Encounter, page 14
“Not that cat,” Ray laughed. “He’s been tearing the house apart. Bring him with you. Mac has some questions.”
In the living room, when Carol’s face lit in recognition, Ray had a bad moment. He’d forgotten that Carol would already know John Marker.
Mac came right to the point. “Carol, has Kiel ever talked to you about how he came here?”
“Yes, quite often. He was a scout. Something went wrong with his ship and it crashed.”
“Yes, but were there more of his kind nearby?”
Carol’s forehead wrinkled in thought. “The way I remember it, a big ship, carrying these scouts, anchors in space and lets them out to explore. Each has a huge assigned area. When something happens to a scout, they cross his territory off and forget about it. He says they value life; and if one man doesn’t return, they don’t want to risk losing others. Every death means a vast reshuffling of controlled minds at home.”
They were silent, thinking separate thoughts. Only the sound of Chips’s purr vibrated in the room. Then, Mac surprised them all by asking: “Do you have an extra key to the house?”
Carol hesitated only a moment, then opened her purse. “You can have this one,” she said. “But don’t tell me why you want it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Mac answered.
At four, a car stopped in the street; and when Ray glanced through the window, he jumped up, nervous. The car was Kiel’s creamy convertible, and the tall man was heading for the door.
Carol rushed to put on her coat. She said quickly, “One more thing — Peter plans a trip to Washington in two weeks. So anything you have in mind, do it soon.”
The doorbell cut her off. Kiel stared at Ray calmly, then looked past him to his wife. “Carol?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t notice the time. I’m ready.” “Come along then.”
“Thanks for the coffee — and for Chips,” she called as she went out. Kiel limped behind her. He looked somber in the blue, black-belted overcoat; and his lack of conversation made his halting figure menacing.
“That was close,” Mac sighed. He’d had a tight hold on Chips all the time Kiel was there.
“So, that’s Kiel,” Marker commented. “He isn’t so frightening.” “You didn’t attempt —” Ray didn’t finish, holding his breath, afraid the plan had been given away.
“No, I kept to myself,” Marker replied. “But for the split second he looked at me, I felt it. I didn’t know there could be a physical sensation to telepathy.”
“He’s not a telepath,” Ray stated. “It’s something entirely different. Can you handle him?”
“We’ll try, that’s all I can promise.” Marker’s face was set, grimly determined. He spread the map of the city over the coffee table; but the map was soon blotted out by the striped body of Chips, who decided the crinkly paper was a fine place to sprawl and capture the attention of the men around it.
One week later, on a night when new snow covered the ground and fell in blowing sheets before the wind, John Marker’s house opened its door to eleven people in succession. The number was filled when Ray shook the snow from his coat and came into the light. Everyone looked at him, but no one said a word.
Ray said only what he had to say to complete the plan. “I made the call. They’re spending the evening at home.”
Silence closed back and the ticking of the mantel clock became unduly loud. Marker carried it out. When his footsteps died away, there was nothing left but breathing and the small noises a group of people make when they swallow. They were in a vacuum all their own, and the rest of the world was gone.
Marker took the center of the floor. “We have three minutes to prepare,” he said quietly. “You may take your positions now.” The seven people lifted their chairs to face the wall. Marker addressed his next command to Ray and his two companions. Please keep absolute quiet. We need complete concentration. Are you ready?” The three nodded. Marker spoke to the backs of the people before him. “We will begin to work. Keep your thoughts on this room, joined together, until I give the signal. Then, throw them outside with the one emotion and the one thought. I’ll direct you in; and at the first sign of reaching his mind, throw yourselves at him full force. We must take him by surprise.” Marker took his chair. “Begin now,” he ordered. “Call out your names.”
Ray waited for the names, but nothing came. There was a bare perceptible change in the shoulders before him — a tightening, a lifting — and he knew without being told that John Marker had given the signal and was now leading the combined minds outward over the four blocks to the white house by the river.
Peter Kiel sat in his customary chair, reading the evening paper. Suddenly, he was on his feet, eyes wild, clutching at the back of the chair. He slapped his hands to his temples, took two halting steps, and fell to his knees, a cry pushing from deep inside him. Carol ran to him, calling his name. She knelt down and grabbed his arms. His hands caught her in a frenzied clench, and his head arched against her shoulder.
Another soft whimper came from him; and he let her go, his face grotesque in frozen concentration. He pulled himself up to lean on a chair, his eyes staring at the wall. A deep breath that turned to a sigh echoed in the room, and he stood a bit straighter.
Carol clutched at him but he was unfeeling, fists clenched on the upholstery, his teeth biting into his lower lip until it bled in a red line down the side of his chin. He smashed his fists down once, as though destroying something beneath them, and hobbled into the hall, seeming to need physical action to escape the pain that was tight on his face. He used furniture for support until he reached the newel post, then pulled himself upstairs by the railing.
Nothing broke the silence in the room around Ray. The backs were tense; but the people were quiet, and thirty seconds had ticked by on his watch. The tension was a force in itself.
It shattered instantly in a scream which started from the throat of one of the women, broken off in full voice. She stiffened, toppled backward in her chair, and rolled out of it, blood seeping from a tiny crack in her skull.
A man turned around, horror bent on his face; but the others remained at the wall, bending farther forward, hands clenched in their laps. The lone man rushed out of the room, retching; and Neilson trailed to help.
The place turned into a hell as another deep groan vibrated out and a man reeled from his chair, ran three steps and stumbled to the floor. A third babbled incoherently and staggered away from the group. Mac grabbed him, covering his mouth to stifle the screams; but they came out anyway, garbled and wild.
“Stop it!” Ray shouted. “Stop it! Marker!”
He had to reach the man but was afraid to touch him. But compelled to take the chance, he caught Marker’s shoulders and shook him until sane eyes swiveled to meet his. One look at the floor, and Marker went down the remaining line of three people, shaking and slapping until they were back in the room mentally as well as physically.
Everything was still but the babbling of the man in Mac’s grip. Then he stopped, too, leaning against Mac, limp. Mac lowered him to the floor, felt for a heart beat, and shook his head.
“Dead,” he said. “It’s just as well. He was insane.”
“We can’t just stand here and let him pick us off one at a time!” a woman shrilled. “I can still feel him.”
Marker hurried her to the kitchen, talking fast. The rest of them stared at each other, afraid, waiting to see who would be the next to fall.
Marker dashed back, shouting, “Go home! Scatter! Give him time to calm down and maybe he’ll leave us alone.”
The telepaths grabbed coats and mufflers. Two of them forgot their cars and ran down the sidewalk, leaving deep tracks in the snow. The back door slammed and the woman from the kitchen fled by the window without a coat, then flooded her car, stamping on the starter again and again.
Ray tried to take the situation in hand, covering the three bodies with blankets while Mac mixed Marker a drink.
“I don’t know what happened,” Marker said at last. “For the first little while, we were winning. I heard him cry out and I know he fell. It was a surprise. When he started to fight back, we strengthened ourselves — but then — I don’t know what happened. He suddenly grew and grew! One hundred times as big! As if he was pulling in energy from outside and throwing it at us. We weakened and started to break apart. He would have had all of us if you hadn’t stopped it. I couldn’t break away by myself.”
“Of course!” Ray slammed one fist into his palm, damning himself. “He did draw energy from outside. He said he could do that. They weren’t fighting one man — they were fighting the power of all of his minds. We overlooked that — the most important fact. What can I say, John? I’m sorry down to my soul —” Ray wheeled away, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m through! We can’t fight Peter Kiel. He’s too much for any of us.”
Marker swallowed the rest of his drink and wiped his eyes. “What do we do now? He’s a monster! A monster! What do we do with the bodies?”
Ray let anger build inside him and take over. “Help me, Mac.” He went to the blanket-covered forms, rolling them tight and folding them at the ends. He lifted the woman’s body and disappeared out the door.
Mac stood dumbfounded. When Ray appeared, he gasped: “What are you doing?”
“The only thing there is to be done. I’m taking these three people to Peter Kiel. He killed them, Mac; and he’s going to take care of them.”
The four blocks whizzed by under fast wheels. Ray braked opposite the garden door and ordered them out with the corpses, laying them in a row on the threshold. He pounded on the wood paneling until a shadowy figure moved behind the curtains.
Carol pushed the door open and peered into the darkness.
“A present for your husband,” Ray growled.
Carol gasped at the three shapes at her feet and stepped back. Ray thrust the doors wide, legs apart, braced.
Kiel limped forward, his hair disheveled and a handkerchief nursing a cut on his lower lip. His eyes shot sparks at the men silhouetted against the snow.
“What is the meaning of this?” His voice menacing.
“We brought you the remains of the battle, Kiel. Three dead. You’ll have to have the decency to explain them. We have no excuse for what happened tonight, but you don’t need one, do you?” The pressure of Mac’s hand on Ray’s arm halted the flow of words.
Kiel said nothing, his silence more threatening than a harangue. Carol caught his arm. “Peter?” She tried to catch his attention. “Peter! Please!”
“Come into the house,” Kiel commanded them. “Leave them there and get in here.”
Kiel slammed the doors behind the. When he turned, the blood-soaked handkerchief in his hand, his voice held the sharpness they had been expecting.
“What did you expect to gain by this little melodrama? Did you think it might impress me? Let me warn you right now, I’m in no mood to be impressed. The whole thing has ceased to be amusing.” “One look at you and anyone could see that,” Ray spat.
“And you’re angry,” Kiel snapped back, “because you know this whole thing was your fault. I told you that you had no chance, but you went on in your stupid way, and you’ve managed to bring about the deaths of five people. Now you’re here, playing the part of a suffering hero to try and ease your conscience. I didn’t like what happened tonight, Dr. Harper” — Kiel’s hand shot out, pointed at Ray like a weapon — “and you’re responsible for it.”
“Peter,” Carol cried, pushing his hand down. “You promised me!” She threw herself between the two men, her hands on Kiel’s shoulders, trying to act as a barrier to the black eyes that bore over her head. “You promised!”
“You’ll have to forget that promise, Carol. You saw what happened to me. I can’t let it go.”
“Do you want me to break my promise, too?”
Kiel retreated a few steps in quick decision. “You can thank Carol for your life, Dr. Harper,” he said, without a trace of surrender. “Though, I don’t think any action from me is necessary. I think you’ve been repaid enough by seeing your friends drop one by one around you and yourself never scratched. That should be enough to haunt a man. You’re a very sorry picture. So eaten up with hatred — for yourself — that you’re paralyzed.”
Ray shrugged out of the grasp of his friends, belligerency melting from his body. His face wore a thick mask of defeat. “All right, Kiel, you’ve won. You’re right about me. I think the best thing you could do for me right now is take me over, body and soul — turn me into a robot so I won’t have to think any more. I’m giving myself to you, Kiel!”
There wasn’t a smile on Kiel’s lips, but there wasn’t suspicion either.
“Get out,” Kiel said softly, dabbing blood from his lip again. “Leave the bodies and I’ll dispose of them. I’ll give you your chance at funerals and the fuss you take with your dead. Just stay away from me — you turn my stomach.”
Ray muttered one more beaten question, “When it is going to be, Kiel?”
“Soon. Very soon. But you needn’t worry. You won’t know when it happens.”
There wasn’t an ounce of fight left in Ray.
Six days passed in idleness until Mac reached the end of his patience and burst forth in a fit of anger. “This is ridiculous!” he snorted. “That one man can stand up against all of us — a whole country, when you get right down to it — is just plain ridiculous! He has us all cowed. So, what if people have to die? This is a war! I say, rout him out with numbers. He couldn’t stop a mass advance of ordinary, determined people.”
“He could, that’s just the point,” Neilson countered. “He could reach out and grasp control of them, turning them back to slaughter each other. He feeds on numbers. Given an opportunity like that, he’d grow even faster.”
“Bah! The answer is no before it’s considered.”
“Maybe if we’d done more considering,” Ray argued, “three people would have been alive today.”
“Quit wallowing in false pity,” Mac accused. “They don’t care that they’re dead. I’m sick of this conscience-searching. You know, Ray, I don’t think you would kill Peter Kiel if you had him helpless in your hands right now.”
“So?” Ray showed anger that Mac noted with an inward smile. “What’s the difference? Carol said they were leaving for Washington today, and Washington means the end. What’s left?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to quit this nurse-maiding and find out. I had something in mind once.”
Mac stamped upstairs and returned with a notebook, its pages scribbled with words he’d put down after his first interview with Kiel. He said Kiel’s egotism would serve as a self-trap. He wanted to make good that prediction and goad Ray into helping him.
He set up a card table and worked intently, ignoring Ray’s frequent glances, grunting every now and then as though something made sense. But soon Chips was in the middle of the table, reaching out to catch his pencil and dotting it with tooth marks.
“You’re a nuisance, that’s what you are,” Mac scolded. “I’m trying to do something important, and you want to eat the pencil.” Chips squinted his golden eyes and stuck his tongue out the briefest way. Mac reached across and ruffled the cat’s head. “You’ve got more guts than the lot of us, boy.”
Ray straightened in a sudden fury of concentration. Then he came to Mac belligerently. “Give me some of those papers, you old charlatan. I just had an idea.”
Ray shuffled through the papers; but Chips turned to swish his furry tail across the writing, making him read in spurts and bobs. “I read someplace that cats can drive lions insane, and now I see why.” Mac caught the tail and held it firmly.
Suddenly Chips’s whole body was raised into the air and clutched close against Ray’s chest in a squeeze of joy. Ray paraded about the room with the cat until Neilson flagged him down. “What’s the matter with you?” Neilson grinned in spite of himself.
“This little pussycat just opened my eyes. The cat that can look at a queen — Puss in Boots; the cat that saved humanity from the rat can save humanity from the fox. Blessed be the cat and may his race increase.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Give me a chance to bring it out. It came all in a jumble.” Ray placed Chips in the center of the table. “Do you remember what Kiel said that first night you had dinner with him, Mac? Just as we went out the door?”
“He said we should be grateful because he had given himself a handicap.”
“And do you know what that handicap was?” Ray made a sweeping gesture. “Chips! Chips was his handicap.”
“How did you arrive at that?” Mac was confused.
“It’s all in the notes, but I’ve been too stupid to see it. Kiel told us that he can’t control cats. He said that cats act as a jamming device to him. We made our mistake in believing that Kiel meant the jamming only kept him from controlling cats. He meant just exactly what he said — that the cats jam him, period.
“Do you remember how Kiel always kept an eye on Chips when the conversation got violent? Well, I’ve got the reason. It’s the same reason Carol clung to the cat all the time she was under Kiel’s control. He couldn’t get a really firm hold on her with Chips around because the cat’s brain broadcast jammed his own pattern — took the bite out of it.”
Ray cleared his throat, dry with excitement. “A lot of things fit now. The night Carol tried to kill Kiel, she was out of the room — away from Chips — when he caught her mind. That friend of the Babcocks’; why was he alive and able to give us a description of Kiel?”
“He had a cat!” Mac said slowly. “But the Masons had a cat, too.”
“From what Will said, that was a barn cat. If they had let it in the house, they might be alive today.”
