Fantastic Stories Presents the Imagination (Stories of Science and Fantasy) Super Pack. Edmond Hamilton
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unexpected. “You got it wrong,” he said automatically. “They are helping Lyrians out of the goodness of their hearts.” It was as if he were speaking to Calvin; it made him feel, momentarily, superior to her. He grasped the opportunity with pathetic gratefulness. “They’re afraid!” he cried triumphantly. “We’re not that far advanced yet!”
Julia paused to consider this. “Yes, that figures,” she said. “But suppose for a minute that you’re not a Lyrian. Suppose they’re using you to fight for them.”
“No,” Walt said.
“But why not?”
“No,” he repeated. He tried to keep doubt out of his voice. His anger was gone. He felt uncertain and confused. He could not think clearly.
“You’re a mutant,” Julia said. “Like I am. Our parents were earthlings. The aliens are using mutants. The aliens changed our parents’ genes—”
“I don’t understand that word.”
Julia smiled twistedly. “Think how ignorant they kept you, Walt. Isn’t that proof enough for you?”
Walt said nothing.
“ . . . Genes are the substances which transmit characteristics from generation to generation. If you wish to change hereditary characteristics, you must change the genes. The aliens changed our genes so we would be able to use all of our brains. The normal earthling is just like you are right now: unable to use more than one sixth of his brain. The aliens collected all the mutants; all of them but me. They overlooked me.”
Walt twisted uncomfortably.
“But they still control us,” Julia said. “There is a bridge that is held closed by a special frequency. That’s why we’ve just recently been able to use our full powers. They just recently turned the frequency on.”
“But—”
“The frequency that controls my bridge is different from the one controlling yours. There are two groups of mutants on the ship. The female you saw, the one you thought was a Lyrian, was a mutant from the other group. I’m on the frequency of that group. It’s the group that’s going to attack Earth first. They are the ones that are going to cause the war your Forential told you about.”
*
Walt’s mouth was dry. Stop! he wanted to cry to her. Please, stop!
“ . . . keep birth records,” Julia continued. Walt had missed some of it. “No two sets of prints can be identical. A group of babies vanished during the last big flying saucer scare. You were one of them. I was trying to find your birth certificate. If I could find it . . . .”
Julia talked on. Her voice was sincere and intense and compelling. As he listened, Walt felt the case against the aliens grow stronger.
Can’t think clearly, he told himself. Trust Forential.
No.
He did lie about the war.
Forential lied about that.
He’d lie about . . . about other things?
They kept me in ignorance, he thought. Perhaps they really were afraid I’d discover my real nature.
I don’t know; I can’t think; I can’t think!
As he watched Julia, the female who had (the truth of this slowly dawned on him) actually saved his life, he felt the first stirrings of an emotion he was not prepared to cope with. How pretty she looked, standing before him, her eyes serious and her face intent. He wanted to nestle her.
The footprints, he thought. She couldn’t find mine among the birth certificates she had. She could have faked a set if she’d wanted to. Does the fact she didn’t mean she’s not lying?
I think I’m sorry I threw the picture at her.
“If you could have heard Mrs. Savage on the phone,” Julia said, “you’d understand better. She lost her son—had him stolen—and she was still saving the birth certificate, after this long. She told me she knew she’d find him some day.”
Mrs. Savage sounds just like Forential, Walt thought.
“She’s been waiting all these years,” Julia said. “She’s never given up hope.”
Still waiting for her . . . son, Walt thought. Still waiting, still needing her son.
Walt had never thought much of his parents until now. They were obscured by Forential; they existed somewhere on Lyria. But suppose Julia were telling the truth? Would they have been more fond of him than Forential? Could they have been?
There were so many things he did not understand. He must ask Forential about the process by which babies are created; what was the connection between parent and child? It was all so puzzling.
. . . why not ask Julia?
“Wait a minute,” Walt interrupted. “I understand so very little. How are babies made?”
And there was a harsh, peremptory knock on the door. The manager’s angry voice came booming through the paneling:
“The bell boy tells me you’ve got a man tied to the bed in there! We can’t have that sort of thing in this hotel! Open the door, you hear me? Open the door!”
Chapter X
“Oh, oh,” Julia whispered. “You keep your mouth shut, Walt.”
She projected a distortion field around him.
The bed now appeared untenanted.
Walt was silent.
Julia opened the door. The manager stormed in.
“You, you creature!” he cried. “Tying a defenseless man on the bed for God knows what evil pur—oh. Hummm,” he stared at the bed.
“Oh,” he said.
“There’s no one here but me.”
“The bell boy—”
The manager searched the room. He looked in the closet. He looked in the shower. His face slowly began to take on color.
Foolishly he got down on his knees and peered under the bed.
“Well,” he said, dusting off his trousers as he stood up, “well . . . oh . . . . Is the service all right, Miss? Do you have any complaints? Plenty of towels? Soap? Did the bell boy raise the window—yes, I see he did. There’s enough heat? I, I seemed to have—I was on the wrong floor entirely. You see—”
His face grew even more puzzled. “There’s a woman on the, on the ninth floor I guess it is—how could I ever have made such a mistake? this is the seventh floor, isn’t it?—has a man in her bed.” His face got redder. He waved his hands. “Tied to the bed.”
“Oh, my,” Julia said.
“Yes, isn’t it. Now, if you want anything, don’t hesitate to ring. I’m sorry about this mistake. Silly of me. This is the seventh floor . . . isn’t it?”
“Yes, this is the seventh floor.”
The manager left.
Julia locked the door behind him.
She dissolved the distortion field.
“Whew!” she said. “He was mad, wasn’t he?”
Walt tried to sit up.
“No—wait. I think I’ll take a chance. I’m going to leave you alone to think over what I’ve said. Then I’m going to come back and untie you. You’re going to help me, Walt.”
“I,