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The BUTTERFLY KISS
_by Arthur Dekker Savage_
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Orbit volume 1number 2, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
[Sidenote: _THE WAR WAS ON, THE FINAL CATACLYSM HAD BEGUN. THOUSANDSWOULD DIE, EONS OF HUMAN HISTORY WOULD BE WIPED OUT, CENTURIES OFCULTURE BE DESTROYED ... UNLESS ONE MAN COULD CARRY OUT HIS PLAN._]
When Sykin Supcel was kidnaped, no one on Earth was less surprised thanDr. Horace Wilton, Chief Military Psychologist of the Solar Navy. Andsince he had been Sy's mentor, and obviously responsible for his safety,Dr. Wilton was the first high official sought by representatives of thenews syndicates.
"It has become increasingly difficult," said the psychologist carefullyto the group sitting in his office, "to ignore such actions by theSur-Malic." He gazed through an open window-wall to where the newsmen'stiny jet-copters glinted beneath a summer sun at the forest's edge. "Ofcourse, I might have predicted it; Sy insisted upon browsing through oldcity ruins for relaxation, and he seemed to delight in eluding hisguard escort."
A reporter with the long nose and narrow head of a Venusian--or, forthat matter, a Sur-Malic--raised his voice. "Y'mean he was all alonewhen he was snatched?"
The doctor rested one hip on the edge of a gleaming alloy desk. Militaryspecifications, like civilian preference, demanded that every artifactpossible be of enduring, stainless metal. "I am afraid so," he answeredslowly.
"Then how," demanded the reporter, "d'you know it was the Sur-Malic thatgot him?"
"Simple logic. The Sur-Malic have been sporadically making off withfirst-class Earth scientists for a century--and Sy had recentlydeveloped an important improvement in our so-called cosmic ray engine.If he is forced to divulge the information, there may be tragicrepercussions to the Interstellar League." Pencils raced eagerly acrossnote pads. "Furthermore, Sy was well equipped to handle any ordinaryemergency. Nor would a League world commit such an act, while any memberof the Radical Alliance other than the Sur-Malic would be incapable ofit."
A stocky brown Martian glowered. "Why the hell, sir, don't we wipe outthe Sur-Malic? We all know they're straining every seam to get a warfleet built on Pronuleon II, and that their attack's only a matter oftime. If we hit them where they are, they'd never recover--but if wewait for them to strike first...."
Dr. Wilton held up his hand to stem the torrent. "I can't speak for thegovernment, young man, but I might point out that it has never been ourpolicy to foment war. We are making such preparations as allotted fundspermit, and the combined Solar Fleet is on the alert. Also, _knowing_that the Sur-Malic stole our laboratory speci--er--Unique, and beingable to _prove_ it are two different matters."
"Excuse me, doctor." A keen-eyed Earth reporter stood up. "You startedto say 'specimen'. How about that? Are Sy and the other Uniques in thespecial lab groups actually some kind of humanoid robots or something? Iknow it's top-drawer stuff, but are these Uniques actually people? Doyou make 'em, or are they born, or what? What are they for, and whytheir odd names?" He resumed his seat. The others maintained anexpectant silence. It was not often they found themselves in thetropical, trackless forest area of the American Great Lakes region,which was almost invisibly dotted with naval installations, and personalinterviews with military psychologists were rare events; but datapertaining to the almost fabulous Uniques would take news precedence onevery video screen of the meadow, valley and woodland homes of Earth.
Dr. Wilton neatly snipped the legal filter from a cigarette, evokingsympathetic grins from his audience. Many took immediate advantage ofthe tacit permission to smoke. "I can answer those questions safely, Iam sure. First," he smiled, "your shrewd observation of the term'specimen': in some respects the Uniques are specimens--but only to theextent that in childhood some of them underwent certain surgicaloperations, mainly brain and glandular. All were kept on special dietsduring their early youth, and were meticulously trained by specialinstructors and psychologists. Other than having exceptional attributesin one or more designated fields, they are as normal as you and I--ifyou will pardon my hopeful attitude about myself."
There was a ripple of subdued laughter. The doctor cleared his throatand shifted his position. "They are the children of normal Earthparents, and are selected quietly, with parental approval, when certaincombinations of factors appear on their school entrance examinationrecords. They are naturally gifted; we try to encourage and improvethese gifts, so that when they reach adulthood they will have aparticular skill or skills to employ in the research and developmentallaboratories. They are citizens, of course--and extremely valuable ones;they receive salaries commensurate with their military rank; they arefree to travel, but we try to guard them against accident and mishap.Their real names are not revealed for security reasons; their laboratorynames, such as Sykin Supcel AA-87, are a sort of code which designatestheir capabilities to their instructors and teammates."
He pressed a button on his desk. "To establish their complete normalcy,you might like to meet Arna Matt A-94, who happens to be waiting in thenext room."
A door opened. A girl stopped on the threshold, a picture of poisedsurprise. The men looked at her appreciatively.
"Come in, my dear."
She moved to the doctor's side, lithely and with an easy grace. Theshining metallic cloth of her brief uniform rustled in the silence. Manybreaths were expelled at the same time, and she repressed a smile.
Dr. Wilton introduced her. "You will notice--" he coughed "--you havenoticed," he continued broadly, "that Arna possesses severalattributes." There were low murmurings. "But the single A in her numberindicates that she ranks at the top of one field, and the number itselfmeans that she is the ninety-fourth to become a trainee in the programwhich develops these unique humans; her code name reveals that shepossesses Awareness in Mathematics--which is to say that she somehowimmediately knows the answer to any mathematical problem presented,without having to consciously calculate or even think about it. Herparticular gift was known on Earth as far back as the SeventeenthCentury, but it has always been extremely rare and relativelyundeveloped."
"Can she talk?" questioned a voice good-humoredly.
The psychologist chuckled. "Say something for the boys, Arna," heinvited.
With the timing of a video star the girl parted her lips provocatively,leaned slightly forward and then, when expectancy was at its height,said "Boo!"
Friendly laughter echoed through the paneled room, coming from all butthe Venusian. He rose stiffly. "This is all very well, but we're heret'get _all_ the dope on Sykin Supcel. Aren't you holding out something?"
Dr. Wilton looked at the man squarely. "Yes," he said softly. "Yes, Iam." His gaze swept the others. "The interview is terminated,gentlemen--I hope your news stories will be sufficiently popular to makeyour trip worthwhile. Your lapel cameras and their eyepieces will bereturned as you enter your 'copters."
The Venusian was the first to voice his thanks, with a ring of sincerityas true as in the others' polite speeches.
Alone with Arna, Dr. Wilton punched several buttons on the desk,consulted a memo and spoke briskly to a blank video screen."Start--all--in. Step seven two eight of Operation Catskin successful.Sur-Malic spy among reporters, as predicted by eighty-two pointsix probability. Lor'lsoon, posing as Venusian, exposed by hisinadequate training--probability about sixty; his unconsciousbelligerency--probability about ninety. He is to be undisturbed forforty-eight hours, then detained after an apparently routine round-up.Any contacts he may reveal during the next two days are to be observ
edbut not disturbed. End--all--out."
Arna leaned over the desk and kissed him lightly. "Nice work, Dad."Then she went on, tensely: "Any word from Sy--or is he supposed to makecontact later?"
* * * * *
It was by merest chance that Sykin Supcel happened to be at the militaryspaceport of Dirik when the prisoner was made to land--and he hadbrought along an alibi to prove it. A year after his capture and removalto the key city of Pronuleon II, he had successfully convinced theSur-Malic High Command that he would have been a willing traitor evenwithout the rank and gold and promises. "Damned, dirty Earth lice," hehad been wont to