Robert Silverberg - Invaders From Earth

At least they had some form of happiness. And what do I do now? he asked himself.

He was in New York, but he was no closer to the solution of his problem than if he were still on Ganymede, or on Pluto. He had no access to the incriminating data on file at the agency. He could not simply publicly proclaim his accusations—who would believe the demented ravings of a murderer and a traitor? Time was growing short; in a few weeks, the attack would be made and the Gannys wiped out. And before long he would venture out on the street and be recognized, despite the changes he had made in his appearance.

On Wednesday he bought a newssheet and read it carefully. There was word from the beleaguered Ganymede colony, carefully fabricated by a Dinoli henchman. There was a notice to the effect that the traitor Theodore Kennedy was still at large, but that security authorities expected to apprehend him shortly.

And there was a little notice in the Personals column. Kennedy nearly overlooked it, but he read the column out of sheer boredom, hoping to find some diversion.

The notice said:

Dearest Ted,

Will you forgive me? I realize now the mistake I made. Meet me at our home Thursday night and I will try to help you in what you are doing. Believe me, darling.

He read it through five or six times. He wondered if it might be a Security trap. No; of course not. It had to be from Marge. She was the one person on this entire world that he could trust.

He decided to go to her.

The house seemed to be sleeping; its windows were opaqued, its lawn overgrown and unkempt. Kennedy paid the cab driver and cautiously went up the walk to the door. The .38 was not far from his hand; he was ready in case Security men might be near.

He put his hand to the door, opened it, went in.

Marge was waiting in the living room for him.

She looked bad. She had aged, during the month; her face was pale and she had lost weight. Her hair looked stringy. Her lips were quivering; her face had no make-up on it, and her eyes were darting nervously around the room as Kennedy entered.

“Marge…”

“You saw the ad,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I was praying you wouldn’t. You never used to read that part of the paper.”

“Praying I wouldn’t? But—”

“Good evening, Ted,” a male voice said. Dave Spalding stepped out of the kitchen. A tiny nickel-jacketed gun glinted in his hand.

“Spalding? But—”

“Please put your hands up, Ted. Marge, see if he has a gun.”

Marge rose and walked unsteadily toward him. Her hands fumbled over him, quickly found the .38 in his pocket, and withdrew it. Silently she handed the gun to Spalding, who kept both of them covered during the procedure.

“I’m glad you didn’t have any strange ideas about that gun, Marge,” Spalding said levelly. There was just the hint of a quaver in his voice. “As I told you before, I can tell when you’re getting ready to do something. You would have been dead five seconds before you pulled the trigger.”

It irritated Kennedy to hear Spalding speaking this way in his own home. Leadenly he realized he had fallen into a trap with Marge as the bait.

He said, “What is this, Spalding?”

“Very simple. You’re a very valuable piece of merchandise to me. I’m glad I got to you before Security did. I figured you might fall for something like this.”

Kennedy looked at Marge in surprise. “I thought you two were simon-pure idealists. What’s happening?”

“I left the agency shortly after your trip into space,” Spalding said. “But it occurred to me recently that I might do better for myself if I returned. I phoned Dinoli and offered to find you—in exchange for a second-level position in the agency for myself.”

Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “All the cynicism in the air finally made its impression on you, eh, Dave?” The callousness of the younger man’s statements astonished him. “So you used Marge as bait and got me here, and now you’ll sell me to Dinoli so you can get back into the agency you despised so much a few months ago. Very pretty, Dave.”

Something like torment appeared on Spalding’s face for a moment. Kennedy said nothing, staring at the gun in the other’s hand.

He wasn’t too surprised. He had always suspected that Spalding was a man of no real convictions, following the tide and struggling to find a safe port He had found that port now. He had given up trying to swim upstream.

Spalding said, “I phoned Dinoli at home, as soon as I saw you coming into the house. Security men will be here soon. I just have to keep you here and wait for them, and I can have my second-level slot.”

Kennedy glanced at Marge. “That was a splendid little speech you made on the recorder, Marge. All about how you were leaving me for Dave because Dave was true and good and virtuous and I was just an agency scoundrel. But I guess you see—”

“Shut up!” Spalding muttered.

“You’ve got the gun,” Kennedy said. “If you don’t like what I say, shoot me.”

“No,” Marge said. “Ted, he’s gone crazy. Don’t say things like that or he will shoot. He doesn’t care.”

Kennedy heard the clock ticking somewhere in the kitchen. He wondered how long it would take for the Security men to arrive. They would take him away, bury him somewhere in one of their interrogation centers, and the Ganymede invasion would go off as planned.

“Marge,” Spalding said. “My throat’s dry. Get me a drink of water from the kitchen.”

She nodded and went inside. Kennedy smiled. “I’m disappointed,” he said. “Not in you but in Marge. I thought she was a better judge of character than she turned out to be. She was really sold on you, I guess.”

“I quit the agency, Kennedy. I tried to free-lance. I found out what it’s like not to have money. I found out that having ethics isn’t enough. They beat you down; they don’t let you live. I couldn’t fight them, so I made up my mind to join them again.”

“Using me as the passkey,” Kennedy said. “You knew that Dinoli and Bullard were combing the country for me, and that you had bait you could dangle, in the form of Marge. So you bargained with them. Well, good for you. I hope you’re a success on second-level.”

Marge returned from the kitchen, bearing a tall glass of water filled to the very top. “Here you are, Dave. It’s ice-cold. Be careful you don’t spill any. Get him, Ted!”

She hurled the water in Spalding’s eyes and in the same motion threw herself against him, knocking his gun-hand to one side. Kennedy heard a roar and a boom and the thud of a slug burying itself in the wall, as he sprang toward the drenched, momentarily blinded Spalding.

He caught Spalding by the middle and spun him around. The gun waved wildly in the air. Kennedy grabbed for the gun-hand wrist, seized it and twisted, hoping to make him let go of the weapon. Instead, there was a second explosion.

Kennedy stepped back, startled by the vehemence of the blast. He felt no pain himself, and saw Marge’s pale, frightened face. Spalding was sagging to the floor, a jagged hole in his throat and a bewildered, surprised look on his face.

Then Kennedy felt Marge against him. She was quivering, and he held her tight, trying to keep himself from quivering also. He did not look at the dead man on the floor. He said quietly, “The gun went off while we were fighting. He shot himself. I think he’s dead, Marge.”

Through almost hysterical tears she said, “H-he put the ad in the paper. Then we came over here to wait for you. I tried to find some way of warning you, but there wasn’t any. And now—”

A shudder ran through her, and through him as well. “I guess he deserved it,” she said bleakly. “He would have turned you in. Ted, I’ve never seen a man get so rotten so fast. I was all wrong about him.”