by Jerry Sohl
She did not resist.
When she did not respond, he knew she was telling the truth and he let her go and she dropped into the chair again.
“That’s how it is...?”
“That’s how it is.”
He went to a window he had recently cleaned. He looked out. He saw nothing.
“This is good-bye, then?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, Martin. If you only knew how sorry!”
He said nothing.
After a while he felt a cold breeze.
He shuddered.
He had stood at the window he did not know how long before he moved. His muscles ached with the effort. He would have liked to stand there forever, for life had suddenly become distasteful. But he knew he could not stand there any longer. He would have to face reality sooner or later.
When he turned he saw the table.
That is where she sat, he thought, just a few minutes ago.
Oh, God, let’s not get elegiac about this. What’s done’s done. What do they say? Life must go on. Well, let it. But still, that is where she last sat, where she would not look at me but just kept looking at her hands.
He saw something at that moment he hadn’t seen before. The gleam of metal where her hands had rested on the rough, hewn table.
It was a cube, a polished golden cube with a jewel in each face. It was just about the size of a cube of sugar.
He picked it up.
Instantly he felt her presence. In his mind’s eye he could see her before him as he held the cube. She was beautiful, radiant, as she looked at him.
“Do not reveal the secret of the cube,” she said with urgency. “They may still be watching you.”
She smiled. “Martin, what I told you is not true. I do not want to go with my people, but I had to say so. They wanted to kill you because they think you are stopping me from going cheerfully with them.
“I promised to leave when they do. The price? Your life will be spared. But darling, I had a mental reservation. I will go only if I’m unable to reach you again.”
Her eyes were wistful.
“Leave Tessie Valley, darling. Leave it as if you are sad. Go back to Chicago or wherever you would go. I will join you as soon as I can. I love you. Pray for my success.”
She put her fingers to her lips, blew him a kiss. Then her image was gone.
The cube dissolved in his hand.
Chapter 15
Local news traveled fast in the National Scene building. For example, if the girl behind the tobacco counter on the lobby floor were to come to work some morning with a ring on her third finger, left hand, it would not take more than an hour for this information to traverse the length, breadth and height of the office building.
Hands would pause for a moment on typewriter keys as it would be received; a few minutes later it might be relayed to others at the water cooler, an ever-widening circle of the informed.
The speed of transmission depended on the item.
National news, although it was the marketable commodity of all who were employed there, was relegated to an unimportant place in the immediate scheme of things, for national news happens every day; part of an ever-changing pattern that somehow always resembles the previous day’s pattern. Therefore, it never seemed wholly new.
It came into the building in a number of ways. In a brief case carried by an associate editor, by private telephone, by Western Union, by telephone and, on rare occasions, such as on this day, in person.
Most of the workers there failed to become emotionally aroused by the news; they soon became inured to the perpetual chaos of domestic affairs that made their pay checks possible. Most left the thrill of it to the handlers of the news and even the majority of these people were disenchanted with it. Only the inner circle—the men in the editorial offices—got excited about it once in a while.
When Martin Enders walked into the National Scene building one dull morning in early November, the local news passers had his arrival up and down the building before he even stepped into the elevator.
(He walked off the job and ran away with this girl, see? Boy, his bosses were mad! Old Wilson didn’t say much to anybody else, but I heard New York really poured it on him. Got that in the Teletype room. They say she’s a blonde. Cute, too. Daughter of the guy he was interviewing for a story. The old duffer died of a heart attack right afterward, her father was so upset. He’s got a lot of nerve walking in here just as if nothing happened!)
The elevator rose swiftly toward the eleventh floor.
An operator in the Teletype room hung up the phone, seated himself at a machine, set a piece of paper he had scribbled a few notes on under the clip and started to punch the keys.
URGENT: NEW YORK. NOTIFY MAJOR GENERAL WALTER DEEMS AS PER HIS INSTRUCTIONS THAT MARTIN ENDERS JUST WALKED IN CHICAGO OFFICE. WILL VERIFY AND EXPEDITE IF TRUE. WILSON.
When he emerged from the elevator on the eleventh floor editorial offices, he found every eye focused on him. Even Lovett Wilson’s cigar glowed brightly in the doorway of his office as he stood there to verify what he had heard.
All action ceased as Martin stood momentarily in front of the closing doors of the elevators. Then he moved through the swinging gate and down the aisle between the desks. He had expected some comment, but no one ventured a word. He came to the managing editor’s office.
“Come in, come in,” Wilson said, stepping back and indicating a chair near his desk. As Martin passed him, Wilson poked his head outside the door and Martin heard Wilson say, “It’s O.K. Get Myers.”
Wilson looked him over carefully and said, “Where in hell have you been, Martin? Here, let me have your coat.” He helped him off with it and hung it on a tree. He then went around to the rear of his desk. “We’ve been worried about you.”
“It’s a long story,” Martin said.
URGENT: NEW YORK. NOTIFY DEEMS IT IS ENDERS. WE AWAIT HIS INSTRUCTIONS. WILSON.
Senior Editor Denton Myers strode in, stopped still in the doorway. “I can’t believe it.” He closed the door behind him. “For God’s sake, whatever happened to you? Where did you disappear to?” He moved to a leather chair beside the desk facing Martin.
Martin sensed an unfathomable coolness about them, a certain wariness that made him uneasy.
Something was up.
“Is it true about that girl?” Wilson asked. “Did you really run away with her?”
“Yes,” Myers put in. “And what about that business with the ambulance?”
“You know about that?”
The men nodded.
“Whatever possessed you just suddenly to pull up stakes and take off, Martin? It’s unlike you. You settled down pretty well after the army. You were one of the best men we had.”
“As I said, Willie, it’s a long story.”
“Then the old man dying. His son died of pneumonia, too, a few days after that. Did you know that? Where is his daughter, the girl you’re supposed to have run away with?” Wilson rolled the cigar around in his mouth.
“I just don’t understand you, Martin,” Myers said. “I couldn’t believe it when they told me. You seemed so—so stable.”
“Just what did you hear about me?” Martin asked.
“The first we knew, Colonel Sherrington was calling us. The story he told was that you ran off with the professor’s daughter in one of the field ambulances.”
“The colonel was pretty peeved,” Myers said. “He ranted and raved all over the place. They blame you for Dr. Penn’s death. They say the shock of your eloping with his daughter was just too much for his heart.”
“Lucky for us,” Wilson said, “we argued them out of preferring charges. When it looked like a simple love affair, Colonel Sherrington agreed to wink his eyes at it. But he’ll never forgive you for what you did to the two soldiers. He broke them to privates.”
“Really?” Martin was amused.
“What did you ever do to get them to tell that fantastic story about two walls?” Wilson�
��s cigar had gone out and he lit it again. “They wouldn’t get off it. They said you manufactured a wall and when they got out to investigate, you ran away in the ambulance. It was a stupid lie.”
“Then there was the fire,” Myers said. “The fire in the gatehouse. How did you manage that?”
“Was it a love affair?” Wilson asked, cocking an eye at him. “You can tell us. We’ll keep it quiet.”
“It was, in a way.”
“Well, thank God for that,” Myers said, letting out his breath in a long sigh. “There are some who have taken a dark view of what you’ve done. But of course that doesn’t excuse you for not reporting to us. The least you might have done is let us know where you were.”
“Myers is right, Martin,” Wilson said. “We would not have liked it, but if you felt it was so damned important, we might have let you go on your spree with our blessings.”
URGENT: CHICAGO. DEEMS WANTS YOU TO HOLD HIM THERE IF YOU CAN BUT DO NOT USE FORCE. HE WILL BE FOLLOWED IF HE INSISTS ON LEAVING YOUR PLACE. TRY TO HOLD HIM TILL THEY GET THERE ANYWAY. CUMMINGS.
“You still haven’t said anything,” Myers said.
“You haven’t given me a chance.”
“Is the girl with you?”
Martin shook his head. “No. She isn’t with me.”
“Martin hasn’t even said he ran away with her yet, Myers,” Wilson said. “How about it?”
“I don’t even know why I came here,” he said. Could he tell them he came there because it would have been the natural thing to have done after Virginia left him in Utah? “The way things stand, you are worrying over something quite insignificant.”
“Now what do you mean by that?” Lovett Wilson champed down hard on his cigar. Myers blinked his eyes. “If you think we’re taking that little escapade of yours lightly—”
The phone rang.
“Pardon me.” Wilson picked up the phone. The man in the teletype room read him the message from New York. “Thanks,” Wilson said. He put the phone back.
Martin lit a cigarette and knew the telephone call had been about himself. There was a little more tension now in Wilson. Even Myers seemed to sense it; Martin fancied Myers wanted to ask Wilson what he had learned on the phone.
Something was up, all right.
“Why don’t you go back to the beginning and tell us all about it?” Wilson suggested.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said. “You’d have me taken away in a strait jacket. It so happens I don’t want to be put away.”
The managing editor leaned forward across the desk. “We have a right to know, don’t you think? After all, we’ve never taken you off the payroll.”
“Martin, for heaven’s sake, quit trying to be mysterious,” Myers said impatiently. “If it’s crazy, let us decide that.”
Martin chuckled. “Well... What would you say if I said mankind is doomed?”
Wilson snorted, knocking an inch of ash off his cigar. “Hell, everybody knows that. Just wait till the H-Bomb falls.” He brushed his suit coat where the ash had fallen.
“Or they dust the upper atmosphere with plague bacteria.”
“You ought to see what we have in our files we can’t put in the magazine,” Wilson said. “Strictly from horror.”
“Is it along that line?” Myers queried.
“No,” Martin said. “I’ll tell you, but you won’t understand. Man is shortly going to lose the reasoning power he possesses.”
Wilson’s cigar went limp in the center of his half-opened mouth and he looked at Martin with wonder. Then he glanced at Myers, the look was returned, and then he faced Martin again.
“Would you mind telling us, Martin, just how this is going to happen?”
“Because creatures from a planet circling Capella—Alpha Aurigae—will soon return there, taking with them the device that gave us reasoning power about fifty-thousand years ago, lifting us quickly above other species.”
The two editors sat silent, self-forgotten.
“I see,” Wilson finally said in a flat voice.
Denton Myers cleared his throat embarrassedly. “I suppose you have been, ah, trying to prevent this from happening. Is that it?”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“You mean to say we can’t stop this from happening?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because they are invisible to us. They live on another plane.”
“I see.” Wilson tried to say it this time with conviction.
“I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”
“No,” Wilson said, as if he were weighing the matter. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. But you—would you mind telling us where the girl fits into this?”
“Yes. Tell us about the girl.”
“She’s a Capellan.”
“I thought you said they were invisible. A lot of people have seen her.”
“She hasn’t gone back yet.”
“Back...?”
“To their plane. It’s coexistent with this one. Many of them existed as human beings and Capellans simultaneously, going back for brief periods whenever they wished. Now they’re all leaving by dying as humans, transferring to their plane.”
Wilson made a steeple with his hands, pressed the forefingers to his lips and rocked in his office chair.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let me ring for my secretary. I want you to tell her all about it. Everything you can remember. You can use this office. Myers and I will stay here with you and hear all about it at the same time. We’d like to have this down in black and white.”
Martin sensed another reason in the request and shook his head. He got to his feet. “Sorry,” he said. “It is too fresh in my mind right now. I don’t want to think about it.”
Wilson came around the desk. “Well, if you don’t like that idea, how about sitting out there at your desk and writing it up for us? Just how it happened. Don’t leave anything out. Put it all in your usual, clear style. What do you say?”
“No.” Martin took his coat from the clothes tree, but Wilson took it gently away from him.
“Now look, Martin. You’ve just come through what must have been a trying experience. We’d like to hear about it. Really we would. Think of the questions you’ve left unanswered! Why, people everywhere would want to hear about these—these—”
“Capellans,” Martin said drily.
“Yes. We want something concrete. You hold the key to the whole thing. You say it is impossible to combat them. How do we know that’s true? If you wrote it down or talked to us about it one of us might come up with the right idea. Myers, why don’t you send out for a few drinks? Are you hungry, Martin? We could have a bite here. I’m starved, myself.”
Martin smiled and took his coat. As he did so, Wilson’s desperation engulfed him like muggy air. “What kind of funny business is going on, Willie? What did you hear on the phone?”
Wilson winced visibly. “It was nothing. Just a—an appointment that failed to show up. Had the flu, the man said. But to get back to you...”
Martin had his coat now. “I’m not buying it, Willie. I have a good idea of what you and Myers think of what I had to say.”
“Now, Martin,” Myers soothed.
“We believe you, don’t we, Myers?” Wilson said. “We have no reason to think you’re fabricating anything. Why, after all these years—sure, it’s a little fantastic, but—”
“Too fantastic,” Martin said. “Much too fantastic to try to relate. I’ll be seeing you, gentlemen.”
He left the office.
Perhaps it was a mistake to go back, he thought as he got into the elevator and made room for the man who followed him in. But I think that is what I would have done anyway. If I am to act as if it’s all over between Virginia and myself, this makes as good sense as anything.
The continuous stare of the man in the car with him made him take notice of
him. The man seemed to be trying to memorize his face. There was curiosity there; his mind reeked of purpose. He had been right. Something was up. This was it.
When Martin got into a cab, he saw the same man get into another. When Martin’s cab was moving up Michigan Avenue to his apartment hotel, the Welmerly, he saw that there were two cabs following him now.
He did not worry about them. He had worried on the long trip to Chicago from Utah until he realized it would make no difference one way or the other if someone recognized him and turned him in. They probably wanted him, all right. He fancied there had been quite a furor when he and Virginia rushed out of Park Hill in the stolen ambulance; it surprised him to learn that Colonel Sherrington had preferred no charges.
He looked back. The cabs were still there. The three of them made an unhurried procession up the wide street.
He wondered what would happen if he should stop his cab and go back and tell the two shadows that their world was going to end soon.
“Look,” he could say. “You’re going back, fellows, back where you came from. You’ll have long beards before long and maybe you’ll pick up a club somewhere, if you have enough brains left to realize you need one.”
It wouldn’t be any use. They wouldn’t believe him.
In his apartment he found a bottle he had left there and mixed himself a drink. He drank it in front of the window that overlooked the avenue from his third-floor apartment. He felt like shouting to the people rushing about in cars, to the woman walking her dog, to the young couple arm in arm, to his two shadows down there somewhere.
“Here’s a toast to you all,” he said, raising his glass. “To your ignorance of what’s in store for you. Or maybe I should try to tell you. Awake and take stock, you people! Behold your reward: years of darkness!” No, that sounded too much like “Workers, arise!” Hell, they’d think I was a damned Commie, spouting stuff like that. Best I leave them alone.
He read again the letters on the dining-area table. He had opened them the previous night when he had arrived from the West. Bills. A few notes from friends. They were meaningless now.
