“Want me to take ’em off?”
“I can do better than that; I’ll give you the Kansas City Clutch.” My words were joking but I was not; I grabbed at the bunchiness of his pants and made sure he was clean. If he had not been, he would have contorted and gone unconscious had I clutched a parasite. He submitted to it with good grace, then gave me the same treatment.
“But we can’t,” he complained as he sat down, “go around slapping women on the rump. It won’t do.”
“You may have to,” I pointed out, “or make everybody strip.”
“We’ll run some experiments.”
“How?” I asked.
“You know that head-and-spine armor deal? It’s not worth much, except to give a feeling of security to anybody who bothers to wear one. I’ll tell Doctor Horace to take an ape, fit an armor to him so that a slug can’t reach anything but his legs, say—and see what happens. Or use some other method to limit the area of attack, and vary the areas, too. We’ll find out.”
“Uh, yes. But don’t have him use an ape, boss.”
“Why not?”
“Well—they’re too human.”
“Damn it, bub, you can’t make an omelet—”
“—without breaking eggs. Okay, okay, but I don’t have to like it. Anyhow, we’ll find out.”
I could see that he did not like what he was thinking. “I hope it turns out that you are wrong. Yes, sir, I surely do. It has been hard enough to get their shirts off; I’d hate like the very deuce to try to get ’em to take off their drawers as well.” He looked worried.
“Well, maybe it won’t be necessary.”
“I hope not.”
“By the way, we’re moving back to the old nest.”
“How about the New Philadelphia hide-out?” I asked.
“We’ll keep both. This war may go on a long time.”
“Speaking of such, what have you got for me now?”
“Well, now, as I said, this is likely to prove a long war. Why don’t you take some leave? Indefinite—I’ll call you back when I need you.”
“You always have,” I pointed out. “Is Mary going on leave?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“I asked you a straight question. Boss.”
“Mary is on duty, with the President.”
“Why? She’s done her job, and nobly. You aren’t depending on her being able to smell out a slug, not if I know you. You don’t need her as a guard; she’s too good an agent to waste on such work.”
“See here—when did you get so big that you are telling me how to use other agents? Answer that and make it good.”
“Oh, skip it, skip it,” I told him, my temper very much out of hand. “Let it lay that if Mary isn’t taking leave, I don’t want leave—and none of your business why.”
“That’s a nice girl.”
“Did I say she wasn’t? Keep your nose out of my affairs. In the meantime, give me a job to do.”
“I say you need to take leave.”
“So you can make damn sure that I don’t have any free time when Mary has? What is this? A YWCA?”
“I say you need leave because you are worn out.”
“Hunh!”
“You are a fair-to-good agent when you are in shape. Right now you aren’t; you’ve been through too much. No, shut up and listen: I send you out on a simple assignment. Penetrate an occupied city, look it over and see everything there is to see and report back by a certain time. What do you do? You are so jittery that you hang around in the suburbs and are afraid to go downtown. You don’t keep your eyes open and you damn near get caught three times. Then when you do head back, you get so nervy that you burn out your ship and fail to get back in time to be of any use. Your nerve is shot and your judgment with it. Take leave—sick leave, in fact.”
I stood there with my ears burning. He did not directly blame me for the failure of Schedule Counter Blast but he might as well have. I felt that it was unfair—and yet I knew that there was truth in it. My nerves used to be like rock, and now my hands trembled when I tried to strike a cigarette.
Nevertheless he let me have an assignment—the first and only time I have ever won an argument with him.
A hell of an assignment—I spent the next several days lecturing to brass, answering fool questions about what titans eat for lunch, explaining how to tackle a man who was possessed. I was billed as an “expert” but half the time my pupils seemed sure that they knew more about slugs than I did.
Why do people cherish their preconceptions? Riddle me that.
XXI
Operation Parasite seemed to come to a dead stop during this period. The titans continued to hold Zone Red, but they could not break out without being spotted. And we did not try to break in for the good reason that every slug held one of our own people as hostage. It was a situation which might go on for a long time.
The United Nations were no help. The President wanted a simple act of cooperation—Schedule Bare Back on a global scale. They hemmed and hawed and sent the matter to committee for investigation. The plain truth was they did not believe us; that was always the enemy’s great advantage—only the burned believed in the fire.
Some nations were safe from the slugs through their own customs. A Finn who did not strip down and climb into a steam bath, in company, every day or so would have been conspicuous. The Japanese, too, were casual about undressing. The South Seas were relatively safe, as were large parts of Africa. France had gone enthusiastically nudist, on weekends at least, right after World War III—a slug would have a tough time hiding in France.
But in countries where the body-modesty taboo meant something a slug could stay hidden until his host began to stink. The United States itself, Canada—England, most particularly England. “Aren’t you getting excited over nothing, old chap? Take off my weskit? Now, really!”
They flew three slugs (with apes) to London; I understand that the King wanted to set an example as the President had, but the Prime Minister, egged on by the Archbishop of Canterbury, would not let him. The Archbishop had not even bothered to look; moral behavior was more important than mundane peril. Nothing about this appeared in the news and the story may not be true, but English skin was not exposed to the cold stares of neighbors.
The Cominform propaganda system began to blast us as soon as they had worked out a new line. The whole thing was an “American Imperialist fantasy” intended to “enslave the workers”; the “mad dogs of capitalism” were at it again.
I wondered why the titans had not attacked Russia first; Stalinism seemed tailor-made for them. On second thought, I wondered if they had. On third thought I wondered what difference it would make; the people behind the Curtain had had their minds enslaved and parasites riding them for three generations. There might not be two kopeks difference between a commissar with a slug and a commissar without a slug.
There would be one change: their intermittent purges would take a different form; a “deviationist” would be “liquidated” by plastering a titan on his neck. It wouldn’t be necessary to send him to the gas chamber.
Except when the Old Man picked me to work with him I was not close to the center of things; I saw the war with the titans as a man sees hurricanes—his small piece only. I did not see the Old Man soon and I got my assignments from Oldfield, his deputy. Consequently I did not know of it when Mary was relieved from special duty with the President. I ran into her in the lounge of the Section offices. “Mary!” I yelped and fell over my feet getting to her.
She gave me that long, slow, sweet smile and moved over to make room for me. “Hello, darling!” she whispered. She did not ask me what I had been doing, nor scold me that I had not been in touch with her, nor even comment on how long it had been. Mary always let the water over the dam take care of itself.
Not me—I babbled. “This is wonderful! I thought you were still tucking the President into his beddy-bye. How long have you been here? Do you have to go back right away? Sa
y, can I dial you a drink—no, you’ve got one.” I started to dial for an old-fashioned and discovered that Mary had already done so; it popped out almost into my hand. “Huh? How’d this get here?”
“I ordered it when you came in the door.”
“You did? Mary, did I tell you that you are wonderful?”
“No.”
“Very well, then, I will: You’re wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
I went on, “This calls for a celebration! How long are you free? Say, couldn’t you possibly get some leave? They can’t expect you to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, week after week, with no time off. I think I’ll go right straight to the Old Man and tell him just what—”
“I’m on leave, Sam.”
“—just what I think of that sort of—Huh?”
“I’m on leave now.”
“You are? For how long?”
“Subject to call. All leaves read that way now.”
“But—How long have you been on leave?”
“Since yesterday. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for you to show up.”
“Yesterday!” And I had spent yesterday giving more kindergarten lectures to brass hats who did not want them. “Oh, for the love of—” I stood up. “Stay right where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I rushed over to the operations office. I got in to see the chief deputy by insisting that I had a very urgent matter that he had to attend to. Oldfield looked up when I came in and said in a surly tone, “What do you want?”
“Look, chief, that series of bedtime stories I’m scheduled to tell: better cancel them.”
“Why?”
“I’m a sick man; I’ve been due for sick leave for a long time. Now I’ve just got to take it.”
“You’re sick in the head, if you ask me.”
“That’s right; I’m sick in the head. Sometimes I hear voices. People have been following me around. I keep dreaming I’m back with the titans.” That last point was regrettably true.
“But since when has this being crazy been any handicap in this section?” He leaned back and waited for me to argue the point.
“Look—do I get leave or don’t I?”
He fumbled through papers on his desk, found one and tore it up. “Okay. Keep your phone handy; you’re subject to recall. Get out.”
I got. Mary looked up when I came in and gave me the soft warm treatment again. I said, “Grab your things; we’re leaving.”
She did not ask where; she simply stood up. I snatched my drink, gulped half of it and spilled the rest. We went up and were out on the pedestrian level of the city before either one of us said anything. Then I asked, “Now—where do you want to get married?”
“Sam, we discussed that before.”
“Sure we did and now we are going to do it. Where?”
“Sam, Sam my very dear—I will do what you say. But I am bound to tell you that I am still opposed to it.”
“Why?”
“Sam, let’s go straight to my apartment. I’d like to cook dinner for you.”
“Okay, you can cook dinner—but not in your apartment. And we get married first.”
“Please, Sam!”
I heard somebody say, “Keep pitching, kid. She’s weakening.” I looked around and found that we were playing to a good-sized gallery.
I swept an arm wide, almost clipping the youngster who had given me the advice and shouted irritably, “Haven’t you people got anything else to do? Go get drunk!”
Somebody else said, “I’d say he ought to take her offer; he won’t get a better one.”
I grabbed Mary by the arm and hurried her away from there. I did not say another word until I had gotten her into a cab and closed off the driver’s compartment from the lounge. “All right,” I said gruffly, “why not get married? Let’s have your reasons.”
“Why get married, Sam? I’m yours; you don’t need a contract.”
“Why? Because I love you; that’s one reason, damn it!”
She did not answer for quite a while; I thought I had offended her. When she did I could hardly hear her. “You hadn’t mentioned that before, Sam.”
“Hadn’t I? Oh, I must have. I’m sure I have.”
“No, I’m sure, quite sure, that you haven’t. Why didn’t you?”
“Unh, I don’t know. Just an oversight, I guess. I’m not right sure what the word ‘love’ means.”
“Neither am I,” she said softly, “but I love to hear you say it. Say it again, please.”
“Huh? Okay. I love you. I love you, Mary.”
“Oh, Sam!”
She snuggled in against my shoulder and began to tremble. I shook her a little. “How about you?”
“Me? Oh, I love you, Sam. I do love you. I’ve loved you ever since—”
“Ever since when?”
I thought she was going to say that she had loved me ever since I took her place in Project Interview; what she said was, “I’ve loved you ever since you slapped me.”
Is that logic?
The driver was cruising slowly east along the Connecticut coast; I had told him just to drive around. I had to wake him up before I could get him to land us in Westport. We went straight to the City Hall.
I stepped up to a counter in the Bureau of Sanctions and Licenses and said to a clerk there, “Is this where we get married?”
“That’s up to you,” he answered. “Hunting licenses on the left, dog licenses on the right, this desk is the happy medium—I hope.” He leered at me.
I don’t like smart boys and the gag was ancient. “Very well,” I said stiffly, “will you oblige by issuing us a license?”
“Sure thing. Everybody ought to get married at least once; that’s what I keep telling my old lady.” He got out a large printed form. “Let’s have your serial numbers.”
We gave them to him. He slid the form into a typer and recorded them. “Now—are either of you married in any other state?” We said that we weren’t; he went on, “You’re sure, now? If you are and don’t tell me, so I can put a rider on this showing the other contracts, this contract ain’t valid.”
We told him again that we weren’t married anywhere. He shrugged and went on, “Term, renewable, or lifetime? If it’s over ten years, the fee is the same as for lifetime; if it’s under six months, you don’t need this; you get the short form from that vendo machine over there by the wall.”
I looked at Mary; she said in a very small voice, “Lifetime.”
The clerk looked surprised. “Lady, are you sure you know what you’re doing? The renewable contract, with the automatic option clause, is just as permanent and you don’t have to go through the courts if you change your mind.”
I said, “You heard the lady! Put it down.”
“Okay, okay—either party, mutual consent, or binding?”
“Binding,” I answered and Mary nodded.
“Binding it is,” he agreed, stroking the typer. “Now we come to the meat of the matter: who pays and how much? And is it salary or endowment?”
I said, “Salary”; I didn’t own enough to set up a fund.
At the same time and in a firm voice Mary said, “Neither.”
The clerk said, “Huh?”
“Neither one,” Mary repeated. “This is not a financial contract.”
The clerk stopped completely, looked at me, and then looked at Mary. “Now, look, lady,” he said reasonably, “don’t be foolish. You heard the gentleman say that he was willing to do the right thing.”
“No.”
“Hadn’t you better talk it over with your lawyer before you go ahead with this? There’s a public communicator out in the hall.”
“No!”
“Well—I’m darned if I see what you need a license for.”
“Neither do I,” Mary told him.
“You mean you don’t want this?”
“No! Put it down the way I told you to. ‘No salary’.”
The clerk looked helpless bu
t bent over the typer again. “I guess that’s all we need,” he said finally. “You’ve kept it simple, I’ll say that for you. ‘Do-you both-solemnly-swear-that-the-above-facts-are-true-to-the-best-of-your-knowledge-and-belief-that-you-aren’t-entering-into-this-agreement-uninfluenced-by-drugs-or-other-illegal-inducements-and-that-there-exists-no-other-covenants-nor-other-legal-impediments-to-the-execution-and-registration-of-the-above-contract?’”
We both said that we did and we were and it was and there weren’t. He pulled the form out of the typer. “Let’s have your thumb prints…okay; that’ll be ten dollars, including the federal tax.” I paid him and he shoved the form into the copier and threw the switch. “Copies will be mailed to each of you,” he announced, “at your serial-number addresses. Now—what type of ceremony are you looking for? Maybe I can be of help.”
“We don’t want a religious ceremony,” Mary told him and I agreed.
He nodded. “Then I’ve got just what you’re looking for. Old Doctor Chamleigh. He’s completely non-sectarian, best stereo accompaniment in town, all four walls and full orchestra. He gives you the whole works, fertility rites and everything, but dignified. And he tops it off with a fatherly straight-from-the-shoulder word of advice. Makes you feel married.”
“No.” This time I said it.
“Oh, come, now!” the clerk said to me. “Think of the little lady. If she sticks by what she just swore to—and I’m not saying she won’t—she’ll never have another chance. Every girl is entitled to a formal wedding. Honest—I don’t get much of a commission out of it.”
I said, “See here, you can marry us, can’t you? Go ahead. Get it over with!”
He looked surprised and said, “Didn’t you know? In this state you marry yourself. You’ve been married, ever since you thumb-printed the license.”
I said, “Oh—” Mary didn’t say anything. We left.
I hired a duo at the landing flat north of town; the heap was ten years old and smelled of it but it had full-automatic and that was all that really mattered. I looped around the city, cut across Manhattan Crater, and set the controls. We didn’t talk much; there didn’t seem to be much to say just yet. I was happy but terribly nervous—and then Mary put her arms around me and after a bit I wasn’t nervous any longer but happier than ever. After a long time that seemed short I heard the BEEEEP! beep-beep BEEEEP! of the beacon at my shack in the mountains, whereupon I unwound myself, took over manual, and landed. Mary said sleepily, “Where are we?”