by Andre Norton
The brilliant headlights soon picked out the two figures walking quickly down towards the bottom of the valley. I slowed, reaching back to lock the saloon doors on the inside, and stopped near them, my face in the shadow. The slightly taller figure came to my window, and I put it down an inch.
“We’d like a lift on into town,” he said.
They did it well, I thought. Very well—had studied everything down to the slight local accent, and adopted it automatically. Everyone would swear the two were exactly what they appeared to be.
“I don’t recognise you,” I said. “You strangers hereabouts?”
The figure hesitated, nodding, one hand already on the doorhandle, trying to open it.
“We’re salesmen for a big business concern,” he said. “A cab was to pick us up, but must have mistaken our instructions. So we thought we’d walk on as it’s only a mile or so. But we’d appreciate that lift . . .”
“Sorry—got four friends to pick up just down the road.” I said and accelerated and let in the clutch. The little man had remained in front of me, and he did not move. They were like that, I thought—they knew there was no danger, and sometimes forgot, especially at the beginning . . .
The wing of the saloon passed through him. When I looked back both were walking quickly on after me.
I sped for town. They had not suspected and I had learned enough to feel safe in going on. Eliminating them was now the problem. No form of physical violence could succeed. Poison was out—they would not eat. Gassing was impossible—they did not breathe though they could simulate chest movements when necessary to complete their disguise. They were virtually ageless, and did not reckon time by any standard used on Earth. By conscious will they could form the molecules making up their substance into any shape they wished, simulating an outline which would provide protection in the environment they inhabited.
The proprietor of the next town’s only hotel greeted me with smiles, and I saw that he remembered my week’s stay and large tips.
“I’m expecting a couple of friends,” I told him. “Commercial travelers here for a deal. You might give me a ring when they come in.”
He beamed. “I will see to it personally.”
“Good,” I said.
I went towards the stairs, and paused, looking back. “Oh, don’t say I asked after them. I want to look in on them as a surprise—get it?”
“Certainly, Mr. Smith, certainly,” he said.
Smith, I thought. But it was as good a name as any . . . In my job one seldom used one’s own name.
Alone in my room, I reviewed the situation. The newcomers had arrived as expected and I had traced them. That there were only two, instead of the three anticipated, was the only error but it simplified matters. Two would be easier to deal with and my knowledge of them was complete. They must not be allowed to become lost amid Earth’s teeming millions or they would become a secret, ever-present and certainly-active menace. My job was to follow and eliminate them at the earliest possible moment.
Presently the bell rang on my door. I got up, crossed to it and then remembered I had not switched on the light. It would look odd to be seen there without it.
I depressed the switch and opened the door. “Yes?”
“Your friends are just in,” the manager said. “They’ve booked until midday tomorrow.”
“You’re sure it’s them?” I asked.
“I think so, sir—a Mr. Dulice, a bit above average height, booked for himself and his friend . . .”
“That’ll be them,” I agreed. Dulice, I thought. It was as good a name as Diesnar and the latter sounded odd by Earth standards. I wondered if the manager had noticed the light come on under the crack of the door. “I was dozing,” I said. Best to make sure. “Thanks. Needn’t mention me to them. Maybe I’ll leave it until tomorrow.”
“Their room is Number Thirteen, end of the corridor,” he said.
“Thanks. Good night.”
He left and I wondered what he would do if he knew what the occupants of Room 13 were. Not respectable Mr. Dulice and companion but Diesnar and Iago, nonphysical entities playing their usual game of imitation—a game that had been perfected by millions of generations of evolutionary selection.
The room clock showed two hours until midnight. That gave about seven hours in all, until dawn. I had known that my visit to Room 13 would certainly not be delayed until then despite my assurance to the contrary. Instead the hours of darkness would see much activity.
I unlocked a trunk and took out a light metal box, which a second key fitted. The weapon inside was not recognisable as such by Earth standards but might have passed for an antique pedestal of bronze, ending in a cup in which a carved crystal rested. But it was not a pedestal and not bronze—was instead the product of much scientific research and inestimably valuable. I doubted whether half a dozen such instruments existed in the cosmos. Those that did were in safe keeping.
With it in a pocket I went out and walked silently to Room 13. A faint light burned in the hall stairway below, but the hotel was quiet. I recalled that the manager had said something about being short-staffed. The bronzen object fitted snugly in one hand and my fingers came upon a lever which could be depressed. Holding it I tapped. Silence followed. I tapped again. The knob turned and the door opened.
“I have a message,” I said evenly.
The door opened fully and I went in, moving quickly to the right along the wall, my left hand extended back towards the door and on the lighting switch.
“You’ve forgotten the light,” I said.
The switch clicked under my pressure. A glance showed me Dulice, alias Diesnar, was gone. The other—the smaller and weaker—stared at me.
“I was not expecting anyone,” he murmured. “You’ve made some error . . .”
I examined him without speaking. His features were so near average, his dress and appearance so near the normal, that no person in all the world would have given him a second glance.
“You do it very well,” I said.
His astonishment, dismay and terror could be sensed. He did not show it—an appearance of terror would have to be simulated consciously and would serve no useful purpose. Hence it was absent. But his bland expression was not all I had to go by.
“Surely—you think me someone else?” he said softly.
He was moving slowly back. I quickly closed the door and stood with my back to it.
“No,” I said. “No, not someone else—Iago.”
It took him a moment to integrate and recognise the Earth oral vibrations forming his true name. But I saw that he had done so and knew me now and why I had come.
“Better keep still,” I said. “Where’s—Mr. Dulice?”
The silence was so long. I thought he was not going to speak. His face shone in the light. His lips almost seemed to smile.
“Gone,” he said at last.
“Obviously. And where?”
“That you can find out.”
“It would save trouble if you—told me,” I murmured. I took the bronze pedestal from my pocket. He saw it. His eyes fixed on the carved crystal, and I sensed his terror anew. It was stronger, this time—the terror of a being faced with death.
“Why should I tell you?” he asked evenly.
“Because, if you do not I shall kill you.”
He shrugged. It was well done. “I do not fear death.”
“Odd,” I said. “I do.”
My fingers tightened slightly on the lever which controlled the compact, immeasurably complicated apparatus inside the hollow plinth.
“You came far enough,” I said, “to this planet. You might have escaped more easily if you’d landed near a large city, though I can guess you wanted to avoid observation. This time your effort to appear quite average was a mistake. However, where is Diesnar?” The eyes looking back at me were cool, but I sensed and knew the tenor and decision in the other’s heart.
“That’s for you—to find,” he breathed.
I opened my eyes in time to see the last wisps of green mist shred away into nothing and dissipate on the air. A few moments passed and a knock came on the door. I opened it.
“Yes?”
The manager appeared apologetic. “I was just retiring, sir—did you ring? I was passing . . .”
“No,” I said. “We don’t want anything.” I put the pedestal in my pocket—the crystal had cooled quickly. “Thanks all the same. Oh—do you know where Mr. Dulice went?”
The manager shook his head. “I haven’t seen him come down, sir. I’ve been at the reception desk—we’re short-staffed, though I’ve got a new man to take over.”
I went back to my room. The annihilation of Iago gave me no elation. I had not supposed him difficult to deal with but his companion would be very different. Diesnar was clever and a foe anyone might justly fear.
I locked the piezo-electric crystal and waveform generator away in its metal case and stood by the window, the light out so that no revealing shadow fell upon the glass. Wind-driven clouds were passing a weak moon and the little town was asleep. I knew Mr. Dulice would not be asleep but watching somewhere . . .
With infinite caution I opened the window and went out upon the iron fire-escape, listening. An alley lay below, lit by a single lamp where it met an adjoining street. At the dim end of the alley, scarcely discernible from the shadows, stood a man. I withdrew and went down into the hall, where a youth dozed behind a lit desk. I did not give him a second glance.
“Just going out to get some books from my car,” I said.
The streets were as near deserted as did not matter. The alley was like a well, stretching way into complete blackness. I followed the one wall, knowing risks were greatest in the section under the lamp. But risks had to be taken. Agents who uphold law and order are not chosen from the timid.
The lamp behind, the gloom ahead was complete. Clouds had banked against the moon so that even the high rooftops flanking the alley could not be seen against the sky. A car passed along the road, sending down after me a brief humming. I sensed that my enemy was very near, hating me and probably already aware that Iago was dead. There could be no half-measures in this hunt. My instructions were to annihilate them. Guessing that, Mr. Dulice’s reactions were readily predictable.
The wall at my back, the bricks rough under my hands, I edged on into the blackness, listening often, and with every sense strung to its highest point of receptivity. I sensed that the figure anyone would take for an ordinary commercial traveller, Mr. Dulice, was nearer. If the moon came up it was as Mr. Dulice that he would be visible.
That was how the imitative adaptability of my quarry worked—he had become an average representative of the creatures among whom he sought to hide. That process was largely instinctive, the outcome of an ancestry where survival had depended upon the perfect imitation of other life-forms. Those whose imitative processes had been less than perfect had on the whole survived less well. That was how evolution worked and Mr. Dulice was at the tail end of a long evolutionary period and his imitation of an average human life-form was excellent.
The tiny sound of something brushing stones froze me against the wall. I realised that I should have brought the resonant disintegrator. The knowledge of my error ran through me like a cold fear. In this job those who made errors seldom had the opportunity to repeat them—-instead they died . . . But that little pedestalshaped weapon was special. I had adopted the habit of locking it away to guard against its loss. Accidents could happen—and that pedestal had to be checked in when my task was finished. Better that I never return at all than return without it.
Diesnar would deduce that I carried it, I decided. By playing on that belief I could keep my advantage.
“Mr. Dulice,” I whispered.
Neither of us would want anyone else in the town to know we were other than we appeared. He would not want a howling mob chasing him, even though they could not harm him. As for myself I preferred secrecy.
No reply came. A gap in the moving cloud let a weak moonray glow momentarily into the alley. Directly opposite me, his back to the wall, was Dulice. We could have touched hands by reaching out.
The moonlight went. Somewhere in the distance a whistle sounded and wheels on rails. That would be the 2 A.M. electric-train passing south, I thought. I had not known it was already quite so late.
“Mr. Dulice,” I said quietly, “‘I have killed your companion . . .”
His terror could be sensed, so strong was the emotion. Had he been a real man his breathing would have sounded heavily.
“There have been times when we allowed one of you to live,” I said evenly. That was true—but only a long time ago when new arrivals such as Diesnar had been less well equipped. “Would you guarantee to put in our hands all the information you possess of your companions, their names and plans?”
Came a scarcely audible rustle, then silence. It seemed apparent that Mr. Dulice expected immediate annihilation. I guessed that his terror was so extreme he had for the moment lost the power to use the pseudo-larynx which was now part of his make-up.
“Come,” I said. “I expect an answer—in the circumstances.”
“You underestimate me . . .”
The words were a whisper—and from high up on my left. I moved out into the alley and saw his shadow on the iron fire-escape, ascending rapidly. I ran to the ladder, climbing. He went through the window into my room. When I reached the window the door had just closed. The metal box containing the pedestal was gone.
We only made mistakes like that once, I thought, running for the door. The corridor was empty—so were the stairs and hall. The youth was frankly asleep now, snoring. I passed him and emerged into the street.
Diesnar would be waiting somewhere. He would prefer I did not live for while I lived he was listed among the hunted.
A clock struck loudly. I crossed the street and watched the hotel for a moment. The building was dark except for the glass above the entrance door. Mr. Dulice might not try to open the metal box but merely hide it. Either way, he now had a ponderous advantage—that of knowing the apparatus was not in my possession.
A man was a long way down the street at a corner, watching, and began walking towards me. He was very slightly over average height—just such a man as one might meet a thousand times in a thousand cities of the Earth.
I withdrew round the nearest corner and looked back. The man was following—the distance between us had decreased. Our roles had changed, I thought. Mr. Dulice had become the hunter, I the hunted. It was a role he would adopt readily, one well suited to his character.
The buildings thinned a little as I went eastwards through the town. Every time I looked back my follower was there. He wanted secrecy as much as I—would play the game the way I led until very near the end.
Waste lots slipped behind and a viaduct bridge. I went off it onto turf. At my back was a high wire fence—below it a bank sloping down to the railway. No one would disturb us here at this hour. The nearest lamp was far away, the moonlight intermittent, the nearest buildings away down the line.
Mr. Dulice stopped a few paces away. “I didn’t come across the light-years of space to have my plans interrupted by meddlers,” he said.
I wondered whether he held the resonator. Turned on me it could prove equally fatal.
“You cannot be allowed to settle on this planet.” I pointed out, watching him keenly. “Succinctly you’re a bad lot, Mr. Dulice.”
“I made my way,” he said.
I knew then that he had not got the resonator—probably had been unable to open the box. Had he, he would not have talked but acted, and his action would have ended my part of
the case. Now he came forward so that we were two paces apart.
“You know I shall have to kill you,” he said.
“Of course—provided you have the chance.”
He inclined his head. “I make my own chances.”
We watched each other. In a way, we were evenly matched—now. Possibly his strength exceeded mine. From experience I knew that one of them could summon up great physical power when survival depended on it. Not the power of nerves and muscles of ordinary flesh but that of the interaction orbits of the molecules making up his form, that strength could be none the less nearly irresistible.
“You’ve often hunted us,” he said. “It’s a habit which should stop . . .”
“I’m paid for my work,” I said, never looking from him.
He was watching for an opening. Suddenly—abruptly—it would be over, for one of us.
Then he moved—so did I. My hands clasped round one arm above the elbow and one leg by the knee, gripping with all my strength. He came up in my grasp like an empty, hollow dummy, struggling. He realised at that moment too that I had not fled this way without purpose.
He screamed as I flung him down towards the electrified rails. The cry echoed to the sky even as he descended. It was not a cry of terror but triumph.
“We were three! There’s Piert!”
Then he touched the electrified rails. A flash glowed abruptly between earth and sky. He was almost as conductive as solid metal, I thought. Nothing of Mr. Dulice remained—only a wisp of thin green vapor drifting up on the night air and dispersing.
Piert, I thought. Piert, the leader—I should have known! But he had not been seen nor visible to follow. I had traced the two only. Such a plan was like Piert. He would go off alone—might now be lost in some populous city. Or again he might be near. Piert was the kind who stuck around to see things out—in his own way . . .
I turned from the fence quickly, eyes searching the road below and the expanse of turf, half expecting Piert to be there, waiting for me. Were he it would end his way. Piert was more than the equal of the two disposed of . . . worse, could have followed me while I had not suspected his presence . . .
