The Puppet Masters (23 page)

They flew three slugs (with apes) to London; I understand that the King wanted to set an example as the President had, but the Prime Minister, egged on by the Archbishop of Canterbury, would not let him. The Archbishop had not even bothered to look; moral behavior was more important than mundane peril. Nothing about this appeared in the news and the story may not be true, but English skin was not exposed to the cold stares of neighbors.

The Cominform propaganda system began to blast us as soon as they had worked out a new line. The whole thing was an “American Imperialist fantasy” intended to “enslave the workers”; the “mad dogs of capitalism” were at it again.

I wondered why the titans had not attacked Russia first; Stalinism seemed tailor-made for them. On second thought, I wondered if they had. On third thought I wondered what difference it would make; the people behind the Curtain had had their minds enslaved and parasites riding them for three generations. There might not be two kopeks difference between a commissar with a slug and a commissar without a slug.

There would be one change: their intermittent purges would take a different form; a “deviationist” would be “liquidated” by plastering a titan on his neck. It wouldn’t be necessary to send him to the gas chamber.

Except when the Old Man picked me to work with him I was not close to the center of things; I saw the war with the titans as a man sees hurricanes—his small piece only. I did not see the Old Man soon and I got my assignments from Oldfield, his deputy. Consequently I did not know of it when Mary was relieved from special duty with the President. I ran into her in the lounge of the Section offices. “Mary!” I yelped and fell over my feet getting to her.

She gave me that long, slow, sweet smile and moved over to make room for me. “Hello, darling!” she whispered. She did not ask me what I had been doing, nor scold me that I had not been in touch with her, nor even comment on how long it had been. Mary always let the water over the dam take care of itself.

Not me—I babbled. “This is wonderful! I thought you were still tucking the President into his beddy-bye. How long have you been here? Do you have to go back right away? Say, can I dial you a drink—no, you’ve got one.” I started to dial for an old-fashioned and discovered that Mary had already done so; it popped out almost into my hand. “Huh? How’d this get here?”

“I ordered it when you came in the door.”

“You did? Mary, did I tell you that you are wonderful?”

“No.”

“Very well, then, I will: You’re wonderful.”

“Thank you.”

I went on, “This calls for a celebration! How long are you free? Say, couldn’t you possibly get some leave? They can’t expect you to be on duty twenty-four hours a day, week after week, with no time off. I think I’ll go right straight to the Old Man and tell him just what—”

“I’m on leave, Sam.”

“—just what I think of that sort of—Huh?”

“I’m on leave now.”

“You
are
? For how long?”

“Subject to call. All leaves read that way now.”

“But—How long have you been on leave?”

“Since yesterday. I’ve been sitting here, waiting for you to show up.”

“Yesterday!” And I had spent yesterday giving more kindergarten lectures to brass hats who did not want them. “Oh, for the love of—” I stood up. “Stay right where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

I rushed over to the operations office. I got in to see the chief deputy by insisting that I had a very urgent matter that he had to attend to. Oldfield looked up when I came in and said in a surly tone, “What do
you
want?”

“Look, chief, that series of bedtime stories I’m scheduled to tell: better cancel them.”

“Why?”

“I’m a sick man; I’ve been due for sick leave for a long time. Now I’ve just got to take it.”

“You’re sick in the head, if you ask me.”

“That’s right; I’m sick in the head. Sometimes I hear voices. People have been following me around. I keep dreaming I’m back with the titans.” That last point was regrettably true.

“But since when has this being crazy been any handicap in this section?” He leaned back and waited for me to argue the point.

“Look—do I get leave or don’t I?”

He fumbled through papers on his desk, found one and tore it up. “Okay. Keep your phone handy; you’re subject to recall. Get out.”

I got. Mary looked up when I came in and gave me the soft warm treatment again. I said, “Grab your things; we’re leaving.”

She did not ask where; she simply stood up. I snatched my drink, gulped half of it and spilled the rest. We went up and were out on the pedestrian level of the city before either one of us said anything. Then I asked, “Now—where do you want to get married?”

“Sam, we discussed that before.”

“Sure we did and now we are going to do it. Where?”

“Sam, Sam my very dear—I will do what you say. But I am bound to tell you that I am still opposed to it.”

“Why?”

“Sam, let’s go straight to my apartment. I’d like to cook dinner for you.”

“Okay, you can cook dinner—but not in your apartment. And we get married first.”

“Please, Sam!”

I heard somebody say, “Keep pitching, kid. She’s weakening.” I looked around and found that we were playing to a good-sized gallery.

I swept an arm wide, almost clipping the youngster who had given me the advice and shouted irritably, “Haven’t you people got anything else to do? Go get drunk!”

Somebody else said, “I’d say he ought to take her offer; he won’t get a better one.”

I grabbed Mary by the arm and hurried her away from there. I did not say another word until I had gotten her into a cab and closed off the driver’s compartment from the lounge. “All right,” I said gruffly, “why not get married? Let’s have your reasons.”

“Why get married, Sam? I’m yours; you don’t need a contract.”

“Why? Because I love you; that’s one reason, damn it!”

She did not answer for quite a while; I thought I had offended her. When she did I could hardly hear her. “You hadn’t mentioned that before, Sam.”

“Hadn’t I? Oh, I must have. I’m sure I have.”

“No, I’m sure, quite sure, that you haven’t. Why didn’t you?”

“Unh, I don’t know. Just an oversight, I guess. I’m not right sure what the word ‘love’ means.”

“Neither am I,” she said softly, “but I love to hear you say it. Say it again, please.”

“Huh? Okay. I love you. I love you, Mary.”

“Oh, Sam!”

She snuggled in against my shoulder and began to tremble. I shook her a little. “How about
you
?”

“Me? Oh, I love you, Sam. I do love you. I’ve loved you ever since—”

“Ever since when?”

I thought she was going to say that she had loved me ever since I took her place in Project Interview; what she said was, “I’ve loved you ever since you slapped me.”

Is that logic?

The driver was cruising slowly east along the Connecticut coast; I had told him just to drive around. I had to wake him up before I could get him to land us in Westport. We went straight to the City Hall.

I stepped up to a counter in the Bureau of Sanctions and Licenses and said to a clerk there, “Is this where we get married?”

“That’s up to you,” he answered. “Hunting licenses on the left, dog licenses on the right, this desk is the happy medium—I hope.” He leered at me.

I don’t like smart boys and the gag was ancient. “Very well,” I said stiffly, “will you oblige by issuing us a license?”

“Sure thing. Everybody ought to get married at least once; that’s what I keep telling my old lady.” He got out a large printed form. “Let’s have your serial numbers.”

We gave them to him. He slid the form into a typer and recorded them. “Now—are either of you married in any other state?” We said that we weren’t; he went on, “You’re sure, now? If you are and don’t tell me, so I can put a rider on this showing the other contracts, this contract ain’t valid.”

We told him again that we weren’t married anywhere. He shrugged and went on, “Term, renewable, or lifetime? If it’s over ten years, the fee is the same as for lifetime; if it’s under six months, you don’t need this; you get the short form from that vendo machine over there by the wall.”

I looked at Mary; she said in a very small voice, “Lifetime.”

The clerk looked surprised. “Lady, are you sure you know what you’re doing? The renewable contract, with the automatic option clause, is just as permanent and you don’t have to go through the courts if you change your mind.”

I said, “You heard the lady! Put it down.”

“Okay, okay—either party, mutual consent, or binding?”

“Binding,” I answered and Mary nodded.

“Binding it is,” he agreed, stroking the typer. “Now we come to the meat of the matter: who pays and how much? And is it salary or endowment?”

I said, “Salary”; I didn’t own enough to set up a fund.

At the same time and in a firm voice Mary said, “Neither.”

The clerk said, “Huh?”

“Neither one,” Mary repeated. “This is not a financial contract.”

The clerk stopped completely, looked at me, and then looked at Mary. “Now, look, lady,” he said reasonably, “don’t be foolish. You heard the gentleman say that he was willing to do the right thing.”

“No.”

“Hadn’t you better talk it over with your lawyer before you go ahead with this? There’s a public communicator out in the hall.”

“No!”

“Well—I’m darned if I see what you need a license for.”

“Neither do I,” Mary told him.

“You mean you don’t want this?”

“
No
! Put it down the way I told you to. ‘No salary’.”

The clerk looked helpless but bent over the typer again. “I guess that’s all we need,” he said finally. “You’ve kept it simple, I’ll say that for you. ‘Do-you both-solemnly-swear-that-the-above-facts-are-true-to-the-best-of-your-knowledge-and-belief-that-you-aren’t-entering-into-this-agreement-uninfluenced-by-drugs-or-other-illegal-inducements-and-that-there-exists-no-other-covenants-nor-other-legal-impediments-to-the-execution-and-registration-of-the-above-contract?’”

We both said that we did and we were and it was and there weren’t. He pulled the form out of the typer. “Let’s have your thumb prints…okay; that’ll be ten dollars, including the federal tax.” I paid him and he shoved the form into the copier and threw the switch. “Copies will be mailed to each of you,” he announced, “at your serial-number addresses. Now—what type of ceremony are you looking for? Maybe I can be of help.”

“We don’t want a religious ceremony,” Mary told him and I agreed.

He nodded. “Then I’ve got just what you’re looking for. Old Doctor Chamleigh. He’s completely non-sectarian, best stereo accompaniment in town, all four walls and full orchestra. He gives you the whole works, fertility rites and everything, but dignified. And he tops it off with a fatherly straight-from-the-shoulder word of advice. Makes you feel
married
.”

“No.” This time I said it.

“Oh, come, now!” the clerk said to me. “Think of the little lady. If she sticks by what she just swore to—and I’m not saying she won’t—she’ll never have another chance. Every girl is entitled to a formal wedding. Honest—I don’t get much of a commission out of it.”

I said, “See here, you can marry us, can’t you? Go ahead. Get it over with!”

He looked surprised and said, “Didn’t you know? In this state you marry yourself. You’ve
been
married, ever since you thumb-printed the license.”

I said, “Oh—” Mary didn’t say anything. We left.

I hired a duo at the landing flat north of town; the heap was ten years old and smelled of it but it had full-automatic and that was all that really mattered. I looped around the city, cut across Manhattan Crater, and set the controls. We didn’t talk much; there didn’t seem to be much to say just yet. I was happy but terribly nervous—and then Mary put her arms around me and after a bit I wasn’t nervous any longer but happier than ever. After a long time that seemed short I heard the
BEEEEP
!
beep-beep BEEEEP
! of the beacon at my shack in the mountains, whereupon I unwound myself, took over manual, and landed. Mary said sleepily, “Where are we?”

“At my cabin in the mountains,” I told her.

“I didn’t know you had a cabin in the mountains. I thought you were headed for my apartment.”

“What, and risk those bear traps? Anyhow, it’s not mine; it’s ours.”

She kissed me again and I loused up the landing. She slid out ahead of me while I was securing the board, then I followed and found her staring at my shack. “Sweetheart, it’s beautiful!”

“You can’t beat the Adirondacks,” I agreed. There was a slight haze with the sun low in the west, giving that wonderful, depth upon depth, stereo look that you never get anywhere else. “I picked this place for the view.”

She glanced at it and said, “Yes, yes—but I didn’t mean that. I meant your—
our
cabin. Let’s go inside, right now.”

“Suits,” I agreed, “but it’s really just a simple shack.” Which it was—not even an indoor pool. I had kept it that way on purpose; when I came up here I didn’t want to feel that I had brought the city with me. The shell was conventional steel-and-fiberglass construction but I had had it veneered in duroslabs which could not be told from real logs unless you took a knife to them. The inside was just as simple—a big living room with a real, wood-burning fireplace, deep plain-colored rugs, and plenty of low chairs. The services were all in a Kompacto special, the shell of which was buried under the foundation—air-conditioner, power pack, cleansing system, sound equipment, plumbing, radiation alarm, servos—everything but the deep-freeze and the other kitchen equipment, out of sight and out of mind. Even the stereo screens were covered up and would not be noticed unless in use. It was about as near as a man could get to a real log cabin and still have inside plumbing.

“
I
think it’s just lovely,” Mary said seriously. “I wouldn’t want to have an ostentatious place.”

“You and me both.” I worked the combo and the front door dilated; Mary was inside at once. “Hey! Come back here!” I yelled.

She did so. “What’s the matter, Sam? Did I do something wrong?”