[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
counter-counterspies...
Just what, he suddenly wondered, was the correct human population of Earth?
Was it a larger proportion of the total population figures than that of the
disguised interstellar agents, and by how much? Or was it possibly, was it
conceivably, some-what smaller?
Life had been a lot simpler with PuzzleKnit Nylons, he decided, and that was
his only real conclusion.
John Smith nudged him. "Here they come. It's off to Lidsgall for us."
They rose to their feet as the wall opened. Two men and a woman came in,
dressed in street clothing. They each carried in one hand a small suitcase
that looked heavy, and, in the other, the small, red cylindrical weapon.
Alfred eyed the cylinders and found himself getting tense with a dangerous
idea. The weapon hadn't bothered him much before and it had supposedly been
set to stun him. Well, perhaps the woman had made a mistake in her setting and
perhaps the metabolisms of Man and Vaklittian were so different that a charge
that would knock out the one would merely give the other a slightly upset
stomach. Then again, if Earth were so carefully maintained in her ignorance as
John Smith had indicated, there might be no setting on the weapon that would
damage a native terrestrial at all: in the normal course of their intrigues
with and against and around each other, these people might be enjoined by
their own laws and by mutual agreement from carrying weap-ons that could
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
damage humans.
But if he were wrong? It still might take them quite a bit of time to tumble
to the fact that the Vaklittian frequencies were having no important effect on
him, and he might manage a lot of action in that time. The alternative, at any
rate, was to be pulled off Earth in just a few minutes and deposited, some
time in the near future, in an extraterrestrial torture chamber. Even if he
were able to prove his humanity to their satisfaction, they would still have
to dispose of him in some way and the various devices of the torture chamber
would be so handy...
No question about it: people who go in for torture chambers do not make good
hosts.
One of the men fiddled with his suitcase, and the transparent cube dissolved
around Alfred and John Smith. In response to the gestures made with the
weapons, they walked gingerly across the floor. They were motioned through the
open wall.
Alfred found it difficult to recognize Mme. Du Barry and the Huguenot without
their masks and costumes.
They both looked much like the new man with them, not bad, not good, just
faces-in-a-crowd. Which, of course, was exactly how they wanted it.
He reached his decision as the five of them began walking through the opening
in the wall. For the moment, they were closely bunched together, even bumping
against each other.
He grabbed the woman by the arm and swung her violently against the Huguenot,
who staggered confusedly. Then, knowing that John Smith was between him and
the new man in the rear, he hitched up his cassock and started to run. He
turned left, and again left and found himself in the main basement corridor.
Ahead, at the far end, was a flight of stone stairs leading up to the street.
Behind him, there was the noise of struggle, then the sound of feet running in
pursuit. He heard John Smith distantly yell: "Go it, laddie, go it! Over the
hill! Slide, Kelly, slide! Ride 'em, cowboy! It's the last lap full speed
ahead! Shake a leg! Hit the road!" Then the Vaklittian's voice abruptly
disappeared in a breathless grunt after the sound of a wallop.
A pinkish glow shot past him, moved back and over to light up his mid-section.
He belched. The glow turned light red, deep red, dark, vicious red. He belched
more frequently. He reached the stairs and was clambering up them as the glow
became a throbbing, night-like purple.
Ten minutes later, he was on Sixth Avenue, getting into a cab. He had a mildly
unpleasant bellyache. It rapidly subsided.
He looked behind him as they drove to his hotel. No pursuit. Good. The
Lidsgallians would have no idea where he lived.
Did they look like the Vaklittians, he wondered? Spiders? Hardly, he decided.
All these different racial names and these titanic interstellar animosities
suggested many, many separate forms. They'd have to be small enough to fit
into a normal human body, though. Snail-like creatures, possibly, and
worm-like ones. Crab-like ones and squid-like ones. Perhaps even rat-like
ones?
On the whole, a dreadfully unpleasant subject. He needed a good night's sleep:
tomorrow would be his first day at BlakSeme. And, then, after a bit, when he'd
had a chance to think it all out, he'd decide what to do. The police, the
F.B.I., or whatever. Maybe even take the whole story to one of the New York
newspapers or some top television commentator might be more sympathetic and
reach a bigger audience. His story would have to be coherent and convincing,
though. He'd have little proof; the Lidsgallians were probably on their way
back to their home planet as of this very moment. But there was his own
gang the Vaklittians. Cohen and Kelly and Jones. And Jane Doe. He'd kid them
along for a couple of days and then use them for proof. It was time Earth knew
what was going on. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
counter-counterspies...
Just what, he suddenly wondered, was the correct human population of Earth?
Was it a larger proportion of the total population figures than that of the
disguised interstellar agents, and by how much? Or was it possibly, was it
conceivably, some-what smaller?
Life had been a lot simpler with PuzzleKnit Nylons, he decided, and that was
his only real conclusion.
John Smith nudged him. "Here they come. It's off to Lidsgall for us."
They rose to their feet as the wall opened. Two men and a woman came in,
dressed in street clothing. They each carried in one hand a small suitcase
that looked heavy, and, in the other, the small, red cylindrical weapon.
Alfred eyed the cylinders and found himself getting tense with a dangerous
idea. The weapon hadn't bothered him much before and it had supposedly been
set to stun him. Well, perhaps the woman had made a mistake in her setting and
perhaps the metabolisms of Man and Vaklittian were so different that a charge
that would knock out the one would merely give the other a slightly upset
stomach. Then again, if Earth were so carefully maintained in her ignorance as
John Smith had indicated, there might be no setting on the weapon that would
damage a native terrestrial at all: in the normal course of their intrigues
with and against and around each other, these people might be enjoined by
their own laws and by mutual agreement from carrying weap-ons that could
Page 17
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
damage humans.
But if he were wrong? It still might take them quite a bit of time to tumble
to the fact that the Vaklittian frequencies were having no important effect on
him, and he might manage a lot of action in that time. The alternative, at any
rate, was to be pulled off Earth in just a few minutes and deposited, some
time in the near future, in an extraterrestrial torture chamber. Even if he
were able to prove his humanity to their satisfaction, they would still have
to dispose of him in some way and the various devices of the torture chamber
would be so handy...
No question about it: people who go in for torture chambers do not make good
hosts.
One of the men fiddled with his suitcase, and the transparent cube dissolved
around Alfred and John Smith. In response to the gestures made with the
weapons, they walked gingerly across the floor. They were motioned through the
open wall.
Alfred found it difficult to recognize Mme. Du Barry and the Huguenot without
their masks and costumes.
They both looked much like the new man with them, not bad, not good, just
faces-in-a-crowd. Which, of course, was exactly how they wanted it.
He reached his decision as the five of them began walking through the opening
in the wall. For the moment, they were closely bunched together, even bumping
against each other.
He grabbed the woman by the arm and swung her violently against the Huguenot,
who staggered confusedly. Then, knowing that John Smith was between him and
the new man in the rear, he hitched up his cassock and started to run. He
turned left, and again left and found himself in the main basement corridor.
Ahead, at the far end, was a flight of stone stairs leading up to the street.
Behind him, there was the noise of struggle, then the sound of feet running in
pursuit. He heard John Smith distantly yell: "Go it, laddie, go it! Over the
hill! Slide, Kelly, slide! Ride 'em, cowboy! It's the last lap full speed
ahead! Shake a leg! Hit the road!" Then the Vaklittian's voice abruptly
disappeared in a breathless grunt after the sound of a wallop.
A pinkish glow shot past him, moved back and over to light up his mid-section.
He belched. The glow turned light red, deep red, dark, vicious red. He belched
more frequently. He reached the stairs and was clambering up them as the glow
became a throbbing, night-like purple.
Ten minutes later, he was on Sixth Avenue, getting into a cab. He had a mildly
unpleasant bellyache. It rapidly subsided.
He looked behind him as they drove to his hotel. No pursuit. Good. The
Lidsgallians would have no idea where he lived.
Did they look like the Vaklittians, he wondered? Spiders? Hardly, he decided.
All these different racial names and these titanic interstellar animosities
suggested many, many separate forms. They'd have to be small enough to fit
into a normal human body, though. Snail-like creatures, possibly, and
worm-like ones. Crab-like ones and squid-like ones. Perhaps even rat-like
ones?
On the whole, a dreadfully unpleasant subject. He needed a good night's sleep:
tomorrow would be his first day at BlakSeme. And, then, after a bit, when he'd
had a chance to think it all out, he'd decide what to do. The police, the
F.B.I., or whatever. Maybe even take the whole story to one of the New York
newspapers or some top television commentator might be more sympathetic and
reach a bigger audience. His story would have to be coherent and convincing,
though. He'd have little proof; the Lidsgallians were probably on their way
back to their home planet as of this very moment. But there was his own
gang the Vaklittians. Cohen and Kelly and Jones. And Jane Doe. He'd kid them
along for a couple of days and then use them for proof. It was time Earth knew
what was going on. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]