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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/26795-8.txt b/26795-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea9bb44 --- /dev/null +++ b/26795-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2002 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Get Out of Our Skies!, by E. K. Jarvis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Get Out of Our Skies! + +Author: E. K. Jarvis + +Release Date: October 6, 2008 [EBook #26795] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _The long-suffering public went along with billboards and + singing commercials; they tolerated half a dozen sales + pitches in a half-hour radio or TV show; they suffered + stoically through the "hard-sell" and the "soft-sell." But + when the hucksters turned the wild blue yonder into a vast + television screen, they howled----_ + + GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! + + By E. K. JARVIS + + +On the first cloudy day in November, Tom Blacker, the shining light of +Ostreich and Company, Public Relations Counsellors, placed a call to a +shirtsleeved man on the rooftop of the Cannon Building in New York City. + +His message brought an immediate response from the waiting engineer, who +flicked switches and twirled dials with expert motions, and brought into +play the gigantic 50,000-watt projector installed on the peak. + +In his own office, Tom paced the floor in front of the three-window +exposure, watching the heavens for the results. + +They weren't long in coming. + +The eyes came first. Eyes the size of Navy dirigibles, with pupils of +deep cerulean blue, floating against the backdrop of the gray cumulus. +The long lashes curled out almost a hundred feet from the lids. Then the +rest of Monica Mitchell's famous face appeared: the flowing yellow +locks, the sensuously curved lips, parted moistly from even white teeth. +From chin to hairline, the projected image above the city was close to a +thousand feet in diameter. + +Then, as if the floating countenance wasn't alarming enough, the ruby +lips began to move. Monica's sweet-sultry voice, like the first +drippings from a jar of honey, overcame the city sounds, and began +crooning the syrupy strains of _Love Me Alone_. Which happened, by no +coincidence, to be the title and theme song of Monica's newest epic. + +[Illustration: Monica's image--plastered across the heavens--stopped +traffic in all directions.] + +It was a triumph. Tom knew it the moment he looked down at the crowded +thoroughfare eighteen stories beneath the window. Traffic had come to a +more than normal standstill. Drivers were leaving their autos, and hands +were being upraised towards the gargantuan face on the clouds above. + +And of course, Tom's phone rang. + + * * * * * + +Ostreich's big scowling face was barely squeezed within the confines of +the visiphone screen. He said nothing intelligible for two minutes. + +"Relax, Chief," Tom said brightly. "I've been saving this as a +surprise." + +Ostreich's reply was censorable. + +"Now look, D. O. You gave me _carte blanche_ with this Mitchell babe, +remember? I figured we really needed a shot in the arm for this new +picture of hers. The receipts on her last turkey couldn't pay her +masseurs." + +Ostreich, who had built his firm by establishing golden public images +for various industrialists and their enterprises, had anticipated +trouble the moment he let the barrier down to admit such unworthy +clients as Monica Mitchell. But he had never anticipated that his ace +publicist would display such carnival tactics in their promotion. He +growled like a taunted leopard. + +"This is a cheap trick, Tom! Do you hear me? Turn that thing off at +once!" + +"Who, me?" Tom said innocently. "Gosh, D. O. I'm no engineer. I left +instructions with the operator to keep the projector going for three +hours, until sunset. Don't think I can do anything about it now." + +"You'll damn well _have_ to do something about it! You're ruining us!" + +"Look at it this way, Chief. What can we lose? If anybody takes offense, +we can blame it on that Hollywood gang." + +"Turn that damn thing off! If that blankety face isn't out of the sky in +ten minutes, you can start emptying your desk!" + +Tom was a redhead. He reached over and snapped the visiphone switch +before his boss could have the satisfaction. He stomped to the window, +still raging at Ostreich's lack of appreciation. + +But he chuckled when he saw the activity in the street. The crowds were +thickening at the intersections, and a special battalion of city police +were trying to keep things moving. Behind him, the visiphone was beeping +frantically again. + +He waited a full minute before answering, all set to snap at Ostreich +once more. + +But it wasn't Ostreich. It was a square-faced man with beetling brows +and a chin like the biting end of a steam shovel. It took Tom a while to +recognize the face of Stinson, commissioner of police. + +"Mr. Blacker?" + +"Yes, sir?" Tom gulped. + +"Mr. Ostreich referred me to you. You responsible for that--" the +commissioner's voice was choked. "--that menace?" + +"Menace, sir?" + +"You know what I'm talking about. We've got half a dozen CAA complaints +already. That thing's a menace to public safety, a hazard to air +travel--" + +"Look, Mr. Stinson. It's only a harmless publicity stunt." + +"Harmless? You got funny ideas, Mr. Blacker. Don't get the wrong idea +about our city ordinances. We got statutes that cover this kind of +thing. If you don't want to be a victim of one of them, turn that damned +monstrosity off!" + +The commissioner's angry visage left a reverse shadow burned on the +visiphone screen. It remained glowing there long after the contact was +broken. + +Tom Blacker walked the carpeted floor of his office, chewing on his +lower lip, and cursing the feeble imaginations of Ostreich and the rest +of them. When his temper had cooled, he got sober thoughts of +indictments, and law suits, and unemployment. With a sigh, he contacted +the engineer on the roof of the Cannon Building. Then he went to the +window, and watched Monica's thousand-foot face fade gradually out of +sight. + + * * * * * + +At four o'clock that afternoon, a long white envelope crossed Tom's +blotter. There was a check to the amount of a month's salary enclosed, +and a briefly-worded message from the office of the president. + +When he left the office, Ostreich's rolling phrases buzzed in his head +like swarming gnats. "... a mockery of a great profession ... lowering +of dignity ... incompatible with the highest ideals of ..." + +At ten o'clock that night, Tom was telling his troubles to a red-coated +man behind a chromium bar on Forty-ninth Street. The man listened with +all the gravity of a physician, and lined up the appropriate medicine in +front of his patient. + +By midnight, Tom was singing Christmas carols, in advance of the season, +with a tableful of Texans. + +At one o'clock, he swung a right cross at a mounted policeman, missed, +and fell beneath the horse's legs. + +At one-fifteen, he fell asleep against the shoulder of a B-girl as they +rode through the streets of the city in a sleek police vehicle. + +That was all Tom Blacker remembered, until he woke up in Livia Cord's +cozy two-room apartment. He moved his head and winced with the pain. + + * * * * * + +"Hi," the girl said. + +She was smiling down at him, and for a moment, her floating face +reminded Tom of the episode which had just cost him twenty grand a year. +He groaned, and rolled the other way on the contour couch. + +"Hair of the dog?" she said. There was a gleaming cannister in her hand. + +"No, thanks." He sat up, rubbing the stiff red hair on the back of his +head. One eye seemed permanently screwed shut, but the other managed to +take in his surroundings. It explored the girl first, and +appreciatively. + +She was wearing something black and satiny, cut in the newest +Dallas-approved style, with long, tantalizing diagonal slashes across +the breast and hips. Her hair was strikingly two-toned, black and +blonde. Her teeth were a blinding white, and had been filed to canine +sharpness. + +"My name's Livia," the girl said pleasantly. "Livia Cord. I hope you +don't mind what I did." + +"And what was that?" Tom's other eye popped open, almost audibly. + +"Bailing you out of jail. Seems you got into a fracas with a mounted +cop. I think you tried to punch his horse." + +"Nuts. I was trying to hit him." + +"Well, you didn't." She chuckled, and poured herself a drink. "You've +had quite a day, Mr. Blacker." + +"You said it." There was a taste in his mouth like cigar ashes. He tried +to stand up, but the weight on his head kept him where he was. "You +wouldn't have an oxygen pill around?" + +"Sure." She left with a toss of her skirt and a revelation of silky +calves. When she returned with the tablet and water, he took it +gratefully. After a few minutes, he felt better enough to ask: + +"Why?" + +"What's that?" + +"Why'd you bail me out? I don't know you. Or do I?" + +She laughed. "No. Not yet you don't. But I know you, Mr. Blacker. By +reputation, at any rate. You see--" She sat next to him on the couch, +and Tom was feeling well enough to tingle at her nearness. "We're in the +same line of work, you and I." + +"Unemployment?" + +"No," she smiled. "Public relations. Only I'm on the client's side of +the fence. I work for an organization called Homelovers, Incorporated. +Ever hear of them?" + +Tom shook his head. + +"Maybe you should. It's a rather important company, and growing. And +they're always on the lookout for superior talent." + + * * * * * + +He squinted at her. "What is this? A job offer?" + +"Maybe." She wriggled a little, and the slits in her dress widened just +a fraction. "We've got the nucleus of a good PR department now. But with +a really experienced man at the controls--it could grow enormously. +Think you might be interested?" + +"Maybe I would," Tom said. But he wasn't thinking about PR right then. + +"Mr. Andrusco's had you in mind for a long time," Livia Cord continued. +"I've mentioned your name to him several times as a possible candidate. +If you hadn't been fired from Ostreich, we might have tried to tempt you +away." Her fingers touched a stray lock of red hair. "Now--we don't have +to be surreptitious about it. Do we?" + +"No," Tom said guardedly. "I guess not." + +"If you're free tomorrow, I could arrange a meeting with Mr. Andrusco. +Would you like that?" + +"Well ..." + +"His office opens at nine. We could get there early." + +Tom looked at his watch. Livia said: "I know it's late. But we could get +an early start in the morning, right after breakfast. Couldn't we?" + +"I dunno," Tom frowned. "By the time I get home ..." + +"Home?" The girl leaned back. "Who said anything about home?" + +Her bedroom was monochromed. Even the sheets were pink. At five o'clock, +the false dawn glimmered through the window, and the light falling on +his eyes awakened him. He looked over at the sleeping girl, feeling +drugged and detached. She moaned slightly, and turned her face towards +him. He blinked at the sight of it, and cried aloud. + +"What is it?" She sat up in bed and nicked on the table lamp. "What's +the matter?" + +He looked at her carefully. She was beautiful. There wasn't even a +smudge of lipstick on her face. + +"Nothing," he said dreamily, and turned away. By the time he was asleep +again, his mind had already erased the strange image from his clouded +brain--that Livia Cord had absolutely no mouth at all. + + * * * * * + +It was hard to keep track of the glass-and-steel structures that had +been springing up daily along the Fifth-Madison Thruway. When Tom and +Livia stepped out of the cab in front of 320, he wasn't surprised that +the building--an odd, cylindrical affair with a pointed spire--was +strange to him. But he was taken aback to realize that all sixty floors +were the property of Homelovers, Incorporated. + +"Quite a place," he told the girl. + +She smiled at him tightly. Livia was crackling with business electricity +this morning, her spiked heels clicking along the marble floors of the +lobby like typewriter keys. She wore a tailored gray suit that clung to +her body with all the perfection and sexlessness of a window mannikin. +In the elevator, shooting towards the executive offices on the 57th +floor, Tom looked over at her and scratched his poorly-shaven cheeks in +wonderment. + +They plowed right through the frosty receptionist barrier, and entered +an office only half the size of Penn Station. The man behind the +U-shaped desk couldn't have been better suited to the surroundings by +Central Casting. He was cleft-jawed, tanned, exquisitely tailored. If +his polished brown toupee had been better fitted, he would have been +positively handsome. + +The handshake was firm. + +"Good to see you," he grinned. "Heard a lot about you, Mr. Blacker. All +of it good." + +"Well," Livia said airily. "I've done my part. Now you two come to +terms. Buzz me if you need me, J. A." + +John Andrusco unwrapped a cigar when she left, and said: "Well, now. +Suppose we get right down to cases, Mr. Blacker. Our organization is +badly in need of a public relations set-up that can pull out all the +stops. We have money and we have influence. Now all we need is guidance. +If you can supply that, there's a vacant chair at the end of the hall +that can accommodate your backside." He grinned manfully. + +"Well," Tom said delicately. "My big problem is this, Mr. Andrusco. I +don't know what the hell business you're in." + +The executive laughed heartily. "Then let me fill you in." + +He stepped over to a cork-lined wall, pressed a concealed button, and +panels parted. An organizational chart, with designations that were +meaningless to Tom, appeared behind it. + +"Speaking basically," Andrusco said, "Homelovers, Incorporated +represents the interests of the world's leading real estate concerns. +Land, you know, is still the number one commodity of Earth, the one +priceless possession that rarely deteriorates in value. In fact, with +the increase in the Earth's population, the one commodity that never +seems to be in excess supply." + +"I see," Tom said, not wholly in truth. + +"The stability of real estate is our prime concern. By unification of +our efforts, we have maintained these values over a good many years. But +as you know, a good business organization never rests on its laurels. +Sometimes, even basic human needs undergo unusual--alterations." + +"I'm not following too well," Tom said frankly. "Just where does public +relations come into this? I can't see much connection." + + * * * * * + +Andrusco frowned, but without wrinkling his serene brow too much. He +went to the multipaned window and locked his hands behind his back. + +"Let me put it this way, Mr. Blacker. With the Earth's population +approaching the three billion mark, you can imagine that real estate is +at a greater premium than ever--yes, even the remotest land areas have +gained in market value. But let me ask you this. If there were only a +hundred apples in the world, and you owned all of them, what would you +do if you learned that someone else had discovered a fruitful orchard, +which contains ten million apples?" + +"I'd go out of the apple business." + +"Precisely." Andrusco rocked on his heels. "In a sense, that's very much +the problem that Homelovers, Incorporated may have to face in the next +generation." + +"Somebody swiping your apples?" + +"In a way." The man chuckled. "Yes, in a way." He raised his arm slowly, +and pointed to the sky. "The apples," he said, "are up there." + +"Huh?" Tom said. + + * * * * * + +"Space, Mr. Blacker. Space is opening its doors to us. Already, the UN +Space Commission has launched some two dozen manned vehicles into the +outer reaches. Already, the satellite-building colony on the moon is +well under way. The progress of our space program has been accelerating +month by month. The expert predictions have been more and more +optimistic of late. In another ten, twenty years, the solar system will +be beckoning the children of Earth ..." + +Tom said nothing for a while. Then he cleared his throat. + +"Well ... I'm no expert on these things. But maybe the population could +stand a little more real estate, Mr. Andrusco. In twenty years ..." + +"Nonsense!" The voice was snappish. "The best authorities say it isn't +so. There's plenty of room on Earth. But if ever a mass exodus +begins--" + +"That doesn't seem possible," Tom said. "Does it? I mean, only a handful +of guys have ever gone out there. A drop in the bucket. I mean, Mars and +all that may be fun to visit, but who'd want to live there?" + +Andrusco turned to him slowly. + +"The apples in the new orchard may be sour, Mr. Blacker. But if your +livelihood depended on your own little stack of fruit--would you be +willing to sit by and take the chance?" + +Tom shrugged. "And is that the public relations job? To keep people out +of space?" + +"Put in its crudest form, yes." + +"A pretty tough job. You know that guff about Man's Pioneering Spirit." + +"Yes. But we're worried about the public spirit, Mr. Blacker. If we can +dampen their ardor for space flight--only delay it, mind you, for +another few years--we can tighten our own lines of economic defense. Do +I make myself clear?" + +"Not completely." + +"Will you take the job?" + +"What does it pay?" + +"Fifty thousand." + +"Where do I sit?" + + * * * * * + +By the afternoon, Tom Blacker was ensconced in a fair-sized office with +vaguely oriental furnishings and an ankle-deep rug. Livia's pretty +ankles visited it first. + +"Here's an outline I began on the PR program," she told him briskly, +dropping a sheet of paper on his desk. "I didn't get very far with it. +I'm sure you can add a lot." + +"Okay. I'll read it over this afternoon." He tipped the chair back. "How +about dinner tonight?" + +"Sorry. Busy tonight. Maybe later this week." + +But it wasn't until Friday, three days later, that he saw Livia Cord +again. He accomplished that by calling her in for a conference, +spreading his own typewritten notes on the desk in front of him. + +"Got some rough ideas drafted on the program," he told her. "The +possibilities of this thing are really unlimited. Granted, of course, +that there's money in this picture." + +"There's money all right," Livia said. "We don't have to worry about +that." + +"Good. I've put down a list of leading citizens that might be enrolled +as backers for anything we might come up with, people who have been +outspoken about the expense or danger of space flight. We'll keep it on +file, and add to it as new names crop up in the press. Then here's a +listing of categories for us to develop subprograms around. Religious, +economic, social, medical--Medical's good. There's a heck of a lot of +scare-value in stories about cosmic rays, alien diseases, plagues, zero +gravity sickness, all that sort of thing. Sterility is a good gimmick; +impotence is even better." + + * * * * * + +Livia smiled. "I know what you mean." + +"Mmm. Come to think of it, we ought to set up a special +woman's-point-of-view program, too. That'll be worth plenty. Then +there's the tax question. We'll have to see what we can set up in +Washington, some kind of anti-space lobby. Good feature story material +here, too. You know the stuff--one space vessel equals the cost of two +hundred country hospitals." + +"Sounds great." + +"We'll have to plan on press parties, special stuff for the magazines +and networks. I've got a plan for some Hollywood promotion to counteract +all this Destination Space garbage they've been turning out. And as for +television--" + +He talked on for another hour, feeling mounting excitement for the job +he was doing. Tom wasn't sure that he liked the aims of Homelovers, +Incorporated, but the challenge was enjoyable. Even at dinner that +night, in Livia's snug apartment, he rattled on about the PR program +until the girl began to yawn. + +The bedroom was still monochrome. Only Livia had transformed it +magically into powder blue. Tom slept blissfully until morning, and went +into the office that weekend for sheer love of what he was doing. + +After less than a month, his efforts started producing results. On a +crisp December morning, he found the following in his mail: + + _"EARTH SONG" + A Screenplay + by + Duncan Devine_ + + _Roger Tenblade, a dashing young rocket pilot in the UN Air Force, + yearns to join the Space Expeditionary Force now planning the first + landing and colonization of the planet Mars. Despite the protest of + his lovely fiancée, Diane, he embarks upon the journey. The trip is + fraught with hazards, and the ship is struck by a meteor en route. + Every member of the crew is killed, except Roger, who heroically + brings the vessel back to home base. However, Roger is exposed to + large amounts of cosmic radiation. When he is so informed by the + medical authorities, he realizes that he can never make Diane a + normal husband. So rather than return to her and ruin her life, he + changes his identity and disappears to South America, where he takes + a job as a shuttle pilot for a third-class airline._ + + _Meanwhile, Diane marries Harold Farnsworth, scion of one of + America's wealthiest families ..._ + +Tom Blacker chuckled, and slipped the scenario back into the envelope. +He marked the manuscript "O.K. for Production," and turned to the other +mail. + +There was the prospectus of a television series that sounded +interesting. He looked it over carefully. + + _"CAPTAIN TERRA" + Half-hour Television Series + written by + Craig Comfort_ + + _Captain Terra, and his Earth Cadets are dedicated to the principle + of "Earth Above All" and have sworn their lives to the preservation + of Earth and its peoples, and to the protection of Earth against the + hostile aliens constantly threatening the planet._ + + _Program One, Act One_ + + _Bobby, Captain Terra's youthful aide, is attacked one day by a + strange creature which he describes as half-man, half-snake. He + reports the incident to Captain Terra, who calls a special session + of his Earth Patrol to determine how best to deal with this + enemy ..._ + +Tom read the prospectus through, and then dictated a letter to its +producers to call for an appointment. + +At the bottom of the mail pile, he found an enthusiastic letter from a +theatrical producer named Homer Bradshaw, whom he had dealt with briefly +during his career at Ostreich and Company. + + _Dear Tom,_ + + _Great to hear about your new connection! Have a fabulous gimmick + that ought to be right down your alley. Am thinking of producing a + new extravaganza entitled: "Be It Ever So Humble."_ + + _This will be a real classy show, with plenty of chorus line and + top gags. We plan to kid the pants off this spaceman business, until + those bright boys in the glass hats cry uncle. I've already lined up + James Hocum for the top banana, and Sylvia Crowe for the female + lead. You know Sylvia, Tom; she'll make space flight sound about as + chic as a debutante's ball on the Staten Island Ferry. This is the + way to do the job, Tom--laugh 'em out of it._ + + _If you're interested in a piece of this, you can always reach me + at ..._ + +He was about to call it a day at five-thirty, when he got a visiphone +call from John Andrusco. When he walked into the immense office at the +other end of the floor, he saw a glassy-eyed man standing at Andrusco's +desk, twirling his hat with nervous fingers. + +"Tom," Andrusco said cheerfully, "want you to meet somebody. This is +Sergeant Walt Spencer, formerly of the UN Space Commission." + +Tom shook the man's hand, and he could feel it trembling in his own. + +"I called Walt in here specially, thanks to that memo you sent me, Tom. +Great idea of yours, about talking to some of the boys who've actually +been in space. Walter here's willing to cooperate a hundred percent." + +"That's fine," Tom said uneasily. + +"Thought you two ought to get together," Andrusco said, reaching for his +hat. "Think he can help a lot, Tom. Talk it over." + +"Well--suppose we have a drink, Sergeant? That fit your plans all +right?" + +"Suits me," the man said, without emotion. + +They went down in the elevator together, and slid into a red-leather +booth in the Tuscany Bar in the base of the building. The sergeant +ordered a double Scotch, and gulped it with the same respect you give +water. + +"So you've been in space," Tom said, looking at him curiously. "Must +have been quite an experience." + +"Yeah." + +"Er--I take it you've left the service." + +"Yeah." + +Tom frowned, and sipped his martini. "How many trips did you make, +Sergeant?" + +"Just one. Reconnaissance Moon Flight Four. About six years ago. You +must have read about it." + +"Yes," Tom said. "Sorry." + +The man shrugged. "Things happen. Even on Earth, things happen." + +"Tell me something." Tom leaned forward. "Is it true about--" He paused, +embarrassed. "Well, you hear a lot of stories. But I understand some of +the men on that flight, the ones who got back all right, had children. +And--well, you know how rumors go--" + +"Lies," Spencer said, without rancor. "I've got two kids myself. Both of +'em normal." + +"Oh." Tom tried to hide his disappointment behind the cocktail glass. It +would have made great copy, if he could have proved the truth of the old +rumor about two-headed babies. But what _could_ Sergeant Spencer do for +the PR program? Andrusco must have had something in mind. + + * * * * * + +He asked him point-blank. + +"It's like this," the man said, his eyes distant. "Since I quit the +service, I haven't been doin' so good. With jobs, I mean. And Mr. +Andrusco--he said he'd give me five thousand dollars if I'd--help you +people." + +"Did Mr. Andrusco describe this help?" + +"Yeah. He wants me to do a story. About the kid my wife had. The first +kid." + +"What about the first kid?" + +"Well, she died, the first kid did. In childbirth. It was something +that happens, you know. My wife's a little woman; the baby was +smothered." + +"I see. And what kind of story do you want to tell?" + +"It's not my idea." A hint of stubbornness glimmered in his dull eyes. +"It's that Andrusco guy's. He wants me to tell how the baby was born +a--mutant." + +"What?" + +"He wants me to release a story saying the baby was a freak. The kid was +born at home, you see. The only other person who saw her, besides me and +my wife, was this doctor we had. And he died a couple of years back." + +Tom slumped in his chair. This was pushing public relations a little +far. + +"Well, I dunno," he said. "If the baby was really normal--" + +"It was normal, all right. Only dead, that's all." + +Tom stood up. "Okay, Sergeant Spencer. Let me think it over, and I'll +give you a buzz before the end of the week. All right?" + +"Anything you say, Chief." + + * * * * * + +In the morning, Tom Blacker went storming into John Andrusco's plush +office. + +"Now look, Mr. Andrusco. I don't mind slanting a story a little far. But +this Spencer story of yours is nothing but a hoax." + +Andrusco looked hurt. "Did he tell you that? How do you like that +nerve?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, that story's as genuine as gold. We've known about the freak birth +for a long time. Cosmic rays, you know. Those men on that reconnaissance +flight really got bombarded." + +Tom wasn't sure of himself. "You mean, it's true?" + +"Of course it is! As a matter of fact, we've got a photograph of the +dead baby, right after it was delivered. The doctor who attended Mrs. +Spencer took it without their knowledge, as a medical curiosity. He sold +it to us several years ago. We've never used it before, because we knew +that the Spencers would just deny it. Now that Walt's willing to +cooperate ..." + +"Can I see the photo?" + +"Why, certainly." He opened the top drawer and handed a glossy print +across the desk. Tom looked at it, and winced. + +"Scales!" he said. + +"Like a fish," Andrusco said sadly. "Pretty sad, isn't it?" He looked +out of the window and sighed cavernously. "It's a menacing world up +there...." + +The rest of the day was wasted. Tom Blacker's mind wasn't functioning +right. + +He told Livia about it at lunch. + +Livia Cord continued eating, chewing delicately on her food without +flexing a muscle or wincing an eyebrow. + + * * * * * + +On the Third of April, the story of Sergeant Walter Spencer's first-born +monster broke in newspapers, magazines, and telecasts across the +country. It was a five-year-old story, but it carried too much +significance for the space-minded present to be ignored. + +Two days later, Sergeant Spencer, 32, and his wife, Laura, 30, were +found dead of asphyxiation in their new home in Greenwich, Connecticut. +The cause of death was listed as suicide. + +Tom Blacker didn't hear the news until a day after it happened. He was +in Washington, setting up a series of meetings with members of a House +group investigating space flight expenditures. When he returned by +'copter that evening, he found Police Commissioner Joe Stinson waiting +for him in Tom's own favorite chair. + +The square, heavy-jowled face was strangely calm. + +"Long time no see," he said mildly. "You've been a busy man lately, Mr. +Blacker." + +"Hello, Mr. Stinson. Won't you come in?" + +"I'm in," the commissioner shrugged. "Landlord let me wait here. It's +chilly outside. Do you want the preliminaries, or should we have the +main bout?" + +"It's about Spencer, isn't it?" Tom built himself a long drink. "I heard +about it on the 'copter radio, flying in. Too bad. He was a nice guy; I +never met his wife." + +"But you knew him, right? In fact, you and the sergeant did a lot of +business together?" + +"Look, Mr. Stinson. You know what kind of job I'm trying to do. It's no +secret. Spencer's story happened to gear in nicely with our public +relations effort. And that's all." + +"Maybe it is." The commissioner's eyes hardened. "Only some of us aren't +satisfied. Some of us are kinda restless about the coroner's verdict." + +"What?" + +"You heard me. It's fishy, you know? Nice young couple buys a new house, +then turns on the gas. Leave behind a couple of kids, too. Boys, nice +boys." + +"I couldn't feel worse about it," Tom said glumly. "In a way, I can +almost feel responsible ..." + +"How?" + +"I dunno. They were perfectly willing to release that story about their +first-born. But maybe when they actually saw it in print, they couldn't +stand the spotlight--" + +"And that's your theory?" + +"Yes. But I hope I'm wrong, Mr. Stinson. For my own sake." + +The commissioner drew a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. + +"Let me read you something. This hasn't been released to the press, and +maybe it won't be. Interested?" + +"Of course." + +"It's a letter. A letter that was never mailed. It's addressed to Tom +Blacker, care of Homelovers, Incorporated, 320 Fifth-Madison, New York." + +"What?" Tom reached for it. + +"Uh-uh. It was never mailed, so it's not your property. But I'll read it +to you." He slipped on a pair of bifocals. + + _Dear Mr. Blacker. I've been trying to reach you all week, but + you've been out of town. Laura and I have just seen the first news + story about our baby, and we're just sick about it. Why didn't you + tell us about that photograph you were going to print? If we had + known about that, we never would have consented to doing what you + wanted. My wife never gave birth to that damned thing, and I don't + care who knows it. I've called Mr. Andrusco to tell him that we + don't want any part of this business any more. I'd send you back + every penny of the five thousand dollars, only we've already spent + half of it. I'm going to call the newspapers and tell them + everything ..._ + +The commissioner paused. "It goes on for another half page. But no use +reading any more. I'd like a reaction, Mr. Blacker. Got one handy?" + +Tom was on his feet. + +"I don't believe it!" His fist thudded into his palm. "The letter's a +fake!" + +"That's easy to prove, Mr. Blacker." + +"But the picture was genuine! Don't you see that? Sure, we paid Spencer +something for his cooperation. But the picture was the real thing, taken +by his family doctor. You've heard what the medical authorities said +about it." + +Stinson said nothing. Then he got up slowly and walked to the door. + +"Maybe so. But you're missing the point I want to make, Mr. Blacker. +This letter was dated the same day as the Spencer suicides. Does it +sound to you like the kind of thing a man would put in a suicide note? +Think it over." + +Tom looked at the door the commissioner closed behind him. + +"No," he said aloud. "It doesn't." + + * * * * * + +Tom didn't go to the Homelovers building the next morning. He proceeded +directly to the Lunt Theatre, where Homer Bradshaw was putting _Be It +Ever So Humble_ into rehearsal. + +He was in no mood for the theatre, but the appointment had been made too +long before. When he came through the doors of the theatre, Homer leaped +halfway up the aisle to greet him, and pounded his back like a long-lost +pal. Actually, he had met the producer only twice before. + +"Great to have you here, Tom!" he said enthusiastically. "Great! We've +just been putting things together. Got some red-hot numbers we had +written specially for us. Wait 'til you hear 'em!" He waved towards the +two shirtsleeved men hovering around the on-stage piano. "You know +Julie, don't you? And Milt Steiner? Great team! Great team!" + +They took seats in the sixth row while Homer raved about the forthcoming +production that was going to cost Homelovers, Incorporated some hundred +thousand dollars. A dozen shapely girls in shorts and leotards were +kicking their heels lackadaisically in the background, and a stout man +with a wild checkered suit was wandering around the stage with an unlit +cigar in his hand, begging the stagehands for a match. + +"Hey, fellas!" Homer Bradshaw called to the men at the piano. "Run +through that _Gypsy_ number for Mr. Blacker, huh?" + +They came to life like animated dolls. The tallest of the pair stepped +in front of the stage while the other thumped the piano keys. The tall +one sang in a loud nasal voice, with an abundance of gestures. + + "_Gypsy! + Gypsy! + Why do you have to be a gypsy? + Life could be so ipsy-pipsy + Staying home and getting tipsy + Safe on Earth with me!_" + +He swung into the second chorus while Tom Blacker kept his face from +showing his true opinion of the specialty number. The next offering +didn't change his viewpoint. It was a ballad. A blonde girl in clinging +black shorts sang it feelingly. + + "_There's a beautiful Earth tonight + With a beautiful mellow light + Shining on my spaceman in the moon. + Why did he leave me? + Only to grieve me? + Spaceman, come home to me soon ..._" + +"Did you like it? Did you like it?" Homer Bradshaw said eagerly. + +"It'll do fine," Tom Blacker said, with his teeth clenched. + + * * * * * + +When he left the theatre, Tom visiphoned the office to tell Livia that +he was taking the rest of the day off. But he found that Livia herself +was spending the day in her two-room apartment downtown. He hung up, and +decided that he had to talk to her about Stinson's visit. He hopped a +cab, and gave him Livia's address. + +John Andrusco answered the door. + +"Well! Thought you were at the office, Tom?" + +He found himself glaring at the lean-jawed executive. What was Andrusco +doing here? + +"I've been over at the theatre," Tom explained. "Watching that musical +we're spending all that dough on." He stepped inside. "I might say the +same about you, Mr. Andrusco." + +"Me? Oh, I just came to talk over some business with Livia. Poor kid's +not feeling so hot, you know." + +"No, I didn't." He dropped his hat familiarly on the contour couch, with +almost too much deliberation. "Livia in bed?" + +"No." The girl appeared at the door of the bedroom, wrapping a +powder-blue negligee around her. "What brings you here, Tom?" + +"I--I wanted to talk something over with you. Now that you're here, Mr. +Andrusco, we can _all_ talk it over." + +"What's that?" Andrusco made himself at home at the bar. + +"It's about Walt Spencer. I had a visitor last night, the police +commissioner. He showed me a letter that Spencer had written just before +he--before he died. It was addressed to me, only Spencer had never +mailed it." + +Andrusco looked sharply at the girl. "And what was in this letter?" + +"He was upset," Tom said. "He wanted to back out of the deal we made. +Said the picture was a phoney. But the thing that's bothering the police +is the _tone_ of the damned letter. It just doesn't sound like a man +about to kill himself and his wife--" + +"Is that all?" Livia took the drink from Andrusco's hand and sipped at +it. "I thought it was something serious." + +"It is serious!" Tom looked sternly at her. "I want to know something, +Mr. Andrusco. You told me that picture was genuine. Now I want you to +tell me again." + +The man smiled, with perfect teeth. "How do you mean, genuine? Is it a +picture of a genuine infant with scales?" + +"Yes." + +"I assure you. In that respect, the picture is absolutely genuine." + +Tom thought it over. + +"Wait a while. Was the story genuine, too?" + +John Andrusco smiled. He sat on the sofa, and rubbed the palms of his +hands over his knees. Then he looked towards Livia Cord and said: + +"Well--I didn't think we could hold out on our clever Mr. Blacker as +long as we have. So we might as well enlist his cooperation fully. Eh, +Livia?" + +"I think so." The girl smiled, her teeth sharp. + +"What does that mean?" Tom said. + +"The infant," John Andrusco answered slowly, "was not Walter Spencer's +child. That, I'm afraid, was nothing more than a little white lie." + +Tom looked confused. + +"Then what was it?" + +Livia finished her drink. + +"It was my child." + + * * * * * + +The man and the woman, whose grins now seemed permanently affixed to +their faces, were forced to wait a considerable amount of time before +Tom Blacker was both ready and able to listen to their explanation. + +Livia did most of the talking. + +"You'll probably be horrified at all this," she said, with a trace of +amusement around her red mouth. "Particularly since you and I have +been--" She paused, and looked towards Andrusco with a slight lift of +her shoulder. "Well, you know. But you needn't feel too squeamish, Tom. +After all, I was born and raised on Earth. I am, you might say, an +honorary Earth woman." + +Tom's eyes bulged at her. + +"This civilization from which my husband and I claim ancestry is perhaps +no older than your own. Unfortunately, we were not blessed with a +planetary situation as agreeable as Earth's. Our sun is far feebler, the +orbital paths of our moons act drastically upon our waters, causing +generations of drought and centuries of flood ..." + +"What are you talking about?" Tom said hoarsely. + +"I speak of home," Livia Cord said. And her eyes gleamed. + +"Antamunda is the name we give it," John Andrusco said cordially. "A +world very much like your own in size and atmosphere, Mr. Blacker. But +tragically, a world whose usefulness has been gradually coming to an +end. Our ancestors, who were scientists of much ability, foresaw this +some hundreds of years ago. Since that time, they have been seeking a +solution to the problem." + +"I don't believe this!" + +"We have," Livia said carefully, "excellent evidence." + +"Some five hundred years ago," Andrusco continued, "our people +despatched an exploratory space vessel. A home-hunting force, seeking to +relocate the surviving members of our race. It was a long, trying +odyssey, but it finally culminated in the selection of a new home. I +needn't tell you that the home is in your own solar system." + +Tom shot to his feet. "You mean Earth? You mean you want to take over +here--" + +Andrusco looked shocked. "Certainly not! What a violent thought, Mr. +Blacker!" + +"The planet you call Mars," Livia said coolly, "was the selected +destination. A planet with only limited facilities for the support of +life. But a planet even more like our own dying world than Earth, Mr. +Blacker. So you needn't cry havoc about alien invaders." She laughed +sharply. + +"Then what are you doing here?" + +"Merely waiting," Andrusco said. "We are the offspring of the surviving +members of the expeditionary force from Antamunda, placed here on Earth +as a vanguard of the immigration that will shortly take place to this +system. But your own world is in no danger, Mr. Blacker. That you must +believe. Physically, our people are not your equals. Scientifically, we +are advanced in certain fields and shamefully backwards in others. +Biologically--" He frowned. "This is our greatest weakness. To the +Antamundans, your breeding capacity is nothing short of grotesque." His +handsome lip curled. He enjoyed watching Tom's reaction. + + * * * * * + +Tom swallowed hard. "How long have you been here?" + +"Some four generations have been born here. Our duty has been merely to +await the arrival of our people. But in the last fifty years, we found +ourselves faced with another obligation. It was that obligation which +brought about the formation of Homelovers, Incorporated." + +"I don't understand." + +"We had underestimated the science of Earth. Our own necessity drove us +towards the perfection of space flight. Earth had no such urgency. But +now--" Livia looked mournful. "Now we were faced with the possibility +that Mars would soon be a colony of your own planet, before our people +had a chance to make it their rightful home. You can see the +consequences of that. A conflict of interests, a question of territorial +rights. Even the possibility of an interplanetary war--" + +"War!" + +"A possibility greatly to be abhorred," Andrusco said. "And one we were +sure we could eliminate, if we could merely _delay_ the colonization of +Mars." + +"Don't you see?" Livia said earnestly. "If we could make Mars our +natural home, then the people of Earth would come to us as friendly +visitors--or invaders, whichever they prefer. But if we arrived too +late-- No, Tom. We feel that it is imperative--to the peace of _both_ +our worlds--that Antamunda reach Mars first." + +"Then it's a race!" Tom was bewildered. + +"You may call it that. But a race we are determined to win. And we +_will_ win!" + +Tom thought of another question. + +"The infant," he said. "The creature with scales ..." + +"It was mine," the girl said sadly. "Born to John and me some ten years +ago. Unfortunately, it did not live. And while your Earth eyes may +consider it a creature--" She drew herself up proudly. "It was a +perfectly formed Antamundan child." + +Tom gaped at her. + +"No," she said, answering the question in his gaze. "You are looking at +us as we are. We lose our scales after our infancy, when our mouths are +formed ..." + +After a while, Tom asked: + +"And what about Spencer?" + +"Unfortunate," the man said. "His betrayal to the press would have done +us incalculable harm. It was necessary to do what we did." + +"Then you did kill them?" + +Livia turned her head aside. + +"And you think I'll stand for that?" Tom said. + +"Perhaps not," Andrusco said. "But frankly--I don't really know what you +can do about it. Except, of course, repeat this explanation to the +authorities. You're free to do that, Tom. Any time at all." He smiled, +slyly. + +"You think they won't believe me?" + +Livia came over to Tom's chair, and slithered one arm around his +shoulder. + +"Why, Tom, darling. Are you so sure that _you_ believe it?" + + * * * * * + +He left the apartment some ten minutes later, and took a cab to 320 +Fifth-Madison. It was almost five o'clock, and the steel-and-glass +cylinder was emptying rapidly of its Homelovers employees. He watched +the stream of ordinary people stepping off the elevators: the young +secretaries with their fresh faces and slim figures, laughing at office +anecdotes and sharing intimate confidences about office bachelors; the +smooth-cheeked young executives, in their gray and blue suits, gripping +well-stocked brief cases, and striding energetically down the lobby, +heading for the commuter trains; the paunchy, dignified men with their +gray temples and gleaming spectacles, walking slowly to the exits, +quoting stock prices and planning golf dates. + +The crowd eddied about him like a battling current as he made his way +towards the elevators, and their images swam before his face in +pink-and-white blurs. And for one terrible moment, in the thickest +vortex of the crowd, he began to imagine that the faces were melting +before his eyes, the mouths disappearing into the flesh, and below the +white collars and black-knit ties and starched pink blouses appeared a +shimmering collection of ugly scales. + +He shuddered, and stepped into an empty car, punching the button that +shot him to the executive floor of the Homelovers Building. + +In his office, he switched on the visiphone and made contact with a +square-faced man who frowned mightily when he recognized his caller. + +"What do you want?" Stinson said. + +"I have to see you," Tom told him. "I learned something this afternoon, +about Walt Spencer. I don't know whether you'll believe it or not, but I +have to take that chance. Will you talk to me?" + +"All right. But we'll have to make it down here." + +"I'll be there in an hour. I want to organize a few things first. Then +we can talk." + +Tom switched off, and began to empty his desk. He found nothing in the +official communications of the Homelovers that would substantiate his +story, but he continued to gather what information he could about the PR +program. + +He was just clicking the locks on his brief case, when a gray-haired +woman with a pencil thrust into her curls popped her head in the +doorway. + +"Mr. Blacker?" she smiled. "I'm Dora, Mr. Wright's secretary. Mr. Wright +wants to know if you'll stop in to see him." + +"Wright?" Tom said blankly. + +"The treasurer. His office is just down the hall. He's very anxious to +see you, something about the expense sheets you turned in last week." + +Tom frowned. "Why don't I see him in the morning?" + +"It won't take but a minute." + +"All right." + +He sighed, picked up the brief case, and followed Dora outside. She +showed him the door of an office some thirty paces from his own, and he +entered without knocking. + +A frail man, with a bald head and a squiggly moustache, stood up behind +his desk. + +"Oh, dear," he said nervously. "I'm terribly sorry to do this, Mr. +Blacker. But I have my instructions." + +"Do what?" + +"Oh, dear," Mr. Wright said again. + + * * * * * + +He took the gun that was lying in his out-box, and fired it. His +trembling hand sent the bullet spanging into the wooden frame of the +door. Tom dropped to the thick carpet, and then scrambled to the tall +credenza set against the right wall of the office. He shoved it aside +with his left hand and ducked behind it. The treasurer came out from +behind his desk, still muttering to himself. + +"Please," he said in anguish, "this is very painful for me!" + +He fired the gun again, and the bullet tore a white hole in the wall +above Tom's head. + +"Don't be so difficult," the little man pleaded. "Sooner or later--" + +But Tom insisted upon being difficult. His fingers closed around a loose +volume of New York State Tax Laws, and jiggled it in readiness. When the +little treasurer came closer, he sprung from hiding and hurled the book. +It slammed against Wright's side, and surprised him enough to send the +arm holding the weapon into the air. That was the advantage Tom wanted. +He leaped in a low-flying tackle, and brought Wright to the carpet. Then +he was on top of the little man, grappling for the gun. Tom fought hard +to get the gun. + +He got it, but not before it was fired again. + +Tom looked down at the widening stain that was marring the smooth +texture of the carpet and was horrified. He bent down over the frail +figure, lifting the bald head in his hands. + +"Mr. Wright!" + +The treasurer groaned. "Sorry," he said. "Instructions, Mr. Blacker ..." + +"From whom? Andrusco?" + +"Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ..." + +"Is it true?" Tom said frantically. "About Antamunda? Is the story +true?" + +The little man nodded. Then he lifted one hand feebly towards the desk. +"Gary," he said. "Tell Gary ..." + +Tom looked in the direction of the gesture, and saw the back of a framed +photograph. + +When he turned to the treasurer again, the thin lips had stopped moving. + +He lowered the body to the floor and went to the desk. The photo was +that of a young man with stiff-bristled blond hair and a rugged smile. +The inscription read: + + "_To Pop, with deep affection, Gary._" + +Tom shook his head, wonderingly. Were these creatures so very different? + + * * * * * + +When Tom stepped out on Fifth-Madison some ten minutes later, it was +just in time to watch a police vehicle draw up to the entrance of 320. +Sensing danger, he stepped into the shade of the Tuscany Bar awning, and +watched the uniformed men pound their way down the marbled lobby floor +towards the elevators. He thought fast, and decided that the arrival of +the police was connected with the shooting in Wright's office. + +The question was--who were they after? + +He walked into the Tuscany, and headed for the bank of visiphone booths. +He dialed the police commissioner, but ducked out of the path of the +visiphone eye. + +Stinson growled at the blank screen. "Who is it?" + +"Never mind," Tom said, muffling his voice. "But if you want the killers +of Walt Spencer and his wife, pick up John Andrusco and a gal named +Livia Cord." + +"Okay, Blacker," Stinson thundered. "I knew you'd be calling in." + +Tom swore, and showed himself. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth. They +told me the whole story. Then they tried to have me killed." + +"Is that so? And I suppose the assassin was a guy named Wright?" + +"Yes!" + +"Okay, wise guy. We're on to you. You've been pocketing some of that +Homelovers dough, and the treasurer found you out. Isn't that the +story?" + +"No! Wright's one of _them_." + +"Sure, pal. Whatever you say. Only stay right where you are so you can +do your explaining proper." + +Tom tightened his lips. "Uh-huh. I don't like the sound of things. I'll +see you later, Mr. Stinson." + +"Blacker!" + +Tom switched off. + +By the time he was settled behind the red neck of a cab-driver, Tom was +wiping a dripping film of sweat from his forehead. He couldn't return to +his apartment; there was bound to be a stake-out. He couldn't go to +Livia's; that would be walking right into danger. And he couldn't go to +Stinson, without risking a murder charge. + +He leaned forward. + +"Driver--make that the LaGuardia Heliport." + +However efficient Stinson's operations might have been, their tentacles +hadn't reached the 'copter-rental station at the heliport. Tom signed +out a speedy vessel under an assumed name, and taxied it down the +runway. Then he pointed the nose west, and radioed ahead to his +destination at Washington, D. C. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Grady Mordigan had the thoughtful air of a scholar and the body +of a college wrestler. When Tom Blacker's name was announced to him, his +mouth turned down grimly. He was commanding officer of the Space Flight +Commission of the UN Air Force, and he had good reason to frown at the +sound of the PR man's name. + +But he invited him into his office. + +"So you're Tom Blacker," he said, pinching his jaw. "I've heard a lot +about you, Mr. Blacker." + +"I'm sure," Tom said. "Only I want to tell you this, Colonel. I've +broken my connection with Homelovers. I'm on your side now." + +"Side? There are no sides in this issue, Mr. Blacker. As far as I'm +concerned, Homelovers is nothing but a flea on the lip of a lion. A +damned annoying flea, maybe--but nothing more than that. Now what do you +want?" + +"I have to talk to you about something. Something I just found out. Will +you listen to me?" + +The colonel leaned back, looking at his watch. + +"Five minutes," he snapped. + + * * * * * + +Tom talked for fifteen. Mordigan didn't call a halt until he was +finished, listening without a change of expression. When Tom ran out of +words, he merely tapped his fingers on the desk. + +"And that's your whole story?" he said gently. + +"Yes, sir. I know it's a wild one. That's one of the things they're +counting on. It's just wild enough to get me put into a laughing +academy, where I can't do them any mischief. But I had to take that +chance, Colonel." + +"I see. And this--man you killed. What's happening about that?" + +"I don't know," Tom said. "The way I figure it, Andrusco and the girl +have told the police that I was embezzling money from the firm--that I +killed the treasurer for my own protection. But it's not true! He's one +of _them_--one of those creatures--" + +"But you have no real proof?" + +Tom's back stiffened. "No," he said grimly. "If I had proof, I'd have +gone to the police. But I came here instead. Now you can tell me if I +did the right thing." + +Mordigan grimaced. "I don't know, damn it! I don't have any love for the +Homelovers. To me, they've always been a bunch of greedy businessmen, +intent on salvaging their franchises at any expense. But it's not easy to +think of them as a bunch of--" His mouth twisted. "Loathsome aliens ..." + +"Maybe not so loathsome," Tom said miserably. "I just don't know. Maybe +their cause is as just to them as ours is to us. But they're determined +to reach Mars before we do--before you do! And they'll do anything to +make sure--" + +The colonel stood up. "But I'm afraid that question is academic, Mr. +Blacker. Because if our calculations are right, an Earth vessel will be +on the planet Mars within the next thirty-six hours." + +"What?" + +"No announcement has been made. But a Mars-bound ship was launched +almost a month ago, containing seven members of the space commission. +Our last radio contact with Captain Wright leads us to expect--" + +"_Who?_" Tom was on his feet. + +"Captain Gary Wright, the commander of the ship." His brow knitted. +"Why? Do you know him?" + +"I'm not sure," Tom said weakly. "But if he's the same man--then that +flight's in danger." + +"What are you talking about?" + + * * * * * + +Tom concluded his story about the death of the Homelovers treasurer, +down to the last detail of the framed photograph on Wright's desk. The +tale brought Colonel Mordigan into immediate action. He buzzed for his +orderly, and in another minute, was fumbling through a folder marked +Classified. + +"Yes," he said numbly. "It's the same man. Father's named Benjamin +Wright, and he's vice-president and treasurer of Homelovers, +Incorporated. I never connected the two ..." He looked up, his eyes +heavy. "If your story is true, Mr. Blacker, then Captain Wright is one +of these so-called Antamundans. And if their mission is what you say it +is--" + +Tom clenched his fists on the blotter. "Please, sir! Let me stay here +until the flight is concluded. After that, you can do what you like." + +"All right," Mordigan said wearily. "I'll fix you up with something in +the officer's quarters. But I'm sure you're wrong, Mr. Blacker. You +_have_ to be." + +Twenty-four hours later, radio contact with the Mars expeditionary ship +ceased abruptly. + +From Mt. Wilson observatory, a hurried message arrived, reporting a +small, brief nova in the orbital vicinity of the planet Mars. + +Tom Blacker, dozing fitfully on a cot in the quarters of a grumpy +Lieutenant-Colonel, was awakened suddenly, and summoned to the office of +Colonel Grady Mordigan. + +"Very well, Mr. Blacker," the colonel said stiffly. "I'm willing to +help. Just tell me what you want me to do." + + * * * * * + +The receptionist smiled icily at Tom, and then the smile vanished like a +Martian polar cap. + +"Why--Mr. Blacker!" + +"Hi, Stella," he grinned. "Mr. Andrusco in his office?" + +"Why, I don't know. Suppose I give him a ring--" + +He stopped the hand that was reaching for the telephone. "No need of +that. I think I'll just surprise him. After all, it's been some time." + +He turned the knob of John Andrusco's door slowly. + +Livia was with him. When he entered, they both stood up hastily, their +eyes wide and their mouths unhinged. + +Livia reacted first. She cried out his name, and then sat down heavily, +as if the words had been a physical force. + +"Hi, Livia," Tom said casually. "Good to see you again, Mr. Andrusco. +Sorry that I haven't been around--but things have been pretty hectic for +me lately." + +"How did you get here?" Andrusco's voice was choked. + +"I've been here all weekend, if you want to know." Tom seated himself +blithely. "As a matter of fact, the Homelovers Building has had quite a +lot of visitors this weekend." + +"What do you mean?" + +"You know the staff of cleaning personnel that invades this place every +Saturday? Well, there were some changes made this particular weekend. +I'm sure you'll be interested in hearing about them." + +Livia said: "Shall I call the police, John?" + +"The police were represented," Tom said. "Don't worry about that. In +fact, the top technicians from three government agencies were doing the +housework around here this weekend, Mr. Andrusco. They probably didn't +get the building much cleaner--but they swept up a lot of other things. +Yes, they certainly uncovered other things." + + * * * * * + +Andrusco walked over to Livia, and touched her shoulder in a comforting +gesture. The sight of them made Tom scowl. + +"All right!" he said roughly. "I'm not blaming you for what you're +doing. But things were getting out of hand, Mr. Andrusco. That's why we +had to put a stop to it." + +"And have you?" Andrusco asked politely. + +"I'm afraid so. It was quite a shock, let me tell you. We didn't know +what to expect when we dissected this building of yours. But the last +thing we expected to find was--a spaceship." + +Andrusco smiled. "It was cleverly done. You'll have to admit that." + +"I do," Tom said fervently. "You've got those space flight experts +absolutely insane with curiosity. They'll want to hear the whole story. +Will you give it to them?" + +The man shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. I presume the engines +have been dismantled?" + +"Made inoperable, yes. It would have been a great trick, if you could +have done it." + +Livia spoke sadly. "It was the only thing we could have done. There's no +place on this Earth where we could have erected a spaceship without +being observed. So we created this building. In time, we would have +perfected the mechanism and left this silly planet of yours." + +"That's what I don't understand," Tom said. "What about Antamunda--and +the survivors--" + +"There's no longer an Antamunda," John Andrusco said hollowly. "The +story we told you was true in its essence, but not, I'm afraid complete. +You see, the exodus that took place five hundred years ago was a total +exodus. The entire population of our world--a handful, a pitiful ragged +thousand--left Antamunda for this planet. We thought to make it our new +home, for all eternity. But in time, we learned that we had emigrated to +an extinction just as certain." + +"What do you mean?" + +"This world is cursed to us, Mr. Blacker. I can't tell you why. We breed +slowly, infrequently--you might even say, thoughtfully. And on your +planet, but one child in a thousand has survived the rigors of +childbirth on Earth." He looked at Livia, and the woman lowered her eyes +in remembered sorrow. + +"That's why we had to leave," Andrusco said. "To repopulate elsewhere. +We chose the planet Mars, and we were determined to make it our home +before your world claimed it. Our scientists and technicians have worked +on nothing else but this flight since the beginning of the last century. +This building--this vessel--was the culmination of our plans. In another +few years, we would have been ready. The dream would have been +realized." + + * * * * * + +Tom walked to the window of the office, and looked out at a bank of +swift-moving clouds drifting past the spire of the Homelovers Building. + +"I'm afraid that's the saddest part," he said. "The atomic engines in +the basement have been examined, Mr. Andrusco. The best opinions say +that they're pitifully inadequate. The men who studied them say that you +would never have made the journey in safety." + +"That can't be true! In time--" + +"In time, perhaps. But since your landing here, your scientists have +forgotten a great deal about space flight. I'm afraid you would have +never reached that Promised Land ..." + +Andrusco said: "Then we must die ..." + +"No!" Tom said. + +Livia looked at him. + +"I said no!" he repeated. "The Antamundans can live. Don't you see +that?" + +"No," Andrusco said, shaking his head. "On Earth, we shall die. If Mars +is closed to us ..." + +"Can't you see? If Mars can be opened for Earth, then it can be opened +for you, too. For all Antamundans! Your people can make the journey, +too, once space has been cleared for Earth ships. You can still have +your new home!" + +"Perhaps," Livia said dreamily. "Perhaps that is the only way. But by +then, Tom, it will be already too late. There has been no living child +born to us in the last ten years. By the time the Earth people reach +Mars and establish regular passageway--we will be too old to keep the +race alive." + + * * * * * + +"Then let's speed it up!" he said. "Let's make _sure_ that the space +lanes open! Let's do everything to make Space the most important project +on Earth!" + +"But how?" Andrusco said, bewildered. + +Tom went to the visiphone. + +"Get me the Lunt Theatre!" he snapped. + +Homer Bradshaw's face appeared. + +"Mr. Bradshaw?" + +"Hi, Tom! How's the boy?" + +"Great, Homer, great. Only listen. I got a new angle for you. We're +gonna doctor up that show of yours before the opening. Don't worry about +the dough-- Homelovers will take care of it with pleasure." + +"Sure, Tom! Anything you say!" + +"Then take this down. The first thing we're changing is the title. From +now on it's _Mars Or Bust_ ..." + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ December 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Get Out of Our Skies!, by E. K. 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Jarvis + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h2 {margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .blockquot {margin: 1em 10%;} + .center,.p1,h1,h2 {text-align: center;} + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin: 1em 0 1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 360px; text-align: center;} + .poem {margin: 1em 10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 3em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + img {border: none;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .tease {margin: 0 auto 2em; width: 30em; text-align: justify; padding-top: 1em; border-top: solid 2px;} + .p1 {margin-top: 2em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Get Out of Our Skies!, by E. K. Jarvis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Get Out of Our Skies! + +Author: E. K. Jarvis + +Release Date: October 6, 2008 [EBook #26795] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="tease"><i>The long-suffering public went along with billboards and +singing commercials; they tolerated half a dozen sales +pitches in a half-hour radio or TV show; they suffered +stoically through the "hard-sell" and the "soft-sell." But +when the hucksters turned the wild blue yonder into a +vast television screen, they howled——</i></div> + +<h1><big>GET OUT OF OUR SKIES!</big></h1> + +<h2>By E. K. JARVIS</h2> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">On the</span> first cloudy day in +November, Tom Blacker, +the shining light of Ostreich +and Company, Public Relations +Counsellors, placed a +call to a shirtsleeved man on +the rooftop of the Cannon +Building in New York City.</p> + +<p>His message brought an +immediate response from the +waiting engineer, who flicked +switches and twirled dials +with expert motions, and +brought into play the gigantic +50,000-watt projector installed +on the peak.</p> + +<p>In his own office, Tom +paced the floor in front of +the three-window exposure, +watching the heavens for the +results.</p> + +<p>They weren't long in coming.</p> + +<p>The eyes came first. Eyes +the size of Navy dirigibles, +with pupils of deep cerulean +blue, floating against the +backdrop of the gray cumulus. +The long lashes curled out almost +a hundred feet from the +lids. Then the rest of Monica +Mitchell's famous face appeared: +the flowing yellow +locks, the sensuously curved +lips, parted moistly from even +white teeth. From chin to +hairline, the projected image +above the city was close to a +thousand feet in diameter.</p> + +<p>Then, as if the floating +countenance wasn't alarming +enough, the ruby lips began +to move. Monica's sweet-sultry +voice, like the first +drippings from a jar of +honey, overcame the city +sounds, and began crooning +the syrupy strains of <i>Love Me +Alone</i>. Which happened, by no +coincidence, to be the title and +theme song of Monica's newest +epic.</p> + +<div class="figright"><img src="images/001.png" width="360" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +<small><b>Monica's image—plastered across the heavens—stopped<br /> +traffic in all directions.</b></small></div> + +<p>It was a triumph. Tom +knew it the moment he looked +down at the crowded +thoroughfare eighteen stories +beneath the window. Traffic +had come to a more than normal +standstill. Drivers were +leaving their autos, and hands +were being upraised towards +the gargantuan face on the +clouds above.</p> + +<p>And of course, Tom's phone +rang.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Ostreich's big scowling face +was barely squeezed within +the confines of the visiphone +screen. He said nothing intelligible +for two minutes.</p> + +<p>"Relax, Chief," Tom said +brightly. "I've been saving +this as a surprise."</p> + +<p>Ostreich's reply was censorable.</p> + +<p>"Now look, D. O. You gave +me <i>carte blanche</i> with this +Mitchell babe, remember? I +figured we really needed a shot +in the arm for this new picture +of hers. The receipts on +her last turkey couldn't pay +her masseurs."</p> + +<p>Ostreich, who had built his +firm by establishing golden +public images for various industrialists +and their enterprises, +had anticipated trouble +the moment he let the barrier +down to admit such unworthy +clients as Monica Mitchell. +But he had never anticipated +that his ace publicist would +display such carnival tactics +in their promotion. He growled +like a taunted leopard.</p> + +<p>"This is a cheap trick, +Tom! Do you hear me? Turn +that thing off at once!"</p> + +<p>"Who, me?" Tom said innocently. +"Gosh, D. O. I'm no +engineer. I left instructions +with the operator to keep the +projector going for three +hours, until sunset. Don't +think I can do anything about +it now."</p> + +<p>"You'll damn well <i>have</i> to +do something about it! You're +ruining us!"</p> + +<p>"Look at it this way, Chief. +What can we lose? If anybody +takes offense, we can blame it +on that Hollywood gang."</p> + +<p>"Turn that damn thing off! +If that blankety face isn't out +of the sky in ten minutes, you +can start emptying your +desk!"</p> + +<p>Tom was a redhead. He +reached over and snapped the +visiphone switch before his +boss could have the satisfaction. +He stomped to the window, +still raging at Ostreich's +lack of appreciation.</p> + +<p>But he chuckled when he +saw the activity in the street. +The crowds were thickening +at the intersections, and a +special battalion of city police +were trying to keep things +moving. Behind him, the visiphone +was beeping frantically +again.</p> + +<p>He waited a full minute before +answering, all set to +snap at Ostreich once more.</p> + +<p>But it wasn't Ostreich. It +was a square-faced man with +beetling brows and a chin like +the biting end of a steam +shovel. It took Tom a while to +recognize the face of Stinson, +commissioner of police.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blacker?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir?" Tom gulped.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Ostreich referred me +to you. You responsible for +that—" the commissioner's +voice was choked. "—that +menace?"</p> + +<p>"Menace, sir?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I'm talking +about. We've got half a +dozen CAA complaints already. +That thing's a menace +to public safety, a hazard to +air travel—"</p> + +<p>"Look, Mr. Stinson. It's +only a harmless publicity +stunt."</p> + +<p>"Harmless? You got funny +ideas, Mr. Blacker. Don't get +the wrong idea about our city +ordinances. We got statutes +that cover this kind of thing. +If you don't want to be a victim +of one of them, turn that +damned monstrosity off!"</p> + +<p>The commissioner's angry +visage left a reverse shadow +burned on the visiphone +screen. It remained glowing +there long after the contact +was broken.</p> + +<p>Tom Blacker walked the +carpeted floor of his office, +chewing on his lower lip, and +cursing the feeble imaginations +of Ostreich and the rest +of them. When his temper had +cooled, he got sober thoughts +of indictments, and law suits, +and unemployment. With a +sigh, he contacted the engineer +on the roof of the Cannon +Building. Then he went +to the window, and watched +Monica's thousand-foot face +fade gradually out of sight.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>At four o'clock that afternoon, +a long white envelope +crossed Tom's blotter. There +was a check to the amount of +a month's salary enclosed, +and a briefly-worded message +from the office of the president.</p> + +<p>When he left the office, +Ostreich's rolling phrases +buzzed in his head like swarming +gnats. "... a mockery of +a great profession ... lowering +of dignity ... incompatible +with the highest ideals +of ..."</p> + +<p>At ten o'clock that night, +Tom was telling his troubles +to a red-coated man behind a +chromium bar on Forty-ninth +Street. The man listened with +all the gravity of a physician, +and lined up the appropriate +medicine in front of his patient.</p> + +<p>By midnight, Tom was singing +Christmas carols, in advance +of the season, with a +tableful of Texans.</p> + +<p>At one o'clock, he swung a +right cross at a mounted policeman, +missed, and fell beneath +the horse's legs.</p> + +<p>At one-fifteen, he fell +asleep against the shoulder of +a B-girl as they rode through +the streets of the city in a +sleek police vehicle.</p> + +<p>That was all Tom Blacker +remembered, until he woke up +in Livia Cord's cozy two-room +apartment. He moved his head +and winced with the pain.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Hi," the girl said.</p> + +<p>She was smiling down at +him, and for a moment, her +floating face reminded Tom +of the episode which had just +cost him twenty grand a year. +He groaned, and rolled the +other way on the contour +couch.</p> + +<p>"Hair of the dog?" she said. +There was a gleaming cannister +in her hand.</p> + +<p>"No, thanks." He sat up, +rubbing the stiff red hair on +the back of his head. One eye +seemed permanently screwed +shut, but the other managed +to take in his surroundings. It +explored the girl first, and +appreciatively.</p> + +<p>She was wearing something +black and satiny, cut in the +newest Dallas-approved style, +with long, tantalizing diagonal +slashes across the breast +and hips. Her hair was strikingly +two-toned, black and +blonde. Her teeth were a +blinding white, and had been +filed to canine sharpness.</p> + +<p>"My name's Livia," the girl +said pleasantly. "Livia Cord. +I hope you don't mind what I +did."</p> + +<p>"And what was that?" +Tom's other eye popped open, +almost audibly.</p> + +<p>"Bailing you out of jail. +Seems you got into a fracas +with a mounted cop. I think +you tried to punch his horse."</p> + +<p>"Nuts. I was trying to hit +him."</p> + +<p>"Well, you didn't." She +chuckled, and poured herself +a drink. "You've had quite a +day, Mr. Blacker."</p> + +<p>"You said it." There was a +taste in his mouth like cigar +ashes. He tried to stand up, +but the weight on his head +kept him where he was. "You +wouldn't have an oxygen pill +around?"</p> + +<p>"Sure." She left with a toss +of her skirt and a revelation +of silky calves. When she returned +with the tablet and +water, he took it gratefully. +After a few minutes, he felt +better enough to ask:</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"Why'd you bail me out? I +don't know you. Or do I?"</p> + +<p>She laughed. "No. Not yet +you don't. But I know you, +Mr. Blacker. By reputation, at +any rate. You see—" She sat +next to him on the couch, and +Tom was feeling well enough +to tingle at her nearness. +"We're in the same line of +work, you and I."</p> + +<p>"Unemployment?"</p> + +<p>"No," she smiled. "Public +relations. Only I'm on the +client's side of the fence. I +work for an organization +called Homelovers, Incorporated. +Ever hear of them?"</p> + +<p>Tom shook his head.</p> + +<p>"Maybe you should. It's a +rather important company, +and growing. And they're always +on the lookout for superior +talent."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He squinted at her. "What +is this? A job offer?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe." She wriggled a +little, and the slits in her dress +widened just a fraction. +"We've got the nucleus of a +good PR department now. +But with a really experienced +man at the controls—it could +grow enormously. Think you +might be interested?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe I would," Tom said. +But he wasn't thinking about +PR right then.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Andrusco's had you in +mind for a long time," Livia +Cord continued. "I've mentioned +your name to him several +times as a possible candidate. +If you hadn't been +fired from Ostreich, we might +have tried to tempt you +away." Her fingers touched a +stray lock of red hair. "Now—we +don't have to be surreptitious +about it. Do we?"</p> + +<p>"No," Tom said guardedly. +"I guess not."</p> + +<p>"If you're free tomorrow, I +could arrange a meeting with +Mr. Andrusco. Would you +like that?"</p> + +<p>"Well ..."</p> + +<p>"His office opens at nine. +We could get there early."</p> + +<p>Tom looked at his watch. +Livia said: "I know it's late. +But we could get an early +start in the morning, right +after breakfast. Couldn't +we?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno," Tom frowned. +"By the time I get home ..."</p> + +<p>"Home?" The girl leaned +back. "Who said anything +about home?"</p> + +<p>Her bedroom was monochromed. +Even the sheets +were pink. At five o'clock, the +false dawn glimmered through +the window, and the light falling +on his eyes awakened him. +He looked over at the sleeping +girl, feeling drugged and detached. +She moaned slightly, +and turned her face towards +him. He blinked at the sight +of it, and cried aloud.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" She sat up in +bed and nicked on the table +lamp. "What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her carefully. +She was beautiful. There +wasn't even a smudge of lipstick +on her face.</p> + +<p>"Nothing," he said dreamily, +and turned away. By the +time he was asleep again, his +mind had already erased the +strange image from his +clouded brain—that Livia +Cord had absolutely no mouth +at all.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>It was hard to keep track +of the glass-and-steel structures +that had been springing +up daily along the Fifth-Madison +Thruway. When Tom +and Livia stepped out of the +cab in front of 320, he wasn't +surprised that the building—an +odd, cylindrical affair with +a pointed spire—was strange +to him. But he was taken +aback to realize that all sixty +floors were the property of +Homelovers, Incorporated.</p> + +<p>"Quite a place," he told the +girl.</p> + +<p>She smiled at him tightly. +Livia was crackling with +business electricity this morning, +her spiked heels clicking +along the marble floors of the +lobby like typewriter keys. +She wore a tailored gray suit +that clung to her body with +all the perfection and sexlessness +of a window mannikin. +In the elevator, shooting towards +the executive offices on +the 57th floor, Tom looked +over at her and scratched his +poorly-shaven cheeks in wonderment.</p> + +<p>They plowed right through +the frosty receptionist barrier, +and entered an office only +half the size of Penn Station. +The man behind the U-shaped +desk couldn't have been better +suited to the surroundings +by Central Casting. He was +cleft-jawed, tanned, exquisitely +tailored. If his polished +brown toupee had been better +fitted, he would have been +positively handsome.</p> + +<p>The handshake was firm.</p> + +<p>"Good to see you," he +grinned. "Heard a lot about +you, Mr. Blacker. All of it +good."</p> + +<p>"Well," Livia said airily. +"I've done my part. Now you +two come to terms. Buzz me +if you need me, J. A."</p> + +<p>John Andrusco unwrapped +a cigar when she left, and +said: "Well, now. Suppose we +get right down to cases, Mr. +Blacker. Our organization is +badly in need of a public relations +set-up that can pull out +all the stops. We have money +and we have influence. Now +all we need is guidance. If +you can supply that, there's a +vacant chair at the end of the +hall that can accommodate +your backside." He grinned +manfully.</p> + +<p>"Well," Tom said delicately. +"My big problem is this, Mr. +Andrusco. I don't know what +the hell business you're in."</p> + +<p>The executive laughed +heartily. "Then let me fill you +in."</p> + +<p>He stepped over to a cork-lined +wall, pressed a concealed +button, and panels parted. +An organizational chart, with +designations that were meaningless +to Tom, appeared behind +it.</p> + +<p>"Speaking basically," Andrusco +said, "Homelovers, +Incorporated represents the +interests of the world's leading +real estate concerns. Land, +you know, is still the number +one commodity of Earth, the +one priceless possession that +rarely deteriorates in value. +In fact, with the increase in +the Earth's population, the +one commodity that never +seems to be in excess supply."</p> + +<p>"I see," Tom said, not +wholly in truth.</p> + +<p>"The stability of real +estate is our prime concern. +By unification of our efforts, +we have maintained these +values over a good many +years. But as you know, a +good business organization +never rests on its laurels. +Sometimes, even basic human +needs undergo unusual—alterations."</p> + +<p>"I'm not following too +well," Tom said frankly. "Just +where does public relations +come into this? I can't see +much connection."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Andrusco frowned, but +without wrinkling his serene +brow too much. He went to +the multipaned window and +locked his hands behind his +back.</p> + +<p>"Let me put it this way, Mr. +Blacker. With the Earth's +population approaching the +three billion mark, you can +imagine that real estate is at +a greater premium than ever—yes, +even the remotest land +areas have gained in market +value. But let me ask you this. +If there were only a hundred +apples in the world, and you +owned all of them, what +would you do if you learned +that someone else had discovered +a fruitful orchard, which +contains ten million apples?"</p> + +<p>"I'd go out of the apple +business."</p> + +<p>"Precisely." Andrusco rocked +on his heels. "In a sense, +that's very much the problem +that Homelovers, Incorporated +may have to face in the +next generation."</p> + +<p>"Somebody swiping your +apples?"</p> + +<p>"In a way." The man +chuckled. "Yes, in a way." He +raised his arm slowly, and +pointed to the sky. "The +apples," he said, "are up +there."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" Tom said.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Space, Mr. Blacker. Space +is opening its doors to us. Already, +the UN Space Commission +has launched some two +dozen manned vehicles into +the outer reaches. Already, +the satellite-building colony +on the moon is well under +way. The progress of our +space program has been accelerating +month by month. +The expert predictions have +been more and more optimistic +of late. In another ten, +twenty years, the solar system +will be beckoning the children +of Earth ..."</p> + +<p>Tom said nothing for a +while. Then he cleared his +throat.</p> + +<p>"Well ... I'm no expert on +these things. But maybe the +population could stand a little +more real estate, Mr. Andrusco. +In twenty years ..."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" The voice was +snappish. "The best authorities +say it isn't so. There's +plenty of room on Earth. But +if ever a mass exodus begins—"</p> + +<p>"That doesn't seem possible," +Tom said. "Does it? I +mean, only a handful of guys +have ever gone out there. A +drop in the bucket. I mean, +Mars and all that may be fun +to visit, but who'd want to +live there?"</p> + +<p>Andrusco turned to him +slowly.</p> + +<p>"The apples in the new +orchard may be sour, Mr. +Blacker. But if your livelihood +depended on your own +little stack of fruit—would +you be willing to sit by and +take the chance?"</p> + +<p>Tom shrugged. "And is that +the public relations job? To +keep people out of space?"</p> + +<p>"Put in its crudest form, +yes."</p> + +<p>"A pretty tough job. You +know that guff about Man's +Pioneering Spirit."</p> + +<p>"Yes. But we're worried +about the public spirit, Mr. +Blacker. If we can dampen +their ardor for space flight—only +delay it, mind you, for +another few years—we can +tighten our own lines of economic +defense. Do I make myself +clear?"</p> + +<p>"Not completely."</p> + +<p>"Will you take the job?"</p> + +<p>"What does it pay?"</p> + +<p>"Fifty thousand."</p> + +<p>"Where do I sit?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>By the afternoon, Tom +Blacker was ensconced in a +fair-sized office with vaguely +oriental furnishings and an +ankle-deep rug. Livia's pretty +ankles visited it first.</p> + +<p>"Here's an outline I began +on the PR program," she told +him briskly, dropping a sheet +of paper on his desk. "I didn't +get very far with it. I'm sure +you can add a lot."</p> + +<p>"Okay. I'll read it over this +afternoon." He tipped the +chair back. "How about dinner +tonight?"</p> + +<p>"Sorry. Busy tonight. Maybe +later this week."</p> + +<p>But it wasn't until Friday, +three days later, that he saw +Livia Cord again. He accomplished +that by calling her in +for a conference, spreading +his own typewritten notes on +the desk in front of him.</p> + +<p>"Got some rough ideas +drafted on the program," he +told her. "The possibilities of +this thing are really unlimited. +Granted, of course, that +there's money in this picture."</p> + +<p>"There's money all right," +Livia said. "We don't have to +worry about that."</p> + +<p>"Good. I've put down a list +of leading citizens that might +be enrolled as backers for anything +we might come up with, +people who have been outspoken +about the expense or danger +of space flight. We'll keep +it on file, and add to it as new +names crop up in the press. +Then here's a listing of categories +for us to develop subprograms +around. Religious, +economic, social, medical—Medical's +good. There's a heck +of a lot of scare-value in +stories about cosmic rays, +alien diseases, plagues, zero +gravity sickness, all that sort +of thing. Sterility is a good +gimmick; impotence is even +better."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Livia smiled. "I know what +you mean."</p> + +<p>"Mmm. Come to think of +it, we ought to set up a +special woman's-point-of-view +program, too. That'll be worth +plenty. Then there's the tax +question. We'll have to see +what we can set up in Washington, +some kind of anti-space +lobby. Good feature +story material here, too. You +know the stuff—one space +vessel equals the cost of two +hundred country hospitals."</p> + +<p>"Sounds great."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to plan on press +parties, special stuff for the +magazines and networks. I've +got a plan for some Hollywood +promotion to counteract +all this Destination Space +garbage they've been turning +out. And as for television—"</p> + +<p>He talked on for another +hour, feeling mounting excitement +for the job he was doing. +Tom wasn't sure that he +liked the aims of Homelovers, +Incorporated, but the challenge +was enjoyable. Even at +dinner that night, in Livia's +snug apartment, he rattled on +about the PR program until +the girl began to yawn.</p> + +<p>The bedroom was still +monochrome. Only Livia had +transformed it magically into +powder blue. Tom slept blissfully +until morning, and went +into the office that weekend +for sheer love of what he was +doing.</p> + +<p>After less than a month, +his efforts started producing +results. On a crisp December +morning, he found the following +in his mail:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p class="center"><i>"EARTH SONG"<br /> +A Screenplay<br /> +by<br /> +Duncan Devine</i></p> + +<p><i>Roger Tenblade, a dashing +young rocket pilot in the UN +Air Force, yearns to join the +Space Expeditionary Force +now planning the first landing +and colonization of the planet +Mars. Despite the protest of +his lovely fiancée, Diane, he +embarks upon the journey. +The trip is fraught with hazards, +and the ship is struck +by a meteor en route. Every +member of the crew is killed, +except Roger, who heroically +brings the vessel back to home +base. However, Roger is exposed +to large amounts of +cosmic radiation. When he is +so informed by the medical +authorities, he realizes that he +can never make Diane a normal +husband. So rather than +return to her and ruin her +life, he changes his identity +and disappears to South +America, where he takes a job +as a shuttle pilot for a third-class +airline.</i></p> + +<p><i>Meanwhile, Diane marries +Harold Farnsworth, scion of +one of America's wealthiest +families ...</i></p></div> + +<p>Tom Blacker chuckled, and +slipped the scenario back into +the envelope. He marked the +manuscript "O.K. for Production," +and turned to the other +mail.</p> + +<p>There was the prospectus +of a television series that +sounded interesting. He looked +it over carefully.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="center"><i>"CAPTAIN TERRA"<br /> +Half-hour Television Series<br /> +written by<br /> +Craig Comfort</i></p> + +<p><i>Captain Terra, and his +Earth Cadets are dedicated to +the principle of "Earth Above +All" and have sworn their +lives to the preservation of +Earth and its peoples, and to +the protection of Earth against +the hostile aliens constantly +threatening the planet.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>Program One, Act One</i></p> + +<p><i>Bobby, Captain Terra's +youthful aide, is attacked one +day by a strange creature +which he describes as half-man, +half-snake. He reports +the incident to Captain Terra, +who calls a special session of +his Earth Patrol to determine +how best to deal with this +enemy ...</i></p></div> + +<p>Tom read the prospectus +through, and then dictated a +letter to its producers to call +for an appointment.</p> + +<p>At the bottom of the mail +pile, he found an enthusiastic +letter from a theatrical producer +named Homer Bradshaw, +whom he had dealt with +briefly during his career at +Ostreich and Company.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Dear Tom,</i></p> + +<p><i>Great to hear about your +new connection! Have a fabulous +gimmick that ought to be +right down your alley. Am +thinking of producing a new +extravaganza entitled: "Be It +Ever So Humble."</i></p> + +<p><i>This will be a real classy +show, with plenty of chorus +line and top gags. We plan to +kid the pants off this spaceman +business, until those +bright boys in the glass hats +cry uncle. I've already lined +up James Hocum for the top +banana, and Sylvia Crowe for +the female lead. You know +Sylvia, Tom; she'll make +space flight sound about as +chic as a debutante's ball on +the Staten Island Ferry. This +is the way to do the job, Tom—laugh +'em out of it.</i></p> + +<p><i>If you're interested in a +piece of this, you can always +reach me at ...</i></p></div> + +<p>He was about to call it a +day at five-thirty, when he got +a visiphone call from John +Andrusco. When he walked +into the immense office at the +other end of the floor, he saw +a glassy-eyed man standing at +Andrusco's desk, twirling his +hat with nervous fingers.</p> + +<p>"Tom," Andrusco said +cheerfully, "want you to meet +somebody. This is Sergeant +Walt Spencer, formerly of the +UN Space Commission."</p> + +<p>Tom shook the man's hand, +and he could feel it trembling +in his own.</p> + +<p>"I called Walt in here specially, +thanks to that memo +you sent me, Tom. Great idea +of yours, about talking to +some of the boys who've actually +been in space. Walter +here's willing to cooperate a +hundred percent."</p> + +<p>"That's fine," Tom said uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Thought you two ought to +get together," Andrusco said, +reaching for his hat. "Think +he can help a lot, Tom. Talk +it over."</p> + +<p>"Well—suppose we have a +drink, Sergeant? That fit +your plans all right?"</p> + +<p>"Suits me," the man said, +without emotion.</p> + +<p>They went down in the elevator +together, and slid into a +red-leather booth in the Tuscany +Bar in the base of the +building. The sergeant ordered +a double Scotch, and +gulped it with the same respect +you give water.</p> + +<p>"So you've been in space," +Tom said, looking at him curiously. +"Must have been +quite an experience."</p> + +<p>"Yeah."</p> + +<p>"Er—I take it you've left +the service."</p> + +<p>"Yeah."</p> + +<p>Tom frowned, and sipped +his martini. "How many trips +did you make, Sergeant?"</p> + +<p>"Just one. Reconnaissance +Moon Flight Four. About six +years ago. You must have read +about it."</p> + +<p>"Yes," Tom said. "Sorry."</p> + +<p>The man shrugged. "Things +happen. Even on Earth, +things happen."</p> + +<p>"Tell me something." Tom +leaned forward. "Is it true +about—" He paused, embarrassed. +"Well, you hear a lot +of stories. But I understand +some of the men on that +flight, the ones who got back +all right, had children. And—well, +you know how rumors +go—"</p> + +<p>"Lies," Spencer said, without +rancor. "I've got two kids +myself. Both of 'em normal."</p> + +<p>"Oh." Tom tried to hide his +disappointment behind the +cocktail glass. It would have +made great copy, if he could +have proved the truth of the +old rumor about two-headed +babies. But what <i>could</i> Sergeant +Spencer do for the PR +program? Andrusco must +have had something in mind.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He asked him point-blank.</p> + +<p>"It's like this," the man +said, his eyes distant. "Since +I quit the service, I haven't +been doin' so good. With +jobs, I mean. And Mr. Andrusco—he +said he'd give me +five thousand dollars if I'd—help +you people."</p> + +<p>"Did Mr. Andrusco describe +this help?"</p> + +<p>"Yeah. He wants me to do +a story. About the kid my +wife had. The first kid."</p> + +<p>"What about the first kid?"</p> + +<p>"Well, she died, the first kid +did. In childbirth. It was +something that happens, you +know. My wife's a little woman; +the baby was smothered."</p> + +<p>"I see. And what kind of +story do you want to tell?"</p> + +<p>"It's not my idea." A hint +of stubbornness glimmered in +his dull eyes. "It's that Andrusco +guy's. He wants me to +tell how the baby was born a—mutant."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"He wants me to release a +story saying the baby was a +freak. The kid was born at +home, you see. The only other +person who saw her, besides +me and my wife, was this doctor +we had. And he died a +couple of years back."</p> + +<p>Tom slumped in his chair. +This was pushing public relations +a little far.</p> + +<p>"Well, I dunno," he said. +"If the baby was really normal—"</p> + +<p>"It was normal, all right. +Only dead, that's all."</p> + +<p>Tom stood up. "Okay, Sergeant +Spencer. Let me think +it over, and I'll give you a buzz +before the end of the week. +All right?"</p> + +<p>"Anything you say, Chief."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>In the morning, Tom Blacker +went storming into John +Andrusco's plush office.</p> + +<p>"Now look, Mr. Andrusco. +I don't mind slanting a story +a little far. But this Spencer +story of yours is nothing but +a hoax."</p> + +<p>Andrusco looked hurt. "Did +he tell you that? How do you +like that nerve?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that story's as genuine +as gold. We've known +about the freak birth for a +long time. Cosmic rays, you +know. Those men on that reconnaissance +flight really got +bombarded."</p> + +<p>Tom wasn't sure of himself. +"You mean, it's true?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is! As a matter +of fact, we've got a photograph +of the dead baby, +right after it was delivered. +The doctor who attended Mrs. +Spencer took it without their +knowledge, as a medical +curiosity. He sold it to us several +years ago. We've never +used it before, because we +knew that the Spencers would +just deny it. Now that Walt's +willing to cooperate ..."</p> + +<p>"Can I see the photo?"</p> + +<p>"Why, certainly." He opened +the top drawer and handed +a glossy print across the desk. +Tom looked at it, and winced.</p> + +<p>"Scales!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Like a fish," Andrusco +said sadly. "Pretty sad, isn't +it?" He looked out of the window +and sighed cavernously. +"It's a menacing world up +there...."</p> + +<p>The rest of the day was +wasted. Tom Blacker's mind +wasn't functioning right.</p> + +<p>He told Livia about it at +lunch.</p> + +<p>Livia Cord continued eating, +chewing delicately on her +food without flexing a muscle +or wincing an eyebrow.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>On the Third of April, the +story of Sergeant Walter +Spencer's first-born monster +broke in newspapers, magazines, +and telecasts across the +country. It was a five-year-old +story, but it carried too +much significance for the +space-minded present to be +ignored.</p> + +<p>Two days later, Sergeant +Spencer, 32, and his wife, +Laura, 30, were found dead +of asphyxiation in their new +home in Greenwich, Connecticut. +The cause of death was +listed as suicide.</p> + +<p>Tom Blacker didn't hear the +news until a day after it happened. +He was in Washington, +setting up a series of +meetings with members of a +House group investigating +space flight expenditures. +When he returned by 'copter +that evening, he found Police +Commissioner Joe Stinson +waiting for him in Tom's own +favorite chair.</p> + +<p>The square, heavy-jowled +face was strangely calm.</p> + +<p>"Long time no see," he said +mildly. "You've been a busy +man lately, Mr. Blacker."</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mr. Stinson. Won't +you come in?"</p> + +<p>"I'm in," the commissioner +shrugged. "Landlord let me +wait here. It's chilly outside. +Do you want the preliminaries, +or should we have the +main bout?"</p> + +<p>"It's about Spencer, isn't +it?" Tom built himself a long +drink. "I heard about it on the +'copter radio, flying in. Too +bad. He was a nice guy; I +never met his wife."</p> + +<p>"But you knew him, right? +In fact, you and the sergeant +did a lot of business together?"</p> + +<p>"Look, Mr. Stinson. You +know what kind of job I'm +trying to do. It's no secret. +Spencer's story happened to +gear in nicely with our public +relations effort. And that's +all."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it is." The commissioner's +eyes hardened. "Only +some of us aren't satisfied. +Some of us are kinda restless +about the coroner's verdict."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"You heard me. It's fishy, +you know? Nice young couple +buys a new house, then turns +on the gas. Leave behind a +couple of kids, too. Boys, nice +boys."</p> + +<p>"I couldn't feel worse about +it," Tom said glumly. "In a +way, I can almost feel responsible ..."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno. They were perfectly +willing to release that +story about their first-born. +But maybe when they actually +saw it in print, they couldn't +stand the spotlight—"</p> + +<p>"And that's your theory?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I hope I'm wrong, +Mr. Stinson. For my own +sake."</p> + +<p>The commissioner drew a +folded sheet of paper out of +his pocket.</p> + +<p>"Let me read you something. +This hasn't been released +to the press, and maybe +it won't be. Interested?"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"It's a letter. A letter that +was never mailed. It's addressed +to Tom Blacker, care +of Homelovers, Incorporated, +320 Fifth-Madison, New +York."</p> + +<p>"What?" Tom reached for +it.</p> + +<p>"Uh-uh. It was never mailed, +so it's not your property. +But I'll read it to you." He +slipped on a pair of bifocals.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Dear Mr. Blacker. I've been +trying to reach you all week, +but you've been out of town. +Laura and I have just seen +the first news story about our +baby, and we're just sick +about it. Why didn't you tell +us about that photograph you +were going to print? If we +had known about that, we +never would have consented to +doing what you wanted. My +wife never gave birth to that +damned thing, and I don't +care who knows it. I've called +Mr. Andrusco to tell him that +we don't want any part of this +business any more. I'd send +you back every penny of the +five thousand dollars, only +we've already spent half of +it. I'm going to call the newspapers +and tell them everything ...</i></p></div> + +<p>The commissioner paused. +"It goes on for another half +page. But no use reading any +more. I'd like a reaction, Mr. +Blacker. Got one handy?"</p> + +<p>Tom was on his feet.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe it!" His fist +thudded into his palm. "The +letter's a fake!"</p> + +<p>"That's easy to prove, Mr. +Blacker."</p> + +<p>"But the picture was genuine! +Don't you see that? Sure, +we paid Spencer something +for his cooperation. But the +picture was the real thing, +taken by his family doctor. +You've heard what the medical +authorities said about it."</p> + +<p>Stinson said nothing. Then +he got up slowly and walked +to the door.</p> + +<p>"Maybe so. But you're +missing the point I want to +make, Mr. Blacker. This letter +was dated the same day as +the Spencer suicides. Does it +sound to you like the kind of +thing a man would put in a +suicide note? Think it over."</p> + +<p>Tom looked at the door the +commissioner closed behind +him.</p> + +<p>"No," he said aloud. "It +doesn't."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Tom didn't go to the Homelovers +building the next morning. +He proceeded directly to +the Lunt Theatre, where +Homer Bradshaw was putting +<i>Be It Ever So Humble</i> into rehearsal.</p> + +<p>He was in no mood for the +theatre, but the appointment +had been made too long before. +When he came through +the doors of the theatre, +Homer leaped halfway up the +aisle to greet him, and pounded +his back like a long-lost +pal. Actually, he had met the +producer only twice before.</p> + +<p>"Great to have you here, +Tom!" he said enthusiastically. +"Great! We've just been +putting things together. Got +some red-hot numbers we had +written specially for us. Wait +'til you hear 'em!" He waved +towards the two shirtsleeved +men hovering around the on-stage +piano. "You know Julie, +don't you? And Milt Steiner? +Great team! Great team!"</p> + +<p>They took seats in the sixth +row while Homer raved about +the forthcoming production +that was going to cost Homelovers, +Incorporated some +hundred thousand dollars. A +dozen shapely girls in shorts +and leotards were kicking +their heels lackadaisically in +the background, and a stout +man with a wild checkered +suit was wandering around +the stage with an unlit cigar +in his hand, begging the +stagehands for a match.</p> + +<p>"Hey, fellas!" Homer Bradshaw +called to the men at the +piano. "Run through that +<i>Gypsy</i> number for Mr. Blacker, +huh?"</p> + +<p>They came to life like animated +dolls. The tallest of +the pair stepped in front of +the stage while the other +thumped the piano keys. The +tall one sang in a loud nasal +voice, with an abundance of +gestures.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"<i>Gypsy!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Gypsy!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Why do you have to be a gypsy?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Life could be so ipsy-pipsy</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Staying home and getting tipsy</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Safe on Earth with me!</i>"<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>He swung into the second +chorus while Tom Blacker +kept his face from showing +his true opinion of the specialty +number. The next offering +didn't change his viewpoint. +It was a ballad. A +blonde girl in clinging black +shorts sang it feelingly.</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<span class="i0">"<i>There's a beautiful Earth tonight</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>With a beautiful mellow light</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Shining on my spaceman in the moon.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Why did he leave me?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Only to grieve me?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i0"><i>Spaceman, come home to me soon ...</i>"<br /></span> +</div> + +<p>"Did you like it? Did you +like it?" Homer Bradshaw +said eagerly.</p> + +<p>"It'll do fine," Tom Blacker +said, with his teeth clenched.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When he left the theatre, +Tom visiphoned the office to +tell Livia that he was taking +the rest of the day off. But he +found that Livia herself was +spending the day in her two-room +apartment downtown. +He hung up, and decided that +he had to talk to her about +Stinson's visit. He hopped a +cab, and gave him Livia's address.</p> + +<p>John Andrusco answered +the door.</p> + +<p>"Well! Thought you were +at the office, Tom?"</p> + +<p>He found himself glaring at +the lean-jawed executive. +What was Andrusco doing +here?</p> + +<p>"I've been over at the theatre," +Tom explained. "Watching +that musical we're +spending all that dough on." +He stepped inside. "I might +say the same about you, Mr. +Andrusco."</p> + +<p>"Me? Oh, I just came to +talk over some business with +Livia. Poor kid's not feeling +so hot, you know."</p> + +<p>"No, I didn't." He dropped +his hat familiarly on the contour +couch, with almost too +much deliberation. "Livia in +bed?"</p> + +<p>"No." The girl appeared at +the door of the bedroom, +wrapping a powder-blue negligee +around her. "What +brings you here, Tom?"</p> + +<p>"I—I wanted to talk something +over with you. Now +that you're here, Mr. Andrusco, +we can <i>all</i> talk it +over."</p> + +<p>"What's that?" Andrusco +made himself at home at the +bar.</p> + +<p>"It's about Walt Spencer. I +had a visitor last night, the +police commissioner. He +showed me a letter that Spencer +had written just before he—before +he died. It was addressed +to me, only Spencer +had never mailed it."</p> + +<p>Andrusco looked sharply at +the girl. "And what was in +this letter?"</p> + +<p>"He was upset," Tom said. +"He wanted to back out of the +deal we made. Said the picture +was a phoney. But the +thing that's bothering the police +is the <i>tone</i> of the damned +letter. It just doesn't sound +like a man about to kill himself +and his wife—"</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" Livia took the +drink from Andrusco's hand +and sipped at it. "I thought it +was something serious."</p> + +<p>"It is serious!" Tom looked +sternly at her. "I want to +know something, Mr. Andrusco. +You told me that picture +was genuine. Now I want +you to tell me again."</p> + +<p>The man smiled, with perfect +teeth. "How do you +mean, genuine? Is it a picture +of a genuine infant with +scales?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I assure you. In that respect, +the picture is absolutely +genuine."</p> + +<p>Tom thought it over.</p> + +<p>"Wait a while. Was the +story genuine, too?"</p> + +<p>John Andrusco smiled. He +sat on the sofa, and rubbed +the palms of his hands over +his knees. Then he looked towards +Livia Cord and said:</p> + +<p>"Well—I didn't think we +could hold out on our clever +Mr. Blacker as long as we +have. So we might as well enlist +his cooperation fully. Eh, +Livia?"</p> + +<p>"I think so." The girl +smiled, her teeth sharp.</p> + +<p>"What does that mean?" +Tom said.</p> + +<p>"The infant," John Andrusco +answered slowly, "was +not Walter Spencer's child. +That, I'm afraid, was nothing +more than a little white lie."</p> + +<p>Tom looked confused.</p> + +<p>"Then what was it?"</p> + +<p>Livia finished her drink.</p> + +<p>"It was my child."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The man and the woman, +whose grins now seemed +permanently affixed to their +faces, were forced to wait a +considerable amount of time +before Tom Blacker was both +ready and able to listen to +their explanation.</p> + +<p>Livia did most of the talking.</p> + +<p>"You'll probably be horrified +at all this," she said, with +a trace of amusement around +her red mouth. "Particularly +since you and I have been—" +She paused, and looked towards +Andrusco with a slight +lift of her shoulder. "Well, +you know. But you needn't +feel too squeamish, Tom. After +all, I was born and raised +on Earth. I am, you might say, +an honorary Earth woman."</p> + +<p>Tom's eyes bulged at her.</p> + +<p>"This civilization from +which my husband and I claim +ancestry is perhaps no older +than your own. Unfortunately, +we were not blessed with +a planetary situation as +agreeable as Earth's. Our sun +is far feebler, the orbital +paths of our moons act drastically +upon our waters, causing +generations of drought +and centuries of flood ..."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking +about?" Tom said hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"I speak of home," Livia +Cord said. And her eyes +gleamed.</p> + +<p>"Antamunda is the name we +give it," John Andrusco said +cordially. "A world very much +like your own in size and atmosphere, +Mr. Blacker. But +tragically, a world whose usefulness +has been gradually +coming to an end. Our ancestors, +who were scientists of +much ability, foresaw this +some hundreds of years ago. +Since that time, they have +been seeking a solution to the +problem."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe this!"</p> + +<p>"We have," Livia said carefully, +"excellent evidence."</p> + +<p>"Some five hundred years +ago," Andrusco continued, +"our people despatched an exploratory +space vessel. A +home-hunting force, seeking +to relocate the surviving members +of our race. It was a long, +trying odyssey, but it finally +culminated in the selection of +a new home. I needn't tell you +that the home is in your own +solar system."</p> + +<p>Tom shot to his feet. "You +mean Earth? You mean you +want to take over here—"</p> + +<p>Andrusco looked shocked. +"Certainly not! What a violent +thought, Mr. Blacker!"</p> + +<p>"The planet you call Mars," +Livia said coolly, "was the selected +destination. A planet +with only limited facilities for +the support of life. But a +planet even more like our own +dying world than Earth, Mr. +Blacker. So you needn't cry +havoc about alien invaders." +She laughed sharply.</p> + +<p>"Then what are you doing +here?"</p> + +<p>"Merely waiting," Andrusco +said. "We are the offspring +of the surviving +members of the expeditionary +force from Antamunda, +placed here on Earth as a vanguard +of the immigration that +will shortly take place to this +system. But your own world +is in no danger, Mr. Blacker. +That you must believe. Physically, +our people are not your +equals. Scientifically, we are +advanced in certain fields and +shamefully backwards in +others. Biologically—" He +frowned. "This is our greatest +weakness. To the Antamundans, +your breeding +capacity is nothing short of +grotesque." His handsome lip +curled. He enjoyed watching +Tom's reaction.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Tom swallowed hard. "How +long have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"Some four generations +have been born here. Our duty +has been merely to await the +arrival of our people. But in +the last fifty years, we found +ourselves faced with another +obligation. It was that obligation +which brought about the +formation of Homelovers, Incorporated."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand."</p> + +<p>"We had underestimated +the science of Earth. Our own +necessity drove us towards +the perfection of space flight. +Earth had no such urgency. +But now—" Livia looked +mournful. "Now we were +faced with the possibility that +Mars would soon be a colony +of your own planet, before our +people had a chance to make +it their rightful home. You +can see the consequences of +that. A conflict of interests, a +question of territorial rights. +Even the possibility of an interplanetary +war—"</p> + +<p>"War!"</p> + +<p>"A possibility greatly to be +abhorred," Andrusco said. +"And one we were sure we +could eliminate, if we could +merely <i>delay</i> the colonization +of Mars."</p> + +<p>"Don't you see?" Livia said +earnestly. "If we could make +Mars our natural home, then +the people of Earth would +come to us as friendly visitors—or +invaders, whichever they +prefer. But if we arrived too +late— No, Tom. We feel that +it is imperative—to the peace +of <i>both</i> our worlds—that +Antamunda reach Mars first."</p> + +<p>"Then it's a race!" Tom +was bewildered.</p> + +<p>"You may call it that. But +a race we are determined to +win. And we <i>will</i> win!"</p> + +<p>Tom thought of another +question.</p> + +<p>"The infant," he said. "The +creature with scales ..."</p> + +<p>"It was mine," the girl said +sadly. "Born to John and me +some ten years ago. Unfortunately, +it did not live. And +while your Earth eyes may +consider it a creature—" She +drew herself up proudly. "It +was a perfectly formed Antamundan +child."</p> + +<p>Tom gaped at her.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, answering +the question in his gaze. "You +are looking at us as we are. +We lose our scales after our +infancy, when our mouths are +formed ..."</p> + +<p>After a while, Tom asked:</p> + +<p>"And what about Spencer?"</p> + +<p>"Unfortunate," the man +said. "His betrayal to the +press would have done us incalculable +harm. It was necessary +to do what we did."</p> + +<p>"Then you did kill them?"</p> + +<p>Livia turned her head aside.</p> + +<p>"And you think I'll stand +for that?" Tom said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not," Andrusco +said. "But frankly—I don't +really know what you can do +about it. Except, of course, repeat +this explanation to the +authorities. You're free to do +that, Tom. Any time at all." +He smiled, slyly.</p> + +<p>"You think they won't believe +me?"</p> + +<p>Livia came over to Tom's +chair, and slithered one arm +around his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Why, Tom, darling. Are +you so sure that <i>you</i> believe +it?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He left the apartment some +ten minutes later, and took a +cab to 320 Fifth-Madison. It +was almost five o'clock, and +the steel-and-glass cylinder +was emptying rapidly of its +Homelovers employees. He +watched the stream of ordinary +people stepping off the +elevators: the young secretaries +with their fresh faces +and slim figures, laughing at +office anecdotes and sharing +intimate confidences about +office bachelors; the smooth-cheeked +young executives, in +their gray and blue suits, +gripping well-stocked brief +cases, and striding energetically +down the lobby, heading +for the commuter trains; the +paunchy, dignified men with +their gray temples and gleaming +spectacles, walking slowly +to the exits, quoting stock +prices and planning golf +dates.</p> + +<p>The crowd eddied about +him like a battling current as +he made his way towards the +elevators, and their images +swam before his face in pink-and-white +blurs. And for one +terrible moment, in the thickest +vortex of the crowd, he +began to imagine that the +faces were melting before his +eyes, the mouths disappearing +into the flesh, and below the +white collars and black-knit +ties and starched pink +blouses appeared a shimmering +collection of ugly scales.</p> + +<p>He shuddered, and stepped +into an empty car, punching +the button that shot him to +the executive floor of the +Homelovers Building.</p> + +<p>In his office, he switched on +the visiphone and made contact +with a square-faced man +who frowned mightily when +he recognized his caller.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" Stinson +said.</p> + +<p>"I have to see you," Tom +told him. "I learned something +this afternoon, about +Walt Spencer. I don't know +whether you'll believe it or +not, but I have to take that +chance. Will you talk to me?"</p> + +<p>"All right. But we'll have +to make it down here."</p> + +<p>"I'll be there in an hour. I +want to organize a few things +first. Then we can talk."</p> + +<p>Tom switched off, and began +to empty his desk. He +found nothing in the official +communications of the Homelovers +that would substantiate +his story, but he continued to +gather what information he +could about the PR program.</p> + +<p>He was just clicking the +locks on his brief case, when +a gray-haired woman with a +pencil thrust into her curls +popped her head in the doorway.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Blacker?" she smiled. +"I'm Dora, Mr. Wright's secretary. +Mr. Wright wants to +know if you'll stop in to see +him."</p> + +<p>"Wright?" Tom said blankly.</p> + +<p>"The treasurer. His office is +just down the hall. He's very +anxious to see you, something +about the expense sheets you +turned in last week."</p> + +<p>Tom frowned. "Why don't +I see him in the morning?"</p> + +<p>"It won't take but a minute."</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>He sighed, picked up the +brief case, and followed Dora +outside. She showed him the +door of an office some thirty +paces from his own, and he +entered without knocking.</p> + +<p>A frail man, with a bald +head and a squiggly moustache, +stood up behind his +desk.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," he said nervously. +"I'm terribly sorry to do +this, Mr. Blacker. But I have +my instructions."</p> + +<p>"Do what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear," Mr. Wright said +again.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>He took the gun that was +lying in his out-box, and fired +it. His trembling hand sent +the bullet spanging into the +wooden frame of the door. +Tom dropped to the thick carpet, +and then scrambled to the +tall credenza set against the +right wall of the office. He +shoved it aside with his left +hand and ducked behind it. +The treasurer came out from +behind his desk, still muttering +to himself.</p> + +<p>"Please," he said in anguish, +"this is very painful for +me!"</p> + +<p>He fired the gun again, and +the bullet tore a white hole in +the wall above Tom's head.</p> + +<p>"Don't be so difficult," the +little man pleaded. "Sooner or +later—"</p> + +<p>But Tom insisted upon being +difficult. His fingers +closed around a loose volume +of New York State Tax Laws, +and jiggled it in readiness. +When the little treasurer +came closer, he sprung from +hiding and hurled the book. +It slammed against Wright's +side, and surprised him +enough to send the arm +holding the weapon into the +air. That was the advantage +Tom wanted. He leaped in a +low-flying tackle, and brought +Wright to the carpet. Then he +was on top of the little man, +grappling for the gun. Tom +fought hard to get the gun.</p> + +<p>He got it, but not before it +was fired again.</p> + +<p>Tom looked down at the +widening stain that was marring +the smooth texture of the +carpet and was horrified. He +bent down over the frail figure, +lifting the bald head in +his hands.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Wright!"</p> + +<p>The treasurer groaned. +"Sorry," he said. "Instructions, +Mr. Blacker ..."</p> + +<p>"From whom? Andrusco?"</p> + +<p>"Yes ... Your message reported +from switchboard ... +had orders ..."</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" Tom said +frantically. "About Antamunda? +Is the story true?"</p> + +<p>The little man nodded. +Then he lifted one hand feebly +towards the desk. "Gary," +he said. "Tell Gary ..."</p> + +<p>Tom looked in the direction +of the gesture, and saw the +back of a framed photograph.</p> + +<p>When he turned to the +treasurer again, the thin lips +had stopped moving.</p> + +<p>He lowered the body to the +floor and went to the desk. +The photo was that of a young +man with stiff-bristled blond +hair and a rugged smile. The +inscription read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>To Pop, with deep affection, +Gary.</i>"</p></div> + +<p>Tom shook his head, wonderingly. +Were these creatures +so very different?</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>When Tom stepped out on +Fifth-Madison some ten minutes +later, it was just in time +to watch a police vehicle +draw up to the entrance of +320. Sensing danger, he stepped +into the shade of the Tuscany +Bar awning, and +watched the uniformed men +pound their way down the +marbled lobby floor towards +the elevators. He thought fast, +and decided that the arrival +of the police was connected +with the shooting in Wright's +office.</p> + +<p>The question was—who +were they after?</p> + +<p>He walked into the Tuscany, +and headed for the bank +of visiphone booths. He +dialed the police commissioner, +but ducked out of the path +of the visiphone eye.</p> + +<p>Stinson growled at the +blank screen. "Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," Tom said, +muffling his voice. "But if you +want the killers of Walt +Spencer and his wife, pick up +John Andrusco and a gal +named Livia Cord."</p> + +<p>"Okay, Blacker," Stinson +thundered. "I knew you'd be +calling in."</p> + +<p>Tom swore, and showed +himself. "Listen, I'm telling +you the truth. They told me +the whole story. Then they +tried to have me killed."</p> + +<p>"Is that so? And I suppose +the assassin was a guy named +Wright?"</p> + +<p>"Yes!"</p> + +<p>"Okay, wise guy. We're on +to you. You've been pocketing +some of that Homelovers +dough, and the treasurer +found you out. Isn't that the +story?"</p> + +<p>"No! Wright's one of +<i>them</i>."</p> + +<p>"Sure, pal. Whatever you +say. Only stay right where +you are so you can do your +explaining proper."</p> + +<p>Tom tightened his lips. +"Uh-huh. I don't like the +sound of things. I'll see you +later, Mr. Stinson."</p> + +<p>"Blacker!"</p> + +<p>Tom switched off.</p> + +<p>By the time he was settled +behind the red neck of a cab-driver, +Tom was wiping a +dripping film of sweat from +his forehead. He couldn't return +to his apartment; there +was bound to be a stake-out. +He couldn't go to Livia's; that +would be walking right into +danger. And he couldn't go to +Stinson, without risking a +murder charge.</p> + +<p>He leaned forward.</p> + +<p>"Driver—make that the LaGuardia +Heliport."</p> + +<p>However efficient Stinson's +operations might have been, +their tentacles hadn't reached +the 'copter-rental station at +the heliport. Tom signed out +a speedy vessel under an assumed +name, and taxied it +down the runway. Then he +pointed the nose west, and +radioed ahead to his destination +at Washington, D. C.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Colonel Grady Mordigan +had the thoughtful air of a +scholar and the body of a college +wrestler. When Tom +Blacker's name was announced +to him, his mouth turned +down grimly. He was commanding +officer of the Space +Flight Commission of the UN +Air Force, and he had good +reason to frown at the sound +of the PR man's name.</p> + +<p>But he invited him into his +office.</p> + +<p>"So you're Tom Blacker," +he said, pinching his jaw. +"I've heard a lot about you, +Mr. Blacker."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure," Tom said. +"Only I want to tell you this, +Colonel. I've broken my connection +with Homelovers. I'm +on your side now."</p> + +<p>"Side? There are no sides +in this issue, Mr. Blacker. As +far as I'm concerned, Homelovers +is nothing but a flea on +the lip of a lion. A damned +annoying flea, maybe—but +nothing more than that. Now +what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I have to talk to you about +something. Something I just +found out. Will you listen to +me?"</p> + +<p>The colonel leaned back, +looking at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Five minutes," he snapped.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Tom talked for fifteen. +Mordigan didn't call a halt +until he was finished, listening +without a change of expression. +When Tom ran out +of words, he merely tapped +his fingers on the desk.</p> + +<p>"And that's your whole +story?" he said gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir. I know it's a wild +one. That's one of the things +they're counting on. It's just +wild enough to get me put +into a laughing academy, +where I can't do them any +mischief. But I had to take +that chance, Colonel."</p> + +<p>"I see. And this—man you +killed. What's happening +about that?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," Tom said. +"The way I figure it, Andrusco +and the girl have told the +police that I was embezzling +money from the firm—that I +killed the treasurer for my +own protection. But it's not +true! He's one of <i>them</i>—one +of those creatures—"</p> + +<p>"But you have no real +proof?"</p> + +<p>Tom's back stiffened. "No," +he said grimly. "If I had +proof, I'd have gone to the police. +But I came here instead. +Now you can tell me if I did +the right thing."</p> + +<p>Mordigan grimaced. "I +don't know, damn it! I don't +have any love for the Homelovers. +To me, they've always +been a bunch of greedy businessmen, +intent on salvaging +their franchises at any expense. +But it's not easy to +think of them as a bunch +of—" His mouth twisted. +"Loathsome aliens ..."</p> + +<p>"Maybe not so loathsome," +Tom said miserably. "I just +don't know. Maybe their cause +is as just to them as ours is to +us. But they're determined to +reach Mars before we do—before +you do! And they'll do +anything to make sure—"</p> + +<p>The colonel stood up. "But +I'm afraid that question is +academic, Mr. Blacker. Because +if our calculations are +right, an Earth vessel will be +on the planet Mars within the +next thirty-six hours."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"No announcement has +been made. But a Mars-bound +ship was launched almost a +month ago, containing seven +members of the space commission. +Our last radio contact +with Captain Wright +leads us to expect—"</p> + +<p>"<i>Who?</i>" Tom was on his +feet.</p> + +<p>"Captain Gary Wright, the +commander of the ship." His +brow knitted. "Why? Do you +know him?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not sure," Tom said +weakly. "But if he's the same +man—then that flight's in +danger."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking +about?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Tom concluded his story +about the death of the Homelovers +treasurer, down to the +last detail of the framed photograph +on Wright's desk. +The tale brought Colonel +Mordigan into immediate action. +He buzzed for his orderly, +and in another minute, +was fumbling through a folder +marked Classified.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said numbly. "It's +the same man. Father's named +Benjamin Wright, and he's +vice-president and treasurer +of Homelovers, Incorporated. +I never connected the two ..." +He looked up, his eyes heavy. +"If your story is true, Mr. +Blacker, then Captain Wright +is one of these so-called Antamundans. +And if their mission +is what you say it is—"</p> + +<p>Tom clenched his fists on +the blotter. "Please, sir! Let +me stay here until the flight +is concluded. After that, you +can do what you like."</p> + +<p>"All right," Mordigan said +wearily. "I'll fix you up with +something in the officer's +quarters. But I'm sure you're +wrong, Mr. Blacker. You +<i>have</i> to be."</p> + +<p>Twenty-four hours later, +radio contact with the Mars +expeditionary ship ceased abruptly.</p> + +<p>From Mt. Wilson observatory, +a hurried message +arrived, reporting a small, +brief nova in the orbital vicinity +of the planet Mars.</p> + +<p>Tom Blacker, dozing fitfully +on a cot in the quarters +of a grumpy Lieutenant-Colonel, +was awakened suddenly, +and summoned to the office of +Colonel Grady Mordigan.</p> + +<p>"Very well, Mr. Blacker," +the colonel said stiffly. "I'm +willing to help. Just tell me +what you want me to do."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>The receptionist smiled +icily at Tom, and then the +smile vanished like a Martian +polar cap.</p> + +<p>"Why—Mr. Blacker!"</p> + +<p>"Hi, Stella," he grinned. +"Mr. Andrusco in his office?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I don't know. Suppose +I give him a ring—"</p> + +<p>He stopped the hand that +was reaching for the telephone. +"No need of that. I +think I'll just surprise him. +After all, it's been some time."</p> + +<p>He turned the knob of +John Andrusco's door slowly.</p> + +<p>Livia was with him. When +he entered, they both stood up +hastily, their eyes wide and +their mouths unhinged.</p> + +<p>Livia reacted first. She +cried out his name, and then +sat down heavily, as if the +words had been a physical +force.</p> + +<p>"Hi, Livia," Tom said casually. +"Good to see you again, +Mr. Andrusco. Sorry that I +haven't been around—but +things have been pretty hectic +for me lately."</p> + +<p>"How did you get here?" +Andrusco's voice was choked.</p> + +<p>"I've been here all weekend, +if you want to know." +Tom seated himself blithely. +"As a matter of fact, the +Homelovers Building has had +quite a lot of visitors this +weekend."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"You know the staff of +cleaning personnel that invades +this place every Saturday? +Well, there were some +changes made this particular +weekend. I'm sure you'll be +interested in hearing about +them."</p> + +<p>Livia said: "Shall I call the +police, John?"</p> + +<p>"The police were represented," +Tom said. "Don't worry +about that. In fact, the top +technicians from three government +agencies were doing +the housework around here +this weekend, Mr. Andrusco. +They probably didn't get the +building much cleaner—but +they swept up a lot of other +things. Yes, they certainly uncovered +other things."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Andrusco walked over to +Livia, and touched her shoulder +in a comforting gesture. +The sight of them made Tom +scowl.</p> + +<p>"All right!" he said roughly. +"I'm not blaming you for +what you're doing. But things +were getting out of hand, Mr. +Andrusco. That's why we had +to put a stop to it."</p> + +<p>"And have you?" Andrusco +asked politely.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid so. It was quite +a shock, let me tell you. We +didn't know what to expect +when we dissected this building +of yours. But the last +thing we expected to find was—a +spaceship."</p> + +<p>Andrusco smiled. "It was +cleverly done. You'll have to +admit that."</p> + +<p>"I do," Tom said fervently. +"You've got those space flight +experts absolutely insane with +curiosity. They'll want to hear +the whole story. Will you give +it to them?"</p> + +<p>The man shrugged. "It +doesn't matter, I suppose. I +presume the engines have +been dismantled?"</p> + +<p>"Made inoperable, yes. It +would have been a great +trick, if you could have done +it."</p> + +<p>Livia spoke sadly. "It was +the only thing we could have +done. There's no place on this +Earth where we could have +erected a spaceship without +being observed. So we created +this building. In time, we +would have perfected the +mechanism and left this silly +planet of yours."</p> + +<p>"That's what I don't understand," +Tom said. "What +about Antamunda—and the +survivors—"</p> + +<p>"There's no longer an Antamunda," +John Andrusco +said hollowly. "The story we +told you was true in its +essence, but not, I'm afraid +complete. You see, the exodus +that took place five hundred +years ago was a total exodus. +The entire population of our +world—a handful, a pitiful +ragged thousand—left Antamunda +for this planet. We +thought to make it our new +home, for all eternity. But in +time, we learned that we had +emigrated to an extinction +just as certain."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"This world is cursed to us, +Mr. Blacker. I can't tell you +why. We breed slowly, infrequently—you +might even say, +thoughtfully. And on your +planet, but one child in a +thousand has survived the +rigors of childbirth on +Earth." He looked at Livia, +and the woman lowered her +eyes in remembered sorrow.</p> + +<p>"That's why we had to +leave," Andrusco said. "To +repopulate elsewhere. We +chose the planet Mars, and +we were determined to make +it our home before your world +claimed it. Our scientists and +technicians have worked on +nothing else but this flight +since the beginning of the last +century. This building—this +vessel—was the culmination +of our plans. In another few +years, we would have been +ready. The dream would have +been realized."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>Tom walked to the window +of the office, and looked out at +a bank of swift-moving clouds +drifting past the spire of the +Homelovers Building.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid that's the saddest +part," he said. "The +atomic engines in the basement +have been examined, +Mr. Andrusco. The best opinions +say that they're pitifully +inadequate. The men who +studied them say that you +would never have made the +journey in safety."</p> + +<p>"That can't be true! In +time—"</p> + +<p>"In time, perhaps. But +since your landing here, your +scientists have forgotten a +great deal about space flight. +I'm afraid you would have +never reached that Promised +Land ..."</p> + +<p>Andrusco said: "Then we +must die ..."</p> + +<p>"No!" Tom said.</p> + +<p>Livia looked at him.</p> + +<p>"I said no!" he repeated. +"The Antamundans can live. +Don't you see that?"</p> + +<p>"No," Andrusco said, shaking +his head. "On Earth, we +shall die. If Mars is closed to +us ..."</p> + +<p>"Can't you see? If Mars +can be opened for Earth, then +it can be opened for you, too. +For all Antamundans! Your +people can make the journey, +too, once space has been +cleared for Earth ships. You +can still have your new +home!"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," Livia said +dreamily. "Perhaps that is the +only way. But by then, Tom, +it will be already too late. +There has been no living child +born to us in the last ten +years. By the time the Earth +people reach Mars and establish +regular passageway—we +will be too old to keep the +race alive."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p>"Then let's speed it up!" he +said. "Let's make <i>sure</i> that +the space lanes open! Let's do +everything to make Space the +most important project on +Earth!"</p> + +<p>"But how?" Andrusco said, +bewildered.</p> + +<p>Tom went to the visiphone.</p> + +<p>"Get me the Lunt Theatre!" +he snapped.</p> + +<p>Homer Bradshaw's face appeared.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bradshaw?"</p> + +<p>"Hi, Tom! How's the boy?"</p> + +<p>"Great, Homer, great. Only +listen. I got a new angle for +you. We're gonna doctor up +that show of yours before the +opening. Don't worry about +the dough— Homelovers will +take care of it with pleasure."</p> + +<p>"Sure, Tom! Anything you +say!"</p> + +<p>"Then take this down. The +first thing we're changing is +the title. From now on it's +<i>Mars Or Bust</i> ..."</p> + +<p class="p1"><b>THE END</b></p> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Stories</i> December 1957. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Get Out of Our Skies!, by E. K. 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K. Jarvis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Get Out of Our Skies! + +Author: E. K. Jarvis + +Release Date: October 6, 2008 [EBook #26795] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + _The long-suffering public went along with billboards and + singing commercials; they tolerated half a dozen sales + pitches in a half-hour radio or TV show; they suffered + stoically through the "hard-sell" and the "soft-sell." But + when the hucksters turned the wild blue yonder into a vast + television screen, they howled----_ + + GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! + + By E. K. JARVIS + + +On the first cloudy day in November, Tom Blacker, the shining light of +Ostreich and Company, Public Relations Counsellors, placed a call to a +shirtsleeved man on the rooftop of the Cannon Building in New York City. + +His message brought an immediate response from the waiting engineer, who +flicked switches and twirled dials with expert motions, and brought into +play the gigantic 50,000-watt projector installed on the peak. + +In his own office, Tom paced the floor in front of the three-window +exposure, watching the heavens for the results. + +They weren't long in coming. + +The eyes came first. Eyes the size of Navy dirigibles, with pupils of +deep cerulean blue, floating against the backdrop of the gray cumulus. +The long lashes curled out almost a hundred feet from the lids. Then the +rest of Monica Mitchell's famous face appeared: the flowing yellow +locks, the sensuously curved lips, parted moistly from even white teeth. +From chin to hairline, the projected image above the city was close to a +thousand feet in diameter. + +Then, as if the floating countenance wasn't alarming enough, the ruby +lips began to move. Monica's sweet-sultry voice, like the first +drippings from a jar of honey, overcame the city sounds, and began +crooning the syrupy strains of _Love Me Alone_. Which happened, by no +coincidence, to be the title and theme song of Monica's newest epic. + +[Illustration: Monica's image--plastered across the heavens--stopped +traffic in all directions.] + +It was a triumph. Tom knew it the moment he looked down at the crowded +thoroughfare eighteen stories beneath the window. Traffic had come to a +more than normal standstill. Drivers were leaving their autos, and hands +were being upraised towards the gargantuan face on the clouds above. + +And of course, Tom's phone rang. + + * * * * * + +Ostreich's big scowling face was barely squeezed within the confines of +the visiphone screen. He said nothing intelligible for two minutes. + +"Relax, Chief," Tom said brightly. "I've been saving this as a +surprise." + +Ostreich's reply was censorable. + +"Now look, D. O. You gave me _carte blanche_ with this Mitchell babe, +remember? I figured we really needed a shot in the arm for this new +picture of hers. The receipts on her last turkey couldn't pay her +masseurs." + +Ostreich, who had built his firm by establishing golden public images +for various industrialists and their enterprises, had anticipated +trouble the moment he let the barrier down to admit such unworthy +clients as Monica Mitchell. But he had never anticipated that his ace +publicist would display such carnival tactics in their promotion. He +growled like a taunted leopard. + +"This is a cheap trick, Tom! Do you hear me? Turn that thing off at +once!" + +"Who, me?" Tom said innocently. "Gosh, D. O. I'm no engineer. I left +instructions with the operator to keep the projector going for three +hours, until sunset. Don't think I can do anything about it now." + +"You'll damn well _have_ to do something about it! You're ruining us!" + +"Look at it this way, Chief. What can we lose? If anybody takes offense, +we can blame it on that Hollywood gang." + +"Turn that damn thing off! If that blankety face isn't out of the sky in +ten minutes, you can start emptying your desk!" + +Tom was a redhead. He reached over and snapped the visiphone switch +before his boss could have the satisfaction. He stomped to the window, +still raging at Ostreich's lack of appreciation. + +But he chuckled when he saw the activity in the street. The crowds were +thickening at the intersections, and a special battalion of city police +were trying to keep things moving. Behind him, the visiphone was beeping +frantically again. + +He waited a full minute before answering, all set to snap at Ostreich +once more. + +But it wasn't Ostreich. It was a square-faced man with beetling brows +and a chin like the biting end of a steam shovel. It took Tom a while to +recognize the face of Stinson, commissioner of police. + +"Mr. Blacker?" + +"Yes, sir?" Tom gulped. + +"Mr. Ostreich referred me to you. You responsible for that--" the +commissioner's voice was choked. "--that menace?" + +"Menace, sir?" + +"You know what I'm talking about. We've got half a dozen CAA complaints +already. That thing's a menace to public safety, a hazard to air +travel--" + +"Look, Mr. Stinson. It's only a harmless publicity stunt." + +"Harmless? You got funny ideas, Mr. Blacker. Don't get the wrong idea +about our city ordinances. We got statutes that cover this kind of +thing. If you don't want to be a victim of one of them, turn that damned +monstrosity off!" + +The commissioner's angry visage left a reverse shadow burned on the +visiphone screen. It remained glowing there long after the contact was +broken. + +Tom Blacker walked the carpeted floor of his office, chewing on his +lower lip, and cursing the feeble imaginations of Ostreich and the rest +of them. When his temper had cooled, he got sober thoughts of +indictments, and law suits, and unemployment. With a sigh, he contacted +the engineer on the roof of the Cannon Building. Then he went to the +window, and watched Monica's thousand-foot face fade gradually out of +sight. + + * * * * * + +At four o'clock that afternoon, a long white envelope crossed Tom's +blotter. There was a check to the amount of a month's salary enclosed, +and a briefly-worded message from the office of the president. + +When he left the office, Ostreich's rolling phrases buzzed in his head +like swarming gnats. "... a mockery of a great profession ... lowering +of dignity ... incompatible with the highest ideals of ..." + +At ten o'clock that night, Tom was telling his troubles to a red-coated +man behind a chromium bar on Forty-ninth Street. The man listened with +all the gravity of a physician, and lined up the appropriate medicine in +front of his patient. + +By midnight, Tom was singing Christmas carols, in advance of the season, +with a tableful of Texans. + +At one o'clock, he swung a right cross at a mounted policeman, missed, +and fell beneath the horse's legs. + +At one-fifteen, he fell asleep against the shoulder of a B-girl as they +rode through the streets of the city in a sleek police vehicle. + +That was all Tom Blacker remembered, until he woke up in Livia Cord's +cozy two-room apartment. He moved his head and winced with the pain. + + * * * * * + +"Hi," the girl said. + +She was smiling down at him, and for a moment, her floating face +reminded Tom of the episode which had just cost him twenty grand a year. +He groaned, and rolled the other way on the contour couch. + +"Hair of the dog?" she said. There was a gleaming cannister in her hand. + +"No, thanks." He sat up, rubbing the stiff red hair on the back of his +head. One eye seemed permanently screwed shut, but the other managed to +take in his surroundings. It explored the girl first, and +appreciatively. + +She was wearing something black and satiny, cut in the newest +Dallas-approved style, with long, tantalizing diagonal slashes across +the breast and hips. Her hair was strikingly two-toned, black and +blonde. Her teeth were a blinding white, and had been filed to canine +sharpness. + +"My name's Livia," the girl said pleasantly. "Livia Cord. I hope you +don't mind what I did." + +"And what was that?" Tom's other eye popped open, almost audibly. + +"Bailing you out of jail. Seems you got into a fracas with a mounted +cop. I think you tried to punch his horse." + +"Nuts. I was trying to hit him." + +"Well, you didn't." She chuckled, and poured herself a drink. "You've +had quite a day, Mr. Blacker." + +"You said it." There was a taste in his mouth like cigar ashes. He tried +to stand up, but the weight on his head kept him where he was. "You +wouldn't have an oxygen pill around?" + +"Sure." She left with a toss of her skirt and a revelation of silky +calves. When she returned with the tablet and water, he took it +gratefully. After a few minutes, he felt better enough to ask: + +"Why?" + +"What's that?" + +"Why'd you bail me out? I don't know you. Or do I?" + +She laughed. "No. Not yet you don't. But I know you, Mr. Blacker. By +reputation, at any rate. You see--" She sat next to him on the couch, +and Tom was feeling well enough to tingle at her nearness. "We're in the +same line of work, you and I." + +"Unemployment?" + +"No," she smiled. "Public relations. Only I'm on the client's side of +the fence. I work for an organization called Homelovers, Incorporated. +Ever hear of them?" + +Tom shook his head. + +"Maybe you should. It's a rather important company, and growing. And +they're always on the lookout for superior talent." + + * * * * * + +He squinted at her. "What is this? A job offer?" + +"Maybe." She wriggled a little, and the slits in her dress widened just +a fraction. "We've got the nucleus of a good PR department now. But with +a really experienced man at the controls--it could grow enormously. +Think you might be interested?" + +"Maybe I would," Tom said. But he wasn't thinking about PR right then. + +"Mr. Andrusco's had you in mind for a long time," Livia Cord continued. +"I've mentioned your name to him several times as a possible candidate. +If you hadn't been fired from Ostreich, we might have tried to tempt you +away." Her fingers touched a stray lock of red hair. "Now--we don't have +to be surreptitious about it. Do we?" + +"No," Tom said guardedly. "I guess not." + +"If you're free tomorrow, I could arrange a meeting with Mr. Andrusco. +Would you like that?" + +"Well ..." + +"His office opens at nine. We could get there early." + +Tom looked at his watch. Livia said: "I know it's late. But we could get +an early start in the morning, right after breakfast. Couldn't we?" + +"I dunno," Tom frowned. "By the time I get home ..." + +"Home?" The girl leaned back. "Who said anything about home?" + +Her bedroom was monochromed. Even the sheets were pink. At five o'clock, +the false dawn glimmered through the window, and the light falling on +his eyes awakened him. He looked over at the sleeping girl, feeling +drugged and detached. She moaned slightly, and turned her face towards +him. He blinked at the sight of it, and cried aloud. + +"What is it?" She sat up in bed and nicked on the table lamp. "What's +the matter?" + +He looked at her carefully. She was beautiful. There wasn't even a +smudge of lipstick on her face. + +"Nothing," he said dreamily, and turned away. By the time he was asleep +again, his mind had already erased the strange image from his clouded +brain--that Livia Cord had absolutely no mouth at all. + + * * * * * + +It was hard to keep track of the glass-and-steel structures that had +been springing up daily along the Fifth-Madison Thruway. When Tom and +Livia stepped out of the cab in front of 320, he wasn't surprised that +the building--an odd, cylindrical affair with a pointed spire--was +strange to him. But he was taken aback to realize that all sixty floors +were the property of Homelovers, Incorporated. + +"Quite a place," he told the girl. + +She smiled at him tightly. Livia was crackling with business electricity +this morning, her spiked heels clicking along the marble floors of the +lobby like typewriter keys. She wore a tailored gray suit that clung to +her body with all the perfection and sexlessness of a window mannikin. +In the elevator, shooting towards the executive offices on the 57th +floor, Tom looked over at her and scratched his poorly-shaven cheeks in +wonderment. + +They plowed right through the frosty receptionist barrier, and entered +an office only half the size of Penn Station. The man behind the +U-shaped desk couldn't have been better suited to the surroundings by +Central Casting. He was cleft-jawed, tanned, exquisitely tailored. If +his polished brown toupee had been better fitted, he would have been +positively handsome. + +The handshake was firm. + +"Good to see you," he grinned. "Heard a lot about you, Mr. Blacker. All +of it good." + +"Well," Livia said airily. "I've done my part. Now you two come to +terms. Buzz me if you need me, J. A." + +John Andrusco unwrapped a cigar when she left, and said: "Well, now. +Suppose we get right down to cases, Mr. Blacker. Our organization is +badly in need of a public relations set-up that can pull out all the +stops. We have money and we have influence. Now all we need is guidance. +If you can supply that, there's a vacant chair at the end of the hall +that can accommodate your backside." He grinned manfully. + +"Well," Tom said delicately. "My big problem is this, Mr. Andrusco. I +don't know what the hell business you're in." + +The executive laughed heartily. "Then let me fill you in." + +He stepped over to a cork-lined wall, pressed a concealed button, and +panels parted. An organizational chart, with designations that were +meaningless to Tom, appeared behind it. + +"Speaking basically," Andrusco said, "Homelovers, Incorporated +represents the interests of the world's leading real estate concerns. +Land, you know, is still the number one commodity of Earth, the one +priceless possession that rarely deteriorates in value. In fact, with +the increase in the Earth's population, the one commodity that never +seems to be in excess supply." + +"I see," Tom said, not wholly in truth. + +"The stability of real estate is our prime concern. By unification of +our efforts, we have maintained these values over a good many years. But +as you know, a good business organization never rests on its laurels. +Sometimes, even basic human needs undergo unusual--alterations." + +"I'm not following too well," Tom said frankly. "Just where does public +relations come into this? I can't see much connection." + + * * * * * + +Andrusco frowned, but without wrinkling his serene brow too much. He +went to the multipaned window and locked his hands behind his back. + +"Let me put it this way, Mr. Blacker. With the Earth's population +approaching the three billion mark, you can imagine that real estate is +at a greater premium than ever--yes, even the remotest land areas have +gained in market value. But let me ask you this. If there were only a +hundred apples in the world, and you owned all of them, what would you +do if you learned that someone else had discovered a fruitful orchard, +which contains ten million apples?" + +"I'd go out of the apple business." + +"Precisely." Andrusco rocked on his heels. "In a sense, that's very much +the problem that Homelovers, Incorporated may have to face in the next +generation." + +"Somebody swiping your apples?" + +"In a way." The man chuckled. "Yes, in a way." He raised his arm slowly, +and pointed to the sky. "The apples," he said, "are up there." + +"Huh?" Tom said. + + * * * * * + +"Space, Mr. Blacker. Space is opening its doors to us. Already, the UN +Space Commission has launched some two dozen manned vehicles into the +outer reaches. Already, the satellite-building colony on the moon is +well under way. The progress of our space program has been accelerating +month by month. The expert predictions have been more and more +optimistic of late. In another ten, twenty years, the solar system will +be beckoning the children of Earth ..." + +Tom said nothing for a while. Then he cleared his throat. + +"Well ... I'm no expert on these things. But maybe the population could +stand a little more real estate, Mr. Andrusco. In twenty years ..." + +"Nonsense!" The voice was snappish. "The best authorities say it isn't +so. There's plenty of room on Earth. But if ever a mass exodus +begins--" + +"That doesn't seem possible," Tom said. "Does it? I mean, only a handful +of guys have ever gone out there. A drop in the bucket. I mean, Mars and +all that may be fun to visit, but who'd want to live there?" + +Andrusco turned to him slowly. + +"The apples in the new orchard may be sour, Mr. Blacker. But if your +livelihood depended on your own little stack of fruit--would you be +willing to sit by and take the chance?" + +Tom shrugged. "And is that the public relations job? To keep people out +of space?" + +"Put in its crudest form, yes." + +"A pretty tough job. You know that guff about Man's Pioneering Spirit." + +"Yes. But we're worried about the public spirit, Mr. Blacker. If we can +dampen their ardor for space flight--only delay it, mind you, for +another few years--we can tighten our own lines of economic defense. Do +I make myself clear?" + +"Not completely." + +"Will you take the job?" + +"What does it pay?" + +"Fifty thousand." + +"Where do I sit?" + + * * * * * + +By the afternoon, Tom Blacker was ensconced in a fair-sized office with +vaguely oriental furnishings and an ankle-deep rug. Livia's pretty +ankles visited it first. + +"Here's an outline I began on the PR program," she told him briskly, +dropping a sheet of paper on his desk. "I didn't get very far with it. +I'm sure you can add a lot." + +"Okay. I'll read it over this afternoon." He tipped the chair back. "How +about dinner tonight?" + +"Sorry. Busy tonight. Maybe later this week." + +But it wasn't until Friday, three days later, that he saw Livia Cord +again. He accomplished that by calling her in for a conference, +spreading his own typewritten notes on the desk in front of him. + +"Got some rough ideas drafted on the program," he told her. "The +possibilities of this thing are really unlimited. Granted, of course, +that there's money in this picture." + +"There's money all right," Livia said. "We don't have to worry about +that." + +"Good. I've put down a list of leading citizens that might be enrolled +as backers for anything we might come up with, people who have been +outspoken about the expense or danger of space flight. We'll keep it on +file, and add to it as new names crop up in the press. Then here's a +listing of categories for us to develop subprograms around. Religious, +economic, social, medical--Medical's good. There's a heck of a lot of +scare-value in stories about cosmic rays, alien diseases, plagues, zero +gravity sickness, all that sort of thing. Sterility is a good gimmick; +impotence is even better." + + * * * * * + +Livia smiled. "I know what you mean." + +"Mmm. Come to think of it, we ought to set up a special +woman's-point-of-view program, too. That'll be worth plenty. Then +there's the tax question. We'll have to see what we can set up in +Washington, some kind of anti-space lobby. Good feature story material +here, too. You know the stuff--one space vessel equals the cost of two +hundred country hospitals." + +"Sounds great." + +"We'll have to plan on press parties, special stuff for the magazines +and networks. I've got a plan for some Hollywood promotion to counteract +all this Destination Space garbage they've been turning out. And as for +television--" + +He talked on for another hour, feeling mounting excitement for the job +he was doing. Tom wasn't sure that he liked the aims of Homelovers, +Incorporated, but the challenge was enjoyable. Even at dinner that +night, in Livia's snug apartment, he rattled on about the PR program +until the girl began to yawn. + +The bedroom was still monochrome. Only Livia had transformed it +magically into powder blue. Tom slept blissfully until morning, and went +into the office that weekend for sheer love of what he was doing. + +After less than a month, his efforts started producing results. On a +crisp December morning, he found the following in his mail: + + _"EARTH SONG" + A Screenplay + by + Duncan Devine_ + + _Roger Tenblade, a dashing young rocket pilot in the UN Air Force, + yearns to join the Space Expeditionary Force now planning the first + landing and colonization of the planet Mars. Despite the protest of + his lovely fiancee, Diane, he embarks upon the journey. The trip is + fraught with hazards, and the ship is struck by a meteor en route. + Every member of the crew is killed, except Roger, who heroically + brings the vessel back to home base. However, Roger is exposed to + large amounts of cosmic radiation. When he is so informed by the + medical authorities, he realizes that he can never make Diane a + normal husband. So rather than return to her and ruin her life, he + changes his identity and disappears to South America, where he takes + a job as a shuttle pilot for a third-class airline._ + + _Meanwhile, Diane marries Harold Farnsworth, scion of one of + America's wealthiest families ..._ + +Tom Blacker chuckled, and slipped the scenario back into the envelope. +He marked the manuscript "O.K. for Production," and turned to the other +mail. + +There was the prospectus of a television series that sounded +interesting. He looked it over carefully. + + _"CAPTAIN TERRA" + Half-hour Television Series + written by + Craig Comfort_ + + _Captain Terra, and his Earth Cadets are dedicated to the principle + of "Earth Above All" and have sworn their lives to the preservation + of Earth and its peoples, and to the protection of Earth against the + hostile aliens constantly threatening the planet._ + + _Program One, Act One_ + + _Bobby, Captain Terra's youthful aide, is attacked one day by a + strange creature which he describes as half-man, half-snake. He + reports the incident to Captain Terra, who calls a special session + of his Earth Patrol to determine how best to deal with this + enemy ..._ + +Tom read the prospectus through, and then dictated a letter to its +producers to call for an appointment. + +At the bottom of the mail pile, he found an enthusiastic letter from a +theatrical producer named Homer Bradshaw, whom he had dealt with briefly +during his career at Ostreich and Company. + + _Dear Tom,_ + + _Great to hear about your new connection! Have a fabulous gimmick + that ought to be right down your alley. Am thinking of producing a + new extravaganza entitled: "Be It Ever So Humble."_ + + _This will be a real classy show, with plenty of chorus line and + top gags. We plan to kid the pants off this spaceman business, until + those bright boys in the glass hats cry uncle. I've already lined up + James Hocum for the top banana, and Sylvia Crowe for the female + lead. You know Sylvia, Tom; she'll make space flight sound about as + chic as a debutante's ball on the Staten Island Ferry. This is the + way to do the job, Tom--laugh 'em out of it._ + + _If you're interested in a piece of this, you can always reach me + at ..._ + +He was about to call it a day at five-thirty, when he got a visiphone +call from John Andrusco. When he walked into the immense office at the +other end of the floor, he saw a glassy-eyed man standing at Andrusco's +desk, twirling his hat with nervous fingers. + +"Tom," Andrusco said cheerfully, "want you to meet somebody. This is +Sergeant Walt Spencer, formerly of the UN Space Commission." + +Tom shook the man's hand, and he could feel it trembling in his own. + +"I called Walt in here specially, thanks to that memo you sent me, Tom. +Great idea of yours, about talking to some of the boys who've actually +been in space. Walter here's willing to cooperate a hundred percent." + +"That's fine," Tom said uneasily. + +"Thought you two ought to get together," Andrusco said, reaching for his +hat. "Think he can help a lot, Tom. Talk it over." + +"Well--suppose we have a drink, Sergeant? That fit your plans all +right?" + +"Suits me," the man said, without emotion. + +They went down in the elevator together, and slid into a red-leather +booth in the Tuscany Bar in the base of the building. The sergeant +ordered a double Scotch, and gulped it with the same respect you give +water. + +"So you've been in space," Tom said, looking at him curiously. "Must +have been quite an experience." + +"Yeah." + +"Er--I take it you've left the service." + +"Yeah." + +Tom frowned, and sipped his martini. "How many trips did you make, +Sergeant?" + +"Just one. Reconnaissance Moon Flight Four. About six years ago. You +must have read about it." + +"Yes," Tom said. "Sorry." + +The man shrugged. "Things happen. Even on Earth, things happen." + +"Tell me something." Tom leaned forward. "Is it true about--" He paused, +embarrassed. "Well, you hear a lot of stories. But I understand some of +the men on that flight, the ones who got back all right, had children. +And--well, you know how rumors go--" + +"Lies," Spencer said, without rancor. "I've got two kids myself. Both of +'em normal." + +"Oh." Tom tried to hide his disappointment behind the cocktail glass. It +would have made great copy, if he could have proved the truth of the old +rumor about two-headed babies. But what _could_ Sergeant Spencer do for +the PR program? Andrusco must have had something in mind. + + * * * * * + +He asked him point-blank. + +"It's like this," the man said, his eyes distant. "Since I quit the +service, I haven't been doin' so good. With jobs, I mean. And Mr. +Andrusco--he said he'd give me five thousand dollars if I'd--help you +people." + +"Did Mr. Andrusco describe this help?" + +"Yeah. He wants me to do a story. About the kid my wife had. The first +kid." + +"What about the first kid?" + +"Well, she died, the first kid did. In childbirth. It was something +that happens, you know. My wife's a little woman; the baby was +smothered." + +"I see. And what kind of story do you want to tell?" + +"It's not my idea." A hint of stubbornness glimmered in his dull eyes. +"It's that Andrusco guy's. He wants me to tell how the baby was born +a--mutant." + +"What?" + +"He wants me to release a story saying the baby was a freak. The kid was +born at home, you see. The only other person who saw her, besides me and +my wife, was this doctor we had. And he died a couple of years back." + +Tom slumped in his chair. This was pushing public relations a little +far. + +"Well, I dunno," he said. "If the baby was really normal--" + +"It was normal, all right. Only dead, that's all." + +Tom stood up. "Okay, Sergeant Spencer. Let me think it over, and I'll +give you a buzz before the end of the week. All right?" + +"Anything you say, Chief." + + * * * * * + +In the morning, Tom Blacker went storming into John Andrusco's plush +office. + +"Now look, Mr. Andrusco. I don't mind slanting a story a little far. But +this Spencer story of yours is nothing but a hoax." + +Andrusco looked hurt. "Did he tell you that? How do you like that +nerve?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, that story's as genuine as gold. We've known about the freak birth +for a long time. Cosmic rays, you know. Those men on that reconnaissance +flight really got bombarded." + +Tom wasn't sure of himself. "You mean, it's true?" + +"Of course it is! As a matter of fact, we've got a photograph of the +dead baby, right after it was delivered. The doctor who attended Mrs. +Spencer took it without their knowledge, as a medical curiosity. He sold +it to us several years ago. We've never used it before, because we knew +that the Spencers would just deny it. Now that Walt's willing to +cooperate ..." + +"Can I see the photo?" + +"Why, certainly." He opened the top drawer and handed a glossy print +across the desk. Tom looked at it, and winced. + +"Scales!" he said. + +"Like a fish," Andrusco said sadly. "Pretty sad, isn't it?" He looked +out of the window and sighed cavernously. "It's a menacing world up +there...." + +The rest of the day was wasted. Tom Blacker's mind wasn't functioning +right. + +He told Livia about it at lunch. + +Livia Cord continued eating, chewing delicately on her food without +flexing a muscle or wincing an eyebrow. + + * * * * * + +On the Third of April, the story of Sergeant Walter Spencer's first-born +monster broke in newspapers, magazines, and telecasts across the +country. It was a five-year-old story, but it carried too much +significance for the space-minded present to be ignored. + +Two days later, Sergeant Spencer, 32, and his wife, Laura, 30, were +found dead of asphyxiation in their new home in Greenwich, Connecticut. +The cause of death was listed as suicide. + +Tom Blacker didn't hear the news until a day after it happened. He was +in Washington, setting up a series of meetings with members of a House +group investigating space flight expenditures. When he returned by +'copter that evening, he found Police Commissioner Joe Stinson waiting +for him in Tom's own favorite chair. + +The square, heavy-jowled face was strangely calm. + +"Long time no see," he said mildly. "You've been a busy man lately, Mr. +Blacker." + +"Hello, Mr. Stinson. Won't you come in?" + +"I'm in," the commissioner shrugged. "Landlord let me wait here. It's +chilly outside. Do you want the preliminaries, or should we have the +main bout?" + +"It's about Spencer, isn't it?" Tom built himself a long drink. "I heard +about it on the 'copter radio, flying in. Too bad. He was a nice guy; I +never met his wife." + +"But you knew him, right? In fact, you and the sergeant did a lot of +business together?" + +"Look, Mr. Stinson. You know what kind of job I'm trying to do. It's no +secret. Spencer's story happened to gear in nicely with our public +relations effort. And that's all." + +"Maybe it is." The commissioner's eyes hardened. "Only some of us aren't +satisfied. Some of us are kinda restless about the coroner's verdict." + +"What?" + +"You heard me. It's fishy, you know? Nice young couple buys a new house, +then turns on the gas. Leave behind a couple of kids, too. Boys, nice +boys." + +"I couldn't feel worse about it," Tom said glumly. "In a way, I can +almost feel responsible ..." + +"How?" + +"I dunno. They were perfectly willing to release that story about their +first-born. But maybe when they actually saw it in print, they couldn't +stand the spotlight--" + +"And that's your theory?" + +"Yes. But I hope I'm wrong, Mr. Stinson. For my own sake." + +The commissioner drew a folded sheet of paper out of his pocket. + +"Let me read you something. This hasn't been released to the press, and +maybe it won't be. Interested?" + +"Of course." + +"It's a letter. A letter that was never mailed. It's addressed to Tom +Blacker, care of Homelovers, Incorporated, 320 Fifth-Madison, New York." + +"What?" Tom reached for it. + +"Uh-uh. It was never mailed, so it's not your property. But I'll read it +to you." He slipped on a pair of bifocals. + + _Dear Mr. Blacker. I've been trying to reach you all week, but + you've been out of town. Laura and I have just seen the first news + story about our baby, and we're just sick about it. Why didn't you + tell us about that photograph you were going to print? If we had + known about that, we never would have consented to doing what you + wanted. My wife never gave birth to that damned thing, and I don't + care who knows it. I've called Mr. Andrusco to tell him that we + don't want any part of this business any more. I'd send you back + every penny of the five thousand dollars, only we've already spent + half of it. I'm going to call the newspapers and tell them + everything ..._ + +The commissioner paused. "It goes on for another half page. But no use +reading any more. I'd like a reaction, Mr. Blacker. Got one handy?" + +Tom was on his feet. + +"I don't believe it!" His fist thudded into his palm. "The letter's a +fake!" + +"That's easy to prove, Mr. Blacker." + +"But the picture was genuine! Don't you see that? Sure, we paid Spencer +something for his cooperation. But the picture was the real thing, taken +by his family doctor. You've heard what the medical authorities said +about it." + +Stinson said nothing. Then he got up slowly and walked to the door. + +"Maybe so. But you're missing the point I want to make, Mr. Blacker. +This letter was dated the same day as the Spencer suicides. Does it +sound to you like the kind of thing a man would put in a suicide note? +Think it over." + +Tom looked at the door the commissioner closed behind him. + +"No," he said aloud. "It doesn't." + + * * * * * + +Tom didn't go to the Homelovers building the next morning. He proceeded +directly to the Lunt Theatre, where Homer Bradshaw was putting _Be It +Ever So Humble_ into rehearsal. + +He was in no mood for the theatre, but the appointment had been made too +long before. When he came through the doors of the theatre, Homer leaped +halfway up the aisle to greet him, and pounded his back like a long-lost +pal. Actually, he had met the producer only twice before. + +"Great to have you here, Tom!" he said enthusiastically. "Great! We've +just been putting things together. Got some red-hot numbers we had +written specially for us. Wait 'til you hear 'em!" He waved towards the +two shirtsleeved men hovering around the on-stage piano. "You know +Julie, don't you? And Milt Steiner? Great team! Great team!" + +They took seats in the sixth row while Homer raved about the forthcoming +production that was going to cost Homelovers, Incorporated some hundred +thousand dollars. A dozen shapely girls in shorts and leotards were +kicking their heels lackadaisically in the background, and a stout man +with a wild checkered suit was wandering around the stage with an unlit +cigar in his hand, begging the stagehands for a match. + +"Hey, fellas!" Homer Bradshaw called to the men at the piano. "Run +through that _Gypsy_ number for Mr. Blacker, huh?" + +They came to life like animated dolls. The tallest of the pair stepped +in front of the stage while the other thumped the piano keys. The tall +one sang in a loud nasal voice, with an abundance of gestures. + + "_Gypsy! + Gypsy! + Why do you have to be a gypsy? + Life could be so ipsy-pipsy + Staying home and getting tipsy + Safe on Earth with me!_" + +He swung into the second chorus while Tom Blacker kept his face from +showing his true opinion of the specialty number. The next offering +didn't change his viewpoint. It was a ballad. A blonde girl in clinging +black shorts sang it feelingly. + + "_There's a beautiful Earth tonight + With a beautiful mellow light + Shining on my spaceman in the moon. + Why did he leave me? + Only to grieve me? + Spaceman, come home to me soon ..._" + +"Did you like it? Did you like it?" Homer Bradshaw said eagerly. + +"It'll do fine," Tom Blacker said, with his teeth clenched. + + * * * * * + +When he left the theatre, Tom visiphoned the office to tell Livia that +he was taking the rest of the day off. But he found that Livia herself +was spending the day in her two-room apartment downtown. He hung up, and +decided that he had to talk to her about Stinson's visit. He hopped a +cab, and gave him Livia's address. + +John Andrusco answered the door. + +"Well! Thought you were at the office, Tom?" + +He found himself glaring at the lean-jawed executive. What was Andrusco +doing here? + +"I've been over at the theatre," Tom explained. "Watching that musical +we're spending all that dough on." He stepped inside. "I might say the +same about you, Mr. Andrusco." + +"Me? Oh, I just came to talk over some business with Livia. Poor kid's +not feeling so hot, you know." + +"No, I didn't." He dropped his hat familiarly on the contour couch, with +almost too much deliberation. "Livia in bed?" + +"No." The girl appeared at the door of the bedroom, wrapping a +powder-blue negligee around her. "What brings you here, Tom?" + +"I--I wanted to talk something over with you. Now that you're here, Mr. +Andrusco, we can _all_ talk it over." + +"What's that?" Andrusco made himself at home at the bar. + +"It's about Walt Spencer. I had a visitor last night, the police +commissioner. He showed me a letter that Spencer had written just before +he--before he died. It was addressed to me, only Spencer had never +mailed it." + +Andrusco looked sharply at the girl. "And what was in this letter?" + +"He was upset," Tom said. "He wanted to back out of the deal we made. +Said the picture was a phoney. But the thing that's bothering the police +is the _tone_ of the damned letter. It just doesn't sound like a man +about to kill himself and his wife--" + +"Is that all?" Livia took the drink from Andrusco's hand and sipped at +it. "I thought it was something serious." + +"It is serious!" Tom looked sternly at her. "I want to know something, +Mr. Andrusco. You told me that picture was genuine. Now I want you to +tell me again." + +The man smiled, with perfect teeth. "How do you mean, genuine? Is it a +picture of a genuine infant with scales?" + +"Yes." + +"I assure you. In that respect, the picture is absolutely genuine." + +Tom thought it over. + +"Wait a while. Was the story genuine, too?" + +John Andrusco smiled. He sat on the sofa, and rubbed the palms of his +hands over his knees. Then he looked towards Livia Cord and said: + +"Well--I didn't think we could hold out on our clever Mr. Blacker as +long as we have. So we might as well enlist his cooperation fully. Eh, +Livia?" + +"I think so." The girl smiled, her teeth sharp. + +"What does that mean?" Tom said. + +"The infant," John Andrusco answered slowly, "was not Walter Spencer's +child. That, I'm afraid, was nothing more than a little white lie." + +Tom looked confused. + +"Then what was it?" + +Livia finished her drink. + +"It was my child." + + * * * * * + +The man and the woman, whose grins now seemed permanently affixed to +their faces, were forced to wait a considerable amount of time before +Tom Blacker was both ready and able to listen to their explanation. + +Livia did most of the talking. + +"You'll probably be horrified at all this," she said, with a trace of +amusement around her red mouth. "Particularly since you and I have +been--" She paused, and looked towards Andrusco with a slight lift of +her shoulder. "Well, you know. But you needn't feel too squeamish, Tom. +After all, I was born and raised on Earth. I am, you might say, an +honorary Earth woman." + +Tom's eyes bulged at her. + +"This civilization from which my husband and I claim ancestry is perhaps +no older than your own. Unfortunately, we were not blessed with a +planetary situation as agreeable as Earth's. Our sun is far feebler, the +orbital paths of our moons act drastically upon our waters, causing +generations of drought and centuries of flood ..." + +"What are you talking about?" Tom said hoarsely. + +"I speak of home," Livia Cord said. And her eyes gleamed. + +"Antamunda is the name we give it," John Andrusco said cordially. "A +world very much like your own in size and atmosphere, Mr. Blacker. But +tragically, a world whose usefulness has been gradually coming to an +end. Our ancestors, who were scientists of much ability, foresaw this +some hundreds of years ago. Since that time, they have been seeking a +solution to the problem." + +"I don't believe this!" + +"We have," Livia said carefully, "excellent evidence." + +"Some five hundred years ago," Andrusco continued, "our people +despatched an exploratory space vessel. A home-hunting force, seeking to +relocate the surviving members of our race. It was a long, trying +odyssey, but it finally culminated in the selection of a new home. I +needn't tell you that the home is in your own solar system." + +Tom shot to his feet. "You mean Earth? You mean you want to take over +here--" + +Andrusco looked shocked. "Certainly not! What a violent thought, Mr. +Blacker!" + +"The planet you call Mars," Livia said coolly, "was the selected +destination. A planet with only limited facilities for the support of +life. But a planet even more like our own dying world than Earth, Mr. +Blacker. So you needn't cry havoc about alien invaders." She laughed +sharply. + +"Then what are you doing here?" + +"Merely waiting," Andrusco said. "We are the offspring of the surviving +members of the expeditionary force from Antamunda, placed here on Earth +as a vanguard of the immigration that will shortly take place to this +system. But your own world is in no danger, Mr. Blacker. That you must +believe. Physically, our people are not your equals. Scientifically, we +are advanced in certain fields and shamefully backwards in others. +Biologically--" He frowned. "This is our greatest weakness. To the +Antamundans, your breeding capacity is nothing short of grotesque." His +handsome lip curled. He enjoyed watching Tom's reaction. + + * * * * * + +Tom swallowed hard. "How long have you been here?" + +"Some four generations have been born here. Our duty has been merely to +await the arrival of our people. But in the last fifty years, we found +ourselves faced with another obligation. It was that obligation which +brought about the formation of Homelovers, Incorporated." + +"I don't understand." + +"We had underestimated the science of Earth. Our own necessity drove us +towards the perfection of space flight. Earth had no such urgency. But +now--" Livia looked mournful. "Now we were faced with the possibility +that Mars would soon be a colony of your own planet, before our people +had a chance to make it their rightful home. You can see the +consequences of that. A conflict of interests, a question of territorial +rights. Even the possibility of an interplanetary war--" + +"War!" + +"A possibility greatly to be abhorred," Andrusco said. "And one we were +sure we could eliminate, if we could merely _delay_ the colonization of +Mars." + +"Don't you see?" Livia said earnestly. "If we could make Mars our +natural home, then the people of Earth would come to us as friendly +visitors--or invaders, whichever they prefer. But if we arrived too +late-- No, Tom. We feel that it is imperative--to the peace of _both_ +our worlds--that Antamunda reach Mars first." + +"Then it's a race!" Tom was bewildered. + +"You may call it that. But a race we are determined to win. And we +_will_ win!" + +Tom thought of another question. + +"The infant," he said. "The creature with scales ..." + +"It was mine," the girl said sadly. "Born to John and me some ten years +ago. Unfortunately, it did not live. And while your Earth eyes may +consider it a creature--" She drew herself up proudly. "It was a +perfectly formed Antamundan child." + +Tom gaped at her. + +"No," she said, answering the question in his gaze. "You are looking at +us as we are. We lose our scales after our infancy, when our mouths are +formed ..." + +After a while, Tom asked: + +"And what about Spencer?" + +"Unfortunate," the man said. "His betrayal to the press would have done +us incalculable harm. It was necessary to do what we did." + +"Then you did kill them?" + +Livia turned her head aside. + +"And you think I'll stand for that?" Tom said. + +"Perhaps not," Andrusco said. "But frankly--I don't really know what you +can do about it. Except, of course, repeat this explanation to the +authorities. You're free to do that, Tom. Any time at all." He smiled, +slyly. + +"You think they won't believe me?" + +Livia came over to Tom's chair, and slithered one arm around his +shoulder. + +"Why, Tom, darling. Are you so sure that _you_ believe it?" + + * * * * * + +He left the apartment some ten minutes later, and took a cab to 320 +Fifth-Madison. It was almost five o'clock, and the steel-and-glass +cylinder was emptying rapidly of its Homelovers employees. He watched +the stream of ordinary people stepping off the elevators: the young +secretaries with their fresh faces and slim figures, laughing at office +anecdotes and sharing intimate confidences about office bachelors; the +smooth-cheeked young executives, in their gray and blue suits, gripping +well-stocked brief cases, and striding energetically down the lobby, +heading for the commuter trains; the paunchy, dignified men with their +gray temples and gleaming spectacles, walking slowly to the exits, +quoting stock prices and planning golf dates. + +The crowd eddied about him like a battling current as he made his way +towards the elevators, and their images swam before his face in +pink-and-white blurs. And for one terrible moment, in the thickest +vortex of the crowd, he began to imagine that the faces were melting +before his eyes, the mouths disappearing into the flesh, and below the +white collars and black-knit ties and starched pink blouses appeared a +shimmering collection of ugly scales. + +He shuddered, and stepped into an empty car, punching the button that +shot him to the executive floor of the Homelovers Building. + +In his office, he switched on the visiphone and made contact with a +square-faced man who frowned mightily when he recognized his caller. + +"What do you want?" Stinson said. + +"I have to see you," Tom told him. "I learned something this afternoon, +about Walt Spencer. I don't know whether you'll believe it or not, but I +have to take that chance. Will you talk to me?" + +"All right. But we'll have to make it down here." + +"I'll be there in an hour. I want to organize a few things first. Then +we can talk." + +Tom switched off, and began to empty his desk. He found nothing in the +official communications of the Homelovers that would substantiate his +story, but he continued to gather what information he could about the PR +program. + +He was just clicking the locks on his brief case, when a gray-haired +woman with a pencil thrust into her curls popped her head in the +doorway. + +"Mr. Blacker?" she smiled. "I'm Dora, Mr. Wright's secretary. Mr. Wright +wants to know if you'll stop in to see him." + +"Wright?" Tom said blankly. + +"The treasurer. His office is just down the hall. He's very anxious to +see you, something about the expense sheets you turned in last week." + +Tom frowned. "Why don't I see him in the morning?" + +"It won't take but a minute." + +"All right." + +He sighed, picked up the brief case, and followed Dora outside. She +showed him the door of an office some thirty paces from his own, and he +entered without knocking. + +A frail man, with a bald head and a squiggly moustache, stood up behind +his desk. + +"Oh, dear," he said nervously. "I'm terribly sorry to do this, Mr. +Blacker. But I have my instructions." + +"Do what?" + +"Oh, dear," Mr. Wright said again. + + * * * * * + +He took the gun that was lying in his out-box, and fired it. His +trembling hand sent the bullet spanging into the wooden frame of the +door. Tom dropped to the thick carpet, and then scrambled to the tall +credenza set against the right wall of the office. He shoved it aside +with his left hand and ducked behind it. The treasurer came out from +behind his desk, still muttering to himself. + +"Please," he said in anguish, "this is very painful for me!" + +He fired the gun again, and the bullet tore a white hole in the wall +above Tom's head. + +"Don't be so difficult," the little man pleaded. "Sooner or later--" + +But Tom insisted upon being difficult. His fingers closed around a loose +volume of New York State Tax Laws, and jiggled it in readiness. When the +little treasurer came closer, he sprung from hiding and hurled the book. +It slammed against Wright's side, and surprised him enough to send the +arm holding the weapon into the air. That was the advantage Tom wanted. +He leaped in a low-flying tackle, and brought Wright to the carpet. Then +he was on top of the little man, grappling for the gun. Tom fought hard +to get the gun. + +He got it, but not before it was fired again. + +Tom looked down at the widening stain that was marring the smooth +texture of the carpet and was horrified. He bent down over the frail +figure, lifting the bald head in his hands. + +"Mr. Wright!" + +The treasurer groaned. "Sorry," he said. "Instructions, Mr. Blacker ..." + +"From whom? Andrusco?" + +"Yes ... Your message reported from switchboard ... had orders ..." + +"Is it true?" Tom said frantically. "About Antamunda? Is the story +true?" + +The little man nodded. Then he lifted one hand feebly towards the desk. +"Gary," he said. "Tell Gary ..." + +Tom looked in the direction of the gesture, and saw the back of a framed +photograph. + +When he turned to the treasurer again, the thin lips had stopped moving. + +He lowered the body to the floor and went to the desk. The photo was +that of a young man with stiff-bristled blond hair and a rugged smile. +The inscription read: + + "_To Pop, with deep affection, Gary._" + +Tom shook his head, wonderingly. Were these creatures so very different? + + * * * * * + +When Tom stepped out on Fifth-Madison some ten minutes later, it was +just in time to watch a police vehicle draw up to the entrance of 320. +Sensing danger, he stepped into the shade of the Tuscany Bar awning, and +watched the uniformed men pound their way down the marbled lobby floor +towards the elevators. He thought fast, and decided that the arrival of +the police was connected with the shooting in Wright's office. + +The question was--who were they after? + +He walked into the Tuscany, and headed for the bank of visiphone booths. +He dialed the police commissioner, but ducked out of the path of the +visiphone eye. + +Stinson growled at the blank screen. "Who is it?" + +"Never mind," Tom said, muffling his voice. "But if you want the killers +of Walt Spencer and his wife, pick up John Andrusco and a gal named +Livia Cord." + +"Okay, Blacker," Stinson thundered. "I knew you'd be calling in." + +Tom swore, and showed himself. "Listen, I'm telling you the truth. They +told me the whole story. Then they tried to have me killed." + +"Is that so? And I suppose the assassin was a guy named Wright?" + +"Yes!" + +"Okay, wise guy. We're on to you. You've been pocketing some of that +Homelovers dough, and the treasurer found you out. Isn't that the +story?" + +"No! Wright's one of _them_." + +"Sure, pal. Whatever you say. Only stay right where you are so you can +do your explaining proper." + +Tom tightened his lips. "Uh-huh. I don't like the sound of things. I'll +see you later, Mr. Stinson." + +"Blacker!" + +Tom switched off. + +By the time he was settled behind the red neck of a cab-driver, Tom was +wiping a dripping film of sweat from his forehead. He couldn't return to +his apartment; there was bound to be a stake-out. He couldn't go to +Livia's; that would be walking right into danger. And he couldn't go to +Stinson, without risking a murder charge. + +He leaned forward. + +"Driver--make that the LaGuardia Heliport." + +However efficient Stinson's operations might have been, their tentacles +hadn't reached the 'copter-rental station at the heliport. Tom signed +out a speedy vessel under an assumed name, and taxied it down the +runway. Then he pointed the nose west, and radioed ahead to his +destination at Washington, D. C. + + * * * * * + +Colonel Grady Mordigan had the thoughtful air of a scholar and the body +of a college wrestler. When Tom Blacker's name was announced to him, his +mouth turned down grimly. He was commanding officer of the Space Flight +Commission of the UN Air Force, and he had good reason to frown at the +sound of the PR man's name. + +But he invited him into his office. + +"So you're Tom Blacker," he said, pinching his jaw. "I've heard a lot +about you, Mr. Blacker." + +"I'm sure," Tom said. "Only I want to tell you this, Colonel. I've +broken my connection with Homelovers. I'm on your side now." + +"Side? There are no sides in this issue, Mr. Blacker. As far as I'm +concerned, Homelovers is nothing but a flea on the lip of a lion. A +damned annoying flea, maybe--but nothing more than that. Now what do you +want?" + +"I have to talk to you about something. Something I just found out. Will +you listen to me?" + +The colonel leaned back, looking at his watch. + +"Five minutes," he snapped. + + * * * * * + +Tom talked for fifteen. Mordigan didn't call a halt until he was +finished, listening without a change of expression. When Tom ran out of +words, he merely tapped his fingers on the desk. + +"And that's your whole story?" he said gently. + +"Yes, sir. I know it's a wild one. That's one of the things they're +counting on. It's just wild enough to get me put into a laughing +academy, where I can't do them any mischief. But I had to take that +chance, Colonel." + +"I see. And this--man you killed. What's happening about that?" + +"I don't know," Tom said. "The way I figure it, Andrusco and the girl +have told the police that I was embezzling money from the firm--that I +killed the treasurer for my own protection. But it's not true! He's one +of _them_--one of those creatures--" + +"But you have no real proof?" + +Tom's back stiffened. "No," he said grimly. "If I had proof, I'd have +gone to the police. But I came here instead. Now you can tell me if I +did the right thing." + +Mordigan grimaced. "I don't know, damn it! I don't have any love for the +Homelovers. To me, they've always been a bunch of greedy businessmen, +intent on salvaging their franchises at any expense. But it's not easy to +think of them as a bunch of--" His mouth twisted. "Loathsome aliens ..." + +"Maybe not so loathsome," Tom said miserably. "I just don't know. Maybe +their cause is as just to them as ours is to us. But they're determined +to reach Mars before we do--before you do! And they'll do anything to +make sure--" + +The colonel stood up. "But I'm afraid that question is academic, Mr. +Blacker. Because if our calculations are right, an Earth vessel will be +on the planet Mars within the next thirty-six hours." + +"What?" + +"No announcement has been made. But a Mars-bound ship was launched +almost a month ago, containing seven members of the space commission. +Our last radio contact with Captain Wright leads us to expect--" + +"_Who?_" Tom was on his feet. + +"Captain Gary Wright, the commander of the ship." His brow knitted. +"Why? Do you know him?" + +"I'm not sure," Tom said weakly. "But if he's the same man--then that +flight's in danger." + +"What are you talking about?" + + * * * * * + +Tom concluded his story about the death of the Homelovers treasurer, +down to the last detail of the framed photograph on Wright's desk. The +tale brought Colonel Mordigan into immediate action. He buzzed for his +orderly, and in another minute, was fumbling through a folder marked +Classified. + +"Yes," he said numbly. "It's the same man. Father's named Benjamin +Wright, and he's vice-president and treasurer of Homelovers, +Incorporated. I never connected the two ..." He looked up, his eyes +heavy. "If your story is true, Mr. Blacker, then Captain Wright is one +of these so-called Antamundans. And if their mission is what you say it +is--" + +Tom clenched his fists on the blotter. "Please, sir! Let me stay here +until the flight is concluded. After that, you can do what you like." + +"All right," Mordigan said wearily. "I'll fix you up with something in +the officer's quarters. But I'm sure you're wrong, Mr. Blacker. You +_have_ to be." + +Twenty-four hours later, radio contact with the Mars expeditionary ship +ceased abruptly. + +From Mt. Wilson observatory, a hurried message arrived, reporting a +small, brief nova in the orbital vicinity of the planet Mars. + +Tom Blacker, dozing fitfully on a cot in the quarters of a grumpy +Lieutenant-Colonel, was awakened suddenly, and summoned to the office of +Colonel Grady Mordigan. + +"Very well, Mr. Blacker," the colonel said stiffly. "I'm willing to +help. Just tell me what you want me to do." + + * * * * * + +The receptionist smiled icily at Tom, and then the smile vanished like a +Martian polar cap. + +"Why--Mr. Blacker!" + +"Hi, Stella," he grinned. "Mr. Andrusco in his office?" + +"Why, I don't know. Suppose I give him a ring--" + +He stopped the hand that was reaching for the telephone. "No need of +that. I think I'll just surprise him. After all, it's been some time." + +He turned the knob of John Andrusco's door slowly. + +Livia was with him. When he entered, they both stood up hastily, their +eyes wide and their mouths unhinged. + +Livia reacted first. She cried out his name, and then sat down heavily, +as if the words had been a physical force. + +"Hi, Livia," Tom said casually. "Good to see you again, Mr. Andrusco. +Sorry that I haven't been around--but things have been pretty hectic for +me lately." + +"How did you get here?" Andrusco's voice was choked. + +"I've been here all weekend, if you want to know." Tom seated himself +blithely. "As a matter of fact, the Homelovers Building has had quite a +lot of visitors this weekend." + +"What do you mean?" + +"You know the staff of cleaning personnel that invades this place every +Saturday? Well, there were some changes made this particular weekend. +I'm sure you'll be interested in hearing about them." + +Livia said: "Shall I call the police, John?" + +"The police were represented," Tom said. "Don't worry about that. In +fact, the top technicians from three government agencies were doing the +housework around here this weekend, Mr. Andrusco. They probably didn't +get the building much cleaner--but they swept up a lot of other things. +Yes, they certainly uncovered other things." + + * * * * * + +Andrusco walked over to Livia, and touched her shoulder in a comforting +gesture. The sight of them made Tom scowl. + +"All right!" he said roughly. "I'm not blaming you for what you're +doing. But things were getting out of hand, Mr. Andrusco. That's why we +had to put a stop to it." + +"And have you?" Andrusco asked politely. + +"I'm afraid so. It was quite a shock, let me tell you. We didn't know +what to expect when we dissected this building of yours. But the last +thing we expected to find was--a spaceship." + +Andrusco smiled. "It was cleverly done. You'll have to admit that." + +"I do," Tom said fervently. "You've got those space flight experts +absolutely insane with curiosity. They'll want to hear the whole story. +Will you give it to them?" + +The man shrugged. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. I presume the engines +have been dismantled?" + +"Made inoperable, yes. It would have been a great trick, if you could +have done it." + +Livia spoke sadly. "It was the only thing we could have done. There's no +place on this Earth where we could have erected a spaceship without +being observed. So we created this building. In time, we would have +perfected the mechanism and left this silly planet of yours." + +"That's what I don't understand," Tom said. "What about Antamunda--and +the survivors--" + +"There's no longer an Antamunda," John Andrusco said hollowly. "The +story we told you was true in its essence, but not, I'm afraid complete. +You see, the exodus that took place five hundred years ago was a total +exodus. The entire population of our world--a handful, a pitiful ragged +thousand--left Antamunda for this planet. We thought to make it our new +home, for all eternity. But in time, we learned that we had emigrated to +an extinction just as certain." + +"What do you mean?" + +"This world is cursed to us, Mr. Blacker. I can't tell you why. We breed +slowly, infrequently--you might even say, thoughtfully. And on your +planet, but one child in a thousand has survived the rigors of +childbirth on Earth." He looked at Livia, and the woman lowered her eyes +in remembered sorrow. + +"That's why we had to leave," Andrusco said. "To repopulate elsewhere. +We chose the planet Mars, and we were determined to make it our home +before your world claimed it. Our scientists and technicians have worked +on nothing else but this flight since the beginning of the last century. +This building--this vessel--was the culmination of our plans. In another +few years, we would have been ready. The dream would have been +realized." + + * * * * * + +Tom walked to the window of the office, and looked out at a bank of +swift-moving clouds drifting past the spire of the Homelovers Building. + +"I'm afraid that's the saddest part," he said. "The atomic engines in +the basement have been examined, Mr. Andrusco. The best opinions say +that they're pitifully inadequate. The men who studied them say that you +would never have made the journey in safety." + +"That can't be true! In time--" + +"In time, perhaps. But since your landing here, your scientists have +forgotten a great deal about space flight. I'm afraid you would have +never reached that Promised Land ..." + +Andrusco said: "Then we must die ..." + +"No!" Tom said. + +Livia looked at him. + +"I said no!" he repeated. "The Antamundans can live. Don't you see +that?" + +"No," Andrusco said, shaking his head. "On Earth, we shall die. If Mars +is closed to us ..." + +"Can't you see? If Mars can be opened for Earth, then it can be opened +for you, too. For all Antamundans! Your people can make the journey, +too, once space has been cleared for Earth ships. You can still have +your new home!" + +"Perhaps," Livia said dreamily. "Perhaps that is the only way. But by +then, Tom, it will be already too late. There has been no living child +born to us in the last ten years. By the time the Earth people reach +Mars and establish regular passageway--we will be too old to keep the +race alive." + + * * * * * + +"Then let's speed it up!" he said. "Let's make _sure_ that the space +lanes open! Let's do everything to make Space the most important project +on Earth!" + +"But how?" Andrusco said, bewildered. + +Tom went to the visiphone. + +"Get me the Lunt Theatre!" he snapped. + +Homer Bradshaw's face appeared. + +"Mr. Bradshaw?" + +"Hi, Tom! How's the boy?" + +"Great, Homer, great. Only listen. I got a new angle for you. We're +gonna doctor up that show of yours before the opening. Don't worry about +the dough-- Homelovers will take care of it with pleasure." + +"Sure, Tom! Anything you say!" + +"Then take this down. The first thing we're changing is the title. From +now on it's _Mars Or Bust_ ..." + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ December 1957. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Get Out of Our Skies!, by E. K. 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