They were traders, bringing with them curiously fashioned mechanical contrivances that were in great demand on Earth. But they had little contact with Earthmen. The Nirotans seemed to be a withdrawn, self-contained race, and few Earthmen cared for the company of such repellent-looking beings in any event. So little was known about them. Dark rumors had arisen that they were vampire beings, thirsty for human blood. The ordinary people of Earth regarded the Nirotans with fear and loathing for this reason, and gave them a wide berth.
So far as anyone had known, the vampire story was nothing but a terror-inspired myth. Until now.
The murder story, Harriman thought, would have to be hushed up somehow. At least until the investigation had definitely proven the guilt or innocence of the Nirotans. If the world ever learned of the “vampire” attack, there would be an hysterical uprising that might bring about the death of every Nirotan—or every alien of any kind—on Earth. Reprisal from the stars would be swift.
Harriman scowled tightly. This was too big for him to handle on his own. He restored the message tape to its container and picked up his phone.
“Harriman speaking. Let me talk to Director Russell. And fast.”
His call went through rush channels, and a moment later the deep, resonant voice of the Director of the Terran Security Agency said, “Hello, Harriman. I was just about to call you anyway. I want to see you in a hurry. And I mean hurry.”
Director Russell was a short, rotund man who normally wore an affable expression during even the most grave crisis. But there was nothing cheerful about his plump face now. He nodded curtly to Harriman as the Subchief entered. Harriman saw two message pellets lying on Russell’s desk, both of them wrapped in the red-and yellow emergency trimmings.
Russell said, “I’ve been reading some of your mail, Harriman. You know that I’m always notified when an emergency message arrives here. You got one about half an hour ago. Then another one showed up for you, and I figured I’d save some time by having a look at it myself. And no sooner did I finish scanning that one when another one showed up.” Russell tapped the two message pellets on his desk. “One of these is from Warsaw. The other is from London. They’re both about the same thing.”
“The Nirotans?”
Russell nodded darkly. “Tell me about your tape.”
“A man was murdered in San Francisco this morning. Body found completely drained of blood, with puncture-holes over the jugular. Two witnesses—a Drosk and a man named Harkins. They saw the victim struggling with something that looked like a Nirotan.”
The Director’s eyebrows rose. “Witnesses? That’s more than we have on these other two.”
“What are they?”
“Murder reports. One in Poland last night, the other in London about two hours ago. An old man and a girl, both bloodless.”
“We’ll have to keep this quiet,” Harriman said. “If the people find out—”
“They have. There’s already been a vampire-hunt in Warsaw. Two Nirotans were flushed by the mob and just barely escaped with their lives. Londoners are talking vampire too. It looks damned bad for the Nirotans, Harriman. Especially with this eye-witness thing in San Francisco. Everyone called the Nirotans vampires all along—and now there’s something concrete to pin suspicions to.”
“But they’ve been here for almost a year,” Harriman protested. “Why should they suddenly break out in a wave of blood-drinking the same night?”
“Are you defending them?” Russell asked.
“I’m just speculating. We have no definite proof that they’re guilty.”
“Maybe,” Russell said, “they just couldn’t hold out any longer with all that nice fresh blood tempting them.”
Harriman eyed his chief strangely. He knew Russell did not have much liking for the alien beings on Earth. The Director was, in many respects, an old-fashioned man.
“You aren’t pre-judging the Nirotans, are you?” Harriman asked.
“Of course not. But it certainly looks bad for them. I’ve ordered all Nirotans taken into protective custody until things cool down a little.”
“Good idea,” Harriman agreed. “If some of them got lynched by the mobs we might find ourselves at war with Nirota tomorrow.”
“I’m aware of that,” Russell said. “Also, I’m having the three bodies flown here for examination. And I want to get a live Nirotan to examine, too.”
“That won’t be so easy,” Harriman said. “They don’t like Earthmen peering at them up close.”
“They’d better like it,” Russell said. “Take a trip over to the Nirotan consulate downtown and talk to the head man.”
Harriman nodded. “Right. But I don’t think they’re going to cooperate.”
The news sheets picked up the story with almost supernatural speed. THREE VAMPIRE VICTIMS, screamed the headlines of the afternoon editions. BLOODLESS BODIES FOUND IN FRISCO, LONDON, WARSAW. NIROTANS SUSPECTED.
Harriman made an appointment to see the ranking member of the Nirotan Consulate at half past two that afternoon. Until that time, he busied himself with keeping up on news reports.
Angry mobs were beginning to form. A country-wide pogrom was under way in Poland, the object to hunt down any Nirotans that could be found and destroy them. Ancient superstitious legends had been reawakened in Central Europe. There was talk of silver bullets, of wooden stakes through the heart.
“Dracula-men from the stars,” shouted a West Coast newspaper. In Los Angeles, crowds surrounded the Nirotan headquarters, climbing towering palms to hurl bricks at the windows. A major incident was brewing as news of the triple killings swept the world. Fear and hatred were turned against alien beings of all sorts. Harriman sent out a world-wide order instructing authorities everywhere to give sanctuary to aliens of any kind, in case the mob generalized its hate and struck out against all non-humans.
At two that afternoon the first body arrived—from London, flown over by transatlantic rocket. Harriman had a moment to view the corpse before heading downtown to the Nirotan consulate.
The victim was a girl of about seventeen, with plain but pleasant features. The sheet was lifted from her body and Harriman saw its paper-whiteness, and the two dark little holes at her throat. Horror crept down his back. It was a ghastly sight, this bloodless body. The girl’s mouth was locked in the configurations of a terrified scream. She looked like a waxen image, not like a creature of flesh and blood.
Harriman’s special car was waiting for him outside the Agency building. He rode downtown in deep silence, his mind still gripped by the sight of those chalky young breasts, those dead white thighs. Despite himself he could picture the huge revolting form of the Nirotan huddling around her, its wings half unfolding as the gleaming teeth plunged through the soft flesh of the protesting girl’s throat—
Harriman shook his head. He was an officer of the law, he reminded himself. An impartial investigator dedicated to justice. He had to keep from letting his emotions enter into the case. Maybe the Nirotans were hideous; maybe they did look like the Devil’s own nightmares. It made no difference. His job was simply to determine guilt or innocence.
If the Nirotans were guilty, if three of their number had committed the crimes, then there would be grave interstellar repercussions. Probably the Nirotans would be asked to leave Earth permanently.