“Oh, many reasons. Conservation of natural resources, ease of harvesting—and then, perhaps, we might not be quite safe, if we were once alerted to what was going on. Cattle have been known to stampede . . .”
“So—what do we do?”
“We leave Tamboula. Back in America, we make contact with a few individuals known to us personally. I’d steer clear of Barnett, for example, but there are a number of reliable men. Then we construct a counter-alien organization, armed and equipped—and then—well, we’ll see.”
“And how do we go about leaving Tamboula? I have an idea the whole scheme breaks down right there.”
Felix looked sober. “I’m afraid our old friend Bravais will never be seen departing from these shores.”
A small grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I think he’ll have to disappear in much the same manner that Major de Salle of the UN medical staff dropped from sight—and as one H. D. Brown, who leased the same house, will vanish one day soon.”
“Behind a false beard and a set of brown contact lenses?”
“Nothing so crude, my dear fellow.” Felix was positively rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “I’m going to give you the full treatment—use some of those ideas they haven’t been willing to give me guinea pigs for, up till now. You’ll have a new hair color—self-regenerating, too—new eye color and retinal patterns, an inch or two difference in height, new finger- and dental-prints . . .”
“None of that will do me much good if some curious customs man digs under the dirty socks and finds that piece of ear. That’s all the evidence we’ve got.”
“Never fear, John. You won’t be unprotected.” There was a merry glint in his eye. “You won’t merely have a new identity—I’m going to fit you out with full PAPA gear. If a General Julius jumps out at you then, just break him in two and keep going.”
Chapter Six
I was sitting on the edge of a wooden chair, listening to a thin humming in my head.
“Tell me when the sound stops,” Felix said. His voice seemed to be coming from a distance, even though I could see him standing a few feet away, looking hazy, like a photograph shot through cheesecloth. The buzzing grew fainter, faded . . .
I pressed the switch in my hand. Felix’s blurred features nodded.
“Good enough, John. Now come around and let’s check those ligament attachments.”
I relaxed the muscles that had once been used to prick up the ears, thus switching my hearing range back to normal. I made a move to rise, and bounded three feet in the air.
“Easy, John.” Felix had emerged from the cubicle with the two-inch-thick armorplast walls. “We can’t have you springing about the room like a dervish. Remember your lessons.”
I balanced carefully, like a man with springs tied to his shoes. “I remember my lessons,” I said. “Pain has a way of sticking in my mind.”
“It’s the best method when you’re in a hurry.”
“How did the test go?”
“Not badly at all. You held it to .07 microbel at 30,000 cycles. How was the vision?”
“About like shaving with a steamed mirror. I still get only blacks and whites.”
“You’ll develop color discrimination after a while. Your optic center has been accustomed to just the usual six hues for thirty-odd years; it can’t learn to differentiate in the ultraviolet range overnight.”
“And I can’t adjust to the feeling that I weigh half an ounce, either, dammit! I dance around on my toes like a barefooted hairdresser on a hot pavement.”
Felix grinned as though I’d paid him a compliment. “In point of fact, you now weigh three hundred and twenty-eight pounds. I’ve plated another five mills of chromalloy onto the skeletal grid. Your system’s shown a nice tolerance for it. I’m pulling one more net of the number nine web over the trapezius, deltoids, and latissimi dorsi—”
“The tolerances of my metabolism are not to be taken as those of the management,” I cut in. “These past six weeks have been a vivisectionist’s nightmare. I’ve got more scars than a Shendy tribesman, and my nerves are standing on end, waving around like charmed snakes. I’m ready to call it a day, and try it as is.”
Felix nodded soberly. “We’re about finished with you. I know it’s been difficult, but there’s no point in taking anything less than our best to the fray, is there?”
“I don’t know why I don’t ache all over,” I grumbled. “I’ve been sliced, chiseled, and sawed at like a side of beef in a butcher’s college. I suppose you’ve got me doped to the eyebrows; along with all the other strange sensations, a little thing like a neocaine jag would pass unnoticed.”
“No—no dope; hypnotics, old boy.”
“Swell. Every day in every way I’m hurting less and less, eh?”
I took a breath, more from habit than need; the oxygen storage units installed under the lower edge of my rib-cage were more than half charged; I could go for another two hours if I had to. “I know we’re in a hell of a spot—and it’s better to sail in with grins in place and all flags flying than sit around telling each other the crisis has arrived. But I’m ready for action.”
Felix was looking at papers, paying no attention at all.
“Surely, old man. Gripe all you like,” he said absently. “Just don’t get friendly and slap me on the back. I’m still made of normal flesh and blood. Now, I’d like another check on the strain gauges.”
I closed my mouth and went across to the Iron Man—a collection of cables and bars that looked like an explosion in a bicycle factory.
“The grip, first.”
I took the padded handle, settled my hand comfortably, squeezed lightly to get the feel of it, then put on the pressure. I heard a creak among the levers; then the metal collapsed like a cardboard in my hand.
I let go. “Sorry, Felix—but what the hell, thin-gauge aluminum—”
“That’s a special steel tubing, cold-extruded, two tenths of an inch thick,” Felix said, examining the wreckage. “Try a lift now.”
I went over to a rig with a heavy horizontal beam. I bent my knees, settled my shoulders under it with a metal-to-wood clatter. I set myself, slowly straightened my legs. The pressure on my shoulders seemed modest—about like hefting a heavy suitcase. I came fully erect, then went up on my toes, pushing now against an almost immovable resistance.
“Slack off, John,” Felix called. “I believe I’ll consider you’ve passed your brute-strength test. Over twenty-nine hundred pounds—about what a runabout weighs—and I don’t think you were flat out at that.”
“I could have edged a few ounces more.” I flexed my shoulders. “The padding helped, but it wasn’t quite thick enough.”
“The padding was two inches of oak.” He looked at me, pulling at his lower lip. “Damned pity I can’t take you along to the next Myoelectronics Congress; I could make a couple of blighters eat two-hour speeches saying it wasn’t possible.”
I took a turn up and down the room, trying not to bounce at each step.
“Felix, you said another week, to let the incisions heal. Let’s skip that; I’m ready to go now. You’ve been in town every day and haven’t seen any signs of abnormal activity. The alarm’s died down.”
“Died down too damned quickly to suit me,” he snapped. “It’s too quiet. At the least, I’d have expected someone out to check over the house. You’ll recall that the former tenant, my alter ego, turned in a report on missing men and head wounds. But they haven’t been near the place. There’s been nothing in the papers since the first day or two—and I daresay it wouldn’t have been mentioned then, except that a crowd of idlers saw you kill Julius.”
“Look, Felix; I’ve got so damned much microtronics gear buried in my teeth I’m afraid to eat anything tougher than spaghetti; I’ve got enough servo-motors bolted to my insides to power an automatic kitchen. Let’s skip the rest of the program and get going. I may have new stainless-steel knuckles, but it’s the same old me inside. I’m getting the willies. I want to know what those hell-hounds are doing up there.”
“What time is it?” Felix asked suddenly.
I glanced at the black-and-white wall clock. “Twenty-four minutes after nine,” I said.
Felix raised his hand and snapped his fingers—
I felt a slight twitch—as though everything in the room had jumped half an inch. Felix was looking at me with a quizzical smile.
“What time did you say it was?”
“Nine twenty-four.”
“Look at the clock.”
I glanced at it again. “Why, is it—” I stopped. The hands stood at ten o’clock.
“Clock manipulation at a distance,” I said. “How do you do it—and why?”
Felix shook his head, smiling. “You’ve just had another half-hour session in deep hypnosis, John. I want another couple of days to reinforce that primary personality fraction I’ve split off, before I tie it in with a mnemonic cross-connection. We want your alter ego to be sure to swing into action at the first hint of outside mental influences.”