How could you conceivably expect to infest our world, with the Wind God himself present ?'
By the Wind God, Jim Briskin realized with a sickened, enervating start, was meant George Walt.
He had never before quite thought of them that way, but there it was.
Let's see how President Schwarz decides to handle this,, he said to himself. A Wind God in a satellite over our heads millions of fossil men straining to get at us. Darius Pethel can have his defective Jiffi-scuttler back; it's time we got rid of it, and by the quickest route possible. But how did this ancient Sinanthropus so-called philosopher get across to our world ? Didn't anybody at
TD notice his coming through ?
They must have opened their own nexus, he decided. Either that or what he says is actually true; he can make himself invisible.
It was a gloomy prospect, having to wake up in the early morning and face this, to say the least.
And somebody has really lost this election now, he decided. Either Bill Schwarz or myself, depending on whom the electorate, in its understandable frenzy, decides to blame.
Going back to the kitchen table he seated himself and resumed eating his breakfast, now cold. As he mechanically ate, he pondered the chances of successfully shooting down the Golden Door satellite; surely that was the most likely next move for President Schwarz. After all, the exact position of the satellite at any given moment was known; it was - or had been until recently -
printed on the entertainment page of every homeopape.
What I'm afraid of now, he realized, is that I'll look out the window of my decently private conapt and see Peking man walking along the sidewalk, and not just one but many of them.
He decided not to look, just to be on the safe side. At least not for a while. Instead he concentrated on finishing his breakfast, tasteless as it had become. As trivial a task as it was, at least it was a familiar event; it helped restore his sense of the regularity of reality.
Turning from the TV set Sal Heim released his emotion in an explosion of words. 'Call someone,' he said to his wife. 'Call Jim Briskin. Wait a minute; call Bill Schwarz at the White
House - I'll talk to him direct myself. This is a national emergency; anybody with half an eye can see that Party loyalty is out, you can wipe your nose on it. Let me know as soon as you have Bill
Schwarz on the line.' He returned to watching the TV.
'Not only can I walk through wood and across the surface of water,' the great old Peking man on the screen was saying, 'But I can annihilate time.'
Good grief, Sal thought. This is awful. They can do all kinds of things we can't; they're centuries ahead of us. Who around here that I know can annihilate time ? No one. He groaned aloud.
Pat said hecticly, 'I can't reach President Schwarz. The lines are tied up. Everybody must be...'
'Of course they are,' Sal said. 'The authorities know what this means. It's hopeless to try to get through to Schwarz. He'll have to get on the TV himself and tell the nation that a state of war exists between us and these dawn men. Or is this stuff on all channels ?' Savagely, he turned the knob. The same image appeared on every other channel; the satellite was blanketing the airwaves. He was not surprised. I might have known, he said to himself with envenomed bitterness. Next we'll be picking them up on the vidphone.
'But more important than anything else,' the white-haired Peking man on the TV screen was saying, 'I can work exceeding wonderful, powerful magic. For I am a mighty magician; I can cause the stars to fall from the vault of the heavens and confusion to blind the eyes of all my foes. What do you respond to that, tiny Homo sapiens ? You should have cogitated on that before you invested our world. Facilis descensus Averno. You see, through my use of supernatural forces, entirely unknown to your little race, I can speak in German.'
'Latin,' Sal murmured. 'You damn fool dawn man; that's Latin. So you don't know everything.
Get off the TV so President Schwarz can declare war.' The image, however, remained.
Standing by his chair Patricia said, 'I guess this finishes Jim at the polls.'
'Didn't I just now get through saying that party doesn't count ?' He glared at her; Pat shrank back.
'To cope with this we've got to think along entirely novel lines - everything is changed. I noticed one interesting thing. When George Walt were on they referred to us as "you Homo sapiens."
Does that mean they're not ? My god, you can't become a converted Sinanthropus; it's not like a church. I really have to talk to someone about this besides you,' he said scathingly to his wife.
'Someone who can come up with answers.'
Pat said, 'What about ?'
'Wait,' He turned back to the TV screen. George Walt had once more appeared. 'They look older,'
Sal said. 'I can't remember which of them is the artificial body. The one on right, as I recall. The real one has certainly done a good job of building it back, after we tore it to pieces.' He chuckled.
'We had them on the run, then. Our finest hour.' Once more he became grim. 'Too bad it's not like that now.'
'You know who I was going to suggest you call ? Tito Cravelli. He always seems to be able to figure out what's happening.'
'Okay.' He nodded absently. 'Give me the phone; I'll call Tito.' He got to his feet, then. 'No, I'll get it myself. Why should you wait on me ?' At the vidphone he paused and turned toward her.
'I'm sure it's the one on the right. You know, I'll bet at this moment everybody, including even
Verne Engel and every last damn member of that rotten bunch CLEAN, would give his shirt if we could go back to, say, a month ago. To the way we were and the so-called "race problem" we had then. That's who I ought to calclass="underline" Verne Engel. You know what I'd say to him ? "You stupid bastard, does what you're fighting for look so real now ? Skin pigment. What a laugh! Why not eye color ? Too bad nobody ever thought of that. It cuts it a little finer, but basically it's the same thing. Okay, Verne, you get out there and die over the issue of upholding one certain eye color.
Lots of luck." ' Picking up the vidphone he dialed.
Pat said, 'What color eyes do Peking men have ?' Glaring at her Sal said, 'Christ, how would I
know ?' 'I just wondered. I never thought of it before.' 'Hello, Tito ?' Sal said, as the vidscreen lighted. 'Get us out of this,' Sal said. 'Find where they're getting through into our world and plug it up, an then we'll figure out how to knock down the Golden Door Moments of Bliss satellite.
You agree ? Tito, say something.'
'I know where they're getting through,' Tito said, laconically.
Sal turned to his wife. 'You were right. He does know.' He turned back to the vidscreen. 'Well, what do we do ? How do we...'
'We make a deal,' Tito Cravelli said in a harsh, totally dry voice.
Staring at him Sal said, 'We what ? I don't believe it.'
'And we'll be lucky if we can manage that,' Tito added. 'There are a few things you don't know,
Sal. This attack on us by the Pekes is coming out of a hundred years in the future. George Walt have had an entire century to work with them, filling in the gaps in their culture, teaching them as many of our techniques as they could cram into them in that time... and it's a very long time.
Don't ask me how I found this out; just take my word that it's the case. The nexus that they're using is at TD, but we can't dose it; they're supplying it with power from the other side, a possibility which doesn't seem to have occurred to anyone at TD until it was too late. In other words, until now.'
'What kind of deal ?'