Denny,’ the soldier said. ‘Can you two occupy the same room?’
‘I – guess so,’ Charley said.
‘Yes,’ Nick said.
‘We can give you sanctuary for seventy-two hours,’ the sergeant said. ‘Then you’ll have to move on.’
‘How big is this place?’ Nick asked him.
‘Four square city blocks.’
He believed it. ‘This is not a nickel and dime operation,’ he said to the soldiers.
‘If it were,’ one of them said, ‘we wouldn’t have much of a chance. We print tracts by the million, here. Most are ultimately confiscated by the authorities, but not all. We use the junk mail principle; even if one-fiftieth are read – and all the others thrown away – it’s worth the cost; it’s the way to do it.’
Charley said, ‘What’s come from Cordon now that he knows he’s going to be executed? Or does he know? Have they told him?’
‘The receiving station would know,’ the soldier said. ‘But we won’t hear from them for a few more hours; there’s generally a lapse while the material is edited.’
‘Then you don’t print Cordon’s words exactly as they come from him,’ Nick said.
The soldiers laughed. And did not answer.
‘He rambles,’ Charley explained.
Nick said, ‘Is there going to be any attempt to agitate for a stay of execution?’
‘I doubt if that’s been decided,’ one of the soldiers said.
‘It wouldn’t have any effect,’ another said. ‘We’d fail; they would execute him and we’d all be in detention camps.’
‘So you’re going to let him die?’ Nick asked.
‘We have no control over it,’ several soldiers said at once.
Nick said, ‘Once he’s dead, you’ll have nothing to print; you’ll have to shut down.’
The soldiers laughed.
‘
You’ve heard from Provoni
,’ Charley said.
A silence, and then one of the soldiers, the sergeant, said, ‘A garbled message. But authentic.’
The soldier beside him said quietly, ‘Thors Provoni is on his way back.’
PART TWO
ELEVEN
‘That puts a new light on things,’ Willis Gram said gloomily. ‘Read the intercepted message again.’
Director Barnes read from the copy before him. ‘“Have found… who will… their help will… and I am…” That’s all that came through well enough to be transcribed. Static got the rest.’
‘But all the answers are there,’ Gram said. ‘He’s alive; he’s coming back; he has found someone – not something, but someone, because he used the word “their”. He says, “Their help will…” and what’s missing probably is the rest of a sentence reading, “Their help will be enough.” Or words to that effect.’
‘I think you’re being too pessimistic,’ Barnes said.
‘I have to be. Anyhow, hell, I’ve got the evidence to be pessimistic about. They’ve been waiting for word from Provoni all this time and now it’s come. Their printing plants will have the news all over the planet in the next six hours, and there’s no way we can stop them.’
‘We can bomb their main printing plant on 16th Avenue,’ Director Barnes said; he was all for that. He had waited months for permission to destroy the huge Under Men plant.
‘They’ll patch this into the TV circuit,’ Gram said. ‘Two minutes – then we’ll find their transmitter and that’ll be the end of that, but they’ll have gotten their damn message across.’
‘Then give up,’ Barnes said.
‘I’m not going to give up. I’m never going to. I’ll have Provoni killed within an hour of the time he lands on Earth, and whoever it is he’s brought to help them – we’ll snuff them, too. Damn nonhuman organisms, they probably have six legs and a tail that stings. Like a scorpion.’
‘And they’ll sting us to death,’ Barnes said.
‘Something like that.’ In his bathrobe and slippers, Gram paced moodily about his bedroom office, his arms locked behind him, stomach protruding. ‘Doesn’t it seem to you to be a betrayal of the human race, Old Men, Under Men, New Men,
‘I – guess so,’ Charley said.
‘Yes,’ Nick said.
‘We can give you sanctuary for seventy-two hours,’ the sergeant said. ‘Then you’ll have to move on.’
‘How big is this place?’ Nick asked him.
‘Four square city blocks.’
He believed it. ‘This is not a nickel and dime operation,’ he said to the soldiers.
‘If it were,’ one of them said, ‘we wouldn’t have much of a chance. We print tracts by the million, here. Most are ultimately confiscated by the authorities, but not all. We use the junk mail principle; even if one-fiftieth are read – and all the others thrown away – it’s worth the cost; it’s the way to do it.’
Charley said, ‘What’s come from Cordon now that he knows he’s going to be executed? Or does he know? Have they told him?’
‘The receiving station would know,’ the soldier said. ‘But we won’t hear from them for a few more hours; there’s generally a lapse while the material is edited.’
‘Then you don’t print Cordon’s words exactly as they come from him,’ Nick said.
The soldiers laughed. And did not answer.
‘He rambles,’ Charley explained.
Nick said, ‘Is there going to be any attempt to agitate for a stay of execution?’
‘I doubt if that’s been decided,’ one of the soldiers said.
‘It wouldn’t have any effect,’ another said. ‘We’d fail; they would execute him and we’d all be in detention camps.’
‘So you’re going to let him die?’ Nick asked.
‘We have no control over it,’ several soldiers said at once.
Nick said, ‘Once he’s dead, you’ll have nothing to print; you’ll have to shut down.’
The soldiers laughed.
‘
You’ve heard from Provoni
,’ Charley said.
A silence, and then one of the soldiers, the sergeant, said, ‘A garbled message. But authentic.’
The soldier beside him said quietly, ‘Thors Provoni is on his way back.’
PART TWO
ELEVEN
‘That puts a new light on things,’ Willis Gram said gloomily. ‘Read the intercepted message again.’
Director Barnes read from the copy before him. ‘“Have found… who will… their help will… and I am…” That’s all that came through well enough to be transcribed. Static got the rest.’
‘But all the answers are there,’ Gram said. ‘He’s alive; he’s coming back; he has found someone – not something, but someone, because he used the word “their”. He says, “Their help will…” and what’s missing probably is the rest of a sentence reading, “Their help will be enough.” Or words to that effect.’
‘I think you’re being too pessimistic,’ Barnes said.
‘I have to be. Anyhow, hell, I’ve got the evidence to be pessimistic about. They’ve been waiting for word from Provoni all this time and now it’s come. Their printing plants will have the news all over the planet in the next six hours, and there’s no way we can stop them.’
‘We can bomb their main printing plant on 16th Avenue,’ Director Barnes said; he was all for that. He had waited months for permission to destroy the huge Under Men plant.
‘They’ll patch this into the TV circuit,’ Gram said. ‘Two minutes – then we’ll find their transmitter and that’ll be the end of that, but they’ll have gotten their damn message across.’
‘Then give up,’ Barnes said.
‘I’m not going to give up. I’m never going to. I’ll have Provoni killed within an hour of the time he lands on Earth, and whoever it is he’s brought to help them – we’ll snuff them, too. Damn nonhuman organisms, they probably have six legs and a tail that stings. Like a scorpion.’
‘And they’ll sting us to death,’ Barnes said.
‘Something like that.’ In his bathrobe and slippers, Gram paced moodily about his bedroom office, his arms locked behind him, stomach protruding. ‘Doesn’t it seem to you to be a betrayal of the human race, Old Men, Under Men, New Men,
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