Carlsen shook his head. “As long as Armstrong’s unconscious, it’s trapped. It’s subject to the same condition as Armstrong’s body.”
“But are you sure of that?”
“No, but it seems to be common sense. I don’t believe it can move in and out of bodies at a moment’s notice. It’s a fairly complicated business — like getting into a space-suit. It takes time.”
The lift arrived. Armstrong was slumped in the wheelchair, his head back against Lamson, who was pushing it. The eyes were still open.
“This way, sir.” Lamson led them into the room next to the flat. It was a small consulting room with the usual filing cabinets, reference books and bound copies of the British Medical Journal. Carlsen asked the orderlies to lift Armstrong onto the couch. He closed the curtains and moved the desk lamp so it shone into the staring eyes.
“Can you bring me another dose of the hypnoid drug?”
Lamson looked doubtful. “I suppose so, sir. But one’s usually enough.”
“We may need it. How long does it last?”
“A dose like that — at least two hours.”
“Then we probably shall need more.”
As the orderlies went out, Heseltine said quietly: “I’d rather you didn’t mention this to any of your colleagues.”
Lamson nodded. “Don’t worry, sir. We understand.”
Heseltine closed the door carefully and locked it. Fallada said: “Don’t you think a second dose might be dangerous? It imposes a strain on the heart.”
“I know. But these things are more powerful than you think. It could still escape us.”
He bent over Armstrong and carefully closed the eyes. He took the electronic capsule recorder from the desk and positioned it on the small table at the head of the couch. He checked the recording level, then depressed the key. He sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward so his mouth was close to Armstrong’s ear. “Armstrong. Can you hear me?”
The eyelids flickered, but there was no movement of the lips. Carlsen repeated the question and added: “If you can hear me, say yes.”
The lips twitched. After a pause, Armstrong whispered: “Yes.”
“Do you know where you are now?”
Again, the question had to be repeated. Then Armstrong’s face began to pucker like a child about to cry. His voice was strained: “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go. I’m afraid. Let me go. Let me go.” The voice was almost inaudible. For several seconds, the lips continued to move, but no sound came from them.
“Where are you?”
There was a pause of more than a minute. Carlsen repeated the question several times. Armstrong’s voice was choked with emotion: “They won’t let me talk to you.”
“Who won’t?”
There was no reply. Carlsen said urgently: “Listen, Armstrong, if you want us to help you escape, you’ve got to tell us where you are. Where are you?”
Bubbles of saliva formed on Armstrong’s lips. He began to breathe hoarsely. He said: “I’m here. . .”; then the sound died away into a bubbling noise. Suddenly the body twisted violently. Armstrong screamed. There was so much terror in the sound that they were all shocked. As the body thrashed wildly, all three of them tried to hold him down. It was difficult; he seemed to possess enormous strength. After a struggle, he lay still, panting, with Carlsen sitting on one of his arms, Heseltine holding the other, Fallada sitting on his legs. Carlsen said: “Armstrong. Can you see the thing that’s holding you prisoner?”
“Yes.” The eyes opened, staring like a frightened horse.
“Tell him he’s got to talk to us. Tell him that.”
The body gave a sudden jerk and rolled halfway off the couch. Carlsen and Heseltine pushed it back. There was a knock on the door, startling them.
“Who is it?”
“Lamson, sir. I’ve brought your nortropine-methidine.”
Fallada unlocked the door. “Ah, thank you.”
“You know how to use it, don’t you, sir? Wait until he’s coming round before you give him another dose.”
Fallada said: “Don’t worry. We know about it.” He closed the door firmly and locked it again.
Armstrong was lying still again. Carlsen unbuttoned his cuff and pushed the sleeve up the plump, hairy arm. It refused to move above the elbow. Heseltine handed him a pair of surgical scissors from the desk; Carlsen cut the sleeve from the wrist to the shoulder. As he took the hypodermic, Armstrong sat up and twisted sideways. Carlsen dropped the syringe and grabbed him again. Heseltine helped him force Armstrong back onto the couch. Carlsen said: “Hans, get the syringe and inject it.”
Another voice spoke from Armstrong’s lips, startling them with its calm and authority: “There is no need for that. If you let me go, I promise you to leave the earth.”
Fallada hesitated, holding the needle. Carlsen said: “Go ahead and inject. The thing’s a liar. If we don’t inject, it’ll be free in ten minutes.” He felt the muscles tense under his hands and used all his strength to hold down the writhing body.
The voice spoke again: “Carlsen, you disappoint me. I thought you understood.”
Carlsen resisted the temptation to be drawn into argument. He nodded to Fallada. “Go ahead.” Fallada drove the needle into the flesh, above the trickle of blood from the previous injection, and pressed the plunger home. They sat watching the face for more than a minute. Armstrong’s breathing became deeper. The eyes lost their focus, and the facial muscles relaxed.
Carlsen said: “Can you still hear me?”
There was no reply. Heseltine said: “Perhaps you’ve given him too much.”
Carlsen shook his head. He spoke close to Armstrong’s ear. “Listen to me. If necessary, we shall keep you in this state for days or weeks. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” It was the same voice, but now it was weaker, less forceful. The breathing became disturbed and spasmodic.
Fallada said: “I hope we don’t kill him.”
Carlsen said: “If we do, it can’t be helped. The alien will die too. That’s worth Armstrong’s life.”
The voice said thickly: “You cannot destroy us all.”
Carlsen said: “We can try. We can send warships to destroy your space vehicle.” He leaned closer. “And we shall pay particular attention to those yellow squids.”
Fallada looked at him with surprise but said nothing. As they watched, Armstrong’s eyes closed. The face lost its strength, the flesh seemed to sag. Carlsen said: “We have another syringe of the hypnoid drug. Will you answer our questions, or shall we inject it?”
The face was still for several moments. Then the voice said: “Ask me your questions.”
“What is your name?”
“You could not pronounce it. You could call me G’room.”
“Are you male or female?”
“Neither. Our race does not possess genders like yours.”
Heseltine asked: “What is your race?”
“You would call us Nioth-Korghai. But your human vocal organs will not sound our syllables.”
Fallada asked: “Where are you from?”
“A planet of the star you call Rigel. It is not visible, even to your most powerful telescopes.”
“How old are you?”
“In your earth time, fifty-two thousand years.”
They stared at one another with amazement. Carlsen asked: “Do all your race live as long as that?”
“No. Only we of the Ubbo-Sathla. We are what you call vampires.”
Fallada was writing down the replies. He asked: “And what of the rest of the Nioth-Korghai? How long do they live?”
“For about three hundred of your earthly years.”
Heseltine asked: “How did you become vampires?”
“That is a long story.”
“We’d like to hear it all the same. Tell us.”
There was a silence for several minutes, so that Carlsen began to wonder whether the creature intended to reply. But finally the voice came again.
“Our planet is completely covered with water. And our race, as you have guessed, has the form of the creatures you call squids. But your molluscs have almost no brain. The Nioth-Korghai have a highly developed brain and nervous system. Because our bodies are so light, we can live under the greatest of pressures. Our metabolism depends on the salts of the element fluorine, which exists in large quantity in our seas, as sodium chloride exists in yours. Beneath our seas there are immense natural caves. These became our cities. They are far bigger than your caves on earth. Even the smallest of them is eight miles high.
“At the time when your planet was in the midst of the age of great reptiles, we possessed a highly evolved civilisation. But in one important respect, it was completely unlike your earthly civilisation. The human mind enjoys solving technical problems, and its noblest ideal is science. The Nioth-Korghai are interested only in what you would call religion and philosophy. Each individual wishes to understand the universe, and ultimately to become one with it. This also explains why we do not have two sexes, as you do on earth. Your bodies conduct the spark of life at the climax of your sexual excitement. But the Nioth-Korghai can receive the universal energies directly. They fall in love with the universe, not with one another. And in moments of supreme contemplation, they become pregnant through the life energy of the universe.