Chapter VIII

The farmer blinked across the table at him, red eyed and fearful. "I don't know what you want," he was saying. His voice was high and querulous. "I didn't ask no trouble of the Federal Men. They asked me all them questions, and I told them--"

"That's all right," said Faircloth. "We're just rechecking. You were the first party the Alien contacted as far as we can tell. The ship landed on your property, didn't it?"

The farmer nodded. "Over by the river. Scrub oak and elms standing over there on the bluff. Haven't never cleared it because it'd be too rocky to farm."

"All right, all right," said Faircloth sharply. "I want you to tell me what happened that night."

The farmer's eyes flitted to Faircloth's face and back down to the table. "I already told you twenty times. Why do you pick on me?" he whined. "I couldn't help it he happened to stop here. Heard him on the porch about ten o'clock at night--I was just gettin' ready for bed. And he said he was travelin' and wanted something to eat. We don't see strangers around here very often, Mister--" he looked up at Faircloth fearfully. "I--I looked at him, and he looked all right to me. My eyes were tired, like I said. I couldn't see him too well, but he came in, and ate, and I offered to bed him for the night. He said no, he had to make on for Des Moines."

Faircloth watched the man's eyes. "Details, Mr. Bettendorf. You've left some out along the line, haven't you? I have a report here that was filed by our field team that talked to you." He pulled out a sheaf of papers in the dim kitchen light. "Says something about your dog barking."

The farmer's face went white. "There anything wrong with that? I reckon the dog did bark. I don't remember."

"And you went to open the door, and the stranger was there, eh?"

The farmer nodded his head eagerly. "I told you everything--"

"And you brought him in and fed him and then sent him on his way?"

"That's right, that's what I done."

"You're a liar," said Faircloth. He eyed the man coldly. "Try the story over again. Once more now."

The farmer jolted to his feet, his eyes feverish. "I done just like I told you. I didn't tell no lie. I heard the dog yelping--"

"And you opened the door and there was a stranger there." Faircloth's voice was sharp. "Then what happened? Step by step. Minute by minute. I mean it, mister, I want the truth."

"I--I looked at him--"

"What light did you have?"

"This here same light. Not very much--"

"And what did he say?"

"He said, 'I'm a traveler and I'd like something to eat.'"

"And what did his voice sound like?"

The farmer faltered. "It was funny--like gravel in a tin can. A funny kind of voice."

"And where was the dog all this time?"

The farmer blanched, "He--he done stayed outside. He saw it was all right."

"Where's the dog now?"

"I sold him. I mean he ran away. You can't keep a dog forever, Mister."

Faircloth's face was very near the old man's. "The stranger was out on the porch and you talked to him and let him come in. And then what did you do?"

"I--he sat down at the table, I think--I--I--"

"You went over to get some food from the stove, didn't you?"

"Yes, yes, that's right."

"And then you saw blood on his pants, didn't you? And you remembered hearing your dog give a yelp out in the yard, didn't you? The stranger had blood all over his pants and boots, didn't he?"

The farmer's eyes were wide with fear. He was shaking his head helplessly. "No--no--"

"And so you picked up your gun and you shot him, didn't you?"

And then the old man's face was in his hands, bending over the table, crying like a baby--huge, fearful sobs racking his boney shoulders. "He killed my dog," he choked between sobs. "He killed old Brownie, gave him a kick that split his head open. He didn't have to do that to poor old Brownie. I knew he was a bad one when he did that. I shot him. Yes, I did."

* * * * *

The news broke to the nation that night, and the country went into a panic unequalled since the days of the Great Cold War. Paul Faircloth spent an hour on the visiphone from Des Moines talking to Robert Roberts, going over the whole business from beginning to end. The Security chief chain-smoked three cigars for the first time in his life. Finally Roberts put a line through to the Speaker of the Joint Senatorial Councils. Half an hour later, while Faircloth was making his way by jet back to Washington, Roberts was in top-secret conference with the Senate Council Leaders, and then with the President himself. And then the news broke. It was an official White House News conference, and it had been dismissed barely three minutes when the radios and TVs were carrying the casts of the announcement.

Faircloth brought his plane down at Eisenhower Field, and saw the crowd swarming across the landing strip before he got to the ground. A dozen flashbulbs popped, and before he could get into the Security limousine waiting for him, he was in the middle of a tight circle of reporters.

"How long has the Alien been at large, Mr. Faircloth?" one of them asked.

"Sorry. The chief will have to answer that."

"Is there any doubt that he's telepathic?"

"No doubt whatsoever. I know that from personal experience. It's the only way he could move freely in the population."

"How was he first detected?"

Paul smiled to himself. "The President gave you that information, didn't he? A Psi-High citizen spotted him in Des Moines. The Psi-Highs have been on his trail ever since."

One of the reporters was tugging at his arm. "There's been a lot of talk about some kind of--well, liason between the Alien invader and the Psi-Highs in this country."

Paul frowned. "If that were true, would we be working twenty-four hours a day to trap him? Use your head, man. There've been a lot of unfortunate rumors, I'm afraid. But I can speak for the Psi-Highs, and I think Commissioner Roberts will back me up on this--the Alien is menacing our very civilization. He's struck at one of our most beloved public servants in an attempt to undermine the government and prepare our planet for a full scale invasion. There isn't a Psi-High citizen in the country who will rest until the monster is caught, and until Councilman Towne has been returned safely to Washington."

"But what about Towne's anti-Psi legislation? He's always hated Psi-Highs."

"Nonsense. Towne has been a loyal servant of the North American people. He's fought for what he thought was right, and has exposed himself to great dangers and personal vilification to do it. If he hasn't fully understood the Psi-Highs' side of things, that's not a matter for us to be vindictive about." He looked around the circle soberly. "The fact remains that he's in the hands of a dangerous enemy, and it's our job to save him if it can possibly be done." He nodded, and stepped into the Security limousine. It honked its way through the crowd, and then dipped down into the government tunnel that led to capitol hill and Central Washington.

He picked up a paper inside the car, and peered at it eagerly. The full-color picture of the President's grave face stared out at him in tri-di, and on either side pictures of Roberts and Towne. It was an old picture of Towne, a flattering picture. Paul grinned as he read the story rapidly:

COUNCILMAN TOWNE KIDNAPPED FROM SECRET MEETING

President Reveals Alien Telepath at Large

The President of the North American States revealed tonight in a
special press conference that Councilman Benjamin Towne (Federal
Isolationist, American Council) was kidnapped from a secret meeting
with Federal Security agents last night in what was described as
the first step in a plan for large-scale invasion of Earth by an
Alien race from another planet. The President reported that one
Alien, believed to be fully telepathic, has been at large in the
country since his landing near Gutenberg, Iowa, last May 26th.

The Alien's presence was first detected by a loyal Psi-High citizen
of Des Moines and was reported immediately to the Federal Security
Commission. Robert R. Roberts, Chief of the FSC, has been active in
directing a nationwide dragnet to capture the Alien.

Councilman Towne left his home last night at 11:00 P.M. in response
to a call ostensibly from Commissioner Roberts. It is believed that
the call was forged by the use of a dummy-film, and the Councilman
was reported missing when he did not return home. The two attachés
who accompanied him apparently have suffered severely from the
encounter with the Alien's telepathic powers, and were unable to be
questioned at the Hoffman Medical Center this morning.

The President made special note of the excellent and selfless work
of certain Psi-High citizens during the past months, in the course
of a manhunt that has been shrouded in secrecy. The Alien's
telepathic powers invariably overcame the efforts of psi-negative
individuals, but through the efforts of the Psi-Highs, Commissioner
Roberts has expressed every hope of ending the search within days
and securing Councilman Towne's release.

Faircloth flipped the page, glancing at the smaller headlines. An interview with Dr. Abrams reporting the training program for Psi-Highs in progress at the Hoffman Center; a long article, discussing the value of Psi-High powers in combatting a ruthless telepathic alien force; an article by Roberts, very carefully worded, explaining that if one telepathic Alien had come to Earth, others could be expected. Roberts expressed the opinion that human psi-positives were the nation's strongest safeguard against such an invasion.

Faircloth carefully folded the paper and spoke to the driver of the limousine. The huge car rose at the next tunnel exit, and sped north along the surface, then rose again. Paul waited, impatiently, and then stepped out of the car at the given address. Five minutes later he was holding Jean Sanders in his arms, while Robert Roberts sat chewing a cigar at the far side of the room, looking vastly pleased with himself.