Encounter, page 11
“Not really,” she insisted. “I don’t really know you at all, Peter. You’re more a stranger than ever. You’ll never know how odd it is to realize you’re married to someone who isn’t even a — a man — as you know men. I don’t know what to think.”
“I can fix that — if you want to hear. It has been lonely, keeping it to myself. Come here, beside me.”
She moved into place for want of any excuse but didn’t close the distance between them, holding a little away. He began talking, describing the planet he knew as home, painting word pictures for her.
He told of a planet much like Earth, but where the men were different. Each of them was invested with a power of mind, and each used that power to his own advantage or fell to others. From birth, mothers hid their children away until their faculties had begun to develop, praying that their child would be a strong one. If the child was strong, he survived the inroads made upon him by other children and adults as he was tested and sought by each person he met. He learned the tricks and the codes, preparing himself. If the child was weak, he was soon in the control of another, serving his wishes, living the life of a slave. Nothing and no one mattered. Only the preservation of the personal ego and the domination of others to maintain that ego. There was only Self. There was no room for compassion, only appraisal; no room for sensitivity, only alertness; no room for ease, only cunning.
Kiel’s own dominance over forty men put him in a high bracket, subject only to demands and attacks from those above him. It also allowed him the temporary freedom of traveling alone into space as a scout, the chance to rest, away from the constant parry and thrust of mental power.
“The crash seemed the end of the world,” he said, “until I realized that this planet was rich in minds and that the minds were so easy to come by. I can be anything I want to be. I can rule this world.”
“And you intend to,” she added for him.
“I do,” he admitted simply. “And I want you with me. Now that you know the truth, how do you feel? Am I repulsive?”
She stared hard at him, into the black eyes that were strangely softened, and said, “I don’t yet know how I feel. I should hate you, shouldn’t I?”
“Do you?”
She didn’t answer, testing her emotions. “Why can’t I think clearly?” she cried at last. “Are you still guiding my mind?”
“Not enough to interfere. Perhaps you’re not completely reoriented. This has been an ordeal for you and it will take time to recover.”
“So?” she watched him.
“So — I’ll wait. When you know, I’ll know. All I ask is that you act the part of my wife when other people are about until you decide. Otherwise, I’ll have to ‘help’ you. It’s important, Carol — to me and to you. I can wait.”
Kiel, as an individual threat, didn’t worry Ray too much. But the prospects he had outlined of contacting others of his race was frightening.
Kiel was a cancer, spreading out one cell at a time, until he wove a strangle hold on the body, until his position was so great that the body could no longer fight but only tolerate him and finally die. And by attacking the heart of the body, the men who gave orders to other men, he had entrenched himself.
Ray went along with Will, who insisted on doing the obvious first. They gathered the bits of evidence and returned to police headquarters. But again they got nowhere. The chief wouldn’t even consider the possibility that their story was true.
Ray stamped through the door in a maddened fury, but he finally admitted, “I don’t suppose the chief can help it — not when he doesn’t even know he’s a robot.”
Then they went to the FBI office. The girl behind the desk was polite and smiling.
“Sorry,” Ray said. “We’d like to see your boss.”
“He’s not in right now.”
“One question, Miss,” Will asked. “Do you know a man named Peter Kiel? Has he ever been up here?”
“Peter Kiel?” she brightened. “Of course. He drops in every now and then. He’s a fine man.”
“Thanks,” Will sighed. “We won’t bother to wait. Your boss wouldn’t be interested in our business.”
At home at dinner Will shrugged. “There aren’t any holes. He’s covered the law agencies, the newspapers, the television and radio stations. No one will move. What’s next?”
“We’ll have to make some holes, that’s all. And it has to be now — or we’ll be too late.”
“What do we do with him, Ray? Suppose we get help? What will happen? No jail could hold him because there’s always a man with a key. He couldn’t be tried or executed. What are we trying to do? Get our hands physically on him?”
“Of course,” Ray said flatly.
“Then do you know what you’re saying?”
Ray stared at his plate, his angular face squaring itself in determined lines. “There’s only one way to stop Peter Kiel, Will, whether we like the idea or not. We have to kill him.”
“No!” Will pushed away from the table.
“What do you mean, no?” Ray shouted. “Surely, you’ve known that all along. Kiel knows it.”
“Until now I’ve pictured exposing him for what he is and letting the law take its course. I just didn’t consider the idea that stopping him would mean murder!”
“Don’t call it murder. Call it extermination. He doesn’t go by any rules. You and I — we’ve never thought in those terms, but now we have no choice. And no help. This has to be done.”
Will came back to the table, his body stiff and slow-footed. “Then we just take a gun and go out there. We shoot him and get it over with and go to jail for his murder.”
“We wouldn’t through the front door. But if we can find enough men who are not under Kiel’s thumb — men like McGregor, for instance — then we can go together. Maybe Kiel can’t handle many at once. When he’s gone, the men in control will return to their senses and believe our evidence.”
“You intend to attack his house,” Will stated. “I can’t help it, Ray, I feel detached — as if this were something in a movie and I’m not actually in it. If I feel that way, how are you going to convince men like McGregor?”
“Mac won’t need much convincing; and if we can dig up only four or five more, it will be enough.”
The day after Christmas was usually a let-down day. But this time, it was heightened for Ray. It was a day of intense explaining and persuading. He faced Will’s reaction all over again in McGregor.
“There’s no help, Mac,” Ray persuaded. “We’ve reached the end. There are only the two of us. Will and I could wash our hands of it easily enough, but then there would be no one.”
Mac clutched his pipe. “I’m not a young man, Ray. Even if I wanted to do this thing, I’m not sure I’m physically able.”
“I’m not asking you to fight,” Ray explained. “Just to add to our number.”
“The whole thing is incongruous. I can’t quite stomach it.” He tapped his pipe, emptying good, unlit tobacco. Ray let him think it out. “Since I believe you,” Mac said after five minutes of silence, “and since Kiel is such a menace, I’ll have to say yes. It’s not what I want to do, you understand.”
“I know. It’s what you have to do. Thanks, Mac.”
McGregor scribbled some lines on a scrap of paper. “I’ve got two men in mind to bring in with us. Jerry Bacon — he won several decorations in the war and he’s a science-fiction writer, so he’s prepared. I think I can convince him. Then there’s Carl Empers. He’s the type of man you need — anything for excitement.” Mack lifted himself disgustedly out of his chair and sighed. “Here I am enlisting the aid of a man I’ve always abhorred and for the very reason I’ve abhorred him.”
“Can you handle them yourself?”
“I can.” Mack was resigned.
“Then bring them to my place tomorrow night at seven, and we’ll plan our moves.”
Ray went from Mac’s to one of the dormitories, devoid of students for the holiday, except for the few who had no place to go. Jean Dereau was one of those. Since he had such strong feelings stemming from the time he claimed Kiel had stolen something from him, he was easy to convince.
The living room filled at the scheduled hour, and Ray had his first glimpse into the sensations Will and McGregor had tried to explain. Now that the time had come, it did seem unreal, as though he were standing outside in a dream.
Jerry Bacon was a wiry young man with horn-rimmed glasses and a look of grave concentration. Carl Empers, on the other hand, was elated, his pale face split by an excited smile. He didn’t believe the facts about Kiel, but had convinced himself that he did to give him an excuse to attack.
They drew circles on the map to indicate where each man would place himself. One side of the house had the natural barrier of water. Of the other three, the front was too close to the street, so it was eliminated. The sides of the house were flanked by garden and wall. They could approach without notice by neighbors and without an alarm.
There were only two guns. Ray kept one for himself; Will insisted on taking the other.
They decided to take two cars. They would park one well away from Kiel’s house and bring the other nearby, ready in case they needed it. The men were to come up separately, walk along the sidewalk, and climb the wall into the grounds. Mac volunteered to be the bait. He would leave the car at nine o’clock, cross the street, and knock on Kiel’s garden door in the guise of a delivery man. He would ask for Kiel and refuse to go inside. When Kiel came to the door, that would be the moment for attack, while he was framed in the light.
Ray followed Will from the sidewalk, over the wall, and into the deep snow of the grounds, his stomach gnawing with anxiety threatening to eat away his backbone.
They stepped from shadow to shadow where moonlight patched the snow with deep greys against white. It was quiet. Snow muffled every sound and the river was frozen, its running stilled. They crept on without sight of their fellows, gaining cover from barren bushes and clumps of fir trees.
The house loomed up, lighted only in the downstairs windows. The light of the Christmas tree gleamed onto the snow in splotches of red and green. When they had reached the cover of the garden wall, Ray’s watch said five minutes to nine. He caught Will’s sleeve and pulled down.
“We’ll wait here till Mac makes his move,” Ray whispered. He drew out the gun, looking toward the door where Kiel would appear. “Where’s your gun?” he asked Will.
“I gave it to someone else,” Will answered. “There was no sense in having them both on the same side of the house.”
The slam of the car door brought them up stiffly. Mac was starting his walk to the house. He was a black shadow in the moonlight, rather bedraggled in smudged work clothes, his gait nervous. Ray crouched, readying his muscles for the moment.
Mac strode up the driveway. Three steps later, a wild bark and growl split the silence and a great shape streaked around the house straight for Mac. Another dog joined in the cry at the far side, and shouts came from the men as they tried to protect themselves from the hairy shapes. Mac toppled under the leap of the dog, arms flailing. At the same moment the lights went on in the house.
Ray darted for Mac, reached his side, and grabbed the dog by its chain collar. He yanked back and the dog lifted on its hind legs. Mac jumped up, clutching the heavy wool scarf that had saved his throat, grabbed the chain, and forced the animal to crouch. Held from the back, the dog was helpless; and Mac was in control. Growls still echoed from the other side as Ray stumbled through the snow to Will.
“What now?” Will shouted. “Do we go in?”
Ray hesitated only a moment. “We have to!”
They dashed for the house, stumbling in the drifts piled against bushes and rocks. The last open space loomed before them when the screech of tires broke the air, drowning the barking and the shouts. Flashing red lights shot up in the street and yelling men jumped from cars, spreading out as they ran. Ray pulled Will back and they sprinted for cover behind the wall.
“Don’t shoot!” Ray yelled, hoping the man with Will’s gun would hear.
The police rushed to surround the house, then turned in unison to face outward, and began a strange, slow march forward, as though flushing an animal. They all had guns in hand; and suddenly they opened fire, pouring out rays of bullets in a wide circle.
“What are they doing?” Will screamed.
“Get out of here!” Ray shouted, leaping backward, searching for cover. The policemen came on in their fantastic slow-gaited circle, guns spiting, flashing orange.
“They don’t know what they’re doing,” Ray yelled. “Jerry! Mac! Carl!” he called at the top of his voice. “Get out! The car! The car!”
They scrambled back the way they had come, taking three steps at a dead run, then crouching behind a tree. A fan of bullets rained behind them. The police weren’t aiming, just shooting.
They ran in plain sight of the lights and the men but weren’t chased. The police plodded on, faces blank, legs stiff, loading and firing. Ray reached the street and made a dash for the car. Mac was inside with the motor going.
“Ready?” Mac called.
“No!” Ray pushed him away from the wheel, taking over himself. “We’ve got to wait for the others.”
“But the cops will be in the street any minute,” Mac shouted. The edge of the circle of policemen was approaching the sidewalk. Some of their bullets ploughed into their own cars at the curb.
Ray shoved the gear into reverse. “Duck!” he yelled. “I’m going for the others.”
He stamped his foot on the gas and the car leaped backward, speeding the distance to the house and through the line of fire. He braked and slid ten feet on ice, fighting to end up facing the other direction.
He blew the horn frantically to signal the other men. One figure leaped the garden wall, then another. They crouched over, zigzagging for the safety of the car. It was Jerry Bacon and Carl Empers.
They jammed into the back with Will. “Where’s Jean?” Ray demanded.
“He’s dead.” Jerry’s voice was hollow. “He ran into one of the cops and got it full face. He turned the cop around when he fell and the damned fool walked back into the line of fire, himself, blasting
all the way. Two cops are dead.”
Ray stamped the accelerator. The car raced forward, down the twisting street, away from the noise. No one gave chase, but Ray sped on until he had put two miles between them and the police. Then he slowed to the speed limit.
“We gave Kiel too much time,” he cursed. “He must have sensed us right away and called for the police.”
“Since when do cops open fire without warning?” Empers growled from the back. “If I’d had a gun —”
“That would have been plain murder,” Will protested. “They didn’t know what they were doing.”
“Who had the gun?” Ray asked.
“I did,” Jerry said. “I didn’t use one bullet. But I came close when I saw that kid die.”
“You can’t fight robots,” Ray said through clenched teeth. “We could have stood there and picked them off one at a time if we’d wanted slaughter. We’re responsible for three deaths anyway. They’ll be looking for us now. I’m sorry.”
“We all knew what we were doing,” Mac said. “They might not know who it was, except that I’ve got a get a shot for a dog bite.”
The papers carried the story. The article told of a young exchange student who had gone berserk and shot two policemen before he was killed himself. The policemen were described in terms of heroism: Jean Dereau was covered with black.
Kiel had chosen to release his own story, through the medium of his newspaper and his police department (the neighbors who had heard the commotion were probably under the same influence) and Ray and Will awoke as free men. But the frustration of knowing that Kiel was laughing at them was worse than being hunted.
McGregor put in an appearance. Puffing on his pipe, he ringed himself with a smoke screen, invited himself for coffee and opened a subject Ray hadn’t considered. “Just how intelligent do you think Kiel is?”
“That’s a hard thing to say,” Ray said, frowning.
“And maybe not too important?” Mac smiled shyly. “I mean, since he has this power, he doesn’t need brains? That’s only one way of looking at it. There has to be a measure of the man, power or no power. Put his ability in the hands of a moron and we could get to him. But if he has us coming both ways — then we’re in trouble.” “Why any more than we already are?” Will asked.
“Because he’s probably out guessed us all the way. You say he’s leaving you alone. That suggests that he has no fear of you because he knows your capabilities. It’s a simple test of his defenses for him. And as he said, amusement.
“The way I see it,” Mac continued, “Kiel is probably far beyond us in intelligence. He has the ability to do more than one thing at a time. He can co-ordinate his robots in one corner of his mind while he plans ahead and lives in his own present. He can watch you as a man watches a child’s efforts to murder him with a rubber sword. He simply isn’t afraid of you.”
“What are you getting at?” Ray demanded.
“I’m saying that you’ll have to accept your role as harmless puppets, act it out, and go on from there. It’s an ironic fact that men with their minds on complex things tend to overlook little things. All of the absent-minded professor tales are based on this. So if you behave as he expects, let him relax in his own preplanned way, then you may be able to catch him off guard. Even the beekeeper sometimes gets stung — by a bee he sits upon.”
The phone’s jangle interrupted; and when Ray answered, he heard Carol’s voice in that familiar request: Would he and
Will come out that evening for dinner?
Mac urged him to accept. “You can’t overlook any opportunity to meet with him. It’s your chance to put his mind at rest and make him think you’re falling into his expected pattern. Take it.”
