Robert Heinlein - The Puppet Masters

He let me tell what had happened with only an occasional grunt. "How much did you see?" I asked when I had finished.

"Transmission cut off when you hit the toll barrier," he informed me. "I can't say that the President was impressed by what he saw."

"I suppose not."

"In fact he told me to fire you."

I stiffened. I had been ready to offer my resignation, but this took me by surprise. "I am perfectly will-" I started out.

"Pipe down!" the Old Man snapped. "I told him that he could fire me, but that he could not fire my subordinates. You are a thumb-fingered dolt," he went on more quietly, "but you can't be spared, not now."

"Thanks."

Mary had been wandering restlessly around the room. I had tried to catch her eye, but she was not having any. Now she stopped back of Jarvis's chair-and gave the Old Man the same sign she had given about Barnes.

I hit Jarvis in the side of the head with my heater and he sagged out of his chair.

"Stand back, Davidson!" the Old Man rapped. His own gun was out and pointed at Davidson's chest. "Mary, how about him?"

"He's all right."

"And him."

"Sam's clean."

The Old Man's eyes moved from one of us to the other and I have never felt closer to death. "Both of you peel off your shirts," he said sourly.

We did-and Mary was right on both counts. I had begun to wonder whether or not I would know it if I did have a parasite on me. "Now him," the Old Man ordered. "Gloves, both of you."

We stretched Jarvis out on his face and very carefully cut his clothing away. We had our live specimen.

I felt myself ready to retch. The thought of that thing travelling right behind me in a closed car all the way from Iowa was almost more than my stomach could stand. I'm not squeamish-I hid once for four days in the sewers of Moscow-but you don't know what the sight of one can do to you unless you yourself have seen one while knowing what it was.

I swallowed hard and said, "Let's see what we can do to work it off. Maybe we can still save Jarvis." I did not really think so; I had a deep-down hunch that anyone who had been ridden by one of those things was spoiled, permanently. I guess I had a superstitious notion that they "ate souls" whatever that means.

The Old Man waved us back. "Forget about Jarvis!"

"But-"

"Stow it! If he can be saved, a bit longer won't matter. In any case-" He shut up and so did I. I knew what he meant; the principle which declared that the individual was all important now called for canceling Jarvis out as a factor, i.e., we were expendable; the people of the United States were not.

Pardon the speech. I liked Jarvis.

The Old Man, gun drawn and wary, continued to watch the unconscious agent and the thing on his back. He said to Mary, "Get the President on the screen. Special code zero zero zero seven."

Mary went to his desk and did so. I heard her talking into the muffler, but my own attention was on the parasite. It made no move to leave its host, but pulsed slowly while iridescent ripples spread across it.

Presently Mary reported, "I can't get him, sir. One of his assistants is on the screen."

"Which one?"

"Mr. McDonough."

The Old Man winced and so did I. McDonough was an intelligent, likeable man who hadn't changed his mind on anything since he was housebroken. The President used him as a buffer.

The Old Man bellowed, not bothering with the muffler.

No, the President was not available. No, he could not be reached with a message. No, Mr. McDonough was not exceeding his authority; the President had been explicit and the Old Man was not on the list of exceptions-if there was such a list, which Mr. McDonough did not concede. Yes, he would be happy to make an appointment; he would squeeze the Old Man in somehow and that was a promise. How would next Friday do? Today? Quite out of the question. Tomorrow? Equally impossible.

The Old Man switched off and I thought he was going to have a stroke. But after a moment he took two deep breaths, his features relaxed, and he slumped back to us, saying, "Dave, slip down the hall and ask Doc Graves to step in. The rest of you keep your distance and your eyes peeled."

The head of the biological lab came in shortly, wiping his hands as he came. "Doc," said the Old Man, "there is one that isn't dead."

Graves looked at Jarvis, then more closely at Jarvis's back. "Interesting," he said. "Unique, possibly." He dropped to one knee.

"Stand back!"

Graves looked up. "But I must have an opportunity-" he said reasonably.

"You and my half-wit aunt! Listen-I want you to study it, yes, but that purpose has low priority. First, you've got to keep it alive. Second, you've got to keep it from escaping. Third, you've got to protect yourself."

Graves smiled. "I'm not afraid of it. I-"

"Be afraid of it! That's an order."

"I was about to say that I think I must rig up an incubator to care for it after we remove it from the host. The dead specimen you gave me did not afford much opportunity for studying its chemistry, but it is evident that these things need oxygen. You smothered the other one. Don't misunderstand me, not free oxygen, but oxygen from its host. Perhaps a large dog would suffice."

"No," snapped the Old Man. "Leave it right where it is."

"Eh?" Graves looked surprised. "Is this man a volunteer?"

The Old Man did not answer. Graves went on, "Human laboratory subjects must be volunteers. Professional ethics, you know."

These scientific laddies never do get broken to harness; I think they keep their bags packed. The Old Man calmed himself and said quietly, "Doctor Graves, every agent in this Section is a volunteer for whatever I find necessary. That is what they sign up for. Please carry out my orders. Get a stretcher in here and take Jarvis out. Use care."

The Old Man dismissed us after they had carted Jarvis away, and Davidson and Mary and I went to the lounge for a drink or four. We needed them. Davidson had the shakes. When the first drink failed to fix him I said, "Look, Dave, I feel as bad about those girls as you do-but it could not be helped. Get that through your head; it could not be helped."

"How bad was it?" asked Mary.

"Pretty bad. I don't know how many we killed, maybe six, maybe a dozen. There was no time to be careful. We weren't shooting people, not intentionally; we were shooting parasites." I turned to Davidson. "Don't you see that?"

He seemed to take a brace. "That's just it. They weren't human." He went on, "I think I could shoot my own brother, if the job required it. But these things aren't human. You shoot and they keep coming toward you. They don't-" He broke off.

All I felt was pity. After a bit he got up to go to the dispensary to get a shot for what ailed him. Mary and I talked a while longer, trying to figure out answers and getting nowhere. Then she announced that she was sleepy and headed for the women's dormitory. The Old Man had ordered all hands to sleep in that night, so, after a nightcap, I went to the boys' wing and crawled in a sack.

I did not get to sleep at once. I could hear the rumble of the city above us and I kept imagining it in the state Des Moines was already in.

The air-raid alarm woke me. I stumbled into my clothes as the blowers sighed off, then the intercom bawled in the Old Man's voice, "Anti-gas and anti-radiation procedures! Seal everything-all hands gather in the conference hall. Move!"

Being a field agent I was a supernumerary with no local duties. I shuffled down the tunnel from the living quarters to the Offices. The Old Man was in the big hall, looking grim. I wanted to ask him what was up, but there was a mixed dozen of clerks, agents, stenos, and such there before me and I decided not to. After a bit the Old Man sent me out to get the door tally from the guard on watch. The Old Man called the roll himself and presently it was clear that every living person listed on the door tally was now inside the hall, from old Miss Haines, the Old Man's private secretary, down to the steward of the staff lounge-except the door guard on watch and Jarvis. The tally had to be right; we keep track of who goes in and out a good bit more carefully than a bank keeps track of money.