The President watched the ‘cast from Iowa and turned to the Old Man. “Well, Andrew? I thought Iowa was a place we would have to fence off.”
The Old Man grunted.
Marshal Rexton said, “As I figure it—mind you, I have not had much time to evaluate this situation—they have gone underground. We may have to comb every inch of every suspicious area.”
The Old Man grunted again. “Combing Iowa, corn shock by corn shock, does not appeal to me.”
“How else would you tackle it, sir?”
“Figure your enemy! He can’t go underground. He can’t live without a host.”
“Very well—assuming that is true, how many parasites would you say are in Iowa?”
“Damn it, how should I know? They didn’t take me into their confidence.”
“Suppose we make a top estimate. If—”
The Old Man interrupted him. “You’ve got no basis for an estimate. Can’t you folks see that the titans have won another round?”
“Eh?”
“You just heard the governor; they let us look at his back—or somebody’s back. Did you notice that he didn’t turn around in front of the camera?”
“But he did,” someone said. “I saw him.”
“I certainly had the impression that I saw him turn,” said the President slowly. “You are suggesting that Governor Packer is himself possessed?”
“Correct. You saw what you were meant to see. There was a camera cut just before he was fully turned; people hardly ever notice them; they are used to them. Depend on it. Mister President, every message out of Iowa is faked.”
The President looked thoughtful. Secretary Martinez shook his head emphatically and said, “Impossible. Granted that the governor’s message could have been faked—a clever character actor could have faked it. Remember the inaugural address in the crisis of ’96, when the President Elect was laid up with pneumonia? Granted that one such ‘cast could be faked, we’ve had our choice of dozens of ‘casts from Iowa. How about that street scene in Des Moines? Don’t tell me you can fake hundreds of people dashing around stripped to their waists—or do your parasites practice mass hypnotic control?”
“They can’t that I know of,” conceded the Old Man. “If they can, we might as well throw in the towel and admit that the human race has been superseded. But what made you think that that ‘cast came from Iowa?”
“Eh? Why, damn it, sir, it came over the Iowa channel.”
“Proving what? Did you read any street signs? It looked like any typical street in a downtown retail district. Never mind what city the announcer told you it was; what city was it?”
The Secretary let his mouth hang open. I’ve got fairly close to the “camera eye” that detectives are supposed to have; I let that picture run through my mind—and I not only could not tell what city, I could not even place the part of the country. It could have been Memphis, Seattle, or Boston—or none of them. Allowing for special cases like Canal Street in New Orleans, or Denver’s Civic Center, the downtown districts in American cities are as standardized as barber shops.
“Never mind,” the Old Man went on. “I couldn’t tell and I was looking for landmarks. The explanation is simple; the Des Moines station picked up a Schedule Bare Back street scene from some city not contaminated and rechanneled it under their own commentary. They chopped out anything that would localize it . . . and we swallowed it. Gentlemen, this enemy knows us, inside and out. This campaign has been planned in great detail and they are ready to outwit us in almost any move we can make.”
“Aren’t you being an alarmist, Andrew?” said the President. “There is another possibility, that the titans have moved somewhere else.”
“They are still in Iowa,” the Old Man said flatly, “but you won’t prove it with that thing.” He gestured at the stereo tank.
Secretary Martinez squirmed. “This is ridiculous!” he exclaimed. “You are saying that we can’t get a correct report out of Iowa, as if it were occupied territory.”
“That is what it is.”
“But I stopped off in Des Moines two days ago, coming back from Alaska. Everything was normal. Mind you, I grant the existence of your parasites, though I haven’t seen one. But let’s find them where they are and root them out, instead of dreaming up fantasies.”