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+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. Jarvis
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GET OUT OF OUR SKIES! ***
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