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Who s Denny?
You know. Gesturing, Charley said, Denny Strong. He operates in this area at the distribution
level.
A scanner swept back and forth, surveying them.
The soldiers conferred, speaking into lip-level microphones and listening through earfone buttons
in their right ears. Okay, the sergeant in charge said at last. He turned his attention back to Nick and
Charley. What do you want here? he demanded.
A place to stay for a while, Charley said.
Nodding toward Nick, the occifer said, Who s he?
A convert. He came over to us today.
Nick said, Because of the announcement of Cordon s execution.
The soldier grunted, pondered. We re housing just about everyone already. I don t know . . . He
chewed his lower lip, frowning. Do you also want to stay here? he asked Nick.
For a day or so. No longer.
Earnestly, Charley said, You know Denny has those psychopathic rages, but generally as far as
lasting
I don t know Denny, the soldier said. Can you two occupy the same room?
I guess so, Charley said.
Yes, Nick said.
We can give you sanctuary for seventy-two hours, the sergeant said. Then you ll have to move
on.
How big is this place? Nick asked him.
Four square city blocks.
He believed it. This is not a nickel and dime operation, he said to the soldiers.
If it were, one of them said, we wouldn t have much of a chance. We print tracts by the
million, here. Most are ultimately confiscated by the authorities, but not all. We use the junk mail
principle; even if one-fiftieth are read and all the others thrown away it s worth the cost; it s the
way to do it.
Charley said, What s come from Cordon now that he knows he s going to be executed? Or does
he know? Have they told him?
The receiving station would know, the soldier said. But we won t hear from them for a few
more hours; there s generally a lapse while the material is edited.
Then you don t print Cordon s words exactly as they come from him, Nick said.
The soldiers laughed. And did not answer.
He rambles, Charley explained.
Nick said, Is there going to be any attempt to agitate for a stay of execution?
I doubt if that s been decided, one of the soldiers said.
It wouldn t have any effect, another said. We d fail; they would execute him and we d all be
in detention camps.
So you re going to let him die? Nick asked.
We have no control over it, several soldiers said at once.
Nick said, Once he s dead, you ll have nothing to print; you ll have to shut down.
The soldiers laughed.
You ve heard from Provoni, Charley said.
A silence, and then one of the soldiers, the sergeant, said, A garbled message. But authentic.
The soldier beside him said quietly, Thors Provoni is on his way back.
Part Two
Chapter 11
That puts a new light on things, Willis Gram said gloomily. Read the intercepted message
again.
Director Barnes read from the copy before him. Have found . . . who will . . . their help will . . .
and I am . . . That s all that came through well enough to be transcribed. Static got the rest.
But all the answers are there, Gram said. He s alive; he s coming back; he has found someone
not something, but someone, because he used the word their . He says, Their help will . . . and
what s missing probably is the rest of a sentence reading, Their help will be enough. Or words to that
effect.
I think you re being too pessimistic, Barnes said.
I have to be. Anyhow, hell, I ve got the evidence to be pessimistic about. They ve been waiting
for word from Provoni all this time and now it s come. Their printing plants will have the news all
over the planet in the next six hours, and there s no way we can stop them.
We can bomb their main printing plant on 16th Avenue, Director Barnes said; he was all for
that. He had waited months for permission to destroy the huge Under Men plant.
They ll patch this into the TV circuit, Gram said. Two minutes then we ll find their
transmitter and that ll be the end of that, but they ll have gotten their damn message across.
Then give up, Barnes said.
I m not going to give up. I m never going to. I ll have Provoni killed within an hour of the time
he lands on Earth, and whoever it is he s brought to help them we ll snuff them, too. Damn
nonhuman organisms, they probably have six legs and a tail that stings. Like a scorpion.
And they ll sting us to death, Barnes said.
Something like that. In his bathrobe and slippers, Gram paced moodily about his bedroom
office, his arms locked behind him, stomach protruding. Doesn t it seem to you to be a betrayal of
the human race, Old Men, Under Men, New Men, Unusuals everyone? To bring in a nonhumanoid
life form which ll probably want to colonize here once it s destroyed us?
Except, Barnes pointed out, it s not going to destroy us; we re going to destroy it.
You just never know for sure about these things, Gram said. They might gain a foothold.
That s what we have to prevent.
Barnes said, From a calculation of the distance from which the message came, it s computed
that he and they won t be here for two more months.
They may have a faster-than-light drive, Gram said shrewdly. Provoni may not be aboard the
Gray Dinosaur; he may be on one of their ships. And hell, the Gray Dinosaur is fast enough;
remember, it was the prototype of a whole new line of interstellar transportation type ships; he got the
first one and away he went.
I ll admit this, Barnes said. Provoni may have modified the ship s drive; he may have beefed
it up. He always was a tinkerer. I wouldn t rule it out entirely.
Cordon will be executed immediately, Gram said. Get it done now. Notify the media, so they
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