Ten From Infinity Part 34

Frank Corson got up from his chair and hurled himself on Dennis.

Rhoda screamed.

Senator Crane sat at his desk. There were a pile of newspapers in front of him. The first one carried a front page story with the headline:

SENATOR CRANE WARNS OF s.p.a.cE INVASION

SHADES OF ORSON WELLS' MARTIAN SCARE STALKS CAPITOL CORRIDORS.

Crane tossed the paper aside listlessly and picked up the second one:

SENATORS VOICE CONCERN FOR SANITY OF COLLEAGUE

CRANE IN STUNNING TIRADE WARNS OF SCIENCE-FICTION DISASTER.

The third paper featured an internationally syndicated columnist, famous for his biting wit:

Senator Crane today launched a one-man campaign to make America s.p.a.ce-conscious. If there was any Madison Avenue thinking behind the launching it was certainly lower Madison Avenue.

In order to make his point--exactly what this was confused a vast roomful of newspapermen--the Senator invented a race of creatures called androids. These androids, it seems, look exactly like Tom Smith down the block except that they'd just as soon cut your throat as not.

We fear the Senator must have been watching the wrong television shows--knives yet, ugh!--possibly _Jim Bowie_, because there wasn't a ray gun nor a disintegrator in his whole bag of exhibits.

All in all, it would appear that the project was pointed toward making the people Senator Crane-conscious rather than aiming their attention at the deadly heavens.

Senator Crane put that paper aside and looked at the next. This one, more so than all the rest, was completely factual:

SENATOR CRANE DELUGED WITH WIRES FROM HOME

CONSt.i.tUENTS CLAIM WAs.h.i.+NGTON RIDICULE HEAPED ON SENATOR REFLECTS AGAINST STATE.

Crane dropped the paper and got up from the desk.

That son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h Taber was to blame for this. Shaping up a G.o.dd.a.m.n hoax and feeding it out piecemeal. By G.o.d--!

He went to the desk and dialed, and when the answer came he said, "Halliday? Senator Crane here. I want to have a little talk with you about that d.a.m.ned tape. It's pretty obvious now that Taber planted it in a deliberate attempt to ... What's that? An appointment! Why, G.o.dd.a.m.n it, who the h.e.l.l do you think you are?.... Fifteen minutes next Wednesday? You're talking to a United States Senator--"

But Crane was no longer talking to Halliday. He had hung up.

Crane dialed another number. A pleasant female voice said, "Matthew Porter's office."

"This is Senator Crane. Put Porter on."

"Just a moment."

Crane waited. He waited for what seemed like ages, but a glance at his watch told him it had been less than five minutes. He disconnected and dialed again.

"This is Crane. We got cut off. I want to talk to Porter."

"I'm sorry but Mr. Porter has gone for the day."

"Well, where can I reach him? It's important."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Porter left no number."

"When will he be back?"

"He didn't say."

Crane slammed the phone down. "The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds!" he snarled. "The lousy, crummy b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. Running like a pack of scared rats. Bureaucrats!

d.a.m.ned, cowardly, self-appointed opportunists!"

He stopped cursing and sat for a while.

When he got up and left the office he looked and felt old but he had faced a truth. It would not be necessary to campaign next year.

It wouldn't be of any use.

13

John Dennis showed human surprise as Frank Corson lunged at him. He had either been lax in using the controlling power he'd been given, or else Frank Corson had an exceptional resistance.

Dennis released Rhoda, swayed drunkenly under Frank Corson's clumsy football-type tackle, and swung his arm like a pivoting beam. The blow was a lucky one. His fist smashed low on Corson's jaw, numbing the nerves of his neck on the left side.

Corson went down and, as he lay helpless, Dennis kicked him twice--once in the side and once, viciously effectively, in the head. Corson rolled over and lay still.

Dennis looked down at him in a drunken daze. "They will make an army and bring it here."

Rhoda, standing in the center of an emotional maelstrom, watched the struggle from the prison of her own horror. At that moment she was physically, mentally and spiritually ill; a human being caught in the midst of forces beyond her knowledge and control.

Dennis laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I want to make love."

"No--no. Please--"

The drunkenness ebbed slightly and his eyes emptied. They looked into Rhoda's. She s.h.i.+vered. He took the neck of her brunch coat in his fist and jerked downward. She had just come from the shower when she'd first opened the door for Frank Corson, and the vicious denuding gesture left her completely naked.

Dennis went clumsily to his knees, his arms around her, and he pulled her to the floor. She sobbed, but the tears were gone now and they were dry, wracking sobs.

"Undress me."