“We haven’t time,” Nelson said. “We’ll have to take the chance.” He switched to Composition.
“The ship has been located in the river, near Lambert’s Landing,” he said. “Make your mock-up showing it coming in, plunging through the ice, and the cat man coming out of the hole a few minutes later. Got that?”
“Got it. We’ve already made a ’fake’ of his progress from the post office to the Y. We’ll do the ship landing scene and tack it on in front. Anything else?”
“That should do it.”
“Don’t hang up,” Benny’s voice caught him. “The major’s waiting to speak to you.”
“Yes, sir?” Nelson asked.
“We’ve got General Motors & Transportation signed on for sponsor, Vern,” Major Gower’s voice said crisply. “I practically held them up. So you better come through now.”
“I’m sure we will, sir,” Nelson answered. “How high did they go?”
“A million and a half.”
“A million and a half?” Nelson’s voice held a hint of disappointment.
“With codicils,” the major added. “I took your advice and shot for the works on this. Demanded five million. A million and a half was as high as they’d go for a pig in a poke. So I insisted on retaining rerun rights. If you know what you’re doing, we can make a fortune on them.”
“Did they buy that?”
“Not quite. They’re no fools. They made me insert an auxiliary clause giving them the privilege of claiming rerun rights in return for an additional three and a half million. How does that sound to you?”
“Great. If it turns out only mediocre, a million and a half is a fair price. If it goes over as I think it will.… Well, five million is a lot of money.”
“That’s about the way I figured it, too,” Gower said. “Oh yes, Lloyd’s of Minneapolis agreed to handle liability insurance for a hundred thousand. So you can give it the works. We’re in the clear on any suits for damage that victims of the cat man might bring.”
* * * *
Nelson switched in to a closed-circuit of the current video broadcast.
An announcer, with built-in dramatics in his voice, was saying, “Stay close to your sets, ladies and gentlemen. Sometime within the next hour there will be shown on this screen the greatest, most sensational feature it has ever been the privilege of this network to offer. The broadcast will be live. LIVE! But let me give you this urgent caution: Please—please—do not permit your children to view this program. It is strictly, FOR ADULTS ONLY. As for you ladies, please use the greatest discretion. If you can take violence; if you can face RAW, NAKED SAVAGERY, then it’s safe for you to watch. If not, our advice is to leave this to the less fragile sex. But let me repeat: this is strictly, FOR ADULTS ONLY. And it is LIVE. See it while it happens! Please stand by for further information.”
Nelson smiled. That “adults only” was good. And as for the women—they’d be glued to their seats. He contacted Production.
“Set the beginning time for the special feature for”—he glanced at his watch—“nine-thirty; that’s twenty-five minutes from now. Continue giving spot announcements at five-minute intervals. Now put me on with whomever has charge in the cutting room.”
Nelson waited a moment until he heard the click of the relay switch and began again. “Nelson speaking,” he said. “We go on the air at nine-thirty. Cut that alley wait to four or five minutes. We want to get into the excitement fast. Also, we have to do some closing on the time we’ve lost so far, and that’s a good place to do some of it. We’ll close up the rest when we come to the cat sleeping in the hotel room. Give a splash of background immediately following the assault scene, but keep it brief. And make it as good as possible. Leave about an hour’s lag between filming and showing; there might be some parts along the way that just can’t be allowed over the air. Got all that?”
“Right,” Production cut in. “We’ve already made that preliminary background run. We think it’s good.
“I’ll depend on that,” Nelson said.
The assault scene went over as big as Nelson had hoped. The speed, and sheer explosiveness of the attack, made even him gasp, and he, of course, had seen it before.
While the cat slept, the program switched smoothly to his home world. The camera focused in on a dim star, brought it up close and gave the illusion of landing on the frigid ice-bound planet. Brief shots were shown of the cat people living in their caves. Native fauna, especially the savage, semi-intelligent, bear tribe that waged a continual war against the cats, was shown with some good action bits.
Several scenes were run of ships of Earth and her colonies landing, and their crews meeting with the cat people. One scene caught an attack by the treacherous felines.
“How this cat man managed to leave his planet is not yet known,” a commentator with the dignified mien of a college prof was saying. “His home world is rich in rare mineral deposits. It is hazarded that some unfortunate miner, poaching on the planet, in direct violation of Federation law, was killed by the cat man, and his ship taken. The ships are almost fully automatic, and the cats are an exceptionally adaptable race. They readily acquire the ability to operate quite complicated mechanisms, after only brief instructions or inspection. We have not yet determined whether or not this is an Earth vessel, however…”
The scene switched suddenly to the hotel room on Robert Street. The cat was stirring…
* * * *
Pentizel awoke with a savage, stomach-tearing hunger. She had had nothing to eat during her nine-day trip through space except the canned food stocked by the Human she had killed, and her digestive system had been just barely able to assimilate it. She ate only enough to sustain her life. Even of the canned food, she had eaten her last meal sixteen hours before. Now she was mean and sick with the pain of her fierce hunger. She had to have meat, red meat, red bloody meat.
She knew she was being foolhardy—she should at least make what effort she could to change her features to more resemble a Human’s before venturing out—but her hunger, which by now was an all-consuming need, drove her to incautious activity. Viciously pulling on the clothing she had robbed she left the room.
Outside she found herself in the midst of a heavy snowstorm. She gave a soft yarr of satisfaction. The snow should give her the protection she needed; the attention of the passersby was concentrated in their efforts to evade the rigors of the storm.
Pentizel walked with her collar up around her face for several blocks. Each time she met a hurrying Human she had to restrain a snarl of hunger in her throat. Several times she felt her lips draw tightly apart, and she fought for restraint. Even a full view of her fanged teeth would give her away.
She had to find a victim at a spot where she could attack unseen, and dispose of the remains after she’d eaten. Her reason had just enough control over her brute appetite to understand that the gnawed remains of a Human body must not be left where it would be found. Up to now no one was aware of her presence on this world; she had to do her utmost to keep it that way.
A mongrel pup, drifting with the wind, ran between Pentizel’s legs, nearly tripping her. She restrained her spit of annoyance as a new thought took possession. The remains of this smaller body would be simpler to dispose of than that of a Human. She turned and followed the young dog until it turned into a large parking lot.
* * * *
“That poor mongrel,” Nelson breathed, and shuddered slightly. He watched the screen in half-nauseated fascination as the cat man tore apart the body of the unfortunate dog. He was crouched low, between two automobiles parked on the lot. As he bolted his food his mouth and claws were soon smeared with frozen blood. Finishing his meal quickly, he buried the remains of the slain dog in a bank of snow at the edge of the parking space.
The cat man returned to his hotel and curled up on his bed, and dropped instantly to sleep. The dignified announcer took his place on the screen and began urbanely. “You will note that the cat gulped its food. Becaus
e of its long canine fangs, which overlap the lower teeth in such a way as to prevent its moving its jaw freely forward and sideways, it is unable to chew, as we do. However, this overlapping allows the special teeth to sharpen themselves as they are employed, and thus the cat man is always equipped with dangerous knifelike weapons. Races so equipped are always meat-eaters.
“We Humans may take some satisfaction from this observation, for we have a definite advantage over them. Man, being omnivorous, ready and able to eat anything digestible, has a higher survival potential.”
Pretty good impromptu stuff, Nelson noted mentally. His attention was diverted to the clicking intercom. “Nelson here,” he said into it. “This is Hesse, of Review,” the voice in the box said anxiously. “I’ve been wondering. Just how much can we get by with here? We cut in with the commentator because the cat—” There was a brief hesitation. “Well, he’s an animal, you know, and there are certain necessary functions…”
“I got you,” Nelson said. “I’ll check with the Mayes office and call you back.”
He rumpled through the directory on his desk and got the number of the Screen and Video Censor. He dredged his memory and brought up a face, and the name, Fred Matthews.
“Hello, Fred,” he said jovially to the man whose face appeared on his desk screen a minute after his call.
“Hello,” Matthews answered doubtfully. “Nelson, isn’t it? Over at RBC?”
“That’s right, Fred.” Nelson kept his jovial smile. “You been getting our special feature?”
“I’ve been getting it,” Matthews answered noncommittally.
“I have a question, Fred. That’s not a Human we’re covering, you understand; he’s hardly even humanoid. More of an animal, wouldn’t you say?” When there was no response, Nelson went on. “Being he’s just an animal, it probably won’t be necessary to be as finicky as…”
He stopped. Matthews was shaking his head, very positively. “The answer is no.”
“But Fred…”
“You’re not getting any permission from me to violate the code,” Matthews said. “Personally I’d bar some of that blood you’ve been splashing on the screen this afternoon. Unfortunately however, that’s not my province. You’re within the rules. But don’t try what you have in mind now.”
Nelson hung up with an inaudible, muttered, “Pussyfoot.” He switched back to Review. “The lavatory stuff is out,” he said.
* * * *
Early the next morning Pentizel rose and made preparations she knew she should have made earlier. Seating herself uncomfortably on the chair in front of the room’s mirror, she picked up the electric shaver from the toilet articles on the stand and experimented with it until she understood how it functioned. With it then she trimmed the hair from along her jowls and the sides of her head. She shaved back the peak of white hair on her forehead, and as much as she could reach on her neck. When she finished she was pleasantly surprised. Her features would not pass a close inspection, but to the casual observer they looked quite Human.
When she went out the second time she left her face exposed, but kept the collar of her coat up around the back of her neck.
The storm outside still held strong.
For several hours she wandered through Lactonatown, pausing now and then to read the signs on places of business. She did not find what she sought.
She would have to take a necessary risk. She walked for another hour before she spied a likely prospect: A bum huddling out of the storm in the entranceway of a vacant building. She went up to him and mumbled a few sentences, displaying the last of her money, which she held in her hand. The bum kept shaking his head stupidly.
She had more luck with the second man she chose. He led her several blocks through the slum section to an old rambler-style house, badly in need of paint. When he took her money and shuffled away Pentizel walked back and forth in front of the house for several minutes. At last she decided to wait until evening. That would be a safer time.
* * * *
Nelson awoke from the nap he had been taking on the studio couch to hear the commentator say, “…Us like a sixth sense. It is not. The cat people have only the same five senses we have. However, they do possess highly developed instincts. Students of the race suspect, furthermore, that they have a closer affinity with their subconscious. At any rate, some part of their brain, conscious or otherwise, seems to take in every sight, every sound and movement around them, and to swiftly evaluate and classify their observations and arrive at logical conclusions. It might be said—if you’ll pardon my being a bit pedantic—that you have a singular, innate, ability to reconstruct, from small fragments of fact, much of the whole of which those fragments are a part.”
Nelson grunted with red-eyed dissatisfaction. Pedantic was right. He reached for the intercom, but the scene on the screen shifted back to the cat man. He was walking in front of—and studying with great interest—a beaten-down old house. After a few minutes he walked on.
The camera switched in for a close-up. Above the window on the left hand side of the house hung a sign with the printed letters:
R. L. Groggins, M. D.
BEAUTICIAN & PLASTIC SURGEON
The clues clicked into place in Nelson’s mind. The cat had been trying to change himself to look more like a Human. Now… Nelson looked up at the screen. The cat was still walking back toward his hotel.
He bent toward the intercom. “Benny,” he called. “Get a man from Equipment down to the house of Dr. Groggins, on College Avenue, probably about the eleven hundred block. He’s a facial surgeon. Have our man use some excuse to get into the house. He can pretend he’s a meter reader, or anything else that will do the trick. Someway he has to get into the doctor’s operating room and put a bulb with a concealed camera and mike in a light socket there. It shouldn’t be too hard. The doc won’t be suspicious. But have him hump it down there.”
* * * *
Pentizel returned to the doctor’s house late at night, when the streets were deserted. She circled the place several times, listening at doors and windows, until she was satisfied there was only one person inside.
The street was still deserted as she walked to the front porch and leaned a knuckle against the button of the doorbell.
She waited several minutes, until she became nervous and edgy, before she received a response.
“What do you want?” The face of an old man peered out over the night chain through the small opening he had made in the doorway.
Pentizel threw her weight violently forward. The chain held for a brief moment, then pulled free from the wood with a dull twang, and Pentizel’s thrust carried her inside.
The doctor had been hurled back by the rampant power behind the opening door. He bounced from the post at the bottom of a short flight of stairs, and slumped against the hallway wall. Blood ran from a broken nose.
Pentizel circled his throat with one hooked hand, letting only the points of her claws sink into the flesh, but effectively shutting off his breath. She waited a moment, until the doctor began to struggle, and let him jerk about loosely for just a moment. Then she wrapped her free arm around his back and crushed him close. Savagely enough to show him the futility of further struggle.
After a minute she carried the limp body of the old doctor into an inner room and dropped him ungently on a table top that still held soiled dishes from the evening meal. He was barely conscious.
The doctor stared up at her with eyes that were filled with stark terror. He squirmed slightly. A dirty plate fell to the floor with a crash and the doctor shuddered and lay still.
Slowly, menacingly, Pentizel stretched out one hand and held it a few inches from the doctor’s face. She let her claws ease out of their sheaths. “I can kill you with one stroke of these,” she snarled. “Remember that.”
She explained tersely what she wanted, and for the next three hours kept the old surgeon walking a thin line: Keeping him so frightened for his life that he obeyed her commands withou
t question—and attempted no foolishness with his medical tools—yet not so terrorized that he could not perform his task effectively.
Twice during the operations Pentizel allowed the old man to rest, and to drink from a bottle which he kept in a cabinet. It seemed to quiet his nerves. But she refused him more than one drink each time.
She had told him to do everything he could to make her resemble an Earth woman, and he began by trimming the hair on her head, and cutting short the claw nails on her fingers.
Next he clipped the pointed tips from Pentizel’s ears, and covered the raw wounds with plasti-flesh. She refused anesthetics. They were too much of an unknown quality to her. However, when he began to grind down her long fangs, the pain became excruciating, and she allowed him to shoot Novocain into her gums. The doctor finished his grinding, and capped both teeth, without her feeling any further pain.
Pentizel submitted to the doctor’s knife and drill with less reluctance to bearing the pain than to the thought that they would ruin her racial conception of beauty. It would be six months before her ears regrew their beautiful tips, and years more before her teeth were as long again.
Finally Pentizel stripped and allowed the doctor to shave the hair from her body.
* * * *
“That cat’s a female!” Nelson almost shouted. The strain of the long drag, and the days and nights with only snatches of sleep had begun to take their toll. His nerves were tight as drawn wires, and he had taken to talking to himself.
When he observed the shaved body of the alien female on the operating table his first thought was of the censor. He was glad now that permission had been refused earlier for showing the more indelicate activities of the cat. Knowing that she was female would have made those shots more blatant in retrospect.
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