seemingly intent upon its own particular incomprehensibleerrands. For a long while he watched from the shelter of an alleydoorway, classifying and integrating the information his host's sharpeyes brought him. It was miraculous. Hosts of every size and descriptionwere in abundance--an unlimited supply of them. Enough for the wholepopulation of Triom. It was beyond belief, but he could not doubt. Andthis was but a single concentration. A single city. From thestratosphere he had seen hundreds of similar cities. Paradise! Heenvisioned the fleets of Triom descending, the Triomeds emerging andinfiltrating. The thoughts brought pride and anticipation. It had beenso easy....
He decided not to linger. He felt now that he had his proofs and that heshould return at once to his ship. Triom must be told immediately. Thecommunicator in the ship could carry the message as soon as the craftreached a suitable distance from planetary mass. He would return, sendthe ship aloft, dispatch his message and then return to his host toawait the others of his race.
His decision made, he stepped confidently out into the throng of bipeds,seeking the shortest route back to his hidden craft.
The result was instantaneous and amazing.
The crowd drew back with a howling, shrieking noise, leaving himstanding in the center of a circle of dead white faces.
Behind the first row of bipeds, he could see others running in everydirection, and screaming at the top of their voices. The racket,combined with the noises of the city, was most unpleasant. The Triomedbegan to be afraid.
He broke into a rapid walk, and the crowd parted before him with muchlouder screeching. Here and there a biped, apparently braver than therest, made threatening motions with bundles or knotted fists. A packagestruck him on the shoulder.
The Triomed began to run. He noted for the first time that he toweredhead and shoulders over most of the bipeds nearby, and his host's braininterpreted the smells of hate and fear all about him.
The crowd scattered wildly at his approach, but he was being followed.Panic began to clutch at the alien. What had he done wrong? Somewhere awailing sound began--vehicles with glaring red lights swept past himwith vicious, explosive noises. He felt a stinging pain in one leg, andglanced down to see it streaked with red.
Ahead of him a line of bipeds all clothed in identical blue sacs offabric had formed, spilling from the vehicles as they halted. TheTriomed stopped, sensing mortal danger. Behind him, the mob rumbled.Ahead the blue bipeds stood holding artifacts that the Triomed did notfor an instant doubt were weapons.
No street opened on either side of him. He was trapped between theweapons, the mob, and two tall buildings. He hesitated only for amoment. With a desperate leap, he reached the second level of windows ofthe building nearest him and clung there, gasping.
A white-faced creature appeared and began poking at him with a steel rodthat burned like fire when it touched his host's flesh. The creaturescreamed shrilly all the while.
With a sob, the Triomed swung himself onto the window ledge and beganclimbing upward, toward the roof of the building. It was slow work andthe pain in his leg and burned shoulder slowed him down. He dare notfree himself of his host now, for he was much too far from his ship tobe able to return in his natural form.
* * * * *
There were searchlights in the street below, probing at him as he clungto the sheer facade of the building. Panic drove him upward. Acontinuous, wailing roar rose from the canyon below, a fear-ladenhideous cacophony. The Triomed felt himself weak with terror, part ofwhich was his host's and part of which stemmed from within himself. Theterror and fear of not knowing what had gone wrong and why he stood nowin such peril.
At last he reached the roof. He heaved himself over the parapet and layfor a moment, flanks heaving painfully. Then he stiffened with a newfear. He was not alone. The roof was occupied. A score or more of armedbipeds blocked him into a triangular corner of the roof. He got to hisfeet and stumbled backward. Their weapons were aimed at him. Heretreated until the parapet stopped him, warning of the sheer drop tothe street far below.
A figure separated itself from the armed mass. A flash of recognitioncame--partially his own, partially his host's. It was the small biped hehad seen in the searchlight beam running toward the cubicle he haddeserted so long ago it seemed.
The small creature began speaking, making soft, soothing noises,advancing all the while, a tiny glass vial in his hands.
Without knowing why, the Triomed felt his lips pull away from his teethin a snarl. He heard a deep, rumbling growling sound in his own throat.The biped stopped, and the Triomed could smell his sudden fear.
He felt a surge of incomprehensible rage come over him--he crouchedmenacingly.
The creature took a step closer. Another. The Triomed tensed.
The creature was within reach, extending the vial. The alien could seethat it was tipped with a sliver of steel. He sprang--
The weapons crashed. The alien felt the thudding impact of projectilespenetrating the brain case. In a panic he began to extrude from thepineal gland. If death overcame the host while he had rapport, he, too,would die. And if he died, Triom would die.
He felt his huge body totter. There was another blast from the weaponsand he sensed the projectile coming--with what seemed to be agonizingslowness to his quickened senses. It was spinning in the darkness. Itstruck the eye, smashed it, moved inward, along the base of thebrain....
The Triomed felt one deep, searing agony that was his alone as thebullet crushed him. The hot metal acrid touch was the last thing he knewbefore death came....
* * * * *
The policemen stood about in a circle, staring down in mixed awe andrelief at the huge body on the roof.
"I've seen him a dozen times in the park," one said. "He always seemedso--so peaceable." He shook his head. "What in hell do you suppose cameover him?"
The keeper looked up from where he knelt over the deep, still chest,bloody and riddled with bullets. "It happens like this sometimes," hesaid. "You can never tell about gorillas."
The Invader Page 2
