‘Excuse me,’ I said softly, ‘one moment,’ and turned again to the room with the armchair, I felt I had made a mistake. But what mistake could matter, I thought, when there was the armchair and, of course, z-z-z-z-zit.

But that was a mistake also.

The man in blue coveralls, he stood in the door but not smiling, he held in his hand what I knew instantly was a gun.

The armchair was there, yes, but in it was of all strange unaccountable people this chambermaid, who should have been bounded in closet, and she too had a gun.

‘Miss Gonzalez,’ introduced Hagsworth politely, ‘and Mr. Hechtmeyer. They are - well, G-men, though, as you can see, Miss Gonzalez is not a man. But she had something remarkable to tell us about you, Plinglot, when Mr. Hechtmeyer released her. She said that you seemed to have another shape when she saw you last. The shape of a sort of green-skinned octopus with bright red eyes; ridiculous, isn’t it? Or is it, Plinglot?’

Ruses were past, it was a time for candid. I said - I said, ‘Like this?’ terribly, and I went to natural form.

Oh, what white faces! Oh, what horror! It was remarkable, really, that they did not turn and run. For that is Secret Weapon No. 1, for us of Tau Ceti on sanitation work; for our working clothes we assume the shape of those about us certainly, but in case of danger we have merely to resume our own. In all Galaxy (I do not know about Andromeda) there is no shape so fierce. Seven terrible arms. Fourteen piercing scarlet eyes. Teeth like Hessian bayonets; I ask you, would you not run?

But they did not. Outside a siren began to scream.

*

6

I cried: ‘Air attack!’ It was fearful, the siren warned of atomic warheads on their way and this human woman, this Gonzalez, sat in my chair with pointing gun. ‘Go away,’ I cried, ‘get out,’ and rushed upon her, but she did not move. ‘Please?’ I said thickly among my long teeth, but what was the use, she would not do it!

They paled, they trembled, but they stayed; well, I would have paled and trembled myself if it had been a Tau Cetan trait, instead I merely went limp. Terror was not only on one side in that room, I confess it. ‘Pease,’ I begged, ‘I must go, it is the end of life on this planet and I do not wish to be here!’

‘You don’t have a choice,’ said Mr. Hagsworth, his face like steel. ‘Gentlemen!’ he called. ‘Come in!’ And through the door came several persons, some soldiers and some who were not. I looked with all my eyes; I could not have been more astonished. For there was - yes, Senator Schnell, gold tooth covered, face without smile; Senator Loveless, white hair waving; and - oh, there was more.

I could scarcely believe.

Feeble, slow humans! They had mere atmosphere craft mostly but here, eight thousand miles from where he had been eighteen hours before, yes, Comrade Tadjensevitch, the old man; and M. Duplessin, sadly meeting my eyes. It could not be, almost I forgot the screaming siren and the fear.

‘These gentlemen,’ said Hagsworth with politeness, ‘also would like to talk to you, Mr. Smith.’

‘Arakelian,’ grunted the old man.

‘Monsieur Laplant,’ corrected Duplessin.

‘Or,’ said Hagsworth, ‘should we all call you by your right name, Plinglot?’

Outside the siren screamed, I could not move.

Senator Schnell came to speak: ‘Mr. Smith,’ he said, ‘or, I should say, Plinglot, we would like an explanation. Or account.’

‘Please let me go!’ I cried.

‘Where?’ demanded old Tadjensevitch. ‘To Mars, Hero of Soviet Labour? Or farther this time?’

‘The bombs,’ I cried. ‘Let me go! What about Hero of Soviet Labour?’

The old man sighed: ‘The decoration Comrade Party Secretary gave you, it contains a microwave transmitter, very good. One of our sputniki now needs new parts.’

‘You suspected me?’ I cried, out of fear and astonishment.

‘Of course the Russians suspected you, Plinglot,’ Hagsworth scolded mildly. ‘We all did, even we Americans - and we are not, you know, a suspicious race. ‘No,’ he added thoughtfully, as though there were no bombs to fall, ‘our national characteristics are … what? The conventional caricatures - the publicity hound, the pork-barrel senator, the cut-throat businessman? Would you say that was a fair picture, Mr. Smith?’

‘I Plinglot!’

‘Yes, of course. Sorry. But that must be what you thought, because those are the stereotypes you acted on, and maybe they’re true enough - most of the time. Too much of the time. But not all the time, Plinglot!’

I fell to the floor, perspiring a terrible smell, it is how we faint, so to speak. It was death, it was the end, and this man was bullying me without fear.

‘The Fat Boy,’ said Mr. Hagsworth softly, ‘was strong. He could have whipped most of us. But in my last term he got licked. Guile and bluff - when at last the bluff was called he gave up. He was a coward.’

‘I give up, Mr. Hagsworth,’ I wailed, ‘only let me go away from the bombs!’

‘I know you do,’ he nodded, “what else? And - what, the bombs ? There are no bombs. Look out the window.’

In seconds I pulled myself together, no one spoke. I went to window. Cruising up and down outside a white truck, red cross, painted with word Ambulance, siren going. Only that. No air raid warning. Only ambulance.

‘Did you think,’ scolded Hagsworth with voice angry now, ‘that we would let you bluff us? There’s an old maxim - “Give him enough rope” - we gave it to you; and we added a little. You see, we didn’t know you came from a race of cowards.’

‘I Plinglot!’ I sobbed through all my teeth. ‘I am not a coward. I even tied this human woman here, ask her! It was brave, even Mother could not have done more! Why, I sector warden of this whole quadrant of the very Galaxy, indeed, to keep the peace!’

‘That much we know - and we know why,’ nodded Mr. Hagsworth, ‘because you’re afraid; but we needed to know more. Well, now we do; and once M. Duplessin’s associates get a better means of communication with the little Aldebaranians, I expect we’ll know still more. It will be very helpful knowledge,’ he added in thought.

It was all, it was the end. I said sadly: ‘If only Great Mother could know Plinglot did his best! If only she could learn what strange people live here, who, I cannot understand.’

‘Oh,’ said Mr. Hagsworth, gently, ‘We’ll tell her for you, Plinglot,’ he said, ‘very soon, I think.’

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