extraterrestrials who've really taken root here. And that'sa problem, too.
But how the hell did I get off on that?
I was finishing my second martini, sitting in a booth with my feetpropped on the seat opposite me and catching snatches of a conversationbetween an Earth girl and a Vega VI Romeo at a nearby table. It waspretty unsavory conversation, and I guess I was shaking my head sternlywhen a shadow fell over me.
"Another of the same," I said, looking up--but it wasn't the waiter.
It was an enormous, red-skinned, balloon-chested, white-togaed Martian,and his little wrinkled face was smiling like I was long-lost UncleEddie whom he hadn't seen for forty years. When he threw open his long,spindly arms and screeched a loud, "Ahh!" I was beginning to think maybeI was.
"Mr. Langston!" he shrilled. "How gladly to see you! Where been? Wemissing you colossal!" Then he slapped one fragile hand against hisprotruding chest, looked up at the ceiling and squeaked: "Clean livingand Suns-Rays Incorporated!" He looked at me again, smiling.
"Huh?" I said. "Oh, yeah. Sure as hell. Clean living and Suns-Raysetcetera. Damn right. Pull up a chair, Blek, old boy."
* * * * *
As far as I'm concerned, one Martian looks pretty much like another; butnow I recognized this one. There was only one extraterrestrial in thelittle screwball health-cult with which I had become rather looselyacquainted in the past two weeks, and this was him.
I moved my feet and Zan Matl Blekeke sat down, exuding sunshine andclean living all over the place. We ordered drinks. He was elated asblazes about something, and I decided I might as well let him tell meabout it--and knowing the typical Martian's haphazard use of the Englishlanguage, I regarded the prospect as something of a challenge.
Zan Blekeke started right in telling me about it in his shrill, pipingtones:
"Ah, Mr. Langston, wrong time go. Where been? Should have been meeting.I derelicted resident. Ha! Expected, yups?"
I replied, "Nups. Let's start over again. Something pretty damnimportant?"
He nodded.
"SRI meeting? Yesterday?"
He nodded again, smiling to beat hell.
I thought for a moment, then tried a shot in the dark, illogical as itwas. "You lost your home? Derelicted resident?"
He looked like I'd stepped on his sore corn.
I tried again. "You don't mean you were kicked out of the group?"
He winced. "Oohhh, nooo! Opposition. Opposition."
"You mean there was too much opposition to your being kicked out, so youweren't?"
He slumped in his seat and regarded me balefully. With the pathos of asqueaky hinge, he said:
"Head man. Top dog. Derelicted resident. Boss. Wheel. Me. Zan Blekeke."
And if I didn't get it now, I just didn't deserve to know. But I got it.
"You were elected president?" I said.
Zan Blekeke nodded gratefully. "Yus and so. Undeserving awful, but...."He heaved his chest in resignation.
"No. Not at all," I protested. "Why, I think that's wonderful. You'rejust the man for the job! Have another drink."
* * * * *
We ordered more drinks, and the Martian continued: "Membershipobviousless that whatsoever I closest intimute of Dear Late Doctor--"here he raised his eyes again and clapped a hand to his chest before hefinished--"I should wallow in step-tracks."
"Why, absolutely," I agreed emphatically. "No question about it."
From talking to some of the SRI members after meetings or at beachsessions, I had gained the definite impression that Zan Blekeke had beena sort of a servant to "Dear Late Doctor," and would continue to be aservant to whoever was elected in his place.
But instead, they had elected the Martian himself. Logical, in acockeyed way.
This was the first time I'd ever really talked to him. I'd seen him atthe few meetings of SRI I had attended, but he had seemed pretty quietthere, letting others do most of the talking. He was in charge ofadministering the daily Sun-Ray treatments, which I had taken once ortwice myself just for the experience; but on those occasions, he hadbeen very cold and professional.
_Closest intimute of Dear Late Doctor...._
I had never been able to find out much about the Doctor. He was toosacred a subject for any of the members to even talk about. Of course, Ihadn't tried very hard, because I wasn't especially interested in thisassignment--I was supposed to be on vacation.
Now that a successor had been chosen, I wondered if the show was overand everyone could go home. I asked Blekeke about it.
"Not while yet," he replied. "Colonial could be. All live one. Dear LateDoctor--" hand to heart, face to Heaven, Amen--"often told wantedcolossal."
It wasn't too clear, but I nodded anyway. Frankly, my interest in thewhole thing was at a very low ebb. With the drinks and the effort ofuntangling Blekeke's twisted English, I was becoming listless andsleepy.
But he insisted on knowing where I had been when the meeting was held. Itold him I'd had to hurry back to New York for a conference with mypublisher.
He said, "Ah, yes. Writer." He pointed to the defense mech on the seatbeside me. "That typer?"
"Huh? Oh, no ... that's a portable radio. Carry it around with me, incase the conversation gets dull." I was at the point where I didn't caremuch what I said.
He must have taken it as a gentle hint, because in a little while he gotup and left, shrilling: "So gladly seeing you. Wanted know."
I nodded and waved a limp hand at him.
* * * * *
As I was passing the desk on the way up to my room, the clerk called,"Mr. Langston, Mr. Langston. Long distance call for you, sir. I was justringing your room. You can take it in a booth there, if you wish, sir."
I nodded and walked to the row of vp booths. Closing the door, I satdown in front of the screen and picked up the mike. The visiphone screenlighted and the speaker crackled. The chubby face and shoulders ofCarson Newell took form and floated on the plate.
"Wanted to be sure you got the latest dope on Grogan before you seehim," Newell said. "Just now got the report."
"Go ahead," I said.
"Well, then--" The boss looked up from his note pad. "About how long hadthe telenosis been on you? How many days?"
"H'm. Don't know. It's hard to tell, if it's handled right. Weirdnightmares, daydreams, absent-mindedness, sudden impulses, opticalillusions--it can be telenosis, and it can be just you. I'd say three orfour days, but--"
"Wouldn't necessarily prove anything, anyway," Newell broke in. "Here'sthe report on Grogan. Been out of Corrective for a little more than amonth now. Went directly to Memphis. Cleared up business affairs there,then went to Palm Beach for vacation. Arrived late Tuesdayafternoon--four days ago. Took a suite in Space Verge hotel with fourquote secretaries unquote, and has refused to see anyone. No unusuallylarge baggage. No unusual activities reported. So much for that."
He turned a page of the note pad and went on: "Corrective Instituterecord: responded favorably to treatment. Occupational training inadministrative accounting. Special courses in business and politicalethics. Now get this--it's the one thing that gives your hunch anycredibility at all. Three months intermittent telenosis therapy forslight paranoiac tendencies. Response favorable. Dismissed from C.I.after five years, three weeks and six days. Classification: Apparentcure, but possibility of relapse."
We were both quiet for a while, looking at each other.
Then I said, "Well, I'll see him tomorrow. Remember, it's nothing but ahunch--not even that."
"Be careful, dammit," Newell cautioned.
... I woke up sometime in the early morning, before it was light, with aclicking noise in my ears. I lay there in bed, gazing into the darkness,wondering, yet knowing, what would happen if the defense mech shouldbreak down--if a tube should give out, or if some little coil shouldprove defective.
The clicking stopped after a while, but it was a long time before I gotbac
k to sleep.
* * * * *
I had no trouble getting an interview with Grogan. I'd known I wouldn't.It was a simple matter of calling his suite and telling theloose-mouthed, scar-cheeked "secretary" who answered that Earl Langstonwould like to make an appointment with Isaac Grogan for, say, 10:30.
"Grogan ain't seein' nobody," the secretary growled.
"Ask him," I said.
The face vanished and reappeared on the screen a few moments later."Okay. Come up anytime you're ready."
"Fifteen minutes," I said, and replaced the mike.
I turned