The three Federal Clearance Agents took up positions a few feet from Lester Herrick, vibro-tubes gripped alertly.
Clearance Director Douglas studied Herrick for a long time. "You're sure?" he said finally.
"Absolutely," Frank stated.
"When did he get back from Rexor IV?"
"A week ago."
"And the change was noticeable at once?"
"His wife noticed it as soon as she saw him. There's no doubt it occurred on Rexor." Frank paused significantly. "And you know what that means."
"I know." Douglas walked slowly around the seated man, examining him from every angle.
Lester Herrick sat quietly, his coat neatly folded across his knee. He rested his hands on his ivory-topped cane, his face calm and expressionless. He wore a soft gray suit, a subdued necktie, French cuffs, and shiny black shoes. He said nothing.
"Their methods are simple and exact," Douglas said. "The original psychic contents are removed and stored – in some sort of suspension. The interjection of the substitute contents is instantaneous. Lester Herrick was probably poking around the Rexor city ruins, ignoring the safety precautions – shield or manual screen – and they got him."
The seated man stirred. "I'd like very much to communicate with Jill," he murmured. "She surely is becoming anxious."
Frank turned away, face choked with revulsion. "God. It's still pretending."
Director Douglas restrained himself with the greatest effort. "It's certainly an amazing thing. No physical changes. You could look at it and never know." He moved toward the seated man, his face hard. "Listen to me, whatever you call yourself. Can you understand what I say?"
"Of course," Lester Herrick answered.
"Did you really think you'd get away with it? We caught the others – the ones before you. All ten of them. Even before they got here." Douglas grinned coldly. "Vibro-rayed them one after another."
The color left Lester Herrick's face. Sweat came out on his forehead. He wiped it away with a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. "Oh?" he murmured.
"You're not fooling us. All Terra is alerted for you Rexorians. I'm surprised you got off Rexor at all. Herrick must have been extremely careless. We stopped the others aboard ship. Fried them out in deep space."
"Herrick had a private ship," the seated man murmured. "He bypassed the check station going in. No record of his arrival existed. He was never checked."
"Fry it!"
Douglas grated. The three Clearance agents lifted their tubes, moving forward.
"No." Frank shook his head. "We can't. It's a bad situation."
"What do you mean? Why can't we? We fried the others -"
"They were caught in deep space. This is Terra. Terran law, not military law, applies." Frank waved toward the seated man. "And it's in a human body. It comes under regular civil laws. We've got to
prove
it's not Lester Herrick – that it's a Rexorian infiltrator. It's going to be tough. But it can be done."
"How?"
"His wife. Herrick's wife. Her testimony. Jill Herrick can assert the difference between Lester Herrick and this thing. She knows – and I think we can make it stand up in court."
It was late afternoon. Frank drove his surface cruiser slowly along. Neither he nor Jill spoke.
"So that's it," Jill said at last. Her face was gray. Her eyes dry and bright, without emotion. "I knew it was too good to be true." She tried to smile. "It seemed so wonderful."
"I know," Frank said. "It's a terrible damn thing. If only -"
"Why?"
Jill said. "Why did he – did it do this? Why did it take Lester's body?"
"Rexor IV is old. Dead. A dying planet. Life is dying out."
"I remember, now. He – it said something like that. Something about Rexor. That it was glad to get away."
"The Rexorians are an old race. The few that remain are feeble. They've been trying to migrate for centuries. But their bodies are too weak. Some tried to migrate to Venus – and died instantly. They worked out this system about a century ago."
"But it knows so much. About us. It speaks our language."
"Not quite. The changes you mentioned. The odd diction. You see, the Rexorians have only a vague knowledge of human beings. A sort of ideal abstraction, taken from Terran objects that have found their way to Rexor. Books mostly. Secondary data like that. The Rexorian idea of Terra is based on centuries-old Terran literature. Romantic novels from our past. Language, customs, manners from old Terran books. That accounts for the strange archaic quality to it. It had studied Terra, all right. But in an indirect and misleading way." Frank grinned wryly. "The Rexorians are two hundred years behind the times – which is a break for us. That's how we're able to detect them."
"Is this sort of thing – common? Does it happen often? It seems unbelievable." Jill rubbed her forehead wearily. "Dreamlike. It's hard to realize that it's actually happened. I'm just beginning to understand what it means."
"The galaxy is full of alien life forms. Parasitic and destructive entities. Terran ethics don't extend to them. We have to guard constantly against this sort of thing. Lester went in unsuspectingly – and this thing ousted him and took over his body."
Frank glanced at his sister. Jill's face was expressionless. A stern little face, wide-eyed, but composed. She sat up straight, staring fixedly ahead, her small hands folded quietly in her lap.
"We can arrange it so you won't actually have to appear in court," Frank went on. "You can vid a statement and it'll be presented as evidence. I'm certain your statement will do. The Federal courts will help us all they can, but they have to have
some
evidence to go on."
Jill was silent.
"What do you say?" Frank asked.
"What happens after the court makes its decision?"
"Then we vibro-ray it. Destroy the Rexorian mind. A Terran patrol ship on Rexor IV sends out a party to locate the – er – original contents."
Jill gasped. She turned toward her brother in amazement. "You mean -"
"Oh, yes. Lester is alive. In suspension, somewhere on Rexor. In one of the old city ruins. We'll have to force them to give him up. They won't want to, but they'll do it. They've done it before. Then he'll be back with you. Safe and sound. Just like before. And this horrible nightmare you've been living will be a thing of the past."
"I see."
"Here we are." The cruiser pulled to a halt before the imposing Federal Clearance Building. Frank got quickly out, holding the door for his sister. Jill stepped down slowly. "Okay?" Frank said.
"Okay."
When they entered the building, Clearance agents led them through the check screens, down the long corridors. Jill's high heels echoed in the ominous silence.
"Quite a place," Frank observed.
"It's unfriendly."
"Consider it a glorified police station." Frank halted. Before them was a guarded door. "Here we are."
"Wait." Jill pulled back, her face twisting in panic. "I -"
"We'll wait until you're ready." Frank signaled to the Clearance agent to leave. "I understand. It's a bad business."
Jill stood for a moment, her head down. She took a deep breath, her small fists clenched. Her chin came up, level and steady. "All right."
"You ready?"
"Yes."
Frank opened the door. "Here we are."
Director Douglas and the three Clearance agents turned expectantly as Jill and Frank entered. "Good," Douglas murmured, with relief. "I was beginning to get worried."
The sitting man got slowly to his feet, picking up his coat. He gripped his ivory-headed cane tightly, his hands tense. He said nothing. He watched silently as the woman entered the room, Frank behind her. "This is Mrs Herrick," Frank said. "Jill, this is Clearance Director Douglas."
"I've heard of you," Jill said faintly.
"Then you know our work."
"Yes. I know your work."
"This is an unfortunate business. It's happened before. I don't know what Frank has told you -"
"He explained the situation."
"Good." Douglas was relieved. "I'm glad of that. It's not easy to explain. You understand, then, what we want. The previous cases were caught in deep space. We vibro-tubed them and got the original contents back. But this time we must work through legal channels." Douglas picked up a vidtape recorder. "We will need your statement, Mrs Herrick. Since no physical change has occurred we'll have no direct evidence to make our case. We'll have only your testimony of character alteration to present to the court."
He held the vidtape recorder out. Jill took it slowly.
"Your statement will undoubtedly be accepted by the court. The court will give us the release we want and then we can go ahead. If everything goes correctly we hope to be able to set things exactly as they were before."
Jill was gazing silently at the man standing in the corner with his coat and ivory-headed cane. "Before?" she said. "What do you mean?"
"Before the change."
Jill turned toward Director Douglas. Calmly, she laid the vidtape recorder down on the table. "What change are you talking about?"
Douglas paled. He licked his lips. All eyes in the room were on Jill. "The change in
him."
He pointed at the man.
"Jill!" Frank barked. "What's the matter with you?" He came quickly toward her. "What the hell are you doing? You know damn well what change we mean!"
"That's odd," Jill said thoughtfully. "I haven't noticed any change."
Frank and Director Douglas looked at each other. "I don't get it," Frank muttered, dazed.
"Mrs Herrick -" Douglas began.
Jill walked over to the man standing quietly in the corner. "Can we go now, dear?" she asked. She took his arm. "Or is there some reason why my husband has to stay here?"
The man and woman walked silently along the dark street.
"Come on," Jill said. "Let's go home."
The man glanced at her. "It's a nice afternoon," he said. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs. "Spring is coming – I think. Isn't it?"
Jill nodded.
"I wasn't sure. It's a nice smell. Plants and soil and growing things."
"Yes."
"Are we going to walk? Is it far?"
"Not too far."
The man gazed at her intently, a serious expression on his face. "I am very indebted to you, my dear," he said.
Jill nodded.
"I wish to thank you. I must admit I did not expect such a -"
Jill turned abruptly. "What is your name? Your
real
name."
The man's gray eyes flickered. He smiled a little, a kind, gentle smile. "I'm afraid you would not be able to pronounce it. The sounds cannot be formed…"
Jill was silent as they walked along, deep in thought. The city lights were coming on all around them. Bright yellow spots in the gloom. "What are you thinking?" the man asked.
"I was thinking perhaps I will still call you Lester," Jill said. "If you don't mind."
"I don't mind," the man said. He put his arm around her, drawing her close to him. He gazed down tenderly as they walked through the thickening darkness, between the yellow candles of light that marked the way. "Anything you wish. Whatever will make you happy."
It was bright morning. The sun shone down on the damp lawns and sidewalks, reflecting off the sparkling parked cars. The Clerk came walking hurriedly, leafing through his instructions, flipping pages and frowning. He stopped in front of the small green stucco house for a moment, and then turned up the walk, entering the back yard.
The dog was asleep inside his shed, his back turned to the world. Only his thick tail showed.
"For heaven's sake," the Clerk exclaimed, hands on his hips. He tapped his mechanical pencil noisily against his clipboard. "Wake up, you in there."
The dog stirred. He came slowly out of his shed, head first, blinking and yawning in the morning sunlight. "Oh, it's you. Already?" He yawned again.
"Big doings." The Clerk ran his expert finger down the traffic-control sheet. "They're adjusting Sector T137 this morning. Starting at exactly nine o'clock." He glanced at his pocket watch. "Three hour alteration. Will finish by noon."
"T137? That's not far from here."
The Clerk's thin lips twisted with contempt. "Indeed. You're showing astonishing perspicacity, my black-haired friend. Maybe you can divine why I'm here."
"We overlap with T137."
"Exactly. Elements from this Sector are involved. We must make sure they're properly placed when the adjustment begins." The Clerk glanced toward the small green stucco house. "Your particular task concerns the man in there. He is employed by a business establishment lying within Sector T137. It's essential that he be there before nine o'clock."
The dog studied the house. The shades had been let up. The kitchen light was on. Beyond the lace curtains dim shapes could be seen, stirring around the table. A man and woman. They were drinking coffee.
"There they are," the dog murmured. "The man, you say? He's not going to be harmed, is he?"
"Of course not. But he must be at his office early. Usually he doesn't leave until after nine. Today he must leave at eight-thirty. He must be within Sector T137 before the process begins, or he won't be altered to coincide with the new adjustment."
The dog sighed. "That means I have to summon."
"Correct." The Clerk checked his instruction sheet. "You're to summon at precisely eight-fifteen. You've got that? Eight-fifteen. No later."
"What will the eight-fifteen summons bring?"
The Clerk flipped open his instruction book, examining the code columns. "It will bring A Friend with a Car. To drive him to work early." He closed the book and folded his arms, preparing to wait. "That way he'll get to his office almost an hour ahead of time. Which is vital."
"Vital," the dog murmured. He lay down, half inside his shed. His eyes closed. "Vital."
"Wake up! This must be done exactly on time. If you summon too soon or too late -"
The dog nodded sleepily. "I know. I'll do it right. I
always
do it right."
Ed Fletcher poured more cream in his coffee. He sighed, leaning back in his chair. Behind him the oven hissed softly, filling the kitchen with warm fumes. The yellow overhead light beamed down.
"Another roll?" Ruth asked.
"I'm full." Ed sipped his coffee. "You can have it."
"Have to go." Ruth got to her feet, unfastening her robe. Time to go to work."
"Already?"
"Sure. You lucky bum! Wish I could sit around." Ruth moved toward the bathroom, running her fingers through her long black hair. "When you work for the Government you start early."
"But you get off early," Ed pointed out. He unfolded the
Chronicle,
examining the sporting green. "Well, have a good time today. Don't type any wrong words, any double-entendres."
The bathroom door closed, as Ruth shed her robe and began dressing.
Ed yawned and glanced up at the clock over the sink. Plenty of time. Not even eight. He sipped more coffee and then rubbed his stubbled chin. He would have to shave. He shrugged lazily. Ten minutes, maybe.
Ruth came bustling out in her nylon slip, hurrying into the bedroom. "I'm late." She rushed rapidly around, getting into her blouse and skirt, her stockings, her little white shoes. Finally she bent over and kissed him. "Good-bye, honey. I'll do the shopping tonight."
"Good-bye." Ed lowered his newspaper and put his arm around his wife's trim waist, hugging her affectionately. "You smell nice. Don't flirt with the boss."
Ruth ran out the front door, clattering down the steps. He heard the click of her heels diminish down the sidewalk.
She was gone. The house was silent. He was alone.
Ed got to his feet, pushing his chair back. He wandered lazily into the bathroom, and got his razor down. Eight-ten. He washed his face, rubbing it down with shaving cream, and began to shave. He shaved leisurely. He had plenty of time.
The Clerk bent over his round pocket watch, licking his lips nervously. Sweat stood out on his forehead. The second hand ticked on. Eight-fourteen. Almost time.
"Get ready!" the Clerk snapped. He tensed, his small body rigid. "Ten seconds to go!"
"Time!"
the Clerk cried out.
Nothing happened.
The Clerk turned, eyes wide with horror. From the little shed a thick black tail showed. The dog had gone back to sleep.
"TIME!" the Clerk shrieked. He kicked wildly at the furry rump. "In the name of God -"
The dog stirred. He thumped around hastily, backing out of the shed. "My goodness." Embarrassed, he made his way quickly to the fence. Standing up on his hind paws, he opened his mouth wide. "Woof!" he summoned. He glanced apologetically at the Clerk. "I beg your pardon. I can't understand how -"
The Clerk gazed fixedly down at his watch. Cold terror knotted his stomach. The hands showed eight-sixteen. "You failed," he grated. "You failed! You miserable flea-bitten ragbag of a wornout old mutt! You failed!"
The dog dropped and came anxiously back. "I failed, you say? You mean the summons time was -?"
"You summoned too late." The Clerk put his watch away slowly, a glazed expression on his face. "You summoned too late. We won't get A Friend with a Car. There's no telling what will come instead. I'm afraid to see what eight-sixteen brings."
"I hope he'll be in Sector T137 in time."
"He won't," the Clerk wailed. "He won't be there. We've made a mistake. We've made things go wrong!"
Ed was rinsing the shaving cream from his face when the muffled sound of the dog's bark echoed through the silent house.
"Damn," Ed muttered. "Wake up the whole block." He dried his face, listening. Was somebody coming?
A vibration. Then -
The doorbell rang.
Ed came out of the bathroom. Who could it be? Had Ruth forgotten something? He tossed on a white shirt and opened the front door.
A bright young man, face bland and eager, beamed happily at him. "Good morning, sir." He tipped his hat. "I'm sorry to bother you so early -"
"What do you want?"
"I'm from the Federal Life Insurance Company. I'm here to see you about -"
Ed pushed the door closed. "Don't want any. I'm in a rush. Have to get to work."
"Your wife said this was the only time I could catch you." The young man picked up his briefcase, easing the door open again. "She especially asked me to come this early. We don't usually begin our work at this time, but since she asked me, I made a special note about it."
"Okay." Sighing wearily, Ed admitted the young man. "You can explain your policy while I get dressed."
The young man opened his briefcase on the couch, laying out heaps of pamphlets and illustrated folders. "I'd like to show you some of these figures, if I may. It's of great importance to you and your family to -"
Ed found himself sitting down, going over the pamphlets. He purchased a ten-thousand-dollar policy on his own life and then eased the young man out. He looked at the clock. Practically nine-thirty!
"Damn." He'd be late to work. He finished fastening his tie, grabbed his coat, turned off the oven and the lights, dumped the dishes in the sink, and ran out on the porch.
As he hurried toward the bus stop he was cursing inwardly. Life insurance salesmen. Why did the jerk have to come just as he was getting ready to leave?
Ed groaned. No telling what the consequences would be, getting to the office late. He wouldn't get there until almost ten. He set himself in anticipation. A sixth sense told him he was in for it. Something bad. It was the wrong day to be late.
If only the salesman hadn't come.
Ed hopped off the bus a block from his office. He began walking rapidly. The huge clock in front of Stein's Jewelry Store told him it was almost ten.
His heart sank. Old Douglas would give him hell for sure. He could see it now. Douglas puffing and blowing, red-faced, waving his thick finger at him; Miss Evans, smiling behind her typewriter; Jackie, the office boy, grinning and snickering; Earl Hendricks; Joe and Tom; Mary, dark-eyed, full bosom and long lashes. All of them, kidding him the whole rest of the day.
He came to the corner and stopped for the light. On the other side of the street rose a big white concrete building, the towering column of steel and cement, girders and glass windows – the office building. Ed flinched. Maybe he could say the elevator got stuck. Somewhere between the second and third floor.
The street light changed. Nobody else was crossing. Ed crossed alone. He hopped up on the curb on the far side -
And stopped, rigid.
The sun had winked off. One moment it was beaming down. Then it was gone. Ed looked up sharply. Gray clouds swirled above him. Huge, formless clouds. Nothing more. An ominous, thick haze that made everything waver and dim. Uneasy chills plucked at him.
What was it?
He advanced cautiously, feeling his way through the mist. Everything was silent. No sounds – not even the traffic sounds. Ed peered frantically around, trying to see through the rolling haze. No people. No cars. No sun. Nothing.
The office building loomed up ahead, ghostly. It was an indistinct gray. He put out his hand uncertainly -
A section of the building fell away. It rained down, a torrent of particles. Like sand. Ed gaped foolishly. A cascade of gray debris, spilling around his feet. And where he had touched the building, a jagged cavity yawned – an ugly pit marring the concrete.
Dazed, he made his way to the front steps. He mounted them. The steps gave way underfoot. His feet sank down. He was wading through shifting sand, weak, rotted stuff that broke under his weight.
He got into the lobby. The lobby was dim and obscure. The overhead lights flickered feebly in the gloom. An unearthly pall hung over everything.
He spied the cigar stand. The seller leaned silently, resting on the counter, toothpick between his teeth, his face vacant.
And gray.
He was gray all over.
"Hey," Ed croaked. "What's going on?"
The seller did not answer. Ed reached out toward him. His hand touched the seller's gray arm – and passed right through.
"Good God," Ed said.
The seller's arm came loose. It fell to the lobby floor, disintegrating into fragments. Bits of gray fiber. Like dust. Ed's senses reeled.
"Help!" he shouted, finding his voice.
No answer. He peered around. A few shapes stood here and there: a man reading a newspaper, two women waiting at the elevator.
Ed made his way over to the man. He reached out and touched him.
The man slowly collapsed. He settled into a heap, a loose pile of gray ash. Dust. Particles. The two women dissolved when he touched them. Silently. They made no sound as they broke apart.
Ed found the stairs. He grabbed hold of the banister and climbed. The stairs collapsed under him. He hurried faster. Behind him lay a broken path – his footprints clearly visible in the concrete. Clouds of ash blew around him as he reached the second floor.
He gazed down the silent corridor. He saw more clouds of ash. He heard no sound. There was just darkness – rolling darkness.
He climbed unsteadily to the third floor. Once, his shoe broke completely through the stair. For a sickening second he hung, poised over a yawning hole that looked down into a bottomless nothing.
Then he climbed on, and emerged in front of his own office:
DOUGLAS AND BLAKE, REAL ESTATE.
The hall was dim, gloomy with clouds of ash. The overhead lights flickered fitfully. He reached for the door handle. The handle came off in his hand. He dropped it and dug his fingernails into the door. The plate glass crashed past him, breaking into bits. He tore the door open and stepped over it, into the office.
Miss Evans sat at her typewriter, fingers resting quietly on the keys. She did not move. She was gray, her hair, her skin, her clothing. She was without color. Ed touched her. His fingers went through her shoulder, into dry flakiness.
He drew back, sickened. Miss Evans did not stir.
He moved on. He pushed against a desk. The desk collapsed into rotting dust. Earl Hendricks stood by the water cooler, a cup in his hand. He was a gray statue, unmoving. Nothing stirred. No sound. No life. The whole office was gray dust – without life or motion.
Ed found himself out in the corridor again. He shook his head, dazed. What did it mean? Was he going out of his mind? Was he -?
A sound.
Ed turned, peering into the gray mist. A creature was coming, hurrying rapidly. A man – a man in a white robe. Behind him others came. Men in white, with equipment. They were lugging complex machinery.
"Hey -" Ed gasped weakly.
The men stopped. Their mouths opened. Their eyes popped.
"Look!"
"Something's gone wrong!"
"One still charged."
"Get the de-energizer."
"We can't proceed until -"
The men came toward Ed, moving around him. One lugged a long hose with some sort of nozzle. A portable cart came wheeling up. Instructions were rapidly shouted.
Ed broke out of his paralysis. Fear swept over him. Panic. Something hideous was happening. He had to get out. Warn people. Get away.
He turned and ran, back down the stairs. The stairs collapsed under him. He fell half a flight, rolling in heaps of dry ash. He got to his feet and hurried on, down to the ground floor.