“Don’t worry.”
Lamson said: “What’s he been up to?”
Carlsen slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. But you’ll learn all about it later. Thanks for your help.”
He opened the surgery door quietly. There was a silence. Heseltine glanced around at him, then looked away. Apparently someone had asked a question. The curiously flat voice sounded as if it was reading from a script.
“It was necessary to adopt human bodies to make contact with your race. If you examine them closely, you will discover that they contain silicon instead of carbon.”
Heseltine said: “In that case, why didn’t you try to make contact with us, instead of disappearing?”
The answer came sooner than Carlsen expected. “You know the answer to that. I was caught unawares and killed before I could prevent myself.”
Fallada said: “What are you doing?” Carlsen was standing beside the couch, the hypodermic syringe poised over the naked arm. The creature stopped speaking, puzzled by the question. Carlsen drove in the needle and pressed the plunger. He withdrew the needle, leaving a drop of blood on the skin. After a silence, the creature’s voice said: “I do not understand …”
It trailed off. Fallada said: “Neither do I. Why did you want to do that?”
Carlsen was silent for a moment, watching Armstrong’s breathing. Then he said: “Because we’ve got to hurry. We’ve got to get back to London.”
Heseltine said: “But was that necessary? Don’t you trust him?”
Carlsen snorted. “No, of course I don’t.”
Fallada asked with astonishment: “Why not?”
“Because it told us only half the truth. I’ll explain when we’re in the Grasshopper. Now we’d better go. Help me lift him.”
“What do you want to do with him?”
“Take him back with us.” He depressed the capsule-release switch of the recorder and dropped the capsule into his pocket.
Sergeant Parker was dozing on the lawn, his shirt open to the waist. He sat up and stared with astonishment at the slumped figure in the wheelchair. Heseltine said: “Help us lift him. We’ve got to get back to London as quickly as possible. How soon can we do it?”
“Half an hour, if we push it.”
It took them five minutes to manoeuvre the heavy body onto the rear bench seat of the Grasshopper. Less than a minute later, they were airborne. Lamson, who had come out onto the front steps, waved to them as they rose vertically from the lawn.
Heseltine, still breathing heavily, said: ” Ididn’t notice any contradictions in his story.”
“It was full of contradictions. You noticed one yourself. If they assumed human bodies in order to make contact with us, why didn’t they do it?”
“Surely he explained that? He killed young Adams without premeditation, then panicked —”
“Creatures like that don’t panic. They calculate. Did he explain why they were all in a state of suspended animation when we found them?”
“To make the journey pass more quickly — for the same reason we sleep on aeroplanes.”
“In that case, why was it so difficult to wake them up?”
“We didn’t have time to ask that. You knocked him out again.”
Carlsen said: “There’s no need to ask. The reason’s obvious. They wanted us to bring them all back to earth. And when we’d got them here, they’d all die off, one by one… and we wouldn’t even suspect we’d brought vampires back to earth. All we’d notice is the sudden rise in crimes of violence, sadistic murders, and so on.”
Heseltine shook his head. “I don’t know whether I’m unusually gullible, or you’re unusually mistrustful.” The question was an implied reproach.
Carlsen said: “Look at his story again. First of all, he explains how his race helped our race to evolve. That could be true, although we have to take his word for it. Then he describes their accident. That could be true too. It was after that I began to notice the contradictions. They became parasites on other living creatures. They stole the bodies of some squidlike creatures on another planet. And then, according to him, they tried the experiment of living off natural foods, to see what happened. That made them begin to age, so they went back to living off other intelligent creatures.”
Fallada said: “But without destroying them. You remember, he compared their method to dairy farming —”
Carlsen said: “You forget we eat cows as well as milk them. He was trying to convince us that they treated their victims as fellow creatures. I don’t believe it. Why do you suppose they move from planet to planet? Because they’re natural predators, and they can’t resist the urge to destroy their victims. When they’ve destroyed all the life on one planet, they move to another.”
Fallada said: “But you’ve no evidence for that. It might be true, but we don’t know .”
“I’ve got an instinct about it. Nothing in their behaviour leads me to trust them. The rest of these creatures are out there in space, slowly dying of hunger. Why should they be dying of hunger if they’ve learned this art of dairy farming? They’d make sure they brought enough food with them, as we do when we take a nine-month trip to Jupiter. They couldn’t take enough food with them, because they’ve eaten the larder bare. And the earth’s intended to be their next larder.”
Fallada and Heseltine were obviously impressed by his reasoning, yet neither was entirely convinced. They turned to look at the prostrate body, as if this could provide an answer. Fallada said: “I still feel we owe them something. After all, they landed in this predicament after they’d been trying to help us evolve into real human beings. And according to him, they taught us about agriculture. Or do you think that was a lie too?”
“Not necessarily. Of course they wanted us to evolve. When they returned to earth twenty thousand years ago, there probably weren’t more than a million human beings altogether. Even those who were little better than animals. They left us to breed and evolve, so they could come back when we’d multiplied. And now they’ve got a larder that could last them for ten thousand years. I’ll tell you something else. He says they came to earth hoping to meet some of their own kind —”
“But surely that’s common sense?”
“Is it? What do you suppose their own kind could have done for them? They couldn’t help them to get back to Orion. They don’t use spaceships. They convert themselves into some higher form of energy that can travel faster than light. And these creatures lost that power after they became vampires.”
“How do you know?”
“Surely it’s obvious. If they hadn’t lost it, they’d go back home. That’s why they need a spaceship to move around now.”
“But their own people might be able to help them.”
“Do you think that likely? They’ve turned into galactic criminals. They probably left the earth to avoid their own people. They’ve become lepers.”
Fallada said musingly: “It’s an interesting thought. A kind of Fall.”
Sergeant Parker pointed below. “That’s Bedford, sir. We should be back in ten minutes. Shall I go to the Yard?”
Heseltine looked at Carlsen. Carlsen said: “It might be better to go to the Ismeer Building. We could leave Armstrong there. We’ve got to keep him knocked out.” He asked Falllada: “Does that suit you?”
“Of course. My assistant Grey can take care of that.”
Heseltine said: “And then what?”
Carlsen said: “If I’m not mistaken, you’ll find a message from the Prime Minister waiting for you. He’ll be anxious to know what you’re doing.”
Heseltine said: “There is a message. I rang my wife this morning. The P.M. wants to see all three of us as soon as possible.”
“Good. Then we’ll go and see him.”
Heseltine said doubtfully: “He’ll be more difficult to handle than Armstrong. What do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know. But I’m certain of one thing. We’ve got to see him
face to face. There’s no other way.”
The policeman at the door saluted as he recognised Heseltine. A moment later, the front door was opened by a pretty, dark-haired girl.
“I believe the Prime Minister is expecting us?”
“Yes, sir. He’ll be free in a moment. Would you like to wait in here?”
Heseltine said: “I haven’t seen you before.”
“I’m Merriol.” She smiled, showing small, white teeth.
The accent had a Welsh lilt. She seemed scarcely more than a schoolgirl.
As she left the room, Heseltine said: “Curious.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing much.” He lowered his voice. “There’s gossip that Jamieson has a taste for young girls. In fact, it’s more than gossip. And the latest one’s supposed to be a student teacher from Anglesey.”
Fallada said: “But surely he wouldn’t bring her into Downing Street? That’s asking for trouble.”
“I’d have thought so. What do you think, Carlsen?”
Carlsen had been staring abstractedly out of the window. Now he looked up, startled. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“It’s just that it seems rather odd that this girl —” He stopped speaking as the door opened.
The girl said: “Would you like to come this way, please?” She smiled coquettishly at Carlsen. As she ran up the stairs ahead of them, he observed with appreciation the slim bare legs under the short skirt.
She led them into the office next to the Cabinet room. Jamieson was sitting at the desk; a bespectacled man in his sixties was sorting through a tray of letters. Jamieson said: “I think that will be all for now, Morton. Don’t forget that call to the Tsar’s private secretary.” He smiled at Heseltine over the top of his spectacles. “Ah, so the wanderers return? Have a seat, gentlemen.” Three armchairs had been arranged facing the desk. “Smoke? Throw that file on the floor — it shouldn’t be there.” He pushed the cigarette box across the desk. “I must say that I’m glad to see you. I’d begun to feel anxious. Anything interesting to tell me?”
Fallada said: “Commander Carlsen and I flew to Sweden to consult an expert on vampirism.”
“Indeed? How… er… how very interesting.” Jamieson’s smile conveyed a mixture of politeness, amusement and boredom. He looked at Heseltine. “Anything else?”
Heseltine glanced at Carlsen. “Yes, sir. I’m glad to report that we have now captured one of the aliens.”
“Good heavens! Are you serious?”
The well-bred astonishment seemed so genuine that Carlsen experienced momentary doubt. He reached into his pocket, and brought out the recording-capsule. He said: “May I?” He leaned forward, pressing the ejection button of the desk recorder. He pressed the capsule into the slot and then depressed the playback key. The controlled, unmodulated voice of the alien said: “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…”
All three of them were watching Jamieson’s face. He was listening with total attention, his chin cradled in his right hand, the index finger scratching the line of the jaw. After five minutes he reached out and switched off the machine.
“That is certainly… very remarkable. How did you locate this… er… vampire?”
“The Swedish expert showed us how to do it. We’ve promised not to reveal the method.”
“I see. And what about the other two aliens?”
“We’ve traced one to New York. The other’s here in London.”
“And how do you propose to locate them?”
Carlsen said: “The first step is to broadcast that recording — to make people realise these things exist. I’ve arranged to be interviewed on television at ten o’clock tonight.”
“What!” The bushy eyebrows were raised in surprise. “But that would be violating our agreement.”
Carlsen said: “When we made that agreement, you thought the aliens were dead. This changes everything.”
Jamieson slapped the flat of his hand on the desk. “I am sorry, gentlemen, but I must categorically forbid any such thing.”
Carlsen said quietly: “I am sorry, but you are in no position to prevent it. You are only the Prime Minister of this country — not its dictator.”
Jamieson sighed. “Commander, you are wasting my time.” He reached out and pressed a red key on the machine. “I have now erased the recording.”
Carlsen said: “It makes no difference. We made copies before we came here.”
“I want those copies.”
Carlsen said: “One has already gone to the television station.”
“In that case, you must recall it.”
Carlsen stared back without speaking. He saw a flicker of doubt in the eyes that were trying to stare him down. Jamieson said, in a conversational tone: “You are either very brave or very stupid. Or perhaps both.” As he spoke, his face changed. There was no physical alteration, and the expression remained impassive; but another personality was looking through his eyes. The gaze suddenly became hard and remote. All three of them felt the menace. It was like being in the presence of a despot with limitless powers. When Jamieson spoke, the voice was also different. It had lost the booming, assertive quality; it was depersonalised, almost metallic. There was something about its cold, totally detached quality that made Carlsen shiver.
“Dr Fallada, I want you to call your laboratory and ask your assistant to send Dr Armstrong over here.”
Fallada said dully: “You knew all the time.”
Jamieson ignored him. He touched a button on the desk. The Welsh girl came in.
“Vraal, I want you to get Dr Fallada’s laboratory on the private line. He wants to speak to his assistant, Grey.” Fallada began to stand up. A look of surprise crossed his face, and he sat down again with a bump. Carlsen was suddenly aware of a languor that flowed through his body, as if someone had injected anaesthetic. He tried to force his body away from the chair; it was impossible, as if the chair had become a magnet that held him tight. When he closed his eyes, it was as if his limbs had been transformed into something massive and very heavy.
The girl pressed the key of an electronic memo-pad on the desk, then dialed a number. When a girl’s voice answered she said: “Dr Fallada, for Mr Grey, please.” Carlsen observed the same mechanical quality in her voice.
Jamieson and the girl had both turned their eyes on Fallada. He jerked and stiffened, his face contorting for a moment. As their eyes held him, he stood up, moving stiffly, and started to cross the room. Heseltine said: “Don’t do it, Hans.”
Fallada ignored him, moving in front of the telescreen. “Hello, Norman.” His voice was hoarse. “I want you to send Armstrong over to Ten Downing Street. Could you do that right away?”
“Yes, sir. What about the hypnoid? Shall I inject another dose?”
“No. Bring him just as he is. I want it to wear off.”
Grey said, with concern in his voice: “Are you all right, sir?”
Fallada smiled. “Yes, I”m fine. A little tired, that’s all. Use the institute’s Grasshopper.”
“Very well, sir.”
The girl reached out and pressed the cut-out switch. Fallada staggered and had to support himself on the edge of the desk. Suddenly his face had become old.
Heseltine turned to Carlsen with a painful effort. “What are they doing to us?” His voice was thick.
“Using will-pressure. Don’t worry. They won’t be able to keep it up for long. It’s exhausting.”
Jamieson said, in his expressionless voice: “As long as necessary, I think.”
Fallada dropped back into his chair; his face was sweating. Carlsen felt a flash of piercing regret for exposing him to this ultimate humiliation: the use of his own body and voice at the bidding of another’s will. He said: “Don’t let yourself fall asleep, Hans. So long as you fight, they can
’t break your resistance. The other one tried with me last night and didn’t succeed.”
Jamieson looked at him curiously. “There is a great deal we have to learn about you, Carlsen. Such as how you knew about will-pressure.” He looked at Fallada and Heseltine. “But do not be misled by his experience. He has had time to build up a certain resistance. You have not. Besides, believe me, you have no choice at all. We are making you a simple offer.”
He paused; Heseltine said: “Get on with it.”
The voice said: “We need your cooperation, and we can obtain it in one of two ways. We could kill you and take over your bodies. Alternatively, you could do as we ask you to do.”
Carlsen said: “He means let them take over our bodies.”
Jamieson said: “In case you think that might be disagreeable, let me reassure you.” He turned to the girl. “Show the Commissioner, Vraal.”
She moved behind Heseltine’s chair, and tilted back his head, her hand on his forehead. She placed the other hand on his throat. Watching Heseltine’s face, Carlsen saw the momentary resistance; it dissolved, attempted to reassert itself, then collapsed completely. Heseltine’s eyes closed, and he began to breathe deeply. The colour came back into his cheeks.
Jamieson said: “That’s enough, Vraal.” She removed her hands reluctantly; one of them lingered on Heseltine’s shoulder. Jamieson snapped: “I said enough.” The hand dropped. Heseltine opened his eyes drowsily and looked at Carlsen without seeming to see him.
The girl turned to look at Carlsen; her lips were moist. Jamieson said: “No. There is no need to show Commander Carlsen. He has already experienced it.”
The wind stirred the window curtains. Jamieson sat in his chair and stared at them. The face seemed to be made of stone. There was a dreamy silence in the office. The traffic in Whitehall sounded very far away. Carlsen summoned all his energy to fight off the drowsiness. He could see that Heseltine and Fallada were on the edge of sleep. There was no sense of panic, only the warm sexual langour. Time seemed unimportant. Memories were flooding through him: stories from childhood, the field, of poppies in The Wizard of Oz, the cottage made of gingerbread in “Hansel and Gretel.” There was a feeling of total relaxation, a sense that all was well. When he tried to tell himself they were in danger, his feelings refused to respond. A golden mist of happiness drifted through his mind, blurring his thoughts.