Cue for Quiet

finger tostop him.

  But when they came after me to put me away I wasn't stunned. It tookfour of them, and one more that came in as reinforcement. They weren'trough deliberately, but they weren't easy. They had a time, too. Ithink I've been around long enough to know a few dirty tricks. I usedthem all, but I still went back to my room, or cell. I got no sleep atall for the rest of the night, nor most of the next night. I wonderedif I could ever sleep again. If someone had mentioned "Helen" to me Ilikely would cry like a baby. I couldn't get her out of my mind.

  When they came after me again they were all prepared for anotherargument. I didn't care, this time. Meekly I went along, back to thatsame conference room. Four men; the old man who had given me the spursbefore, one of the high school boys, and a couple of uniforms. The oldman stood up very formally to greet me.

  "Good morning, Mr. Miller."

  I snarled at him. "Good for what?"

  One of the uniforms was indignant. "Here, here, my man!"

  I let him have it, too. "In your hat, fatty. My discharge went on thebooks in forty-five!" He was shocked stiff, but he shut up.

  The old man kept his face straight. "Won't you sit down, Mr. Miller?"I sat. I still didn't like the chair. "This is General Hayes, and thisis General Van Dorf." They nodded stiffly, and I ignored them. Hedidn't introduce the young man, not that I cared.

  "Mr. Miller, we'd like to talk to you. Talk seriously."

  "Afraid that I'll get mad and fly out the window?"

  "I said seriously. It won't take long. Let's compress it into oneshort sentence without the preliminaries: give these gentlemen ademonstration like the last one."

  I told him what he could do with his demonstration, and I told himwhat he could do with his generals. The high school boy grinned when Isaid that. He must have been old enough to have served in the army.

  The generals were crimson. You don't get that kind of talk where theyworked. But the old man was unperturbed. "Let's make that one sentencea paragraph. Give these gentlemen a demonstration as effective as thelast--and ten minutes after, if you like, you can walk out of herefree as the air."

  I jumped at that. "Is that straight? If I do it again you'll let meloose?"

  He nodded. "If you really want to."

  I persisted. "Straight, now? On your word of honor?"

  He wasn't lying. "If you want my word you have it."

  I grinned all over like a dog. "Bring on your fans, or whatever youhave cooked up."

  The young man went out and came right back in with a little cartloadof electric fans. Either they had too many for general use, or someonehad very little imagination. Come summer, with Detroit ninety in theshade, they were going to miss their ventilation. Me, I was going tobe a long way from the Federal Building. He set the fans on the desk,and the generals craned stork-like to see what was going on. The oldman bowed to them.

  "Name one, gentlemen. Any one you like." They named the middle oneagain.

  * * * * *

  I called my shots again, as free and easy as though I'd been doing itfor years. "The middle one first, you say? No sooner said than done,gentlemen. Right? Right! Now the far left, and right down the line.Eeney, meeny, and out goes me." They were all dead, and I stood up andasked the room, "Which is the express elevator to the main floor?"

  The old man held up his hand. "One moment, Mr. Miller." He read mymind, which, at that second, wasn't hard to do. "Oh, no. You're freeto go any time you so desire. But I would like to make thisdemonstration a little more convincing."

  He meant it. I could go if I liked.

  "You also, Mr. Miller, as I understand it, exhibit somewhat the samedegree of control over internal combustion engines." And well he knewI did. That traffic tieup I'd engineered had traveled via newsreelsall over the world. "Will you gentlemen step over to the window?" Thiswas to me and the generals.

  We all crowded over. I looked down and saw we were on the ninth floor,maybe the eighth or tenth. It's hard to judge distance when you'relooking straight down.

  "Mr. Miller--"

  "Yeh?"

  "If one of these officers will pick out a car or a truck down on thestreet below can you stop it? Stop it dead in its tracks?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  "All right, then. General Hayes, we'll let you do the honors. Will youselect from all those cars down there any particular item?"

  I broke in. "Or any streetcar." I was feeling cocky.

  "Or any streetcar. I would suggest, General, that you choose a targetfor its visibility. One that you cannot mistake."

  The uniforms were suspicious, as they conferred with their noses flatagainst the glass. They beckoned to me and pointed.

  "That one there."

  "Which one where?" They had to be more explicit than that.

  "The big truck. The one with the green top and the pipe sticking out."

  I spotted it. It slowed for a red light, and came to a complete stop.I concentrated. Blow, Gabriel.

  * * * * *

  The crosstraffic halted, and the truck again got under way. Thensuddenly, as it must have been, although from where we were it seemedlike a leisurely stroll, it veered through the other traffic lane andsmoke burst from its hood. We could see the driver pop from his seatand race to the corner fire alarm box. Almost instantly traffic bothways was four deep. I turned away from the window. I don't likeheights, anyway.

  "Now can I go?" Walk, not run to the nearest exit.

  The old man spoke directly to the uniforms, "Well, gentlemen, are yousatisfied?"

  They were satisfied, all right. They were stunned. They were probablyvisualizing a stalled tank retriever, a stalled 6x6.

  "Thank you, Mr. Miller. Thank you very much." My grin was wide, as Istarted for the door.

  "But I think that it is only fair, before you go, for me to tell youone thing."

  With my hand on the knob, I laughed at him. "You mean that there isn'tany Santa Claus?"

  The corners of his mouth went up. "Not for you, I'm afraid. Are youinsured?"

  "Me? Insured? You mean the extra thirty cents I give the newsboy everyweek?"

  "That's it. Insured. Life insurance."

  I shrugged. "Sure. A couple of thousand as long as I take the papers."

  "Suppose your subscription expires, or is cancelled, for certainreasons that should be obvious?" The generals stopped fidgeting andlooked curiously at the old man.

  I couldn't figure out what he meant, and said so.

  "You can--well, let's say that you can 'interfere' with electrical ormechanical devices, can't you?"

  Sure I could. At least, all the ones I'd ever tried.

  "So, with that established, you would be in a military sense thetheoretically perfect defense."

  I hadn't thought about it that way. But if it ever came down to it Ishould be able to knock down an airplane, gum up the works on a fusingdetonator, maybe even--. No, I didn't like that idea. Not me. Not atall.

  The old man's voice was hard and soft at the same time. "So you're theirresistible force, or maybe the immovable object. And if you walk outof this office right now--and you can, Mr. Miller, that was ouragreement--knowing what you know and being able to do what you havebeen doing.... Now, just how long do you think it would take theintelligence of a dozen different nations to catch up with you? Andhow long after that would you stay 'free,' as you put it? Or how longwould you stay alive? There are all types of ways and means, youknow." You bet I knew that.

  My hair tried to stand on end. "Why, you'd be just cutting your ownthroat! You'd have to keep an eye on me. You can't back out on menow!"

  He was sympathetic. "That's just what we're trying to do. We're tryingto protect you and all you want to do is go home."

  I sat down in the old chair. "So that's why you said I could go anytime I wanted to." The old man said nothing. I ran my hands through myhair and tried to find the right words. "Now what?"

  * * * * * br />
  One of the generals started a preparatory cough, but the old man beathim to it. "I have a suggestion, Mr. Miller. You likely will notapprove. Or, then again, you might."

  "Yeah?"

  "You know by now that this room, or its rough equivalent, is where youcan be safe. This place, or one as well guarded."

  "Yeah. And then what?"

  He tried to make it as easy as he could. "Voluntarily--remember thatword, and what it means--voluntarily put yourself in our charge. Putyourself under our care and our protection--"

  "And your orders!"

  General Van Dorf couldn't hold in his snort. "Good Heavens, man,where's your patriotism? Where's your--"

  He got the worst of that exchange, and he didn't like it. "Where'syour brains, man? Whatever patriotism I have left is pretty well wornafter thirty-two months overseas. I'm sick of the Army and Navy; I'msick of hurrying up to stand in line; I'm sick of being told what todo, and being told how and where to do it; I'm sick of being bossed.As far as I'm concerned there's only one person in this world who cantell me to do anything--and what's happened to my wife, anyway? Whereis she? And where does she think I am right now?" The old manhesitated. "She doesn't know where you are. She's in the woman'sdivision, downstairs. She's been well-treated, of course--"

  "Sure. Well-treated." That was when I got really mad. "Sure. Jerk herout of bed in the middle of the night and throw her in jail and giveher enough to eat and a place to sleep and that's supposed to be goodtreatment!"

  The generals left without excusing themselves. Evidently they knewwhat was coming and wanted no part of it. The old Army game of signingyour name and letting the sergeant hear the howls. I think that wasthe only thing that kept me there, as furious as I was, to hear whatthe old man had to say. He had been handed the dirty end of the stick,and he had to get rid of it the best way he could. When they were gonehe circled a bit and then got the range.

  * * * * *

  Boiled down, it was like this. "As of right now, you no longer exist.There is no more Peter Ambrose Miller, and maybe there never was. ThisI would suggest; your wife, being human, could keep quiet no longerthan any other woman--or man. As far as she is concerned you're nolonger alive. You were killed while escaping arrest."

  The sheer brutality, the plain cruelty of that, almost drove me insaneright there on the spot. I don't know what kept my hands off him. Now,of course, I realize that he was doing that deliberately to focus myhate on him, to present the bad side of it, to show me what could bedone if I didn't cooperate. But I didn't know that then.

  "So if I've got the name I'll have the game! Does it make anydifference if I get shot in report or in fact? How would _your_ wifelike to know that you'd been shot down like a criminal? What wouldHelen say to her friends and my friends and her relatives and all thepeople we know?"

  That was just the reaction he'd been waiting for. "I mentioned thatonly as a suggestion. That could be easily arranged another way. Let'ssay, for example, that you've been working for the Government eversince your legal discharge, in an undercover assignment, and you diedin line of duty. It should be quite easy to see that your widow wasawarded some sort of posthumous decoration. Would that help?"

  I never thought that I would ever sit quietly and listen to someonecalmly plot the complete obliteration of my whole life, my wholebeing. It was like one of these European novels when one sane mantries to live and find another sane person in a world of madness. Aposthumous decoration. A medal for one that is dead and rotting. Anightmare with no waking up.

  "And perhaps--oh, certainly!--a pension. You can rest assured yourwife will never want. You see, Mr. Miller, we want to test you, andyour ... ability. Perhaps this unbelievable control you have can beduplicated, or understood. That we want to find out. We want to turninside out all the enormous potential you have. In short we want--wemust--have you in strictest custody and under rigid observation. Ifyou like, I can see that you have a military or naval commission ofrank commensurate with your importance. And don't think, Mr. Miller,that you're any less important than I've stated. Right now, from thisside of the fence, it looks to me that you're the most important thingthis side of the invention of the wheel."

  I didn't want a commission. I wanted to lead a normal life, and Iwanted my wife.

  * * * * *

  "The Marines, perhaps? Or the Air Corps?"

  It wasn't just the Army, or the Navy; it was the system. If I had tobe a Sad Sack I'd be a civilian.

  "As you like. Agreed?"

  I looked at him. "Agreed? What do you want me to say? Agreed. That's agood word for you to use to me."

  "You can rest assured--" He saw what must have been on my face, andstopped short. For a long minute we sat there, he thinking histhoughts, and me thinking mine. Mine weren't pleasant. Then he got upand came over to me. "Sorry. This is a pretty big meal to digest allat once. I know how you must feel."

  I stared up at him. "Do you?"

  Then he turned and left. Later, I don't know when, the young fellowcame back alone and took me to my cell. I must have finally gotten tosleep.

  The young fellow, who turned out to be a fairly good citizen namedStein, came after me the next day. He wanted me to pack. Pack? All theclothes I had were on my back.

  "Toothbrush, things like that. Tell me what you want in the line ofclothes and you'll get them. Or anything else, within reason."

  "Anything? Anything at all?"

  "Well, I said anything reasonable." We didn't have to go any furtherinto that. He knew what I meant.

  When it was dark they took us away, Stein and myself. In the back of amail truck, cramped and silent we rode for what seemed hours. Longbefore we rattled to a halt I could hear the familiar roars of motorsbeing warmed. The tailgates swung open and a twenty-foot walk put usinto a military ship. That meant Selfridge Field. Stein and I sat inthe old painful bucket seats, the twin motors blasted and we trundleddown the paved strip, a takeoff to nowhere. So long, Miller; so longto your wife and your home and your life. So long, Miller; you're deadand you're gone, and your wife will get a medal.

  * * * * *

  When I awoke, the cabin was stuffy, and the sun was brassy and hot andhigh. Stein, already awake, came up with a thermos of coffee and asnack. A peep from the ports didn't tell me where I was, not that itmattered. Somewhere in the west or southwest, on a sandy waste on thefar end of a landing strip away from a cluttered group of shacks, wewalked long enough to get out the kinks. Then a hurried sandwich froma picnic basket left in the cabin by an invisible steward, and wetransferred to a gray amphibian. The next time I had interest enoughto look out and down we were over water, and toward the rim of theworld we floated for hours. I dozed off again.

  Stein woke me up. Wordlessly he passed me a heavy helmet, and the kindof goggles that present a mirrored blankness to the outside world. Allthis time I had seen none of the crews, even when we had landed. Thetwo of us had strolled alone in a tiny world of our own. When thepilot cut his engines for the landing I had the old style helmet on myhead. It was far too big, and hurt my ears. The galloping splash wemade puddled the ports high, and we bobbed awkwardly until Stein gothis signal from the pilot, who popped out an impersonal arm. From thewing-struts we transferred to a Navy dory, manned by enlisted mencommanded by a blank-faced ensign in dungarees. We were both wearingthe concealing helmets in the stifling heat, and the ensign's "EyesFront," did no more than keep the sailors from sneaking curious looksfrom the corners of their eyes.

  * * * * *

  The small boat put us alongside what looked like more of a workshipthan a fighter. It might have been an oiler or a repair-ship, or itmight not have even been Navy. But it was Navy clean, and the crew wasNavy. Some gold braid, way out of proportion to the size of the ship,met us at the top of the ladder, saluted, God knows why, and led Steinand I to a cabin. Not too big, not too small. I heard the amphibianrev up and t
ake off again, and the deck tilted a trifle beneath us aswe gathered way. A yank, and the suffocating helmet was off and Iturned to Stein.

  "Navy ship?"

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  "Navy ship."

  "No beer, then."

  I drew a big grin this time. He was human, all right. "No beer."

  Like an oven it was in that cabin. In a shower stall big enough for amidget I splashed away until I got a mouthful of water. Salt. Ipaddled out of there in a hurry and spent the next two hours trying toget interested in a year-old House and Home. Hours? I spent threesolid days looking at that same issue, and others like it. All thesailors on the ship must have had hydroponics or its equivalent on thebrain. In between times it cost me thirteen dollars I didn't have toplay gin with Stein. Then--

  * * * * *

  I never did find out his real name. Neither his name, nor his job, norwhat his job had to do with me, but he must have been important, fromthe salutes and attention he got. Maybe he'd just gotten there, maybehe'd been there all the time. He told me, when I bluntly asked him hisname and what he did, that his name was Smith, and I still think ofhim as Smith. When he tapped on the door and stepped