Part 5

They broke into a trot. The crowd around them had grown rapidly and began to trot with them, wondering where the show would take place. The policeman ran too.

They let out their speed. Now a whole host of people began to shout and new ones joined them, running, as they crossed a main street against a light.

"Faster," grunted Kunklin.

Prule swore. "I can't. The suit's too heavy."

"Just a little way. When we get to the ship we'll put on a demonstration."

They tore down the avenue, narrowly evading children, old ladies, and newsstands. Two more blue-coated officials joined in the chase, converging and blowing whistles. Several more were coming up in front of them when they finally reached the ship.

They stopped in the center of the wide street. Traffic screeched to a halt on all sides.

"Are you sure it's here?"

Kunklin looked around uneasily, then spied the faint hazy circle of the opening, several feet in the air above them. He pushed at his anti-gravity knob, felt himself lightening, but not lifting. He swore.

The crowd was reaching them, small boys and men lurched to a stop around them.

"They're waiting for us to do something," Prule hissed.

"Quick! Before the police get here! Jump!"

Prule looked up helplessly at the hazy circle.

"How"--he began, but Kunklin pushed him aside, assumed a broad stance in the center of the crowd. He thrust his arms outward dramatically, as if for silence. Just then the first cop broke through and into the center of the circle and began to speak virtuously, angrily, in the manner of cops, but the people around him were staring at Kunklin and waiting expectantly.

"Well," said Kunklin, speaking cheerfully in Galactic, "it's been fun." He threw the anti-gravity to full power, waited till he could feel that the lift would no longer increase. It was not enough to get him off the ground, but he now weighed next to nothing. He crouched, then leaped for the haze above. He shot up like a rocket, went through the circle and disappeared.

A moment later Prule followed him. As he sailed up through the haze the ship became immediately visible above, he reached out and caught on to a rung of the ladder below Kunklin. Thankfully, wearily, not bothering to look down at the stunned, open-mouthed crowd which he could see below him but which could no longer see him, he followed Kunklin up into the ship.

Kunklin did not wait at the airlock, he ran quickly away. Prule, puffing, paused to look down at last on the crowd below. Their ascent had been a success. The crowd was beginning to applaud.

Prule closed the airlock and the invisible, untouchable ship lifted. He went to join Kunklin. The big Galactic was bent over the controls, guiding the ship not upward--as Prule had thought--but horizontally down the length of the wide street.

"Eh?" said Prule.

"Got to get a live Faktor," Kunklin said anxiously, his eyes glued to the viewscreen. "We've lost the Earthman. He could be anywhere now, and we can't help him. He may be headed for the Faktor's main base. If so he will be killed. We've got to get to the base first."

Prule pursed his lips. "If he dies on our account, just because of your foolish idea to use him--"

"I know," Kunklin cut in. "So we need a Faktor to tell us where the base is. They're probably all over this city. I think I even saw one in the crowd." He stopped. "That's another thing," he said unhappily, "if there were Faktors in the crowd, they'll know a Galactic ship is here."

Prule grunted, peered down at the left side of the screen.

"Look, isn't that one?"

He indicated a small, furtive-looking man who was walking swiftly away from the area they had just left.

Kunklin adjusted for a close view.

"Yep." He moved to the instrument panel, worked carefully at a traversing mechanism. "Get down to the airlock. We'll suck him up."

"He'll die of fright," Prule predicted. "They always do."

Kunklin shrugged. "We have to try. Maybe this will be a strong one."

"Let's hope so."

Prule readied himself at the open airlock. Kunklin threw a switch, there was a deep, subtle hum, and a magnetic beam dosed down on the man below. He flipped straight up toward the ship, like a hooked minnow.

But he was not one of the stronger Faktors. He was dead before he reached the door.

* * * * *

In the late afternoon, when the wind had died and the day was quiet, the door opened.

The same two men--she had begun to be able to tell them apart--came in and, this time, bowed.

Ivy yawned, rose up on an elbow and blinked her eyes.

The two men, surprised, stared at her.

"All right, what is it?" Ivy said as briskly as she could, trying to force down the sudden fear. "Stop that damned bowing. A sillier bunch of skinny idiots I never saw. Men! Huh! You're dying out, all right, that's obvious."

The two men looked at each other. Then one of them recaptured his grin.

"It is time for your breeding," he said lecherously.

Ivy yawned again, started to rise.

"Okay, I'll be with you in a minute. I hope it doesn't take too long. I've lost a lot of sleep."

She managed to stand up calmly, with composure. The only thing she could think of to do now was to regard this whole thing lightly, and to make an occasional remark about the rather obvious defects of her captors.

There was no sense in collapsing.

The two men, puzzled, followed her with their eyes as she fluffed up her hair.

"No need of that," one of them said quickly, "you will be prepared by others."

Ivy let her hair fall. "Okay Oscar. Whatever you say." In a very unladylike manner, she yawned again, scratched herself. She grinned at them both.

"I don't mean to be nasty, fellas, but why don't you pull up a chair for a minute? Old guys like you shouldn't be running around all day--"

The near one growled. The other one restrained him, smiled thinly.

"We have no need of rest," he said slowly. "We possess a certain--vitality." His smile broadened. "As you shall presently see for yourself."

Ivy did not look at him, walked suddenly past him and out the door.

They made a motion to grab her, but held back as she stopped. She stood in the afternoon sun and stretched lazily.

"To your left," the man behind her said.

She waited for a moment, and then she walked. She strode upon bare ground, upon soft grass, unable to be flippant now, looking stiffly ahead toward a flat gray building. The door was open and she could see the far wall, which was richly hung and colored in a strange deep red. The two men left her at the door, where another man, very old and white gowned and prissy, took her by the arm.

The man prepared her. She dropped all pretense at hardness, at disinterest, and sat like a stone. In with the other, the breeder, she would have to be icy. She became vaguely aware of a thick fragrance around her, a musky, oily smell. Then the man released her. She was prepared. He stood her up, waved at the door at the far end of the room.

"There," he said without interest, turning away.

She took a deep breath and walked forward.

* * * * *

It was a long way up and Web went most of the way at a crouch, the knife and the gun both ready at his belt. He had taken off his coat and tie; it was chilly in the woods but he did not feel it.

Four miles north of Alford, the old man had said. Just a half mile off the highway, on the tallest hill, the really steep one. He kept the highway to his right going up, beginning to wonder at last if the alien had told the truth. For all he knew, the camp might really be in northern Tibet, and he could be stealing his way ever so stealthily through total emptiness. But no. The old man had been scared to death. Literally. And anyway, the thing he was walking into was undoubtedly a trap, and knowing it did not do much good.

He cleared the first rise and climbed in among some rocks. Nearby below he could see the highway, empty. The sun was high in the afternoon. Four miles was not a long way, even crouching, and he could probably make it before dark. In the dark shadows of the bushes around him, nothing moved. He went up the next hill.

When he reached the top he was beginning to perspire. He sat down for a moment to think.

Now that he was close and the moment of contact was so near he could almost touch it, his mind began to function with a cold, comforting clarity. It was time to make a plan. His target was the ship, yes, but he would have to proceed on the assumption that they knew he was coming. They would have some kind of warning system, and a variety of weapons. But for the time being he held the ace.

He grinned cheerlessly to himself and headed for the next rise.

On the other side of this one there was a long flat space, scrub-bushed and empty, and then the last hill, the steep one, began. He went forward across the open space in broad daylight. He felt like he was walking into the mouth of a primed cannon. In effect, he was.

It was in among a clump of pines, silent and green, that the thing fell to the ground near him. He froze, momentarily panic-stricken, his hand to his belt. The fallen thing lay on the ground a few inches from his right hand, stiff and unmoving, dark among the leaves.

He relaxed slightly.

It was only a bird.

A dead bird. He stared at it for a long while, motionless. Out of the trees above him a dead bird had fallen.

Coincidence?

Or were they now turning on the power?

He lay flat on the ground. They knew where he was and they did not like it. They had fired on him. He did not know whether the thing that killed the bird had missed him, or whether it had hit him too and his incredible immunity had protected him. Perhaps they had already fired on him with the other gun, the one from the satellite. He did not know that either. But in front of him lay the dead bird.

And now, if he tripped another electronic eye, they would probably come out in person.

All for the best. He peered intently through the trees up the hill, searching for some sign of buildings. If he could get to the edge of a clearing, could see, he would stand a better chance. But there was nothing but bushes, the bare brown shafts of trees. Now that they knew where he was, he was deeply thankful that he'd had the sense to bring the gun.

He moved forward on his hands and knees, watching, listening, praying that he didn't trip another eye.

The bushes crackled around him. The wind, dammit.

He stopped and listened, heard his heart beating in his throat. He decided he could crawl just as well with one hand, so he took out the gun. It was at that moment that he saw the first Faktor.

An instant silhouette through the trees ahead, moving silently toward him. They were coming.

* * * * *

He dropped to his stomach, crawled with a cold silent slide into the nearest bush clump. Although they probably knew to the foot where he was, he had to lie still.

In a brief, brutal flash of reproach and disgust, he realized what an idiot he'd been to come out here alone.

But there was no helping that now. He moved down behind a fallen log, laid the barrel of the .45 on the trunk and sighted through the leaves.

Now he could hear them. They were small, but sloppy. Maybe they didn't care. That didn't figure. But by now they had undoubtedly understood his immunity, were coming to kill him in the bloody ways of Earth.

He had no way of knowing that the Faktors had been terrified to realize that a Galactic was approaching, but immensely relieved to see that the Galactic was afoot. To the Faktors, Web was one of two things: a hybrid, or a stranded Galactic. For no agent would ever approach on foot, not in his right mind. Short of a force field, no armor known will stop a high velocity missile. And a Galactic on foot could not have that.

The killing of a Galactic was a rare thing, a delectable thing. Seven Faktors converged on Web.

He let them come in very close, counting them and noting their positions, before he fired. When the nearest man was ten yards away, crawling toward Web at an angle, the white round eyes looked past him. In the last second he saw that they were circling the wrong spot. They had not expected his sideward movement. He fired.

The heavy police bullet caught the Faktor in the head. He died where he lay, instantly. There were swift, rising, horribly frightened screams from the bushes around him.

Web rolled back from the log, crawled around to the other side of the tree. The god-awful things were whimpering.

He peered furtively around the tree looking for another shot while the shooting was good, wondering how in hell they'd ever gotten the nerve to come in after him. And then he looked at the body of the alien he'd killed, saw the small brown bomb in his hand, and knew.

They'd never intended to get in close. They probably hadn't even expected him to be armed.

He grinned viciously, turning his head the while to look for a way out.

In that instant he saw another alien move. He fired.

The shot went home. There were more screams.

Good God, he said, almost aloud, shocked. He did not fire again, the fear of the things was revolting. He wanted to get out.

He started to move, but they located him. The first bomb hit on the other side of the tree, blew with a white blinding flash, a thin, screaming, ripping explosion.

The tree saved him. He fell flat, tried to crawl away. Two more bombs let go on the other side of the tree, spattered among the bushes and leaves, cut the tree in half. The tree fell in the direction of another bomb, the top of it was blown away. In frantic desperation, the Faktors were giving it everything they had.

There was a tense moment of silence. Web started to rise. He had to get away. He fired again and again into the woods around him, rose and started to run, hoping that the shooting would keep the aliens flat, that some of them at least had died of fear and that he could outrun them. He made it as far as another fallen log before the next bomb let go, giving him a great crunching shove in his back. He fell face down over the log.

Oh hell, he said painfully, oh hell oh hell oh hell. A bomb fell near him, and another, and he turned to rise and fire back just once more, swearing, his flesh rising to greet the one last killing explosion, and damn it all, he was going to die.

A huge fist hit him squarely between the eyes. He fell over backwards.

And there was dark, blessed silence.

* * * * *

The doors opened automatically when Prule pushed the right button. Three hundred and twelve young girls and two hundred and fourteen young men, all of them the cream of Earth's children and most of them mother-naked, peered out cautiously, furtively, into the gathering dusk. One made a move, then another. A rather brazen young woman, nude, walked right out into the center of the camp. And then they all emerged, wide-eyed and taut, looking for the Faktors.

"All gone," said Kunklin, waving his hands expressively. But since his suit was recharged and working, nobody saw him.

They did not see the Faktors either. They began to gather and talk with each other, some dangerously close to shock, some excitedly none the worse for wear. Most of the women were recovered so far as to return to modesty, began to search for covering.

This did not please Kunklin at all. He was tempted to push the button again and close all the doors, thereby making all clothing unavailable, but--after a thoughtful look at Prule--he let it go. It had been an extraordinary sight, a delectable sight, and his opinion of the virtues of Earth was skyrocketing.

Right then and there Kunklin decided the spot for his next vacation.

And now at last, as they watched, the men and the girls began to leave. It was growing dark and quite cold and they could not stay here. One by one, in varying degrees of undress, they strode off down the mountain. The sensation they created in Alford was nothing next to the sensation they created the next day, in newspapers the world over.

Kunklin watched them go with mixed torture and delight.

Prule brought him back to the next order of business.

"The Earthman," he said gloomily.

"Um?"

"The man from the satellite. Where is he?"

"Um," said Kunklin, sobering. "Where is he indeed?"

Prule pointed a lean finger at the near woods.

"There were explosions going on over there when we flew down. I suppose--" he fixed his eyes reproachfully on Kunklin--"they bombed him."

Kunklin shrugged. "The man came all the way up here. Really. You know, you have to admire these people, in more ways than one. I--"

He broke off.

For out of the woods, stumbling, holding his head in one hand and his colt .45 in the other, came the great battered figure of Web Hilton. He was scarred and bloody, one eye was closed and he walked with a heavy limp, but he was walking at least, and Kunklin brightened.

"Well by Jupiter, he made it!"

Prule smiled happily.

"We must have just got here in time. The Faktors were probably bombing him when they disappeared."

"Yes, yes. Well, well, well." Kunklin fussed with a knob, turned off his bender and switched on the translator. "I suppose, now that it's all over, we owe this fellow an explanation. Lord, man, we owe him more than that. He's one of us!" He started walking quickly toward Web. "Ho! Hey! You there!"

Web stopped, peered confusedly through bleary eyes at the incredible figures on the mountain side before him. His gun was in his hand, but he had forgotten it. He had not yet collected himself and there was an awful ringing in his head.

Kunklin and Prule surrounded him, babbling away cheerfully, set him down and gave him first aid. In an astonishingly short time he was feeling well again and the Galactics did their best to bring him up to date on what had occurred, being careful to praise his undeniable courage in the face of such odds. They admitted to using him as decoy, but told him nothing about the recording business. They saw no reason to tell this boy that he had, during the course of recent events, died twice. No telling how he would react. Although really, since he was atom for atom identical with the original Web Hilton, what difference did it make?

"--and so we finally found a Faktor with some strength of will--had to inject the man as he came aboard--then came out here and eliminated the rest of them."

Web stared dazedly around at the empty buildings.

"All gone?"

"Completely." Kunklin grinned. "We used the same device on them that they used on your people. We thought it only fitting. Quite a weapon. Used to be the most dangerous weapon in this part of the universe until we found immunity. You could wipe out whole planets without a single leaf being harmed--"

"Yes, yes," said Prule, "but the job is ended. Thank you my friend. You have been of great help. Any time you need us. Kunklin?"

"What?" said Kunklin, straightening. "You mean leave him here? Well really, Prule, that's hardly--" And then his whole face brightened. He clapped Web heavily on the back. "Why Prule, this boy's a Galactic! After all he's done for us, the least we can do is take him back with us"--Prule jumped--"to headquarters, at least, and introduce him around. Why, the boy has a heritage! You can see that from the way he held up his end. Oh yes, yes, we'll have to take him back."

Web looked up blearily, beginning to understand.

"Back where?"

But Kunklin reached down and took him by the arm, and began leading him toward the ship. He explained, as painlessly as he could, the fact of Web's Galactic parentage. He did not say that it was Web's father--which, for biological reasons, it had to be--but only that some ancestor, somewhere along the line, had been extraterrestrial.

And while Web was downing that, and Prule was protesting, Kunklin spoke gaily on.

"You'll need time, my boy, won't you, before you come along with us? You'll need time, eh?"

"I have to see Dundon--"

"Of course, of course," Kunklin chuckled, "take all the time you want. Take weeks, take months. And in the meantime," he grinned toward Prule, in whom just now a great light was dawning--"in the meantime Prule and I will wander the byroads of your lovely planet. Eh, Prule? A vacation!"

And in a mood of genial lechery--for Earthman, Galactic, Faktor, this one thing is constant--the three men climbed into the ship, and then, the sky.

* * * * *

Ivy Jean Thompson, to complete the story in the coldest of truth, never set eyes on Web Hilton in her life. And if she had, it would have made little difference, for the fact of the matter is that Ivy Jean Thompson had had quite enough of men. Any kind of men. The disappearance of the Faktors had occurred, coincidentally, at the last possible moment for the saving of Ivy's virtue. It was, understandably, an unnerving experience.

She opened her eyes to find nobody there. She left the camp firmly convinced that there should never be anybody there. She retired to a small town in north Jersey where she became a particularly grouchy librarian spinster, the last of all the casualties in the case of the Blood Brother.