Robert Heinlein - The Puppet Masters

"I do. But if you need to kill it, if you feel that you have to kill it, do so. I figure this particular one is your baby; you're entitled to it. If you need to kill it, to make you a whole man again, go ahead."

" 'To make me a whole man again-' " The thought rang through my head. The Old Man knew, better than I knew, what was wrong with me, what medicine it would take to cure me. I was no longer trembling; I stood there, the gun cradled in my hand, ready to spit and kill. My master . . .

If I killed this one I would be a free man again-but I would never be free as long as it lived. Surely, I wanted to kill them, every one of them, search them out, burn them, kill them-but this one above all.

My master . . . still my master unless I killed it. I had a dark and certain thought that if I were alone with it, I would be able to do nothing, that I would freeze and wait while it crawled up me and settled again between my shoulder blades, searched out my spinal column, took possession of my brain and my very inner self.

But now I could kill it!

No longer frightened but fiercely exultant I raised the gun, ready to squeeze the trigger.

The Old Man watched me.

I lowered the gun a little and said uncertainly, "Boss, suppose I do kill it. You've got others?"

"No."

"But you need it."

"Yes."

"Well, but-For the love o' God, why did you give me the gun?"

"You know why. This one is yours; you've got first claim. If you have to kill it, go ahead. If you can pass it up, then the Section will use it."

I had to kill it. Even if we killed all the others, while this one was still alive I would still crouch and tremble in the dark. As for the others, for study-why, we could capture a dozen any time at the Constitution Club. With this one dead I'd lead the raid myself. Breathing rapidly, I raised the gun again.

Then I turned and chucked the gun to the Old Man; he plucked it out of the air and put it away. "What happened?" he asked. "You were all set."

"Uh? I don't know. When it got right down to it, it was enough to know that I could."

"I figured that it would be."

I felt warm and relaxed, as if I had just killed a man or had a woman-as if I had just killed it. I was able to turn my back on it and face the Old Man. I was not even angry with him for what he had done; instead I felt warm toward him, even affectionate. "I know you did, damn you. How does it feel to be a puppet master?"

He did not take the jibe as a joke. Instead he answered soberly, "Not me. The most I ever do is to lead a man on the path he wants to follow. There is the puppet master." He hooked a thumb at the parasite.

I looked around at it. "Yes," I agreed softly, " 'the puppet master'. You think you know what you mean by that-but you don't. And boss . . . I hope you never do."

"I hope so, too," he answered seriously.

I could look now without trembling. I even started to put my hands in my pockets, but the shorts had no pockets. Still staring at it, I went on, "Boss, when you are through with it, if there is anything left, then I'll kill it."

"That's a promise."

We were interrupted by a man bustling into the cage room. He was dressed in shorts and a lab coat; it made him look silly. I did not recognize him-it was not Graves; I never saw Graves again; I imagine the Old Man ate him for lunch.

"Chief," he said, trotting up, "I did not know you were in here. I-"

"Well, I am," the Old Man cut in. "What are you doing wearing a coat?" The Old Man's gun was out and pointed at the man's chest.

The man stared at the gun as if it were a bad joke. "Why, I was working, of course. There is always a chance of splattering one's self. Some of our solutions are rather-"

"Take it off!"

"Eh?"

The Old Man waggled his gun at him. To me he said, "Get ready to take him."

The man took his coat off. He stood there holding it and biting his lip. His back and shoulders were bare, nor was there the telltale rash. "Take that damned coat and burn it," the Old Man told him. "Then get back to your work."

The man hurried away, his face red, then hesitated, glanced at me, and said to the Old Man, "Chief, are you ready for that, uh, procedure?"

"Shortly. I'll let you know."

The man opened his mouth, closed it, and left. The Old Man wearily put his gun away. "Post an order," he muttered. "Read it aloud. Make everybody sign for it-tattoo it on their narrow little chests-and some smart Aleck thinks it doesn't apply to him. Scientists!" He said the last word in the way in which Doris had said, "Patients!"

I turned back to looking at my former master. It still revolted me, but there was a gusty feeling of danger, too, that was not totally unpleasant-like standing on a very high place. "Boss," I asked, "what are you going to do with this thing?"

He looked at me, rather than at the slug. "I plan to interview it."

"To what? But how can you-What I want to say is: the ape, I mean-"

"No, the ape can't talk. That's the hitch. We'll have to have a volunteer-a human volunteer."

When his words sank in and I began to visualize what he meant by them the horror struck me again almost full force. "You can't mean that. You wouldn't do that-not to anybody."

"I could and I'm going to. What needs to be done will be done."

"You won't get any volunteers!"

"I've already got one."

"You have? Who?"

"But I don't want to use the volunteer I've got. I'm still looking for the right man."

I was disgusted and showed it. "You ought not to be looking for anyone, volunteer or not. And if you've got one, I'll bet you won't find another; there can't be two people that far out of their minds."

"Possibly," he agreed. "But I still don't want the one I've got. The interview is a necessity, son; we are fighting a war with a total lack of military intelligence. We don't know anything, really, about our enemy. We can't negotiate with him, we don't know where he comes from, nor what makes him tick. We've got to find out; our racial existence depends on it. The only, the only way to talk to these critters is through a human volunteer. So it will be done. But I'm still looking for a volunteer."

"Well, don't look at me!"

"I am looking at you."

My answer had been half wisecrack; his answer turned it dead serious and startled me speechless. I finally managed to splutter, "You're crazy! I should have killed it when I had your gun-and I would have if I had known what you wanted it for. But as for me volunteering to let you put that thing-No! I've had it."

He ploughed on through as if he had not heard me. "It can't be just any volunteer; it has to be a man who can take it. Jarvis wasn't stable enough, nor tough enough in some fashion to stand up under it. We know you are."

"Me? You don't know anything of the sort. All you know is that I lived through it once. I . . . I couldn't stand it again."

"Well, maybe it will kill you," he answered calmly, "but it is less likely to kill you than someone else. You are proved and salted; you ought to be able to do it standing on your head. With anyone else I run more risk of losing an agent."

"Since when did you worry about risking an agent?" I said bitterly.

"Since always, believe me. I am giving you one more chance, son: are you going to do this, knowing that it has to be done and that you stand the best chance of anybody-and can be of most use to us, because you are used to it-or are you going to let some other agent risk his reason and probably his life in your place?"

I started to try to explain how I felt, that I was not afraid to die, no more than is normal, but that I could not stand the thought of dying while possessed by a parasite. Somehow I felt that to die so would be to die already consigned to an endless and unbearable hell. Even worse was the prospect of not dying once the slug touched me. But I could not say it; there were still no words to describe what the race had not experienced.