Part 11

"That's what I like," Joy said. "Optimism. All right, you ace reporters, go ahead and write your story. You can even dictate it to me. I've got the old pad in the old handbag."

Joy took out her steno pad and poised a pencil over it.

Rod lay back on one of the couches. "Fair enough. How shall we start, Sam?"

"Dateline," I said. "Ultra, August whatever-it-is--eleven? That part's easy. Then what? AP? WW?"

"No," Rod said. "Special to the Free Press of the World. By Sam Kent and Rod Harris."

"As told to Joy Linx," I said.

"Sure, put that down," Rod said. "It's going to look like one of those six-man bylines in the _New York Post_, but what the hell."

"Thank you, gentlemen. Shall I read back what I've got so far?"

"Don't be flippant. Now let's see. A good lead is half the story. How about, 'Probably the most fantastic plot in Earth's history was being hatched today on the Monolithian super-satellite Ultra.'"

"Take out the 'probably,'" I said. "Earth never had an extraterrestrial plot before."

"Good desk man's deletion. That's giving it the whambo-zambo. Now, second sentence--new paragraph: 'A conspiracy involving substitution of Earth's leading statesmen by Monolithians impersonating them down to the last birthmark'--is that the way you see it, Sam?"

"Exactly," I said. "... 'down to the last birthmark threatens to reduce the world to the status of a colony in an alien empire.'"

"Good," Rod said. "I see we're talking on the same channel. Now: 'The seemingly friendly Monolithians, who made such a well-publicized point of allying themselves, through the United Nations, with Earth's highest aspirations toward peace and brotherhood....'"

We must have worked on it for two hours. When Joy had taken it all down and we'd gone over it with the old editorial pencil, it read like this:

by Sam Kent and Rod Harris as told to Joy Linx

ULTRA, Aug. 11 (Special to the Free Press of the World)--The most fantastic plot in Earth's history unfolded today in the Monolithian super-satellite Ultra.

A conspiracy involving substitution of Earth's leading statesmen by Monolithians impersonating them down to the last birthmark threatened to reduce the world to the status of a colony in an alien empire.

The seemingly friendly Monolithians who publicly allied themselves with Earth's highest aspirations toward peace and brotherhood have been unmasked as schemers and plotters bent on conquest--conquest by bloodless subversion if possible, but by force if necessary.

Events have made it clear that the ordinary people of Earth, their doubts stilled by the fact that their trusted leaders had agreed to a super-summit meeting, had no way of knowing the great pressures that had been brought to bear on their presidents and prime ministers.

The recent "peril"--that of the alleged threat to annihilate the world's major cities by Spaniolan O-bombs--has been revealed by authoritative sources as a gigantic hoax.

These sources, who include an official close to the President of the United States, are convinced that the threat never existed. They said it was an incident manufactured by the Monolithians with the willing cooperation of the Spaniolan dictator, General Domingo Sanchez, whose reward was to be the role of ruler of the Caribbean. He, too, is expected to find that he's been a dupe of the aliens, it was learned, and may not live to reap his reward.

The O-bombs he professed to have were nonexistent, these sources said. While it seems likely that the Monolithians do possess the "conscience gas" which reportedly ended the threat, there is extreme doubt that it was actually used on Domingo Sanchez--simply because he was a willing tool of the Monolithians and it wasn't necessary.

It is believed that knowledge of part of the plot was the factor that induced Earth's leaders to agree to the so-called super-summit meeting here. The Monolithians told them that the Spaniolan bombers--accompanied by refueling planes able to keep them aloft indefinitely--were already airborne and en route to the target cities. Disguised as commercial jet airliners and flying regular flight lanes, they avoided challenge by air defense forces.

Faced with the potential destruction of their cities, the world's leaders were forced to agree to the fantastic trip through space, in alien craft, to Ultra. "They were not naïve, as many supposed," one high official said. "They were taking what they believed was the only step possible to save the lives of millions of innocent people."

Thus the Monolithians, who held out hope of preventing this unparalleled massacre, were able to entice Earth's top Statesmen into the trap.

Once in Ultra, accompanied only by aides and a few military personnel armed feebly with hand guns, they were sitting ducks for the next twist of the alien plot.

This was the great substitution of incredibly well-trained Monolithians--transformed by alien medico-science into exact duplicates--for the presidents of the United States and France, the Prime Minister of Great Britain, the Premier of the Soviet Union, the Chancellor of Germany, and the others who went on the ill-fated journey.

From here, the future course of the plot is plain to see. The fake leaders, acclaimed by their people as the saviors of humanity, will be able to do no wrong. Their declarations of faith in the motives of the Monolithians will go unchallenged.

The next step--the absolute domination of Earth by the Monolithians--will be a short and terrible one.

There was no typewriter in the room, so Joy had transcribed it into longhand.

We were reading the story over and wondering aloud how, if ever, we were going to file it when the door opened. Rod quickly dropped the pages behind the couch.

Our jailer shoved another prisoner into the room and shut the door again. It was Spookie Masters, comedian, bon vivant and world traveler, looking sheepish.

"Pardon the intrusion, folks," Spookie said.

"I didn't know you were aboard," Rod said. "For pete's sake, Spookie, what happened?"

"I stowed away," he said, his usual self-assurance returning. "Didn't want to be left out of this great development in the affairs of men."

"Stowed away?" Joy said admiringly. "How could you? I thought security was as tight as a drum." The hero worship the entertainer always managed to evoke in women was shining in Joy's eyes.

"I guess I oversimplified," Spookie said. "Actually I used pull. Biff Overton's an old friend of mine and I persuaded him to have Gov smuggle me aboard in the guise of a fifth assistant undersecretary. Just consider me one of the striped-pants set."

Overton was only the Secretary of the Treasury. Spookie Masters seemed to know everybody.

"Yeah," Rod told him, "but somewhere along the line you goofed."

"That I did, Roddy my boy. I dropped the jolly old brick. I got bored playing diplomat and started wandering around. Just strolling, and having a look into this corner and that, you know, when it began to dawn on me that everything wasn't strictly kosher."

"For instance?" I asked.

"Little things at first, Sam." I was pleased as a cub that he'd remembered my name. "Like when I wandered into a funny room where they were faking messages between Ultra and Earth."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, it was full of teletypes, like an Army message center I once had the misfortune to be assigned to. It seemed to be a Monolithian relay point. All the stories your colleagues filed passed through it--and they were all being edited or censored. And the incoming cables, or whatever you call them, were getting the same treatment. Lots of bright young men hard at work, doctoring the news of the world. Government messages, too. All Monolithians, I gather--but guess who their boss was, Sam."

"Who?"

"You. I gave you the big hello and you gave me the big vacant stare, and so I got out of there. I'm not an egomaniac, exactly, but I did think it a bit strange that you didn't remember ol' Spookie Masters."

"That wasn't me," I said. "I saw him, too."

"I didn't know then there were two of you. But after I snooped some more and saw two Gov Allisons and two French presidents and two of all the rest, it percolated fast that there was a big deficiency in the up-and-up department. By that time the boys in the wool cloaks were hot on my tail and I ended up here with you other charming spies. I presume that's what you're in for too."

"Where did you see these two sets of summiteers?" Rod asked. "I gather it wasn't long ago."

"Just a few minutes ago," Spookie said. "It was at the big porthole thing--you know, where we transferred from the spaceship. Only they were going out--one set into one spaceship and the other into a second. It's just a hunch, of course, but I sort of got the impression that the wrong presidents were going back to Earth."

22 (AUG. 12, TUES.)

He who is wrapped in purple robes, With planets in His care, Had pity on the least of things Asleep upon a chair.

--William Butler Yeats

Maybe it was our high-class company, or maybe it was just that the Monolithians figured everything was going swimmingly for them. Whatever the reason, they treated us royally after Spookie Masters joined our little captive society.

The cuisine improved. Our jailers brought in cigarettes and cigars and fairly recent copies of _Harper's_ and _The New Yorker_. They rolled back a wall so Joy Linx could have a private bedroom and handed out blankets all around. They even brought in typewriters and stacks of copy paper. It was all quite cozy, except that we were still prisoners and that none of our captors ever spoke to us.

Spookie came out of the bathroom, wiping leftover lather off his face, and said, "What are they doing? I don't want to settle down here. We've got to find a way to bust out of this joint."

"Now," Rod said, "if that isn't an ace-high, triple-plated, razzle-dazzle idea, I've never heard one." He was having a second cup of our breakfast coffee. "And just how do you think we should carry out your splendid plan, Mr. Masters?"

"Cut it out, Rod," Spookie said. "I know I talk big. But have we explored all the possibilities? I suppose you've gone over this room with a fine-tooth comb, but how about Joy's? Maybe there's some way out from there."

"Miss Linx is still enjoying her beauty sleep," Rod said. "But it's a thought. Let's rout her out."

But the door opened and Joy said, "I heard that, you fiends. First respectable night's sleep I had, too, since I was thrown in among you great big leering men."

"Don't lump me in with these raffish reporters, ma'am," Spookie said. "I'm the soul of honor."

"I treat that remark with the doubt it deserves," Joy said. "But all this gay banter aside, men, I've been tinkering with a thought. Were you watching when they opened up the wall to make my room? Well, I was. There was a certain way our woolly friend touched the wall. Maybe if we felt around on the other side in here...."

We gave the wall a thorough going-over, fingering it, rapping on it and occasionally kicking it in frustration. Just as we were about to give up, it rolled back, revealing another room, bare except for some crates. There was a door to the corridor and Spookie went to it quickly. It opened easily and he peered out through a crack.

"Nobody out there," he said. "Let's go!"

I had opened the only one of the crates whose lid wasn't fastened down. It was filled nearly to the top with flat, black boxes about the size of a paperback book. I had no idea what they were but slipped several into my jacket pockets before following the others into the corridor.

It was still empty after we'd slunk quite a distance from our plush prison. We went down the spiral ramp, trying to head back to the press room, on the theory that we'd be safer among our own kind--though it was obvious now that every Earthman aboard was at the mercy of the Monolithians. Rod had our story and his chief interest at the moment was finding a way to file it to Earth uncensored.

Spookie went first, then Rod, followed by Joy. I brought up the rear.

I hadn't tied my shoes and they were flopping against the bare floor, making a racket. I stopped to tie them and the others disappeared around the bend.

Before I could catch up with them a Monolithian had caught me.

For a fraction of a second I didn't recognize him. He'd come up quietly behind me and just stood there until I noticed him.

"Hello, Sam," he said. "No, don't get up."

I remained on one knee and automatically finished the knot I was making as I looked up.

The fraction of a second over, I saw who it was. Me.

I tried to think of something to do or say, but all I could do was stare in fascination. He looked just a trifle wrong, but again I realized almost immediately that this was only because I was seeing not the mirror image I was used to, but an exact, unreversed duplicate.

He was looking at me with an almost hypnotic stare. My mind began to falter, like a car engine with bad cylinders.

"Up now, but slowly," my Monolithian duplicate said. He didn't seem to be armed. He was dressed exactly as I was, in jacket and slacks.

I got to my feet, unable to look away from his eyes.

"You are powerless to do anything except what I tell you," he said. It was true. I was only half thinking now, my attention concentrated on this superbly confident other self of mine. Somewhere among the missing cylinders, however, was my recollection that this was the creature who had taken my place in bed with Mae. My head hurt at the thought, coupled with his proximity. I longed to take him by the neck and throttle him until he was dead, dead, dead. But I was powerless to move except as he directed.

Then Joy came back around the bend behind him. I threw myself against him and he fell off balance. She had only a few seconds to take in the situation. She swung up her handbag and gave him a good clout on the head. He crumpled to the floor. She hit him again, on the downswing, and the sharp metal corner of her bag banged into his skull. He was out.

"Thanks, Joy. You're a lifesaver."

"Maybe," she said. "If we don't get out of here we'll both be more like wads of second-hand chewing gum. What are you _doing_?"

I'd pulled my unconscious image to a sitting position against the wall of the corridor and was going through his pockets.

"Little identity switch," I told her.

He had nothing at all in his inside breast pocket, but there was a clip-on pencil and a small notebook in his shirt pocket. I exchanged them for the little notebook and clip-on pencil I keep in the same place. I exchanged wallets, too, not without a pang for the eighty-odd dollars in expense money that was in mine. I put off examining his. For good measure I switched the handkerchiefs we both carried in our right hip pockets and the few coins in the change pockets of our jackets.

"Looks like a fair exchange," Joy said. "Now what? Can't we hurry up?"

"Where are the others?"

"I don't know. I came back when I missed you."

I found a door that opened and pulled my duplicate into the room. It was an empty cabin, obviously unused. I propped him against a chair and Joy said, "Shall I give him another whack?"

"No, let's just leave him. We don't want to kill the guy. He looks as if he'll be out for quite a while."

We decided to head for the landing stage. On the way I asked Joy about something that had been puzzling me: "Just how did you know which one of us to hit?"

She thought for a moment. "Intuition, I guess. You were the one who was attacking--using physical violence--so you couldn't have been the Monolithian. He would have been armed with one of his super weapons. I didn't really think about it." She looked at me and said, apparently only half-jokingly, "You _are_ you, aren't you?"

My head was beginning to throb again. "I hope so."

We reached the big open area near the landing stage.

"This is where we have to look very matter-of-fact," I told Joy. "I have a small hunch. Just play it by ear."

There were only a few people near the transparent airlock. All but one of them wore the Monolithian woolen cloaks. I didn't recognize the man dressed in Earth clothing. He certainly wasn't one of the reporters.

Joy and I tried to stroll nonchalantly toward the airlock. I had only the vaguest of plans for finding out as subtly as possible when the next flight--if any--left for Earth.

One of the cloaked men came toward us. He smiled. "Mr. Kent?"

"That's right."

"Your ID card, please."

I handed him the wallet I'd appropriated. He unfolded it and looked for a long few seconds at the White House card under the cellophane window. Then he handed the wallet back.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Your pilot is ready, as arranged. Will the lady be accompanying you?"

"Yes," I said. "My secretary, Miss Linx." The throb in my head was worse. I supposed it was the tension.

"Okay, Sam." He winked. He turned and gave an order. The inner pane of the airlock rose swiftly and a tiny craft, no more than three times the size of my Volkswagen, rolled out from the side. Joy and I walked toward it. So did the one man in Earth clothing. Without a glance at us, he went into the pilot's compartment forward.

Joy and I had reached the steps leading to the passenger space aft when the Monolithian in the cloak said, "One last thing, Mr. Kent. The last formality."

Throb-throb, went my head. Joy looked at me questioningly and put her hand inside my elbow. I squeezed it to my body.

"All right," I said as if annoyed. "Let's get it over with."

There was just the slightest trace of suspicion in his eyes as he said, "What word from you shall I send to our colleagues?"

The throbbing in my skull grew more intense. "Duty," I said, not knowing why. But I said it firmly.

The Monolithian nodded. "And--?"

"Duty and dedication," I said without hesitation. My head felt as if Buddy Rich and Zutty Singleton and Gene Krupa were all pounding away inside. I was genuinely annoyed now. "Let's go," I said sharply. "There's no time to lose."

"You're right," the Monolithian said. Joy and I got in and he went up to the pilot, his suspicions apparently at rest, and told him, "Take Mr. Kent and Miss Linx to Earth."

23 (AUG. 13, WED.)

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.

--Oscar Wilde

The pilot said virtually nothing to us on the long trip, except that during the final orbital glide he asked me where I wanted to get out. I said I'd prefer it to be as close as possible to downtown Washington. His cockpit was completely isolated from the passenger compartment and we communicated by intercom. I was sure he could hear everything Joy and I said, so we talked only inconsequentials and spent quite a bit of the time dozing in our comfortable lounge chairs.

The pilot took me at my word and landed on the mall near the Washington Monument. It was just getting dark.

He said "Duty" and I replied "Duty and dedication." He took off again without another word.

Joy and I watched his silent climb into the sky. So did a few pedestrians and the group of people waiting to go up to the Monument. A policeman started toward us, not running but with a purposeful walk, so I hailed a cab and we got away from there.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

"White House," I said, to give him some place to head for. He drove off. The cop decided not to chase us.

Joy said, "We can't go to the White House. We'd be walking right into their jaws."

"I know," I said. "But if they were after us we'd never have got this far. Our dutiful pilot would have seen to that."

"They must have found the fake Sam Kent by now," Joy said. "They can't still think you're him. Something's fishy."

"You're right, of course. We'd better catch up on what's been going on."

"We'll go to my place," Joy said. She gave the driver a South-East address and said to me, "We can listen to the newscasts and pick up the papers on the way."

Joy lived in a top-floor apartment in a new building from which you could see the dome of the Capitol.

"There's the radio and TV and there's something in the cabinet over the sink in the kitchen if you want to make a drink," she said. "Make yourself at home. I'm going to take a shower and get into some different clothes. I've been in this outfit so long it feels like a uniform."

I'd bought the _Post_, the _Star_, the _News_, the _Baltimore Sun_ and the _New York Times_. I dropped them and myself on the couch and turned on the radio. She'd had it tuned to WGMS and for a while I got nothing but good music. I looked over the front pages to muted sounds of Mozart and the bathroom shower.

The morning papers, the _Post_ and _Times_, had similar headlines, something to the effect that a blueprint for interplanetary peace had been charted at the Ultra summit conference.

The afternoon papers headlined the return to Earth of the summiteers. The tabloid _News_ said all over its front page:

GOV BACK FROM SPACE; HAILS SUMMIT TALK AS 'TRIUMPH FOR MANKIND'

The conservative _Star_ gave it an eight-column banner:

WORLD LEADERS RETURN FROM ULTRA; CONFERENCE WITH MONOLITHIANS SEEN INSURING GENERATIONS OF PEACE

I looked in vain for the story Rod Harris and I had written, or for anything like it. There was no hint anywhere that the threat of El Spaniola had been a hoax and certainly no indication that the President and his fellow chiefs of state were any different than before they'd left for Ultra.

Nor was there any word about Gov's press secretary being missing. In fact there were several quotes from good old Samuel L. C. Kent, saying in substance that there was nothing that could be added to what was in the official statements and giving a few homey details about how the President had enjoyed his first trip into space.

"He had a fine time," I was quoted as saying at Dulles International Airport, where the spaceships had landed on their return from Ultra, "and he looks forward to making another trip--perhaps even to Monolithia itself after he leaves the White House."

What this meant, of course, was that my double had got loose in time to rejoin the other duplicated Earthpeople before they got back to Washington. It also meant that the Monolithians had known who I was during my flight back with Joy and that they had a good reason for not stopping us. I wondered what that reason was.

The throbbing in my head began again.

Joy came out of the bathroom wearing an extremely attractive wrapper, belted rather insecurely at the waist. She'd washed her hair and had combed it straight back in a pony-tail. She wore no makeup except lipstick and had left off her glasses. She was barefoot and desirable. I wanted to kiss her.

"Well," she said, "that's a lot better. Nothing like getting rid of the grime of two planets. What, no drink, Mr. Sam? You _are_ a dedicated one."

"Do something for me, Joy. Call my home and ask for me. If I'm not there make some excuse and hang up."

"All right." She went to the phone, "And if you are there?"

"Hang up anyway."

She dialed the Bethesda number. It answered almost immediately.

"Hello," I heard her say; "is Jim there?... James Fairchild.... Oh, isn't this Empire 3-6573?... I'm sorry; I must have the wrong number." She put the phone down and said to me, "It was you."

Throb-throb. My head again. It wasn't a pain but an insistent hammering in the center of my skull.

"That means Mae's with ... him," I said. "And she thinks it's me again."

"Poor Sam. I'm going to make you a good stiff Scotch. You need it."