Alan E. Nourse & J. A. Meyer

by The invaders are Coming

  "Did you have a run-in with Adams?"

  "Englehardt did. He's the head of Robling, and he believes in doing something instead of patting the public on the fanny and telling them everything is going to be all right."

  Libby looked up at him, and her face was suddenly white. "What does he propose to do?"

  "Build spaceships and go after them."

  "Spaceships! But, oh, that's ridiculous. Everyone from DEPCO right down to the Machines will stop it. You mean he actually proposed that?"

  "He's got backing. The military and DEPEX are with him."

  "They don't count. DEPCO has the final say on something like that."

  "Well, maybe this time DEPCO won't," Bahr said sharply. "You and your damned psych-docs mumbling about symbols and fixations. I'm the one who's got to fight the aliens, and they're not going to turn up for analysis. This is no little guerrilla campaign this time; we may need those ships to survive. Did you ever think of that? Your therapy and adjustments aren't worth a damn when it comes to staying alive."

  "That's not the important thing right now," Libby said. "All DEPCO has ever tried to do was to change a few minor things, like wars and squalor and neurosis. And that means catching those things at the roots."

  "Garbage," Bahr said. "Englehardt put his finger on it when he said we had no place to go, and that is why everybody is afraid. If they had something to do, they wouldn't be afraid any more."

  "Do you have something to do?" she asked him.

  "You bet your life I have. Run the DIA. Get to the bottom of this alien business."

  "Are you afraid?"

  "Certainly not. I'm too busy to be afraid. I . . ." "But you dream about elephants."

  Bahr's mouth closed and he was silent. Libby stood up to avoid his eyes. It hit him where he couldn't fight back, she knew, but somehow the only way she could make an impression on Bahr was to hurt him. "You don't understand," she said slowly, "and you've got to understand. There are things that drive people to do things, and they don't even recognize the reason. They think up all sorts of fantastic cover-lies to somhow justify doing things that they just can't help doing. That's why DEPCO was set up—to spot those drives and do something about them, dig them out by the roots. That's why I've been trying to help you for four years now, Julian, because you don't even understand what's happening inside your own mind; you just keep finding reasons and excuses and urgent necessities for everything you do, and blaming other people for everything that's done to you or everything that blocks you. I've tried to show you that it's all inside you, in your own mind, but you just say no, stall DEPCO, get me a white card, I won't let them stop me. . . ." She broke off helplessly. "You don't even know why you want a white card."

  "I certainly do," Bahr said. "I can't get anywhere without a white card stability rating. A green card is two strikes against me everywhere I turn."

  "And if you got a white card . . . Suppose you got a white card, and you got everything you wanted . . . then what?"

  "What do you mean, then what?"

  "What would you do if you had everything you wanted?"

  "I'd change things," Bahr said harshly. "I'd change everything that got in my way."

  "But after you'd done all that . . . after you'd done everything you wanted . . . then what would you want?"

  Bahr stared at her, not comprehending. "That couldn't happen. Everybody gets in my way, tries to stop me. I could never get everything I want."

  Libby sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "On that one thing, you're right, Julian," she said. "You don't know how right you are."

  She had hoped that maybe she had reached him somehow, that possibly some spark of contact or understanding had been struck, but when he asked her later, "Well, what a-bout Adams?" she knew that she hadn't reached him at all.

  "I'll try to stall him as long as possible," she said. "I don't think it will do much good. Adams is suspicious, and he's taking a personal interest."

  "I hope he does," Bahr said sharply, "because I'm taking a personal interest in him. What do you know about him?"

  "Why?"

  "Because if he's what I think he is, I've got a couple of specialists on my staff who can quiet him down for good."

  She whirled on him. "Julian, you wouldn't . . ."

  "Look, you don't seem to understand. Adams or nobody like him is going to put me out of a job on a Stability check."

  "You think you can blackmail him out of it? It wouldn't do you any good. There are other people in DEPCO just as big as Adams, and they can't be bought off or blackmailed. Julian, there's a storm working up in my office. Aliens or no aliens, I can guarantee that you'll be up against a prelim by tomorrow. And you won't pass it."

  "I passed the other probes."

  "Because I told you the answers beforehand, question by question. But I can't do that on a prelim; they use a polygraph."

  "They just poke around the sore spots, don't they? They skip the questions that you don't bounce on, and just dig in the soft spots?"

  She hesitated. "Yes, they study the prelim awhile before they go into a deep probe."

  "Fine," Bahr said. "Then you can brief me on it."

  "You couldn't use dummy answers under a poly, they'd bounce all over the place. With your adrenals . . ."

  "I can control my reactions," he said.

  "Your face muscles—maybe. Not your blood pressure and your sweat glands."

  "Not even under hypnosis?"

  "Even then, even with suggested reactions to specific trigger questions, I still don't know if it would work. You'd have to know the questions."

  "You can find out the questions."

  "No," Libby said.

  He stared at her. "What do you mean, no?"

  "I mean up until now I could always say I'd mis-evaluated your pers scores, or I was emotionally involved and didn't know it. But deliberate faking on a prelim is a federal offense."

  He sat silent for a minute. Then he spread his hands wide. "Look, I've never asked you for much. I've always just told you, before, and you did what I told you. Now I'm asking you, and if asking doesn't do it, by God, I will tell you. I've got too much at stake to trip on this thing now. You've got to get me past this prelim."

  "I can't do it," she said. "If they caught me, I'd be through. I'd never get a professional rating again."

  "I'm not talking about professional ratings," Bahr said quietly. "I'm talking about you and me."

  "No," Libby said.

  "I'll make a deal with you. You've always wanted to find out about the elephant. You've always wanted to get me into deep analysis and run me straight through from scratch. You know even DEPCO can't get me into deep analysis if I block; I'd have to be willing, co-operative. All right, you get me through this prelim. As soon as I get this alien thing

  THE INVADERS ARE CQMING

  143

  andEnglehardt's project squared away just enough so it doesn't take all my time day and night, I'll let you start analysis. I won't fight you, I'll co-operate."

  She knew he was lying, and suddenly she didn't care. He didn't know he was lying now. Right now he thought he meant it, and even though she saw through the mask with perfect, frightening clarity, she couldn't help herself.

  "Will you take a BHE and sign the paternity papers if I do?"

  Bahr nodded. "If I get past the prelim."

  She leaned back against his shoulder, suddenly infinitely tired, more weary than she had ever been in her life before. "You know, it would have been so easy," she said. "All this running and fighting; it would have been so much easier if you had let me start deep analysis two years ago."

  He stiffened against her. "Easier?"

  "You wouldn't have the elephant, and the sleeplessness, and you wouldn't be boiling up with hate and beating your fist against the wall in your sleep, and you wouldn't have this prelim coming up."

  "And I wouldn't have gotten anywhere," Bahr said.

  Chapter Twelve

  From: BRINT USN
XY To: BRINT HQX LONDON Priority: IMMEDIATE ATTENTION Distribution: HQX-K7 ONLY

  Dear Roger:

  I'm using our private channel for this letter because I am becoming more certain every hour that our normal channels are under constant DIA surveillance, and I clearly cannot route my personal opinion of the situation over here through Julian Bahr's hands if I have any hope of keeping my Scotch neck in one piece and serving any useful purpose in die future.

  As you might guess, Arthur and his people in the NY office are rather at a loss, with the city walled off by the recent communications edict. I am relying on the usual private channels to keep in touch with my groups, and particularly with Carl Englehardt. So far every report in my hands indicates that the pot of water is heating at a far greater rate of speed than we had originally assumed would be the case.

  Arthur persists in adhering to our original immediate and long-range plans, ignoring the almost incredible pattern that has been emerging in the past weeks, and he feels that we must try to get things back to normal as quickly as possible. He has sent (against my outcries of warning) a note to Bahr suggesting a meeting which could be nothing more than a ceremony of agreement.

  I oppose this.

  "Normal" in Federation America is at best a relative term; I am certain now that if Bahr proceeds unchecked, he will in a matter of weeks have initiated an irreversible reaction, and that "normality" in the present sense of the word will never be seen again. If we could predict, even in the broadest terms, where this reaction would end, I would be enthusiastically in favor of riding it out. Unfortunately, I don't think that Bahr himself knows where it will end, and this alone makes his position intolerably dangerous.

  We have assumed from the start that DEPCO, with all its systematic precautions to keep emotionally unstable personalities out of key spots, would have automatically harnessed a man like Bahr very early in the game. This has not happened. His emergence confirms what I have been telling you for several years: that the DEPCO system has been in a spiraling decay since the death of Larchmont, and that something new is certain to emerge.

  At this writing, that "something new" is taking the shape of Julian Bahr.

  Bahr has seized the alien crisis as his chance for power. This is hardly surprising. I predicted it, you recall, when Project Frisco was first launched. What I could not predict was the simple fact that Bahr has run headlong into the

  DEPCO restraint system and broken the restraints one by one. Ironically, the DEPCO philosophy, which aimed at controlling and inhibiting men like Bahr, is inadvertently guaranteeing his success. If he succeeds in destroying DEPCO, there are no strong men at the top in Federation America to oppose him.

  I think it is most important to realize this early. If Bahr succeeds, there will surely be very strong central control emanating from a single point, and no chance for us to encourage internal schism as we have in Asia and USSR. Nor would it then be safe to think of replacing him with a puppet if he were deposed or in some way removed from power.

  It is my considered opinion that if Bahr is allowed to reach that point, we will have lost everything we have been working for. Unfortunately, we have needed him badly, and right now we continue to need him. I believe that Englehardt will support Bahr at all costs in order to get the Space Project in operation. I will talk to Carl personally about this as soon as possible, but I have very little hope of dissuading him.

  Meanwhile, it is imperative that we be ready to cope with the political and economic changes which I think are about to begin; ultimately we must be in a position to cage Bahr or destroy him. Bahr may have considerable information on our activities, so we must be alert to a purge of some kind. He is very abrupt and direct in his actions; with the alien threat to justify him, he may move without warning at any time.

  I wish I could be more optimistic, but I honestly think it is all as bad as I have outlined. I think things will be a bit tricky for quite a while, and I may have to move quickly without clearing through you or Arthur. There is one item of genuine promise, the matter of the elusive major that I mentioned before. Here is a man who has successfully thwarted Bahr, and he still remains at large. Indications are that he can be extremely useful to us . . . or extremely dangerous to us. I am bending all efforts at present to locate him. Saunders had his trail in St. Louis, but lost it. I will have more to report on this at a later date.

  Meanwhile, if you see some brilliant chess move that will put us back in a position of advantage, contact me without delay through Talbot. Repeat, night or day.

  Best wishes,

  Paul MacKenzie

  Chapter Thirteen

  AT ONE A.M. the phone jangled insistently, and Bahr, still sleepless, reached over and seized it. "Bahr," he growled.

  "Abrams, Chief. I just wanted to co-ordinate with you on discontinuing the search."

  Bahr sat upright, suddenly tense. "On what?"

  "The drag . . . for Alexander. I just wanted to advise you I was dropping it. I'm checking out the field units now . . ."

  "Scrambler," Bahr said. "Four-three-nine. Baker." He punched the scrambler buttons on his own phone and tested. Then: "What in hell are you talking about, dropping the search? Did I give you orders to drop it?"

  A long silence. "No . . . but . . ."

  "You get those field units back into operation in three minutes, or I'll greencard you so fast . . ."

  "But, Chief, didn't you hear? He's been picked up." "Where?"

  "East St. Louis. They booby-trapped a motel room. I'd lost him an hour before, just picked him up again two hours ago and then they landed him. Another DIA unit. Didn't you get the report?"

  "Must have been a slip-up in the tracer relay," Bahr growled. "They're probably trying to locate me now." Then, cautiously, "Which unit was it picked up the major?"

  "They didn't sign through the roadblocks as a unit," the man said. "It was on a personal chit. Only I didn't know you had any informal units working this drag with us."

  "Whose personal chit?"

  "Carmine's. But I don't see why they didn't notify us they were shadowing, too. I mean, it's customary. Unless you . . ."

  "You're certain it was Alexander they picked up?"

  "Positive, Chief. There's no mistake."

  "Okay, drop the search. Ill pick up the story from this end. And thanks for the call."

  Bahr hung up, flipped the scrambler off, and dialed the locator relay. "Bahr speaking. Any calls come in for me?" He knew before he asked that there had been no call.

  "No call, sir."

  "Where can I locate Frank Carmine, DIA-43P" He heard the whir of the locator file on the other end. "He's in transit now. Destination, Red Bank, New Jersey. Field Unit HQ there. Planned arrival two A.M. Shall I try to make contact when he arrives?"

  "Just deliver a message. Tell him to meet me at two-thirty at the Red Bank Ground Terminal. There won't be any answer. I'll be leaving shordy for that same destination number."

  He was resetting the scrambler when Libby sat up, turning up the light. "Trouble, Julian?"

  "Go back to sleep," Bahr said. "I've got to take a litde trip."

  "But you've got the prelim tomorrow." She glanced at her watch. "This morning!"

  "I'll be back. It's only over in Jersey."

  "You can't take the prelim on no sleep. The suggestions won't cue in properly if you're too tired. We can't risk all the work we did this afternoon."

  He continued placing his call, and motioned her to silence as it came through. "Bahr speaking. Get one of the dummies ready. Tell him to take a 'copter to Rahway, and a ground train from there to Red Bank Ground Terminal. Tell him to get there at two-thirty. No, nothing else, just report back afterwards. And," he added, "tell him Condition B when he hits Red Bank. Use his stunner if he has to.

  Double A security on this, too. And see that his stride is right. I take big steps. Okay, see you." "Sending a dupe?" Libby asked.

  Bahr nodded as he disconnected the alarm from his Markheim stunner on the
knee table, hefting the sleek, surprisingly heavy weapon thoughtfully.

  "What is it, Julian? Aliens?"

  "Maybe," Bahr said, dressing hurriedly. "Maybe . . ."

  "Are you taking a 'copter unit with you? Are you sure you'll be back in time for the prelim?"

  "Where are the keys to your Volta?"

  "On the sill. But what do you want the Volta for?"

  "If anyone calls, I'm on my way to the ground terminal. Don't mention the Volta." He tucked the stunner into his shoulder holster.

  "You're not going there alone! Julian!"

  The door closed quietly behind him.

  2001, die fourth year of the crash that had staggered North America and most of the rest of the world, a year of desolation, a year of retrenching and finally coming to grips with the horror of the crash, when some semblance of order was pounded, often quite unmercifully, out of chaos. Federation America, a broken nation ... a nation without jobs or purpose, without the stability of money, with broken-down communications and impossible transportation and the imminent, momentary, endless threat of war.

  2001, and Julian Bahr had been rounded up with a lot of other drifters, young and old, and hauled to the Indianapolis Processing Center for testing and relocation in line with the personnel policies of the Department of Exploitation in the fledgling Vanner-Elling Stability government. He had been fingerprinted, photographed, weighed, measured, and run through the maze—the personality and intelligence tests that, unrealized by him, were going to mark off the sharp limits of his future for him.

  After a year of shiftlessness, hunger, ration lines, pilfering, and completely unlimited freedom of movement, Bahr was hostile and suspicious of the newly-designated authority figures.