The Old Man grunted. “Damn your theories. When we captured it, it was living on a man. If that means it has to be a terrestrial organism, show me where it fits into the scheme of things and where to look for its mates. And quit jumping to conclusions; I want facts.”
The biologist stiffened. “You’ll get them!”
“Get going. Wait—don’t use more of it than necessary for your investigations; I need the major portion as evidence. And don’t persist in the silly assumption that the thing is dead; that perfume may be a protective weapon. That thing, if alive, is fantastically dangerous. If it gets on one of your laboratory men, I’ll almost certainly have to kill him.”
The lab director said nothing more, but he left without some of his cockiness.
The Old Man settled back in his chair, sighed, and closed his eyes. He seemed to have gone to sleep; Mary and I kept quiet. After five minutes or so he opened his eyes, looked at me, and said, “How many mustard plasters the size of that thing Doc just carted out of here can arrive in a space ship as big as that fraud we looked at?”
“Was there a space ship?” I asked. “The evidence seems slim.”
“Slim but utterly incontrovertible. There was a ship. There still is a ship.”
“We should have examined the site.”
“That site would have been our last sight. The other six boys weren’t fools. Answer my question.”
“I can’t. How big the ship was doesn’t tell me anything about its payload, when I don’t know its propulsion method, the jump it made, or what supply load the passengers require. It’s a case of how long is a piece of rope? If you want a horseback guess, I’d say several hundred, maybe several thousand.”
“Mmm . . . yes. So there are several hundred, maybe several thousand zombies in the State of Iowa tonight. Or harem guards, as Mary puts it.” He thought for a moment. “But how am I to get past them to the harem? We can’t go around shooting every round-shouldered man in Iowa; it would cause talk.” He smiled feebly.
“I’ll put you another question with no answer,” I said. “If one space ship lands in Iowa yesterday, how many will land in North Dakota tomorrow? Or in Brazil?”
“Yes, there’s that.” He looked still more troubled. “I’ll answer it by telling you how long is your piece of rope.”
“Huh?”
“Long enough to choke you to death. You kids go wash up and enjoy yourselves; you may not have another chance. Don’t leave the offices.”
I went back to Cosmetics, got my own skin color back and in general resumed my normal appearance, had a soak and a massage, and then went to the staff lounge in search of a drink and some company. I looked around, not knowing whether I was looking for a blonde, brunette, or redhead, but feeling fairly sure that I could spot the right chassis.
It was a redhead. Mary was in a booth, sucking on a drink and looking much as she had looked when she was introduced to me as my sister. “Hi, Sis,” I said, sliding in beside her.
She smiled and answered, “Hello, Bud. Drag up a rock,” while moving to make room for me.
I dialed for bourbon and water which I needed for medicinal purposes and then said, “Is this your real appearance?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Zebra stripes and two heads. What’s yours?”
“My mother smothered me with a pillow the first time she saw me, so I never got a chance to find out.”
She again looked me over with that side-of-beef scrutiny, then said, “I can understand her actions, but I am probably more hardened than she was. You’ll do, Bud.”
“Thanks.” I went on, “Let’s drop this ‘Bud-and-Sis’ routine; I find it gives me inhibitions.”
“Hmm . . . I think you need inhibitions.”
“Me? Not at all. Never any violence with me; I’m more the ‘Barkis-is-willing’ type.” I might have added that, if I laid a hand on her and she happened not to like it. I’d bet that I would draw back a bloody stump. The Old Man’s kids are never sissies.