Earth Alert!, Kris Neville [best value ebook reader TXT] 📗

realized how terribly sly and dangerous she was. She was too smart to be harmless. Suppose she should warn—but who could she warn? Earthlings? Could they get their atom bombs ready?

He felt his skin prickle. Look behind you! he thought to her. It had worked with the officer; it worked with her.

She turned.

Savagely, he grasped the pitcher with the mental fingers of teleportation. He hurled it as hard as he could at the back of her head.

Julia was ready for the blow. She had the molecules of the pitcher displaced before it was half way to her. It passed through her body easily and smashed against the far wall.

She turned quickly enough to avoid Walt's rush.

On her feet now, she wavered into partial displacement.

Snarling harshly, he advanced on her.

(There was less than five minutes remaining. One of the aliens hovered at the larger transmitter.)

He tried to grab her. His hand passed through her body.

She smiled.

He tried to adjust to her level of displacement. He choked. Quickly he realized what was wrong; he rectified the air so he could breathe. She changed to normal just as he sprang. He hurtled through her as through the air itself.

She turned to face him. He was panting. "When I was a kid," she said, "I used to throw rocks when I got mad."

Damn you! His fists clenched. He towered over her.

She did not have any more time to waste with him. 'That means,' he had said, 'we're ready to invade.'

How much time did she have? The full extent of the menace was gradually taking form in her mind. With an army of indoctrinated mutants.... Invasion! Murder! Destruction! For an instant she wanted to collapse and cry like a frightened little girl.

What am I going to do? what am I going to do? what am I going to do? she thought frantically.

I've got to see someone! I've got to convince someone—I've got to show people my mutant powers: they'll have to believe me! The President, the Army....

How much time?

She made a distortion field. Invisible, she rushed to the door. She paused, returned for her handbag. Holding it, she passed through the door.

I haven't got time to beat reason into his head, she thought. I'll tend to him later.

Half way down the stairs, she suddenly became visible.

CHAPTER VII

Oh, damn! she thought. This happened once before. How long will it last this time?

A great chill exploded in her body.

... suppose—?

Now she ran in earnest. Her legs moved like pistons. The few patrons in the lobby glanced up in disapproval. At the door she almost bowled over a young man with a brown sack full of quarts of beer.

Once in the street, she stopped and darted frightened glances about her. It was growing dark. Neon winked. The street was unnatural and brittle under the artificial lights. Well dressed women, serious and unsmiling (serenely confident that they were being mistaken for movie stars) walked beside athletic escorts; sales girls and office clerks window shopped intently.

At the curb Julia almost danced with nervousness.

He can come upon me invisible! she thought. He can throw things! He can—! I can't even tell when he's near me!

She waved desperately for a cab.

"Cab! Cab! Taxi!"

It receded toward Vine Street.

Even now he's coming out of the hotel! she thought. Or he sees me from the Window!... I can't wait here; I'll have to run; I'll....

A chartreuse convertible with its top up drew to a stop in front of her. The driver opened the door by pressing a button on the dash. The upholstery was made of tiger skin. He smiled nervously. "Going down this way?"

She hesitated only an instant. "My God, yes!" she said.

"Get in."

She got in and slammed the door. "Let's go! mister."

"When you're in a hurry, these cabs ... you never can find one."

He wore a sports jacket, most of which was canary yellow. He had thin, delicate hands; his face was lean and sunless; his eyes were sad and misunderstood. The hands threaded the convertible into traffic.

Julia fidgeted. She kept glancing behind her.

"Somebody following you?"

Julia shuddered. "I hope not."

The driver waited. Julia did not amplify; she was half turned now, so she could see out the rear window.

"I had to talk to someone," the driver said apologetically. "I was driving along, and suddenly I had to talk to someone. You know how it is?... Then there you were; you seemed in such a hurry."

"I'm sure glad you stopped, mister!"

"I mean," the driver said intently, "I get wanting to talk. My name's Green. You may have heard of me. I produce pictures—motion pictures. I'm a producer."

How can I ever get away from Walt! Julia thought. He can run me down whenever he wants to!

"Nobody hears of producers," the driver said. "That's all right with me. Let other people take the credit. I don't like to call attention to myself." He brought out a monogrammed cigarette case and flicked it open. "Cigarette?"

"No, no, thank you." Julia twisted at the strap of her handbag.

"Who can you talk to, I mean really? All they're after is your money.... I'll tell you what I really want. I want a farm—no, don't laugh: it's the truth—a little piece of land. I want to settle down, you know. Most people don't understand how it is." He gazed sadly down Hollywood Boulevard. "To be famous, I mean."

Julia was scarcely listening. She bit her lip.

"My wife, now, she's an actress. In her next picture, she opens a beer can with her teeth. Not a bottle; anyone can open a bottle. She doesn't understand me. She's an actress." One of his delicate hands moved over the tiger skin toward Julia. "I'd like—sometimes to get away. Go away for a weekend. Some place where they'd never heard of A. P. Green, the big producer. You know. I wish—I honestly wish I weren't—some times."

The hand touched Julia's dress. She was too preoccupied to notice.

"... you have an interesting face. It's very, very expressive. I want to give you my card. I want you to come in for a test."

Julia moved away from him. All she could think about was Walt. Could he be in that car just behind? "... please ..." she said vaguely in protest.

He blinked his eyes; the hand retreated a few inches. "I've never talked to anyone like this before," he said. "But your face, your eyes.... When I saw you standing there—saw you were running from something—I knew you'd understand."

Julia swallowed stiffly. She pivoted to face him. "Listen mister. I need help. Would you drive me into L. A.? Fast, mister?"

He was hurt. He drew back. "I thought we could go.... I know a little place.... They know me there; we could eat, and—" He moved one hand pathetically.

Julia felt a flutter of thought. (There was still a tiny bit of residual power remaining; it was fading fast.) Walt was starting after her!

"Mister, for God's sake, can you drive me into L. A.? I've got to get some money out of the all-night bank!"

"... yes, of course, yes." He moved his lips without words. "I thought you'd understand. Your face.... Nobody does, really. How it is, I mean."

"Please hurry," she said. If I can just get a car before Walt catches me, she thought. That's the only way I can keep away from him. I've got to keep moving until I get my powers back; or until ... until ... what? Her lower lip trembled. She was cold and numb. Hurry! she wanted to shriek.

For a full minute Walt did not realize she was gone. When he did, he was relieved. He found himself trembling. Where did that demon go? Thank God she's gone; I—!

The thought of her, diminutive and infinitely superior, made him cringe. He was afraid of her. He wanted to cry.

Forential understands, Walt thought. If he were here now, he'd understand. He'd ... he'd tell me what to do.

Walt stared at the back of his hand.

Steady, he thought, steady. Try to relax. The shock ... it's not fair ... she knows so much....

Study the room; think of something else. The ship; I'd like to see Calvin's face again.... There's my face—in the mirror. It looks all right.

Forential will be angry. I shouldn't have let her get away. I should have—what should I have done? Could I have?

I could have....

He shook his head. No: that wouldn't have fooled her either.

Forential, what am I going to do now?

Walt sat down. He tried to think things out. I'm no good, he thought. The only thing I'm good for is to kill earthlings. I ought to be ashamed of myself.

... I'm alone, he thought. Things are going all wrong.

I've ... I've got to learn to depend on myself.

I've always depended too much on Forential.

I've always been told what to do, he thought. It's time for me to begin telling myself what to do.

He nodded his head at the truth of this. I'm on my own, he thought. Well, by God, it's time to face that! I'll stop her some way.

Forential is depending on me!

At last it occurred to him to try to locate Julia. He concentrated. He formed Julia's pattern in his mind. He sought to equate it with reality. For a moment of bleak despair, he felt nothing. Then the pattern and reality overlapped. He fixed her in space. He had her. She was fleeing in an automobile.

And—she had changed! She was now—as she had been once before—as impotent as an earthling.

He sprang to his feet. Elation filled him. A rising tide of confidence swept over him.

Damn, damn, damn! he thought in excited delight. She's mine now!

Julia, oh Julia, can you hear me?

She couldn't.

He could feel her fleeing.

I'll show her now, he thought with savage satisfaction.

Wait'll I catch you!

There'll be no nonsense about privacy this time! he promised himself. I'll kill her where ever I find her. Forential may not like it as well as—to hell with Forential!

Outside the hotel, in the crisp, fresh night air, Walt plunged into the crowd emptying from a theater, whose marquee, "Junkeroo", flashed lonesomely above the sidewalk.

I'll need a car to overtake her, he thought.

He remembered back to his first ride. I can operate one, he thought, if I can start it. It's easy.

Julia lies in that direction. I'll catch her in no time.

He heard a car door open behind him.

He spun on his heel and walked back to the car. The driver, settled behind the wheel, was just depressing the light stud when Walt cut in front of it and came abreast of the driver's side.

"You're the one I'm looking for," he said.

"Eh?"

"Move over!"

The owner was a heavy, middle aged man; he snorted and narrowed his eyes. "What's this baloney?"

"I'm taking this car."

"The hell you say!"

Walt pulled the door open, grabbed the man by the shirt and twisted. He set his feet and the man came sprawling out into the street.

Holding him, Walt slapped his face.

The man flailed wildly. He tried to jerk loose. His shoulders twisted. He tried with a knee, and Walt threw him to the pavement. A few startled passers-by turned to watch.

Walt picked the man up and thrust him into the car. The man's face was purple with rage. He tried to scream.

Walt displaced the air from his lungs. The man collapsed, gagging.

"Don't make any loud noises," Walt said.

The man choked and gasped with suddenly restored breath.

"... what ... what do you want?"

"How do you start this car?"

The man started to protest; the look on Walt's face made him think better of it. He told Walt how to start the car.

Walt followed instructions. He listened to the purr of the motor.

"What is the power? What makes it run?"

The owner wiped blood from his face. Sullenly, through swelling lips, he said, "... it's a combustion engine ... like all cars...."

Cautiously maneuvering the car into traffic, Walt said, "Tell me what you know about combustion engines."

Walt displaced air again. He put it back. "I asked you to tell me what you know about combustion engines."

The man kept dabbing at his lips.

Gasping, the man began to explain. He did not seem too sure of himself. Every other sentence, he faltered, and Walt had to prompt him sharply.

"This fuel ... this gas.... When the supply is used up, how does one obtain more?"

"From a ... gas station...."

I'll have to watch the fuel supply, Walt thought.

"They're ... they're on nearly every corner," the man said.

Walt nodded. I've got all I can from him, he thought. "Do you have a small, heavy object?"

The man licked his cut lip. His eyes were wide with terror. "Y—ye—yes."

"Produce it!"

The man