The Brains of Earth Jack Vance

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THE BRAINS OF EARTH By Jack Vance

Scanned by BW-SciFi

Printed in U.S.A.

Ixax at the best of times was a dreary pla-net. Winds roared through the jagged black mountains, pro-pelling jets of rain and sleet which, rather than softening the landscape, tended to wash what soil existed into the ocean. Vegetation was scant: a few drab forests of brittle den-drons; wax-grass and tube-wort bunching out of crevices; lichens in sullen splotches of red, purple, blue and green. The ocean however, supported extensive beds of kelp and algae; these, with a fairly abundant catalogue of marine ani-malculae, conducted the greater part of the planet's photo-synthetic process.

In spite of, or because of, the challenge of the environ-ment, the original amphibian animal, a type of ganoid ba-trachian, evolved into an intelligent andromorph. Assisted by an intuitive awareness of mathematical justness and har-mony, with a visual apparatus that presented the world in tactile three-dimensional style rather than as a polychrome set of two-dimensional surfaces, the Xaxans were almost pre-ordained to build a technical civilization. Four hundred years after their advent into space they discovered the no-pal—apparently through the workings of sheer chance—and so involved themselves in the most terrible war of their his-tory.

The war, lasting over a century, devastated the already barren planet. Scum crusted the oceans; the few sparse pockets of soil were poisoned by yellowish-white powder sifting out of the sky. Ixax had never been a populous world; the handful of cities now were rubble: heaps of black stone, liver-brown tile, chalk-white shards of fused talc, wads of rotting organic stuff, a chaos which outraged the Xaxan compulsion for mathematical exactness and nicety. The survi-vors, both Chitumih and Tauptu (so to transcribe the clicks and rattlings of the Xaxan communicative system), dwelt in underground fortresses. Distinguished by Tauptu aware-ness and Chitumih denial of the nopal, they nourished to-ward each other an emotion akin to but a dozen times more intense than Earthly hate.

After the first hundred years of war the tide of battle ran in favor of the Tauptu. The Chitumih were driven to their stronghold under the Northern Mountains; the Taup-tu battle-teams inched forward, blasting the surface de-fense-ports one by one, dispatching atomic moles against the mile-deep citadel.

The Chitumih, although aware of defeat, resisted with a fervor corresponding to their more-than-hate for the Tauptu. The rumble of approaching moles sounded ever louder; the outlying mole-traps collapsed, then the inner-ring of diver-sion-tunnels. Looping up from a burrow ten miles deep, an enormous mole broke into the dynamo chamber, destroying the very core of Chitumih resistance. The corridors went pitch-dark; the Chitumih tumbled forth blindly, prepared to fight with hands and stones. Moles gnawed at the rock; the tunnels reverberated with grinding sound. A gap appeared, followed by a roaring metal snout. The walls broke wide apart; there was a blast of anaesthetic gas, and the war was over.

The Tauptu climbed down across the broken rock, search-lights glowing from their heads. The able-bodied among the Chitumih were pinioned and sent to the surface; the crushed and mangled were killed where they lay.

War-Master Khb Tachx returned to Mia, the ancient cap-itol, flying low through a hissing rain-storm across a dingy sea, over a foreland pocked with great craters in the shape of earth-colored star-bursts, over a range of black mountains, and the charred rubble of Mia lay before him.

There was a single whole building in evidence, a long squat box of gray rock-melt, newly erected.

Khb Tachx landed his air-car, and ignoring the rain, walk-ed toward the entrance of the building. Fifty or sixty Chi-tumih huddling in a pen slowly turned their heads, sensing him with the perceptors which fulfilled the function of eyes. Khb Tachx accepted the impact of their hate with no more attention than he gave the rain. As he approached the build-ing a frantic rattle of torment sounded from within, and a-gain Khb Tachx paid no heed. The Chitumih were more affected.

They shrank back as if the pain were their own, and in clenched dull vibrations reviled Khb Tachx, defy-ing him to do his worst.

Khb Tachx strode into the building, dropped to a level a half-mile below the surface, proceeded to the chamber re-served for his use. Here he removed his helmet, his leather cloak, wiped the rain from his gray face. Divesting him-self of his other garments he scrubbed himself with a stiff-bristled brush, removing dead tissue and minute surface scales from his skin.

An orderly grated his finger-tips across the door. "You are awaited."

"I will come at once."

With a passionless economy of motion he dressed in fresh garments, an apron, boots, a long cape smooth as a beetle-shell. It so happened that these garments were uniformly black, although this was a matter of indifference to the Xaxans who differentiated surfaces by texture rather than color. Khb Tachx took up his helmet, a casque of striated metal, crowned by a medallion symbolizing the word tauptu—"pur-ged". Six spikes rose from the keel, three corresponding to the inch-high knuckles of bone along his cranial crest, the re-maining three denoting his rank. After a moment's reflection Khb Tachx detached the medallion, then pulled the helmet down over his bare gray scalp.

He left his chamber, walked deliberately along the cor-ridor to a door of fused quartz, which slid soundlessly a-side at his approach. He entered a perfectly circular room with vitreous walls and a high paraboloid dome. Insofar as the Xaxans derived pleasure from the contemplation of in-animate objects, they enjoyed the serene simplicity of these particular conformations. At a round table of polished ba-salt sat four men, each wearing a six-spike helmet. They immediately noticed the absence of the medallion from Khb Tachx's helmet, and derived the import he meant to con-vey: that with the collapse of the Great Northern Fortress the need for distinction between Tauptu and Chitumih had ended. These five governed the Tauptu as a loose commit-tee, without clear division of responsibility except in two regards: War-Master Khb Tachx directed military strategy; Pttdu Apiptix commanded those few ships remaining to the space-fleet.

Khb Tachx seated himself, and described the collapse of the Chitumih stronghold. His fellows apprehended him im-passively, showing neither joy nor excitement, for they felt none.

Pttdu Apiptix dourly summed up the new circumstances. "The nopal are as before. We have won only a local vic-tory."

"Nevertheless, a victory," Khb Tachx remarked.

A third Xaxan countered what he considered an extreme of pessimism. "We have destroyed the Chitumih; they have not destroyed us. We started with nothing, they everything: still we have won."

"Immaterial," responded Pttdu Apiptix. "We have been unable to prepare for what must come next. Our weapons against the nopal are makeshift; they harass us almost at will."

"The past is past," Khb Tachx declared. "The short step has been taken; now we will take the long one. The war must be carried to Nopalgarth."

The five sat in contemplation. The idea had occurred many times to all of them, and many times they had drawn back from the implications.

A fourth Xaxan remarked abruptly, "We have been bled white. We can wage no more war."

"Others now will bleed," Khb Tachx responded. "We will infect Nopalgarth as the nopal infected Ixax, and do no more than direct the struggle."

The fourth Xaxan reflected. "Is this a practical strategy? A Xaxan risks his life if he so much as shows himself on Nopalgarth."

"Agents must act for us. We must employ someone not instantly recognizable as an enemy—a man of another pla-net."

"In this connection," Pttdu Apiptix remarked, "there is a first and obvious choice ..."

A voice which quavered from fright or excitement —the girl at the ARPA switchboard in Washington could not de-cide which—asked to speak to "someone in charge." The girl inquired the caller's business, explaining that ARPA con-sisted of many departments and divisions.

"It's a secret matter," said the voice. "I gotta talk to one of the higher-ups, somebody connected with the top sci-ence projects."

A nut, decided the girl, and started to switch the call to the public relations office. At this moment Paul Burke, an assistant director of research, walked through the foyer. Burke, loose-limbed, tall, with a reassuringly nondescript ap-pearance, was thirty seven, once-married, once-divorced. Most women found Burke attractive; the switchboard oper-ator, no exception, seized the opportunity to attract his at-tention. She sang out, "Mr. Burke, won't you speak to this man?"

"Which man?" asked Burke.

"I don't know. He's quite excited. He wants to talk to someone in authority."

"May I ask your position, Mr. Burke?" The voice evoked an instant image in Burke's mind: an elderly man, earnest and self-important, hopping from one foot to the other in excitement.

"I'm an assistant director of research," said Burke.

"Does that mean you're a scientist?" the voice asked cau-tiously. "This is business that I can't take up with under-lings."

"More or less. What's your problem?"

"Mr. Burke, you'd never believe me if I told you over the phone." The voice quavered. "I can't really believe it myself."

Burke felt a trace of interest. The man's voice commu-nicated its excitement, aroused uneasy prickles at the nape of Burke's neck. Nevertheless, an instinct, a hunch, an intui-tion told him that he wanted nothing to do with this urgent old man.

"I've got to see you, Mr. Burke—you or one of the sci-entists. One of the top scientists." The man's voice faded, then strengthened as if he had turned his head away from the mouth-piece as he spoke.

"If you could explain your problem," said Burke cau-tiously, "I might be able to help you."

"No," said the man. "You'd tell me I was crazy. You've got to come out here. I promise you you'll see something you've never imagined in your wildest dreams."

"That's going pretty far," said Burke. "Can't you give me some idea what it's all about?"

"You'd think I was crazy. And maybe I am." The man laughed with unnecessary fervor. "I'd like to think so."

"What's your name?"

"Are you coming out to see me?"

"I'll send someone out."

"That won't do. You'll send the police, and then—there'll —be—trouble!" He almost whispered these last words.

Burke spoke aside to the operator, "Get a tracer on this call." Into the phone he said, "Are you in trouble yourself? Anyone threatening you?"

"No, no, Mr. Burke! Nothing like that! Now tell me the truth: Can you come out to see me right now? I got to know!"

"Not unless you give me a better reason than you have."

The man took a deep breath. "Okay. Listen then. And don't say I didn't warn you. I—" The line went dead.

Burke looked at the telephone in mingled disgust and relief. He turned to the operator. "Any luck?"

"I didn't have time, Mr. Burke. He hung up too soon." Burke shrugged. "Crack-pot, probably . . .

But still . . ." He turned away, neck still tingling eerily. He went to his office, where presently he was joined by Dr. Ralph Tarbert, a mathematician and physicist dividing his time between Brookhaven and ARPA. Tarbert, in his middle fifties, was a handsome lean-faced man, nervously muscular, with a shock of electric white hair of which he was very proud. In contrast to Burke's rather rumpled tweed jackets and flannel slacks, Tarbert wore elegant and conservative suits of dark blue or gray. He not only admitted but boasted of intellectual snobbery, and affected a cynicism which Burke sometimes found frivolous enough to be irritating.

The unfinished telephone call still occupied Burke's mind. He described the conversation to Tarbert who, as Burke had expected, dismissed the incident with an airy wave of the hand.

"The man was scared," mused Burke, "no question about that."

"The devil looked up from the bottom of his beer mug."

"He sounded stone-sober. You know, Ralph, I've got a hunch about this thing. I wish I'd gone to see the man."

"Take a tranquilizer," suggested Tarbert. "Now, let's talk about this electron-ejection thing . . ."

Shortly after noon a messenger brought a small package to Burke's office. Burke signed the book, examined the pack-age. His name and address had been printed with a ball-point pen; there was also an inscription: OPEN IN ABSO-LUTE PRIVACY.

Burke ripped open the parcel. Inside he found a card-board box, containing a dollar-size disk of metal, which he shook out into his hand. The disk seemed at the same time light and heavy; massive but weightless. With a soft ex-clamation Burke opened his hand. The disk floated in mid-air. Slowly, gently, it began to rise.

Burke stared, reached. "What the devil," he muttered. "No gravity?"

The telephone rang. The voice asked anxiously, "Did you get the package?"

"Just this minute," said Burke.

"Will you come to see me now?"

Burke took a deep breath. "What's your name?"

"You'll come alone?"

"Yes," said Burke.

III

sam gibbons was a widower, two years retired from a prosperous used-car business in Buellton, Virginia, sixty-five miles from Washington. With his two sons at college, he lived alone in a big brick house two miles from town, on the crest of a hill.

Burke met him at the gate—a pompous man of sixty, with a pear-shaped body, an amiable pink face now mottled and trembling. He verified that Burke was alone, made sure that Burke was both a recognized scientist—"up on all that space and cosmic ray stuff"—and in a position of authority.

"Don't get me wrong," said Gibbons nervously. "It's got-ta be this way. You'll see why in a few minutes. Thank God I'm out of it." He blew out his cheeks, looked up toward his house.

"What goes on?" asked Burke. "What's all this about?"

"You'll know soon enough," said Gibbons hoarsely. Burke saw that he was staggering with fatigue, that his eyes were red-rimmed. "I've got to bring you to the house. That's all I do. From then on it's up to you."

Burke looked up the driveway toward the house. "What's up to me?"

Gibbons patted him nervously on the shoulder. "It's all right; you'll just be—"

"I'm not moving until I know who's there," said Burke.

Gibbons glanced furtively over his shoulder. "It's a man from another planet," he blurted through wet lips. "Mars maybe; I don't know for sure. He made me telephone some-body he could talk to, and I got hold of you."

Burke stared toward the front of the house. Behind a window, veiled by curtains, he glimpsed a tall square-shouldered shape. It never occurred to him to doubt Gibbons. He laughed uncertainly.

"This is rather a shock."

"You're telling me," said Gibbons.

Burke's knees were stiff and weak; he felt an enormous reluctance to move. In a hollow voice he asked, "How do you know he's from another planet?"

"He told me," said Gibbons. "I believed him. Wait till you see him yourself."

Burke drew a deep breath. "Very well. Let's go. Does he speak English?"

Gibbons smiled in feeble amusement. "Out of a box. He has a box on his stomach and the box talks."

They approached the house. Gibbons pushed the door open, motioned Burke to enter. Burke stepped forward, stopped short in the hall.

The creature who waited was a man, but he had arriv-ed at his estate by a different route from that traveled by Burke's forebears. He stood four inches taller than Burke, with a skin rough and gray as elephant hide. His head was narrow and long, his eyes blank and blind-looking, like cabochons of beer-colored quartz. A bony crest rose from his scalp, studded with three bony knobs. Striking down from his brow the crest became a nose, thin as a scimi-tar. The chest was deep and narrow, the arms and legs corded and ropy with sinew.

Burke's faculties, numbed by the sheer drama of the sit-uation, slowly returned. Studying the man, he sensed a harsh fierce intelligence, and became uneasily conscious of dislike and distrust—feelings which he strove to suppress. It was inevitable, he thought, that creatures of different planets must find each other uncomfortable and strange. Trying to compensate he spoke with a heartiness that rang false even to his own ears. "My name is Paul Burke. I un-derstand that you know our language."

"We have studied your planet for many years." The voice came in discrete and distinct words from an apparatus hanging over the alien's chest: a muffled unnatural voice accompanied by hisses, buzzings, clicks and rattles, pro-duced by vibrating plates along the creature's thorax. A translation machine, thought Burke, which presumably re-translated English words into the clicks and rattles of the stranger's speech. "We have wished to visit you before but it is dangerous for us."

" 'Dangerous'?" Burke was puzzled. "I can't understand why; we're not barbarians. Which is your home planet?"

"It is far away from your solar system. I do not know your astronomy. I can not name it. We call our planet Ixax. I am Pttdu Apiptix." The box seemed to find difficulty with l's and r's, pronouncing them with a rasping and rattling of the glottal mechanism. "You are one of your world's scientists?"

"I am a physicist and mathematician," said Burke, "al-though now I hold an administrative position."

"Good." Pttdu Apiptix held up his hand, turned the palm toward Sam Gibbons who stood nervously at the back of the room. The small squat instrument he held chattered, shivering the air as a hammer-blow splinters ice. Gibbons croaked, fell to the floor in a strange round heap, as if all his bones had vanished.

Burke sucked in his breath, aghast. "Here, here!" he stam-mered. "What are you doing?"

"This man must not talk to others," said Apiptix. "My mission is important."

"Your mission be damned!" roared Burke. "You've vio-lated our laws! This isn't—"

Pttdu Apiptix cut him short. "Killing is sometimes a ne-cessity. You must alter your way of thinking, because I plan that you help me. If you refuse, I will kill you and find another."

Burke's voice refused to make itself heard. At last he said hoarsely, "What do you want me to do?"

"We are going to Ixax. There you will know."

Burke remonstrated gently, as if addressing a maniac. "I can't possibly go to your planet. I have my job to look after. I suggest that you come with me to Washington—" He stopped short, embarrassed by the other's sardonic patience.

"I care nothing for your convenience, or your work," said Apiptix.

On the verge of hysterical anger Burke trembled, leaned forward. Pttdu Apiptix displayed his weapon. "Do not be influenced by your emotional urges." He twisted his face in a wincing grimace—the only change of facial expression

Burke had noticed. "Come with me, if you wish to live." He backed away, toward the rear of the house.

Burke followed on stiff legs. They went out a rear door into the back yard, where Gibbons had built himself a swimming pool and a tiled barbecue area.

"We will wait here," said Apiptix. He stood motionless, watching Burke with the blank stolidity of an insect. Five minutes passed. Burke could not speak for a weakness of rage and apprehension.

A dozen times he leaned forward on the brink of plunging at the Xaxan and taking his chances; a dozen times he saw the instrument in the harsh gray hand and drew back.

Out of the sky dropped a blunt metal cylinder the size of a large automobile. A section fell open.

"Enter," said Apip-tix.

For the last time Burke weighed his chances. They were non-existent. He stumbled into the car. Apiptix fol-lowed. The section closed. There was an instant sensation of swift motion.

Burke spoke, holding his voice steady with great effort. "Where are you taking me?"

"To Ixax."

"What for?"

"So that you will learn what is expected of you. I un-derstand your anger. I realize that you are not pleased. Nevertheless you must grasp the idea that your life is changed." Apiptix put away his weapon. "It is useless for you to—"

Burke could not control his rage. He flung himself at the Xaxan, who held him off with a rigid arm. From somewhere came a mind-cracking blaze of purple light, and Burke lost consciousness.

burke awoke in an unfamiliar place, in a dark chamber smelling of damp rock. He could see nothing. Under him was what seemed to be a resilient mat; exploring with his fingers he found a hard cold floor a few inches below.

He rose on his elbow. There was no sound to be heard: an absolute silence.

Burke felt his face, tested the length of his beard. There was bristle at least a quarter-inch long.

A week had passed.

Someone was approaching. How did he know? There had been no sound; only an oppressive sense of evil, almost as palpable as a physical stench.

The walls glowed with sudden luminosity, revealing a long narrow chamber, with a graceful vaulted ceiling. Burke raised himself on the pad, arms trembling, legs and knees flaccid.

Pttdu Apiptix, or someone closely resembling him, ap-peared in the doorway. Burke, tight in the chest from ten-sion, giddy from hunger, staggered to his feet.

"Where am I?" His voice rasped huskily in his throat.

"We are on Ixax," spoke the box on Apiptix's chest.

Burke could think of nothing to say; in any event his throat had choked up.

"Come," said the Xaxan.

"No." Burke's knees slackened from under him; he sank back on the mat.

Pttdu Apiptix disappeared into the corridor. Presently he returned with two other Xaxans who rolled a metal cabinet. They seized Burke, thrust a tube down his throat, pumped warm liquid into his stomach. Then, without ceremony, they withdrew the tube, departed.

Apiptix stood silently, and several minutes passed. Burke lay supine, watching from under his eyelids. Pttdu Apiptix was weirdly magnificent, demoniac and murderous though he might be. A glossy black shell like the carapace of a beetle hung down his back; on his head he wore a striated metal helmet with six baleful spikes raising from the crest. Burke shivered weakly and closed his eyes, feeling unpleasant-ly weak and helpless in the presence of so much evil strength.

Another five minutes passed, while the vitality slowly seeped back through Burke's body. He stirred, opened his eyes, said fretfully, "I suppose now you'll tell me why you've brought me here."

"When you are ready," said Pttdu Apiptix, "we will go to the surface. You will learn what is required of you."

"What you require and what you'll get are two differ-ent things," growled Burke. Feigning lassitude, he leaned back on the mat.

Pttdu Apiptix turned, departed, and Burke cursed him-self for his own perversity: what did he achieve lying down here in the dark? Nothing but boredom and uncertainty.

An hour later Pttdu Apiptix returned. "Are you ready?"

Wordlessly Burke raised himself to his feet, followed the black-shrouded figure along the passage, into an elevator. They stood close together, and Burke wondered at the con-traction of his flesh. The Xaxan was representative of the universal type man: why the revulsion? Because of the Xaxan's ruthlessness? Reason enough, thought Burke; still…

The Xaxan spoke, interrupting Burke's train of thought. "Perhaps you ask yourself why we live below the surface?"

"I'm asking myself about many things."

"A war drove us underground—a war such as your pla-net has never known."

"This war is still going on?"

"On Ixax the war is ended; we have purged the Chitu-mih. We can walk on the surface again."

Emotion? Burke wondered. Was intelligence without emo-tion conceivable? A Xaxan's emotions were not necessarily commensurable with his own, of course; still they must share certain viewpoints, certain aspects of intelligent exis-tence, such as the urge to survive, satisfaction in achieve-ment, curiosity and puzzlement...

The elevator halted. The Xaxan stepped out, set off down the corridor. Burke followed reluctantly, sorting through a dozen wild and impractical stratagems. Somehow, in some way, he must exert himself. Pttdu Apiptix planned nothing good for him; action of any sort was preferable to this meek compliance. He must find a weapon—fight, run away, escape, hide—something, anything!

Apiptix wheeled around, gestured abruptly. "Come," in-toned his voice-box. Burke advanced slowly. Act! He chuck-led sardonically, relaxing. Act, how? So far they had offered him no harm, still ... A sound brought him up short: a terrible staccato rattle. Burke needed no help to understand; the language of pain was universal.

Burke's knees wobbled. He put his hand to the wall. The rattle broke, vibrated, buzzed weakly away.

The Xaxan eyed him dispassionately. "Come," spoke the voice-box.

"What was that?" whispered Burke.

"You will see."

"I won't come any farther."

"Come, or you will be carried."

Burke hesitated. The Xaxan moved toward him; Burke lurched forward in anger.

A metal door rolled aside; a chill sour wind sang through the gap. They emerged upon the dreariest landscape of Burke's experience. Mountains like crocodile teeth rimmed the horizon; the sky was wadded with black and gray clouds, from which hung funereal smears of rain. The plain below was crusted with ruins. Corroded girders poked at the sky like dry insect legs; walls had fallen into tumbles of black brick and liver-brown tile; the sections still standing were blotched with fungus in sullen colors. In all the sad scene there was nothing fresh, nothing alive, no sense of change or better things to come; only decay and futility. Burke could not restrain a pang of compassion for the Xaxans. No matter what their transgressions . . . He turned back to the single erect building, that from which he and Pttdu Apip-tix, stared at the dark shapes within the pen.

Men? Xaxans?

The box on the chest of Pttdu Apiptix answered his un-spoken query. "Those are the remnant of the Chitumih. There are no more. Only the Tauptu remain."

Burke walked slowly toward the pathetic huddle, press-ing into the bitter gusts of wind. He came to the mesh, look-ed through. The Chitumih returned his inspection, seeming to feel him with their eyes, rather than look at him. They were a miserable tattered group, the skin rough and taut over their framework of bone. In racial type they appeared identical to the Tauptu, but here the similarity ended. Even in the shame and squalor of the pen their spirit burnt clear. The ancient tale, thought Burke: barbarism triumphant over civilization. He glared at Apiptix, whom he saw to be a vicious creature, barren of decency. Sudden fury surprised and overwhelmed Burke. He became light-headed and stag-gered forward, swinging his fists. The Chitumih buzzed soft encouragement, but to no avail. A pair of nearby Tauptu stepped forward. Burke was seized, pulled away from the pen, pressed against the wall of the building, held until he ceased struggling and went limp and panting.

Apiptix spoke through his voice-box, as if Burke's futile assault had never occurred. "Those are the Chitumih; they are few and soon will be eliminated."

Through the rock-melt walls came another terrified vi-bration.

"Torture the Chitumih—and let the others listen?"

"Nothing is done without reason. Come, you shall see."

"I've seen enough." Burke peered wildly around the hori-zon. He saw no succor and no place to run, only wet ruins, black mountains, rain, corrosion, crumble. . . .

Apiptix made a sign; the two Tauptu led Burke back into the building. Burke resisted. He kicked, hung limp, thrashed his body back and forth to no avail; the Tauptu carried him without effort along a short wide corridor, into a cham-ber flooded with a green-white glare. Burke stood panting, the two Tauptu still beside him. Again he tried to struggle loose, but their fingers were like tongs.

"If you are able to control your aggressive impulses," spoke the emotionless voice-box, "you will be released."

Burke choked off a bitter flow of words. Struggle was useless, undignified. He straightened himself, nodded curtly. The Tauptu stood back.

Burke looked around the room. Half-hidden behind a bank of what appeared to be electrical circuitry he saw a flat frame of shining metal bars. Against the wall four Xaxans stood in fetters; Burke recognized them for Chitu-mih through some quality he could not define: an inner sense which assured him that the Chitumih were decent, kind, courageous, his natural allies against the Tauptu. . . . Apiptix came forward carrying what appeared to be a pair of lenseless spectacles.

"At the moment there is much that you do not under-stand," Apiptix told him. "Conditions are different from those on Earth."

Thank God for the difference, thought Burke.

Apiptix continued. "Here on Ixax there are two sorts of people: the Tauptu and the Chitumih.

They are disting-uished by the nopal."

" 'Nopal'? What is the nopal?"

"You are about to learn. First, I wish to make an ex-periment, to test what might be called your psionic sensitivi-ty." He displayed the lenseless spectacles. "These instruments are constructed of a strange material, a substance unknown to you. Perhaps you would like to look through them."

A pulse of aversion for all things Tauptu jerked him back. "No."

Apiptix extended the spectacles. He seemed to be gri-macing in humor, though no muscle of his corded gray face quivered. "I must insist."

With an effort Burke controlled his fury, snatched the spectacles, fitted them to his eyes.

There appeared to be no visual change, no refractive effect whatever.

"Examine the Chitumih," said Apiptix. "The lenses add—let us say—a new dimension to your vision."

Burke examined the Chitumih. He stared, bent his head forward. For an instant he saw—what?

What was it he had seen? He could not remember. He looked again, but the lenses blurred his vision. The Chitumih wavered; there was a black fuzzy blot, like a caterpillar, across the top half of their bodies. Peculiar! He looked at Pttdu Apiptix. He blinked in surprise. Here was the black blur as before—or something else? What was it? Incomprehensible! It served as background to the head of Apiptix—something complex and indefinable, something vastly menacing. He heard a strange sound, a grating guttural growl— "Gher, gher." Where did it come from? He pulled off the glasses, looked wildly about him. The sound ceased.

Apiptix clicked and buzzed; the voice-box asked, "What did you see?"

Burke tried to remember exactly what he had seen. "Noth-ing I could identify," he said finally, but his mind had gone blank. Strange . . . And it came to him to wonder, half-wildly, what on earth's going on? And then he remembered; I'm not on Earth. . ..

He asked aloud, "What was I supposed to see?"

The Xaxan's reply was drowned in a staccato rattling yammer of pain. Burke clasped his hands to his head, and, beset by a strange drunken vertigo, swayed and tottered. The Chitumih were also affected; they drooped and two sank to their knees.

"What are you doing?" cried Burke hoarsely. "Why have you brought me here?" He could not look toward the ma-chinery at the end of the chamber.

"For a very necessary reason. Come. You shall see."

"No!" Burke plunged toward the door. He was caught and held. "I don't want to see any more."

"You must."

The Xaxans swung Burke around, led him struggling across the room. Willy-nilly he was forced to look at the mechanism. A man lay spread-eagled face-down on the metal grill. Two cusps of complicated construction embraced his head; tight metal sleeves confined his arms, legs, torso.

A film of cloth fragile as fog, transparent as cellophane, half floated above his head and upper shoulders. To Burke's astonishment the victim was no Chitumih. He wore the garments of a Tauptu; on a table nearby rested a helmet similar to that of Apiptix, displaying four prongs. A fantas-tic paradox! Burke watched in bewilderment as the process —punishment, torment, exhibition, whatever it might be— continued.

Two Tauptu approached the grill. Their hands were cased in white gloves. They kneaded the cloth which shrouded the victim's head. The arms and legs squirmed. From the cusps issued a sudden silent vibration of blue light—a discharge of some sort of energy. The victim rattled and Burke strug-gled dizzily against the grip of the Xaxans. Once more the blue discharge; again the jerky mechanical reflex, like the kicking of a frog's leg to electricity. The Chitumih by the wall clicked miserably; the Tauptu stood stern and inexor-able.

The torturers kneaded, worked, pulled. Another burst of blue light, another despairing rattle; the Tauptu on the grill lay limp. The torturer removed the transparent bag, carried it gingerly away.

Two other Tauptu removed the unconscious man, laid him unceremoniously on the floor. Then they seized one of the Chitumih, flung him on the grill. His arms and legs were pinioned; he lay frothing and straining in terror. The impalpable cloth was brought in, floating weightlessly in the air, arranged over the Chitumih's head and shoulders.

The torture began. . . . Ten minutes later the Chitumih, head lolling, was carried to the side of the room.

Apiptix handed the quivering Burke the spectacles. "Ob-serve the purged Chitumih. What do you see?"

Burke looked. "Nothing. There is nothing."

"Now look here. Quickly!"

Burke turned his head to look into a mirror. Something stiff and pompous reared above his head. Great bulbous eyes stared from beside his neck. Just a flicker of a vision, then he saw nothing. The mirror blurred. Burke tore off the glasses. The mirror was clear, revealing only his ashen face. "What was that?" he whispered. "I saw something . . ."

"That was the nopal," said Apiptix. "You surprised it." He took the spectacles. Two men seized Burke, carried him fighting and kicking to the grill. The sleeves rolled over his arms and legs; he was immobilized. The cloth was ar-ranged over his head. He caught a final glimpse of the malig-nant, infinitely hateful face of Pttdu Apiptix; then a shud-dering shock of pain pounded the nerves of his back-bone.

Burke bit his lips, strained to move his head. Another blast of blue light, another spasm of pain, as if the torturers were rapping his raw nerves with hammers. The muscles of his throat distended. He could hear nothing, he was un-aware of his own screaming.

The flare vanished; there was only a kneading of white-gloved hands, a sucking burning sensation as of a scab being pulled from a sore. Burke tried to beat his head against the bars of the grill, moaned to think of his agony here on this evil black world. . . . An excruciating shatter of blue energy; a pull, a rip, as if the spine had been broken out of his body; a deep insane rage, and then he lost conscious-ness.

burke felt rather light-headed, as if he had been stimu-lated by some euphoric drug. He lay on a low resilient mat, in a chamber similar to that which he had occupied before.

He thought of his last conscious moments, of the torment, and sat up full of wild recollection.

The doorway was open, unguarded. Burke stared, visions of escape racing through his head. He started to rise, then heard footsteps. The op-portunity was lost. He returned to his former position.

Pttdu Apiptix appeared in the doorway, stolid and mas-sive as an iron statue. He stood watching Burke. After a moment Burke rose slowly to his feet, prepared for al-most anything.

Pttdu Apiptix came forward. Burke watched him in wary hostility. And yet—was this really Pttdu Apiptix? It seem-ed the same man; he wore the six-pronged helmet, and carried the voice-box slung over his chest. He was Pttdu Apiptix and he was not—for his semblance had altered. He no longer seemed evil.

The voice-box said, "Come with me; you will eat and I will explain certain things to you."

Burke could find no words; it seemed as if his captor's entire personality had changed.

"You are puzzled?" Apiptix asked. "For good reason. Come."

Burke followed in a daze of perplexity to a large room furnished as a refectory. Apiptix motioned him to a seat, went to a dispenser, returned with bowls of broth and cakes of a dark substance like compressed raisins. Yester-day the man had tortured him, thought Burke; today he acts the part of a host. Burke examined the broth. He had few food prejudices, but the comestibles of a strange world, prepared from unknown substances, did not encourage his appetite.

"Our food is synthetic," said Apiptix. "We cannot indulge in natural foods. You will not be poisoned; our metabolic processes are similar."

Burke ignored his qualms and dipped into the broth. It was bland, neither pleasant nor otherwise. He ate in silence, watching Apiptix from the corner of his eye. No sudden— possibly illusory—change of manner could compensate for the cold-blooded facts: murder, kidnapping, torture.

Apiptix finished quickly, eating without nicety or grace, then sat with his eyes feeling at Burke, as if in saturnine reflection. Burke glared back sullenly. He thought of an enlarged photograph of a wasp's head he had once seen. The eyes, great bulbs, fibrous, faceted, stolid, were similar to the eyes of the Xaxans.

"Naturally enough," Apiptix remarked, "you are puzzled and resentful. You understand nothing of what has been happening. You wonder why I appear differently today than yesterday. Is this not true?"

Burke admitted that such was the case.

"The difference is not in me; it is in you. Look." He pointed up into the air. "Look up there."

Burke searched the ceiling. Spots swam before his eyes; he tried to blink them away. He saw nothing, and looked to Apiptix for explanation.

Apiptix asked, "What did you see?"

"Nothing."

"Look again." He pointed. "There."

Burke looked, peering through the streaks and blotches in front of his eyes. Today they were unusually troublesome. "I can't see . . ." He paused. He seemed to sense staring owlish eyes.

When he tried to find them they swam and melted into the floating spots.

"Keep looking," said Apiptix. "Your mind has no training. Presently the things will become clear."

"What things?" asked Burke in perplexity.

"The nopal."

"There's nothing whatever."

"Do you not see phantoms, impalpable shapes? It is easier, far easier for an Earthman to see than a Xaxan."

"I see spots before my eyes. That's all."

"Look carefully at the spots. That particular spot, for example."

Wondering how Pttdu Apiptix could be aware of spots before someone else's eyes, Burke studied the air. The blotch seemed to focus, to concentrate: ominous orbs stared at him; he sensed a shifting flutter of color. He exclaimed, "What is this? Hypnotism?"

"It is the nopal. It infests Ixax in spite of our efforts. You are finished eating? Come, once again you shall observe the Chitumih yet unpurged."

They walked outside, into the black downpour of rain which seemed to fall almost continuously.

Pools gleamed among the ruins, pallid as mercury; the jagged mountains behind could not be seen.

Pttdu Apiptix, ignoring the rain, stalked to the Chitumih enclosure. Only two dozen prisoners remained; they glared through the dripping mesh with eyes of hate, and now the hate included Burke.

"The last of the Chitumih," said Apiptix. "Look at them again."

Burke peered through the mesh. The air over the Chit-umih was blurred. There were— He uttered a startled ex-clamation. The blur resolved. It now appeared that each of the Chitumih carried a strange and terrible rider, cling-ing to his neck and scalp by means of a gelatinous flap.

A proud bank of bristles reared up behind each of the Chitumih heads, sprouting from a wad of dark fuzz the size and shape of a football. Two globes hung between the human shoulders and ears, apparently serving the same function as eyes. If eyes they were, they turned on Burke with the same hate and defiance which showed on the faces of the Chitumih.

Burke found his voice. "What are they?" he asked hus-kily. "The nopal?"

"They are the nopal. Parasites, abominations." He made a gesture around the sky. "You will see many others. They hover over us, hungry, anxious to settle. We are anxious to rid our planet of the things."

Burke searched the sky. The hovering nopal, if any, were inconspicuous in the rain. There—he thought to see one of the things, floating like a jellyfish in water. It was small and undeveloped; the spines were sparse, the bulbs which might or might not be eyes appeared no larger than lemons.

Burke blinked, rubbed his forehead. The nopal disappeared, the sky was empty of all but dour wind, torn clouds. "Are they material?"

"They exist; therefore they are material. Is this not a universal truth? If you ask what kind of material, I cannot tell you. War has occupied us a hundred years, we have had no opportunity to learn."

Hunching his neck against the rain Burke turned back to look at the imprisoned Chitumih. He had considered them noble in their defiance; now they seemed rather brutish. Odd. And the Tauptu, who had aroused his detesta-tion ... He considered Pttdu Apiptix who had kidnapped him and disrupted his life, who had murdered Sam Gib-bons. Hardly a likeable person—still Burke's revulsion had dwindled, and a certain grudging admiration mingled with his dislike. The Tauptu were harsh and hard, but they were men of uncompromising resolution.

A sudden idea occurred to Burke, and he eyed Apiptix suspiciously. Had he been victim to a marvelous and sub-tle job of brain-washing, which converted hate into respect, fostered illusions of non-material parasites? Not a convinc-ing idea under the circumstances—but what could be more bizarre than the nopal itself?

He turned back to the Chitumih, and the nopal glared as before. He found it hard to think clearly; nevertheless certain matters had become clarified. "The nopal don't con-centrate on Xaxans alone?" he asked of Pttdu Apiptix.

"By no means."

"One of them had settled on me?"

"Yes."

"And you put me on that grill to purge this nopal?"

"Yes."

Burke mulled the information over, with the cold rain trickling down his back. The toneless voice-box said, "Your irrational hates and sudden intuitions are less frequent, you will notice.

Before we could deal with you, it was neces-sary that you be purged."

Burke forbore to inquire the nature of the dealings. He looked up to find the small nopal floating near at hand, the eye-orbs glistening down at him. Five feet? Ten feet? Fifty feet? He could not determine the distance; it seemed vague, almost subjective. He asked, "Why don't the nopal settle on me again?"

Apiptix made his stiff odd grimace. "They will do so. Then once more you must be purged. One month, more or less, they keep their distance. Perhaps they are afraid; per-haps the brain can hold them away this long. It is a mystery. But sooner or later they come down; then we are Chitumih and must be purged."

The nopal exercised a morbid fascination; Burke found it hard to wrench his eyes away. One of the things had been joined to him! He shivered, feeling a rather irration-al gratitude to the Tauptu for purging him—even though they had brought him to Ixax in the first place.

"Come," said Apiptix. "You will learn what is required of you."

Wet and cold, feet squelching in his shoes, Burke follow-ed Apiptix back into the refectory. He felt utterly miserable. Apiptix who took no heed of rain or wet, motioned Burke to a seat.

"I will tell you something of our history. A hundred and twenty years ago Ixax was a different world. Our civiliza-tion was comparable to yours, although in certain respects we were more advanced. We have long traveled space and your world has been known to us for several centuries.

"A hundred years ago a group of scientists—" He paused, peered quizzically at Burke. "The wetness disturbs you? You are cold?" Without waiting for reply he clicked and buzzed to an attendant, who brought a heavy blue glass mug of hot liquid.

Burke drank; the fluid was hot and bitter, evidently a stimulant. He presently felt more cheerful, even light-head-ed, while the water dripped from his clothes and ran in a puddle along the floor.

The voice-box spoke in a measured monotone, enunciat-ing l's and r's with careful trills. "A hundred years ago cer-tain of our scientists, investigating what you call psionic activity, discovered the nopal. In this fashion Maub Kiam-kagx"—so the name came through the voice-box—"a man highly teletactile, was trapped in a faulty power modulating machine. For several hours energy played around him and into him. He was rescued, and the scientists resumed their tests, anxious to learn whether the experience had affected his abilities.

"Maub Kiamkagx had become the first Tauptu. When the scientists approached he looked at them in terror; the scientists likewise felt an illogical antagonism. They were puzzled and tried to locate the origin of their dislike, to no avail. Meanwhile Maub Kiamkagx was wrestling with his sensations. He apprehended the nopal, at first ascribing them to teletactility or even hallucination.

Actually he was 'tauptu'—purged. He described the nopal to the scientists who were incredulous.

'Why haven't you noted these horrible things before?' they asked.

"Maub Kiamkagx formed the hypothesis which has driven us to victory over the Chitumih and their nopal: "The ex-perience in the power-generator has killed the creature which preyed on me.

This is my guess.'

"An experiment took place. A criminal was purged in a similar fashion. Maub Kiamkagx declared him clear of nopal. The scientists felt the same irrational hate for both men, but were impelled by their capacity for right-judging—" (an allusion to the peculiar Xaxan capacity for sensing ma-thematical and logical equivalence, which Burke failed to grasp)"—to doubt the hate, understanding its peculiar ap-propriateness if the statements of Maub Kiamkagx were ac-curate.

"Two of the scientists were purged. Maub Kiamkagx pro-nounced them 'tauptu.' The remaining scientists in the group underwent purging—and this was the original nucleus of the Tauptu.

"The war started soon. It was bitter and cruel. The Taup-tu became a miserable band of fugitives, living in ice-caves, torturing themselves monthly with energy, purging such Chi-tumih that they were able to capture. Eventually the Tauptu began to win the war, and only a month ago the war ended. The last Chitumih waits outside to be purged.

"That is the story. We have won the war on this planet. We have eliminated Chitumih resistance, but the nopal re-main; and once a month we must torment ourselves on the energy grill. It is intolerable, and we will never quit our war until the nopal are destroyed. So the war is not over for us, but has merely entered a new phase. The nopal are few on Ixax, but this is not their home. Their citadel is Nopalgarth; Nopalgarth is the pest-hole. This is where they thrive in untold multitudes. From Nopalgarth they flit to Ixax with the speed of thought, to drop upon our should-ers. You must go to Nopalgarth; you must inspire des-truction of the nopal. This is the next stage of the war a-gainst the nopal, which someday we must win."

Burke was silent a moment. "Why can't you go to No-palgarth yourself?"

"On Nopalgarth the Xaxans are conspicuous. Before we could achieve our aim we would be persecuted, killed or driven away."

"But why did you select me? What good can I do—even admitting that I agree to help you?"

"Because you will not be conspicuous. You can achieve more than we can."

Burke nodded dubiously. "The inhabitants of Nopalgarth are men like myself?"

"Yes. They are of a species identical to your own. This is not surprising, since Nopalgarth is our name for Earth."

Burke smiled skeptically. "You must be mistaken. There are no nopal on Earth."

The Xaxan performed his wry wincing grimace. "You have not been aware of the infestation."

A queasy apprehension rose in Burke's throat. "I can't see how this can be true."

"It is true."

"You mean that I had the nopal on Earth, before I came here?"

"You have had it all your life."

burke sat looking into the turmoil of his own thoughts while the voice-box on the chest of Pttdu Apiptix droned relentlessly on.

"Earth is Nopalgarth. Nopal fill the air over your hos-pitals, rising from the dead, jostling about the new-born. From the moment you enter the world to the time you die, you carry your nopal."

"Surely we'd know," muttered Burke. "We'd have learn-ed, just as you did . . ."

"We have a history thousands of years longer than yours. Only by accident did we find the nopal. ... It is enough to make us wonder what other matters take place beyond our knowing."

Burke sat glum and silent, feeling the rush of on-coming tragic events beyond his power to avert. A number of other Xaxans, perhaps eight or ten, filed into the re-fectory, sat in a line facing him. Burke looked along the line of blade-nosed faces; the blind-looking mud-colored eyes stared back over him—passing judgment, so Burke felt obscurely. "Why do you tell me this?" he asked abrupt-ly. "Why did you bring me here?"

Pttdu Apiptix sat straighter, massive shoulders square, gaunt face harsh and still. "We have cleansed our world at great cost. The nopal find no haven here. For a single month we are free—then the nopal of Nopalgarth slip down upon us, and we must torture ourselves to be purged."

Burke considered. "And you wish us to clean Earth of the nopal."

"This is what you must do." Pttdu Apiptix said no more. He and his fellows sat back, judging Burke.

"It sounds like a big job," Burke said uneasily. "Too big for one man—or for one man's lifetime."

Pttdu Apiptix gave his head a terse jerk. "How can it be easy? We have purged Ixax—and in the process Ixax has been destroyed."

Burke, staring glumly into space, said nothing.

Pttdu Apiptix watched him a moment. "You wonder if the cure is not worse than the disease,"

came his words.

"Such a thought occurred to me."

"In a month the nopal will once more settle upon you. Will you allow it to remain?"

Burke remembered the purging process—anything but a pleasant experience. Suppose he did not purge himself when the nopal returned? Once secure upon his neck the nopal would be invisible—but Burke would know it to be there, the proud bush of spines spread like a peacock's tail, the orbs peering owlishly over his shoulders. Fibrils, penetrating his brain, would influence his emotions, derive nourishment from heaven knew what intimate source. . . . Burke drew a deep breath. "No, I won't allow it to re-main."

"No more will we."

"But to purge Earth of the nopal—" Burke hesitated, dazed by the scope of the problem. He shook his head in frustration. "I don't see what can be done. . . . Many differ-ent kinds of people live on Earth: different nationalities, re-ligions, races—billions of people who know nothing of the nopal, who don't want to know, who wouldn't believe me if I told them!"

"I understand this very well," Pttdu Apiptix replied. "The same situation existed on Ixax a hundred years ago. Only a million of us now survive, but we would fight the war again—or another war, if need be. If the Earth people do not cleanse their corruption, then we must do so."

The silence was heavy. When Burke spoke his voice rang dull, like a bell heard under water.

"You threaten us with war."

"I threaten a war against the nopal."

"If the nopal are driven from Earth they will merely collect on another world."

"Then we will pursue them, until finally they are gone."

Burke shook his head fretfully. Somehow, in a manner he could not quite identify, the Xaxan's attitude seemed fanatic and irrational. But there was an enormous amount he failed to understand. Were the Xaxans imparting every-thing they knew? He said rather desperately, "I can't make so big a commitment; I've got to have more information!"

Pttdu Apiptix asked, "What do you wish to know?"

"A great deal more than you've told me. What are the nopal? What kind of stuff are they made of?"

"These matters are extraneous to the issue. Nevertheless I will try to satisfy you. The nopal are a life-form some-how related to conceptualizing—we know no more."

" 'Conceptualizing'?" Burke was puzzled. "Thought?"

The Xaxan hesitated, as if he too might be confused by the difficulties of semantic exactness. "

'Thought' means something different to us than to you. However, let us use the word 'thought' in your sense. The nopal travel through space faster than light, as fast as thought. Since we do not know the nature of thought, we are ignorant as to the nature of the nopal."

The other Xaxans observed Burke with stolid dispas-sion, standing like a row of antique stone statues.

"Do they reason? Are they intelligent?"

" 'Intelligent'?" Apiptix made a curt clicking sound which the voice-box failed to translate. "You use the word to mean the kind of thinking that you and your fellow men perform. 'Intelligence' is an Earth-human concept. The nopal do not think as you think. If you gave a nopal one of your so-called 'intelligence tests' its score would be very low, and you would view it with amusement.

Nevertheless it is able to manipulate your brain much more easily than it can manipulate ours.

The style of your thinking and the nature of your visual processes is quicker and more flexible than ours, and more susceptible to nopal suggestion. The nopal find fertile pasture among the brains of Earth. As to the intelligence of the nopal, it functions to augment the suc-cess of its existence. It realizes your capacity for horror and hides from view. It knows the Tauptu for its enemies and encourages hate in the Chitumih. It is crafty and fights for its life. It is not without initiative and resource. In the most general sense, it is intelligent."

Annoyed by what he interpreted as condescension, Burke said shortly, "Your ideas regarding

'intelligence' may or may not be logical; your ideas regarding the nopal seem cum-bersome, and your purging methods absolutely primitive. Is it necessary to use torture?"

"We know no other way. Our energies have been engaged in warfare; we have had no time for research."

"Well—the system won't work on Earth."

"You must make it work!"

Burke laughed hollowly. "The first time I tried it I'd be thrown into jail."

"Then you must build an organization to prevent this, or to provide you with concealment."

Burke shook his head slowly. "You make it sound so simple. But I'm only one man; I wouldn't know where to start."

Apiptix shrugged, an almost Earth-type gesture. "You are one man, you must become two. The two must become four; the four, eight, and so on until all Earth is purged. This was the process we followed on Ixax. It has cleared Ixax of Chitumih, and so it is successful. Our population will restore itself, we will rebuild our cities. The war is no more than an instant in the history of our planet; so shall it be on Earth."

Burke was unconvinced. "If Earth is infested with nopal, it should be decontaminated—no argument there. But I don't want to start a panic, not even a general disturbance, let alone a war."

"No more did Maub Kiamkagx," intoned the voice-box of Pttdu Apiptix. "The war began only when the Chitumih dis-covered the Tauptu. The nopal urged them to hatred; they fought to annihilate the Tauptu. The Tauptu resisted, captured and purged Chitumih. There was war.

Events may go the same way on Earth."

"I hope not," said Burke curtly.

"So long as the nopal of Nopalgarth are destroyed, and quickly, we will not be critical of your methods."

There was another period of silence. The Xaxans sat froz-en. Burke rested his forehead wearily in his hands. Con-found the nopal, confound the Xaxans, confound the en-tire complicated mess! But he was in it and there seemed no way to get out. And even though he could not find the Xaxans a likeable folk he was forced to admit the justice of their complaint. So: where was his choice? He had none. "I will do my best," he said.

Apiptix showed neither satisfaction nor surprise. He rose to his feet. "I will teach you what we know of the nopal. Come."

They returned through a damp corridor to the hall which Burke had labeled the 'denopalization chamber.' The mach-inery was in use. With a crawling stomach Burke watched as a female, struggling and gasping, was fixed to the grill. Burke's eyes—or was it another sense?—now saw the nopal clearly. It flinched in the glare of greenish light, spines swollen and askew, eye-bulbs pulsing, fuzzy thorax work-ing helplessly.

Burke turned to Apiptix in disgust. "Can't you use an anaesthetic? Is it necessary to be so harsh?"

"You misunderstand the process," the Xaxan replied, and somehow the voice-box managed to convey an undertone of grim contempt. "The nopal is not troubled by the energy; it is weakened and dislodged by the turmoil of the brain— by the Chitumih's certainty of pain. The Chitumih are housed beside the chamber where they can hear the cries of their fellows. It is unpleasant—but it weakens the nopal. Perhaps in time you will find more effective techniques on Earth."

Burke muttered, "I hope so. I can't stand too much of this torture."

"You may be obliged to do so." The voice-box spoke with its usual tonelessness.

Burke tried to turn his back on the denopalization grid, but could not restrain fascinated glances. There was frantic rattling and palpitation of the female's thorax. The nopal clung desperately to the woman's scalp; finally it was wrenched loose and carried off in the loose near-transpar-ent sack.

"What happens now?" Burke asked.

"The nopal finally becomes useful. Possibly you have won-dered about the sack, you have asked yourself how it contains the impalpable nopal?"

Burke acknowledged as much.

"The substance of the sack is dead nopal. We know no more about it than that, for it does not respond to investi-gation. Heat, chemicals, electricity—nothing of our physical world affects it. The stuff exhibits neither mass nor iner-tia; it coheres to nothing but itself. However the nopal can-not penetrate a film of the dead nopal-stuff. When we dis-lodge a nopal from a Chitumih, we capture it and crush it thin. This is very easy, for the nopal crumbles at a touch— when the touch is transmitted through the nopal-stuff." He looked at the denopalizing machine and a wisp of nopal-cloth came floating over to him.

"How did you do that?" asked Burke.

"Telekinesis."

Burke felt no particular surprise; in the context of what he had learned the procedure seemed quite natural, quite ordinary. He thoughtfully examined the nopal-stuff. It seem-ed vaguely fibrous, like a cloth woven of spider-web. There were certain implications to the fact of this material, its easy response to telekinesis . . . Apiptix spoke, breaking into his train of thought.

"Nopal-cloth is the lens-material of the spectacles through which you looked yesterday. We do not know why Chitu-mih can sometimes sense a nopal when light is filtered through a film of the nopal's dead brother. We have spec-ulated, but the laws which govern nopal-matter are not those of our own space. Perhaps this will be the spearhead of your attack on the nopal of Nopalgarth: the discovery and systematization of a new science. You have facilities and thousands of trained minds on Earth. On Ixax are only tired warriors."

Burke thought wistfully of his old life, of the secure niche he could never reoccupy. He thought of his friends, of Dr. Ralph Tarbert, of Margaret—vital, cheerful Margaret Haven. He saw their faces and imagined their nopal, riding like pompous Old Men of the Sea. The picture was ludicrous and tragic. He could well understand the fanatic harshness of the Tauptu; under the same circumstances, he reflected, he might become equally intense. 'Under the same cir-cumstances'? The circumstances were the same.

The flat voice of the translation-box interrupted his thoughts. "Look."

Burke saw a Chitumih struggling ferociously as the Tauptu took him to the denopalizing grill.

The nopal towered over his head and neck like some fantastic war helmet.

"You are witness to a great occasion," said Apiptix. "This is the last of the Chitumih. There are no more. Ixax is now purged."

Burke heaved a deep sigh, and with it undertook respon-sibility for the task the Xaxans had thrust upon him. "In time Earth will be the same. ... In time, in time . . ."

The Tauptu clamped the last Chitumih to the grill; the blue flame chattered; the Chitumih rattled like a great thresh-ing-machine. Burke turned away sick to his stomach, sick at heart. "We can't do this!" he said hoarsely. "There must be some easy way to denopalize; we can't torture—we can't make war!"

"There is no easy way," declared the voice-box. "There shall be no delay; we are determined!"

Burke glared at him in anger and surprise. A few minutes previously Apiptix himself had suggested the possibility of a research program on Earth; now he balked at the idea of delay. A curious inconsistency I

"Come," said Apiptix abruptly. "You shall see what be-comes of the nopal."

They entered a long rather dim room, ranked with benches. A hundred Xaxans worked with steady intensity, assembling mechanisms Burke could not identify. If they felt curiosity concerning Burke, he was unable to detect it.

Apiptix told Burke. "Seize the bag."

Burke obeyed gingerly. The bag felt crisp and frail; the nopal within crushed at his touch. "It feels brittle," he said, "like dry old eggshell."

"Peculiar," said Apiptix. "But do you not deceive your-self? How can you feel something which is impalpable?" Burke looked startled at Apiptix, then at the bag. How was it possible, indeed? He no longer felt the bag. It sifted through his fingers like a wisp of smoke. "I can't feel it," he said in a voice husky with astonishment.

"Certainly you can," said Apiptix. "It is there, you can sense it and you already felt it."

Burke reached out again. The bag at first seemed less tangible than before—but definitely it was there. As he gained certainty the tactile sensation increased in strength.

"Do I imagine it?" he asked. "Or is it real?"

"It is something you feel with your mind, not your hands."

Burke experimented with the bag. "I move it with my hands. I push it. I can feel the nopal crush between my fingers."

Apiptix regarded him quizzically. "Is not sensation the reaction of your brain to the arrival of neural currents? This, as I understand it, is the operation of Earth-style brains."

"I know the difference between a sensation in my hand and one in my brain," said Burke dryly.

"Do you?"

Burke started to reply, then halted.

Apiptix continued. "It is a misconception. You feel the bag with your mind, not your hands, even if the gestures of feeling accompany the act. You reach out, you receive a tactile impression.

When you do not reach, you feel nothing— because normally you expect no sensation unless the act of reaching and touching is involved."

"In that case," Burke said, "I should be able to feel the nopal-cloth without use of my hands."

"You should be able to feel anything without use of your hands."

Teletactility, thought Burke: touch without use of the nerve-endings. Was not clairvoyance seeing without use of the eyes? He turned back to the bag. The nopal glared wildly from within. He conceived himself handling the sack, squeezing it. A quiver of sensation reached his mind, no more—a mere hint of crispness and lightness.

"Try to move the bag from one spot to another."

Burke exerted his mind against the bag; bag and nopal shifted easily.

"This is fantastic," he muttered. "I must have telekinetic ability!"

"It is easy with this material," said Apiptix. "The nopal is thought, the bag is thought; what can be more easily mov-ed by the mind than thought?"

Considering the question sheerly rhetorical, Burke made no response. He watched the operators seize the bag, thrust it down on the bench, crush it flat. The nopal, disintegrated into powder, merged with the fabric of the bag.

"There is no more to be seen here," said Apiptix. "Come."

They returned to the refectory. Burke slumped gloomily upon the bench in reaction to his previous mood of zeal and determination.

"You seem dubious," Apiptix said presently. "Do you have questions?"

Burke considered. "A moment ago you mentioned some-thing about the operation of the Earth-brain. Does the Xaxan-brain work differently?"

"Yes. Your brain is simpler and its parts are versatile. Our brains work by much more complicated means, some-times to our advantage, sometimes not. Your brain allows you the image-forming capacity which you call 'imagination'; we lack this. We lack your ability to combine incommen-surable and irrational quantities and arrive at a new truth. Much of your mathematics, much of your thought, is in-comprehensible to us—confusing, frightening, insane. But we have compensatory mechanisms in our brains: built-in cal-culators which instantly perform the computations you con-sider elaborate and toilsome. Instead of imagining—'imaging' —an object, we construct an actual model of the object in a special cranial sac. Certain of us can create very complicated models. This capacity is slower and more cumbersome than your imagination, but equally useful. We think, we conceive, we observe the universe in these terms: the model which forms in our mind and which we can feel with our internal fingers."

Burke reflected a moment. "When you equate the nopal to thought—do you mean Earth-thought or Xaxan-thought?"

Pttdu Apiptix hesitated. "The definition is too general. I used it in a broad sense. What is thought? We do not know. The nopal are invisible and impalpable, and when denied their own freedom of motion can easily be manipulated tele-kinetically. They feed on mental energy. Are they actually the stuff of thought? We do not know."

"Why do you not merely pull the nopal away from the brain? Why is the torture necessary?"

"We have tried to do this," said Apiptix. "We dislike pain as much as you. It is impossible. The nopal, in a final malignant fit, kills the Chitumih. On the denopalization grid we cause it so much pain that it withdraws its tap-roots, and so may be jerked loose. Is this clear? What else do you wish to know?"

"I'd like to know how to denopalize Earth without stir-ring up a hornet's nest."

"There is no easy way. I will give you plans and dia-grams for the denopalizing machine; you must build one or more, and start purging your people. Why do you shake your head?"

"It's a vast project. I still feel that there must be some easier way."

"There is no easy way."

Burke hesitated, then said, "The nopal are loathsome and parasitical, that's agreed. Otherwise, what harm do they do?"

Pttdu Apiptix sat like a man of iron, cabochon eyes fixed on Burke—forming an inter-cranial model of his face and head, Burke now knew.

"They may prevent us from developing our psionic abili-ties," Burke went on. "This, of course, I know nothing about, but it seems—"

"Forget your misgivings," said the Xaxan's voice-box with a menacing deliberation. "There is one great fact: we are Tauptu, we will not become Chitumih again. We do not wish to submit to torture once a month. We want your cooperation in our war against the nopal, but we do not need it. We can and will destroy the nopal of Nopalgarth unless you destroy them yourself."

Once again Burke thought that it would be hard to feel friendship toward a Xaxan.

"Do you have any other questions?"

Burke considered. "I may not be able to read the plans for the denopalizing machine."

"They have been adapted to your system of units and use many of your standard components.

You will find no difficulty."

"I'll need money."

"There will be no lack. We will supply you with gold, as much as you need. You must arrange to sell it. What else do you wish to know?"

"A matter which puzzles me—perhaps it's rather trivial .."

"What is it that puzzles you?"

"Simply this. To dislodge the nopal you use fabric made from dead nopal. Where did the first piece of nopal-cloth come from?"

Apiptix stared fixedly from his mud-colored eyes. The voice-box muttered something incomprehensible. Apiptix rose to his feet. "Come, you now will return to Nopalgarth."

"But you haven't answered my question."

"I do not know the answer."

Burke wondered at the leaden quality to the voice from the supposedly expressionless translation-box.

VII

they returned to Earth in a comfortless black cylinder, battered from a hundred and fifty years of service. Pttdu Apiptix refused to discuss the means of propulsion except to speak vaguely of anti-gravity. Burke recalled the disk of anti-gravitic metal which—so long ago!—had enticed him to the house of Sam Gibbons in Buellton, Virginia. He tried to steer Pttdu Apiptix into a general discussion of anti-gravi-ty, without success. So laconic, in fact, was the Xaxan that Burke wondered whether the subject might not be an equal mystery to both of them. He broached other topics, hoping to learn the extent of Xaxan knowledge, but Pttdu Apiptix for the most part refused to satisfy his curiosity. A secre-tive, taciturn, humorless race, thought Burke—then reminded himself that Ixax lay ruined after a century of ferocious war, a situation not conducive to cheery good-nature. Sad-ly he wondered what lay ahead for Earth.

Days passed and they approached the Solar System, a spectacle which remained invisible to Burke; there were no ports except in the control room from which he had been barred. Then, while he sat puzzling over the denopalization plans, Apiptix appeared, and with a brusque motion gave Burke to understand that the moment of disembarkation had arrived. He led Burke aft, into a tender as battered and corroded as the mother-ship. Burke was astonished to find his car clamped in the hold of the tender.

"We have monitored your television broadcasts," Apiptix told him. "We know that your automobile, left neglected, would arouse attention adverse to our plans."

"What of Sam Gibbons, the man you killed?" Burke asked tartly. "Do you think he won't attract attention?"

"We removed the body. The fact of his death remains uncertain."

Burke snorted. "He disappeared the same time I did. People in my office know that he telephoned me. I'll have some explaining to do if anyone puts two and two togeth-er."

"You must use your ingenuity. I advise you to avoid the company of your fellows as much as possible. You are now a Tauptu among Chitumih. They will show you no mercy."

Burke doubted if the translation-box could convey the sarcastic edge to the comment which rose to his lips, and so restrained it.

The cylinder settled upon a quiet dirt road in the country; Burke alighted, stretched his arms.

The air seemed wonder-fully sweet—the air of Earth!

Dusk had not completely gone from the evening sky; the time was perhaps nine o'clock.

Crickets chirped in black-berry thickets massed alongside the road; a dog bayed from a nearby farm.

Apiptix gave Burke last instructions. The toneless voice seemed muffled and conspiratorial after the echoing corridors of the vessel. "In your car are a hundred kilograms of gold. This you must convert into legal currency." He tapped the parchment case which Burke carried. You must build the denopalizer as quickly as possible. Remember that very shortly—in a matter of a week or two—the nopal will re-turn to your brain. You must be prepared to purge yourself. This device"—he gave Burke a small black box—"emits sig-nals which will keep me informed of your whereabouts. If you need help or further gold, break this seal, press this button. It will put you into communication with me." With no further ceremony he turned back to the dark vessel. It rose, departed.

Burke was alone. Familiar dear old Earth! Never had he realized how deeply he loved his home-world! Suppose he had been forced to spend the rest of his life on Ixax? His heart went cold at the thought. Yet—he screwed up his face—this Earth, by his instrumentality, must flow with blood. . . . Unless he could find some better way to kill the nopal. . . .

Along a driveway, apparently leading to a nearby home-stead came the bobbing flicker of a flashlight. The farmer, aroused by his dog, had stirred himself to investigate. Burke climbed into his car, but the flashlight fixed on him.

"What's goin' on here?" called a gruff voice. Burke sensed rather than saw that the man carried a shotgun. "What are you doing, mister?" The voice was unfriendly. The nopal, clasped around the farmer's head and faintly luminous, puffed and distended itself indignantly.

Burke explained that he had stopped to relieve himself. No other explanation seemed adequate to the circumstances.

The farmer made no comment, swung his light around the road, turned it back to Burke. "I advise you to get mov-in'. Something tells me you're here for no good, and I'd just as soon let fly with my 12-gauge as look at you."

Burke saw no reason to argue. He started the motor, drove away before the farmer's nopal prompted him to car-ry out the threat. In the rear-view mirror he watched the flashlight's baleful white eye diminish. Gloomily he thought, my homecoming welcome from the Chitumih . . . Lucky it wasn't worse.

The dirt road became a county black-top. The tank was low on gas and at the first village, three miles down the road, Burke pulled into a service-station. A stocky young man with a sunburned face and sun-bleached blond hair emerged from under the lube rack. The spines of his nopal sparkled like a diffraction grating in the glare of the lights along the marquee; the eye-orbs peering owlishly toward Burke. Burke saw the spines give a quick jerk; the attendant stopped short, dropping his professional grin with startling suddenness. "Yes, sir," he said gruffly.

"Fill the tank, please," said Burke.

The attendant muttered under his breath, went to the pump. When the tank was filled he took Burke's money with averted gaze, making no move to check the oil or clean the windshield. He brought the change, thrust it through the window mumbling, "Thank you, sir."

Burke inquired the best route to Washington; the youth jerked a thumb: "Follow the highway,"

and stalked sullen-ly away.

Burke chuckled sadly to himself as he turned out into the highway. A Tauptu on Nopalgarth and a snowball in hell had a lot in common, he reflected.

A big diesel truck and trailer roared past. With sudden alarm Burke wondered about the driver and the driver's no-pal, both peering ahead along the headlight-washed road. How much influence could the nopal exert? A twitch of the hand, a jerk of the steering-wheel . . . Burke drove hunched over the wheel, sweating at each set of oncoming head-lights.

Without incident or accident he came to the outskirts of Arlington, where he lived in an unpretentious apartment. A gnawing at the stomach reminded him that he had eaten nothing for eight hours, and then only a bowl of Xaxan porridge. In front of a brightly-lit sandwich-and-malt shop he slowed and halted, looked uncertainly through the win-dows. A group of teen-agers lounged in knotty-pine booths; two young laborers in 'Frisco jeans sat hunched over ham-burgers at the counter. Everyone seemed preoccupied with his own affairs, although all the nopal in the room shimmered nervously and peered out the window toward Burke. Burke hesitated, then in a fit of obstinacy, parked his car, entered the soda fountain, and seated himself at the end of the coun-ter.

The proprietor came forward wiping his hands on his apron, a tall man with a face like an old tennis ball. Above the white chefs hat rose a magnificent plume of spines, four feet tall, glossy and thick. The eyes beside his head were as large as grapefruit. This was the largest and finest nopal Burke had yet seen.

Burke ordered a pair of hamburgers in a voice as neutral and unprovocative as he could manage. The proprietor half-turned away, then stopped, inspecting Burke sidewise. "What's the trouble, buddy? You drunk? You act kinda fun-ny."

"No," said Burke politely. "I haven't had a drink for weeks."

"You hopped up?"

"No," said Burke with an edgy grin. "Just hungry."

The proprietor turned slowly away. "I don't need no wise-cracks. I got trouble enough without smart-alecks."

Burke held his tongue. The proprietor petulantly slapped meat down on the griddle, and stood looking over his shoul-der at Burke. His nopal seemed to have swiveled around so that it too stared at Burke.

Burke turned his head to find nopal-eyes watching from the knotty-pine booths. He looked up toward the ceiling; three or four nopal drifted across his line of sight, airy as milk-weed floss.

Nopal everywhere: nopal large and small; pink and pale green; nopal like shoals of fish; nopal be-hind nopal, down distances and perspectives that receded far beyond the walls of the room. . .

. The outer door swung open; four husky youths swaggered in and took seats next to Burke. From their conversation Burke gathered that they had been driving around town hoping to pick up girls, but without success. Burke sat quietly, conscious of a nopal's rolling orb nauseatingly close to his face. He shrank away a trifle; as if at a signal the young man beside him turned, stared coldly at him. "Something bothering you, chum?"

"Nothing whatever," said Burke politely.

"Sarcastic bastard, ain'tcha?"

The proprietor loomed over them. "What's the trouble?"

"Just this guy acting sarcastic," said the youth, drowning out Burke's remarks.

A foot from Burke's head the nopal's eyes bobbed and ogled. All the other nopal in the room watched intently. Burke felt lonely and isolated. "I'm sorry," he said evenly. "I meant no offense."

"Would you like to settle it outside, chum? I'd be glad to help."

"No, thanks."

"Kinda chicken, ain'tcha?"

"Yep."

The youth sneered, turned his back.

Burke ate the hamburgers which the proprietor spun con-temptuously down before him, paid his check, went out the door. Behind came the four youths. Burke's adversary said, "Look, chum, I don't wanta be insulting, but I don't like your face."

"I don't like it either," said Burke, "but I've got to live with it."

"With your fast line you oughta go on TV. You got a real wit."

Burke said nothing, but tried to walk away. The offended young man jumped in front of him.

"About that face of yours —since neither of us like it—why don't I change it a little?" He swung his fist; Burke ducked. Another of the group pushed him from behind; he stumbled and the first hit him a hard blow. He fell to the graveled driveway; the four began kicking him. "Get the son of a bitch,"

they hissed, "get him good."

The proprietor rushed out. "Cut it out! Hear me? Stop it! I don't care what you do, only don't do it here!" He ad-dressed Burke, "Get up, get goin', and don't come back, if you know what's good for you!"

Burke limped to his car, got in. In front of the soda foun-tain the five looked after him. He started the car, drove slowly to his apartment, body throbbing from his new aches and bruises. A fine homecoming, he thought with bitterly a-mused self-pity.

He parked his car in the street, stumbled up the stairs, opened his door, and limped wearily inside.

He stood in the center of the room looking around at the comfortably shabby furniture, the books, mementoes, gen-eral odds and ends. How dear and familiar these things were; how remote they had become. It was as if he had wandered into a room of his childhood. . . .

In the hall, footsteps sounded. They stopped outside his door; there was a timid tap. Burke grimaced. This would be Mrs. McReady, his landlady, who was impeccably genteel, but on occasion talkative. Tired, bruised, discouraged and disheveled, Burke was in no mood for spurious politeness.

The tap sounded again, rather more insistent. Burke could not ignore it; she knew he was home. He limped over to the door, swung it open.

In the hallway stood Mrs. McReady. She lived in one of the first floor apartments. A frail nervously energetic wo-man of sixty, with well-brushed white hair, a delicate face and a fresh complexion on which, so she claimed, she used nothing but Castile soap. She carried herself erectly, spoke clearly and with precision; Burke had always regarded her as a charming Edwardian survival. The nopal riding her shoulders appeared grotesquely large. Its bank of spines rose pompous and arrogant, almost as tall again as Mrs. Mc-Ready. Its thorax was a great wad of dead-black fuzz, its sucker-flap almost enveloped her head. Burke was sickened and astounded: how could so slight a woman support so monstrous a nopal?

Mrs. McReady in her turn was surprised by Burke's bat-tered appearance. "Mr. Burke! What on earth has happened? Did you"—her voice dwindled and the last words fell out one at a time—"have some kind of accident . . . ?"

Burke tried to reassure her with a smile. "Nothing ser-ious. A mix-up with a gang of hoodlums."

Mrs. McReady stared, and from just below her ears the great orbs of the nopal peered at Burke. Her face became rather pinched. "Have you been drinking, Mr. Burke?"

Burke protested with an uneasy laugh. "No, Mrs. McReady —I'm not drunk and disorderly."

Mrs. McReady sniffed. "You really should have left word of some sort, Mr. Burke. Your office has called several times, and men have been here inquiring for you—police-men, I should think."

Burke explained that matters beyond his control had made normal procedures impossible, but Mrs. McReady paid no heed. She was now quite disturbed by Burke's carelessness and lack of consideration; she had never thought Mr. Burke such a—yes, such a boor!

"Miss Haven also has telephoned—almost every day. She's been terribly worried by your absence. I promised to let her know as soon as you arrived."

Burke groaned between clenched teeth. It was unthink-able that Margaret should be involved in this business! He put his hands to his head, smoothed his rumpled hair, while Mrs. McReady watched with suspicion and disapproval.

"Are you ill, Mr. Burke?" She put the inquiry not from sympathy but out of her creed of dynamic kindness, which made her the terror of anyone she found abusing an animal.

"No, Mrs. McReady, I'm quite all right. But please don't call Miss Haven."

Mrs. McReady refused a commitment. "Good night, Mr. Burke." She marched stiff-backed down the steps, upset and disgusted by Mr. Burke's behavior. She'd always thought him so pleasant and reliable! Directly to the telephone she went, and as she had promised, telephoned Margaret Haven.

Burke mixed himself a highball, drank it without pleasure. He soaked under a hot shower, gingerly shaved. Then, too tired and miserable to worry about his problems, crawled into bed and slept.

Shortly after dawn he awoke and lay listening to the morning sounds: the whir of an occasional early automobile, a distant alarm-clock abruptly cut off, the twitter of spar-rows: all so normal as to make his mission seem absurd and fantastic. Still—the nopal existed. He could see them drift-ing on the cool morning air like enormous big-eyed mosqui-toes. Fantastic though the nopal might be, they were by no means absurdities. According to Pttdu Apiptix he could count on no more than a further two weeks of grace. Then the nopal would overcome whatever resistance now existed and once again he would be chitumih . . . Burke shuddered, sat quickly up on the edge of his bed. He would become as cold and hard as the Xaxans; he would go to any length rather than become afflicted again; he would spare no one, not even—the doorbell rang. Burke tottered to the door, eased it open, dreading to see the face he knew would be there.

Margaret Haven faced him. Burke could not bear to look at the nopal clinging to her head.

"Paul," she said huskily, "what on earth is the matter with you? Where have you been?"

Burke took her hand, drew her into the apartment. With a leaden heart he felt the fingers become stiff and rigid. "Make some coffee," he said in a dreary voice. "I'll get some clothes on."

Her voice followed him to the bedroom. "You look as if you'd been on a month-long drunk."

"No," he said. "I've been having, let us say, some re-markable adventures."

He joined her five minutes later. Margaret was tall and long-legged, with an attractive tomboy abruptness of move-ment. In a crowd, Margaret was inconspicuous. But looking at her now Burke thought he had never known anyone more appealing. Her hair was dark and unruly, her mouth wide with a Celtic twitch at the corners, her nose crooked from a childhood automobile accident.

But taken together her features produced a face of startling vivacity and expressive-ness, where every emotion showed as clear as sunlight. She was twenty-four years old, and worked in an obscure division of the Department of the Interior. Burke knew her to be without guile, and as innocent of malice as a kitten.

She watched him with a puzzled frown. Burke realized that she was awaiting some explanation for his absence, but try as he might, he could think of no convincing story. Mar-garet, for all her own guilelessness, was instantly aware of falsity in others. So Burke stood in the living room, sipping coffee, refusing to meet Margaret's eye.

Finally, in an attempt at decisiveness, he said, "I've been gone almost a month, but I can't tell you where I've been."

" 'Can't' or 'won't'?"

"A little of both. It's something I've got to make a mystery of."

"Government business?"

"No."

"You're not—in some kind of trouble?"

"Not the kind you're thinking of."

"I wasn't thinking of any particular kind."

Burke flung himself moodily down into a chair. "I haven't been off with a woman or smuggling in dope."

She shrugged, and seated herself across the room. She inspected him with a clear dispassionate gaze. "You've changed. I can't quite understand how—or why—but you've changed."

"Yes. I've changed."

They sat drinking coffee in silence. Margaret presently asked, "What are you going to do now?"

"I'm not going back to my job," said Burke. "I'm resigning today, if I'm not already fired. . . .

Which reminds me—" He stopped short. He was about to say that he had a hun-dred kilograms of gold in the back of his car, worth roughly a hundred thousand dollars, and that he hoped no one had stolen it.

"I wish I knew what was wrong," said Margaret. Her voice was calm, but her fingers trembled and Burke knew she was near to tears. Her nopal watched placidly, with no show of feeling other than a slow pulsation of its spines. "Things aren't as they were," she said, "and I don't know why.

I'm confused."

Burke drew a deep breath. He gripped the arms of the chair, rose to his feet, crossed to where she sat. Their gazes met. "Do you want to know why I can't tell you where I've been?"

"Yes."

"Because," he said slowly, "you wouldn't believe me. You'd think I was a lunatic and have me committed—and I don't want to spend any time in an asylum."

Margaret made no immediate response. She looked away, and Burke could read on her face the startling speculation that perhaps Burke indeed was crazy. Paradoxically, the thought gave her hope: Paul Burke crazy was no longer mysterious, tight-lipped, surly, hateful Paul Burke, and she looked back at him with renewed hope.

"Are you feeling well?" she asked timidly.

Burke took her hand. "I'm perfectly well and perfectly sane. I've got a new job. It's tremendously important—and we can't see each other any more."

She snatched her hand away. Pure detestation flashed from her eyes, mirroring the hate staring at him in the eye-globes of the nopal. "Very well," she said in a thick voice. "I'm glad you feel this way—because I do too."

She turned and ran from the apartment.

Burke drank his coffee thoughtfully, then went to the telephone. His first call brought him the information that Dr. Ralph Tarbert had already left for his Washington office.

Burke poured himself another cup of coffee, and after half an hour called Tarbert's office.

The secretary took his name; ten seconds later Tarbert's level voice sounded in the ear-piece.

"Where in thunder have you been?"

"It's a long bitter story. Are you busy?"

"Nothing overwhelming. Why?"

Had Tarbert's tone changed? Could his nopal smell out a Tauptu across fifteen miles of city?

Burke could not be sure; he was becoming hyper-sensitive and no longer trusted his own judgment. "I've got to talk to you. I guarantee you'll be interested."

"Good," said Tarbert. "Are you coming down to the of-fice?"

"I'd prefer that you come here, for several very good reasons." Principally, thought Burke, I don't dare to leave the apartment.

"Hmm," said Tarbert carelessly. "This sounds mysterious, even sinister."

"It's all of that."

The wire was silent. Presently Tarbert remarked in a cautious voice, "I assume that you've been ill? Or injured?"

"Why do you assume that?"

"Your voice sounds strange."

"Even over the phone, eh? Well, I am strange. Unique, in fact. I'll explain when I see you."

"I'm coming immediately."

Burke sat back in a mixture of relief and apprehension. Tarbert, like everyone else of Nopalgarth, might hate him so fervently as to refuse to help him. It was a delicate situation, one which required the most careful handling. How much to tell Tarbert? How much could Tarbert's credulity ingest at a gulp? Burke had brooded hours over this particular question, but still had come to no decision.

He sat quietly looking out the window. Men and women walked the sidewalks . . . Chitumih, oblivious to their com-placent parasites. It seemed that, as they passed, all the no-pal peered up at him—although this might be his imagin-ation. He still had no certainty that the doorknob-size orbs functioned as eyes. He searched the sky: the filmy forms were everywhere, floating wistfully over the throngs, envious of their more fortunate fellows. Focusing his mental gaze, Burke saw ever greater numbers, many surrounding him, eyeing him hungrily. He looked through the air of the room: two, three; no four! He rose, went to the table where he had laid his case, opened it, took out a wisp of nopal-cloth. Forming it into a bag, he waited his opportunity, lunged. The nopal slipped away. Burke tried again, again the nopal darted aside. They were too quick for him; they moved like balls of quicksilver. And even if he caught one and crushed it, what then? One nopal subtracted from the billions infesting the planet: a process as futile as stepping on ants.

The doorbell rang; Burke crossed the room cautiously opened the door. Ralph Tarbert stood in the hall, elegant in gray sharkskin, a white shirt, a black polka-dot tie. No casual observer could have guessed his occupation. Boule-vardier, drama critic, avant-garde architect, successful gyne-cologist, yes; one high in the ranks of the world's scientists, never. The nopal riding his head was not extraordinary, by no means as fine as Mrs. McReady's. Evidently the mental quality of the man was not reflected in the style of his nopal. But the eye-orbs stared as balefully as any Burke had en-countered.

"Hello, Ralph," said Burke with guarded cordiality. "Come in."

Tarbert entered warily. The nopal jerked its spines and shimmered in anger.

"Coffee?" asked Burke.

"No thanks." Tarbert looked curiously around the room. "On second thought, yes. Black, as I'm sure you remem-ber."

Burke filled a cup for Tarbert and refilled his own. "Sit down. This is going to take a bit of time."

Tarbert settled himself in a chair; Burke took a place on the couch.

"First," said Burke, "you've come to the conclusion that I've undergone some searing experience which has complete-ly changed my personality."

"I notice a change," Tarbert admitted.

"For the worse, I should imagine?"

"If you insist, yes," Tarbert said politely. "I can't quite identify the precise quality of the change."

"However, you now decide that you dislike me. You wonder why you became friendly with me in the first place."

Tarbert smiled thoughtfully. "How can you be so certain of all this?"

"It's part of the whole situation; a very important part. I mention it so that you can discount it in advance and perhaps ignore it."

"I see," said Tarbert. "Go on."

"I'll eventually explain everything to your complete satis-faction. But until I do you've got to summon all your pro-fessional objectivity, and put this peculiar new dislike for me to the side. We can stipulate that it exists—but I assure you it's artificial in origin, something outside us both."

"Very well," said Tarbert. "I'll put a rein on my emotions. Continue. I'm listening—intently."

Burke hesitated, carefully choosing his words. "In the broadest outline my story is this: I've stumbled upon an entirely new field of knowledge, and I need your help in exploring it. I'm handicapped by this aura of hate I carry with me. Last night I was attacked in the street by strangers; I don't dare show myself in public."

"This field of knowledge to which you refer," Tarbert asked cautiously, "apparently it's psychic in nature?"

"To a certain degree. Although I'd prefer not to use that particular word; it carries too many metaphysical conno-tations. I haven't any idea what kind of terminology applies. 'Psionic' is better." Noting Tarbert's carefully composed ex-pression, he said, "I didn't bring you here to discuss ab-stract ideas. This business is about as psychic as electricity. We can't see it, but we can observe its effects. This dislike which you feel is one of the effects."

"I don't feel it any longer," mused Tarbert, "now that I've tried to pin it down. ... I notice a physical sensation, something of a headache, a touch of nausea."

"Don't ignore it because it's still there," said Burke. "You've got to be on your guard."

"Very well," said Tarbert, "I'm on my guard."

"The source of all this is a"— Burke groped for a word —"a force which I have temporarily escaped, and which now considers me a threat. This force works on your mind, hoping to dissuade you from helping me. I don't know what pressures it will use, because I'm not sure how intelligent it is. It has enough awareness to know that I am a threat."

Tarbert nodded. "Yes. I feel that. I feel the impulse, odd-ly enough, to kill you." He smiled. "On the emotional, not the rational level, I'm glad to say. I'm intrigued. . . . I never realized such things could be."

Burke laughed hollowly. "Wait till you hear the whole thing. You'll be much more than intrigued."

"The source of this pressure, is it human?"

"No."

Tarbert rose from his chair, took a more comfortable posi-tion on the couch beside Burke. His nopal fluttered and squirmed and glared. Tarbert glanced sidewise, raising his fine white eyebrows. "You moved away from me. Do you feel this same dislike toward me?"

"No, not at all. Look on that table there; notice that folded piece of cloth."

"Where?"

"Right here."

Tarbert squinted. "I seem to see something. I can't be sure. Something indistinct and vague. It gives me the shud-ders, somehow—like fingernails on a blackboard."

"You should be reassured," said Burke. "If you can feel the same quality of emotion toward a piece of cloth as you do toward me, then you must realize the emotion has no rational basis."

"I realize this," said Tarbert. "Now that I'm aware of it I can keep it under control." Something of his brittle urbanity had departed, laying bare the earnest personality he chose to camouflage.

"Now there's a peculiar snarling sound in my mind: 'grr,' 'grr,' 'grr.' Like gears clashing, or someone clearing his throat. . . . Odd. 'Gher' is more like it; a glottal 'gher.' Is that telepathic, by any chance? What is 'gher'?"

Burke shook his head. "I've no idea. I've heard the same thing."

Tarbert gazed off into space, then closed his eyes. "I see peculiar flitting images—odd things, rather repulsive. I can't make them out. . . ." He opened his eyes, rubbed his forehead. "Strange . .

. Do you perceive these—visions?"

"No," said Burke. "I merely see the real thing."

"Oh?" Tarbert stared. "You amaze me. Tell me more."

"I want to build a rather sizable piece of equipment. I need a private site, safe from intruders. A month ago I could have selected among a dozen laboratories; now I can't get cooperation anywhere. In the first place, I'm terminated with ARPA. In the second place everyone on Earth now hates my guts."

'Everyone on Earth,' " Tarbert mused. "Does that imply that someone not on Earth does not hate you?"

"To a certain extent. You'll know as much as I do inside of a week or two, and then you'll have a choice—just as I had—whether to proceed with the matter or not."

"Very well," said Tarbert. "I can promote a workshop for you; in fact Electrodyne Engineering leaps to mind. They're closed down, the whole plant is vacant. You probably know Clyde Jeffrey?"

"Very well."

"I'll speak to him; I'm sure he'll let you use the place as long as you like."

"Good. Can you call him today?"

"I'll call him right now."

"There's the phone."

Tarbert telephoned, and immediately secured informal permission for Burke to use the premises and equipment of the Electrodyne Engineering Company for as long as he wished.

Burke wrote Tarbert a check. "What's this for?" asked Tarbert.

"That's my bank-balance. I'll need supplies and material. They'll have to be paid for."

"Twenty-two hundred bucks won't buy very much."

"Money is the least of my worries," said Burke. "There's a hundred kilograms of gold in the back of my car."

"Good Lord!" said Tarbert. "I'm impressed. What do you want to build at Electrodyne? A machine to make more gold?"

"No. Something called a denopalizer." Burke watched Tarbert's nopal as he spoke. Did it comprehend his words? He could not be sure. The bank of spines wavered and shimmered, which might mean much or nothing.

"What is a 'denopalizer'?"

"You'll soon know."

"Very well," said Tarbert. "I'll wait, if I must."

VIII

Two days later Mrs. McReady knocked at the door to Burke's apartment—a knock delicate and ladylike, but never-theless firm. Burke rose gloomily to his feet, opened the door.

"Good morning, Mr. Burke." Mrs. McReady spoke with frigid courtesy. Her grotesquely large nopal puffed out at him like a turkey gobbler. "I'm afraid I have unpleasant news for you. I find that I will be needing your apartment. I will appreciate your locating another residence as quickly as possible."

Burke nodded sadly. The request came as no surprise; in fact he had already furnished a corner of the Electrodyne Engineering workshop with a cot and a gasoline stove. "Very well, Mrs.

McReady. I'll be out in a day or so."

Mrs. McReady's conscience plainly troubled her. If only he had made a scene, or acted disagreeably, she could have justified her action to herself. She opened her mouth to speak, then, uncertainly, said only, "Thank you, Mr. Burke." Burke returned slowly into his living room.

The episode followed the pattern he had come to expect. Mrs. McReady's formality represented an antagonism no less intense than the physical attack of the four hoodlums. Ralph Tarbert, dedicated by profession and temperament to objectivity, admitted that he continually struggled against malice. Margaret Haven had telephoned in great trouble and anxiety. What was wrong? The loathing she suddenly felt for Burke she knew to be unnatural. Was Burke ill? Or had she herself become afflicted with paranoia? Burke found it hard to answer her, and wrestled with himself for wordless seconds. He could bring her nothing but grief, of one kind or another; this was certain. By every precept of decency he should force a clean break between them. In halting words he tried to put this policy into effect, but Mar-garet refused to listen. No, she declared, something external was responsible for their trouble; together they would defeat it.

Burke, oppressed by his responsibility and by sheer lone-liness, could argue no further. He told her that if she'd come to the Electrodyne Engineering plant—this particular call took place the day after Mrs. McReady had asked him to leave—he'd explain everything.

Margaret, in a dubious voice, replied that she'd come immediately.

A half hour later she tapped at the door to the outer office. Burke came out of the workshop, snapped back the bolt. She entered slowly, uncertainly, as if she were wad-ing into a pool of cold water. Burke could see that she was frightened. Even her nopal appeared agitated, its bank of spines glittering with a red and green iridescence. She stood in the middle of the room, emotions chasing them-selves back and forth across her wonderfully expressive face. Burke essayed a smile; from Margaret's expression of alarm, it conveyed no message of cheer. "Come along," he said in a false and brassy voice, "I'll show you around." In the workshop she noticed his cot and the table with the camp stove. "What's all this? Are you living here?"

"Yes," said Burke. "Mrs. McReady became afflicted with the same distaste for me which you feel."

Margaret looked at him numbly, then turned away. She became stiff and tense. "What's that thing?" she asked in a husky voice.

"It's a denopalizer," said Burke.

She cast him a frightened glance over her shoulder, while her nopal shimmered and flickered and squirmed. "What does it do?"

"It denopalizes."

"It frightens me," said Margaret. "It looks like a rack, or a torture machine."

"Don't be frightened," said Burke. "It's not a mechanism for evil, even though it seems to be."

"Then what is it?"

Now, if ever, was the time to confide in her—but he could not bring himself to speak. Why load her mind with his troubles, even assuming that she would believe him? In fact, how could she believe him? The tale was simply too far-fetched. He had been whisked to another planet; the inha-bitants had convinced him that the people of Earth were all haunted by a particularly vile mind-leech. He and he alone could see these things: even now the creature which rode her shoulders glared at him full of hate! He, Burke, had been charged with the mission of exterminating these parasites; if he failed, the inhabitants of the far-away world would invade and demolish Earth. It was obvious megalo-mania; Margaret's certain duty would be to call an ambu-lance for him.

"Aren't you going to tell me?" asked Margaret.

Burke stood looking foolishly at the denopalizer. "I wish I could think of a convincing lie—but I can't. If I told you the truth, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Burke shook his head. "One thing you've got to believe: the hate you feel for me isn't either your doing or mine. It's a suggestion from something external to both of us— something that wants you to hate me."

"How can that be, Paul?" she cried in distress. "You've changed! I know you have! You're so different from what you were!"

"Yes," Burke admitted. "I've changed. Not necessarily for the worse—although it may seem so to you." He somberly inspected the denopalizing rack. "Unless I get busy I'll be changing back to what I was before."

Margaret impulsively squeezed his arm. "I wish you would!" She snatched her hand away again, took a step back, stared at him. "I can't understand myself, I can't un-derstand you. . . ."

She turned, walked rapidly from the shop into the office.

Burke heaved a weary sigh, but made no move to follow.

He checked the plans, drawn by Pttdu Apiptix in the Xa-xan's crabbed rendition of English symbols, returned to work. Time was running short. Overhead at all times drifted two, sometimes three or even four nopal, waiting for whatever mysterious signal they needed before settling upon Burke's neck.

Margaret presently appeared in the doorway where she stood watching Burke. After a moment she crossed the floor of the workshop, took up Burke's coffee-pot, looked into it, wrinkled "her nose. Taking the pot into one of the lavatories, she cleaned it, filled it with water and made fresh coffee.

Ralph Tarbert had now appeared; the three drank coffee together. Margaret derived reassurance from Tarbert's pres-ence and tried to pry information from him. "Ralph, what is a denopalizer? Paul won't tell me."

Tarbert laughed uncomfortably. "A denopalizer? A ma-chine used to denopalize—whatever that is."

"Then you don't know either."

"No. Paul is very secretive."

"Not for long," said Burke. "Two more days, all will be made clear. Then the fun begins."

Tarbert inspected the rack, the shelves of circuitry be-hind, the power lead-ins. "At a guess, it's a piece of com-munication equipment—but whether for transmitting or re-ceiving, I don't know."

"It frightens me," said Margaret. "Everytime I look at it something inside me squirms. I hear noises and see weird lights. Things like cans full of fishing-worms."

"I have the same sensations," said Tarbert. "Odd that a piece of machinery could affect a person like that."

"Not so very odd," said Burke.

Margaret glanced at him sidewise with a curled lip. De-testation all but threatened to swamp her self-control. "You sound absolutely sinister."

Burke shrugged, in a manner Margaret thought callous and brutal. "I don't intend to." He looked up to the nopal floating above him, something like an enormous Portuguese Man-o'-war. This particular specimen dogged him day and night, eyes staring, spines fluffing and working in a cease-less hungry quiver. "I've got to get back to work. There's not much time."

Tarbert put down his empty cup. Watching his expression, Margaret realized that he, too, was beginning to find Burke intolerable. What had happened to the old Paul Burke, the pleasant relaxed man with the easy good-nature? Margaret wondered about brain-tumors: weren't they sometimes re-sponsible for sudden changes in personality? She felt a rush of shame: the old Paul Burke was as he always had been; he deserved pity and understanding.

Tarbert said, "I won't come tomorrow; I'll be busy all day."

Burke nodded. "Perfectly all right. But Tuesday I'll be ready, and I'll need you. You'll be on hand?"

Margaret once again could hardly control her revulsion. Burke seemed so feral, so insane! Yes, insane! She certainly should take steps to have him examined, treated—

"Yes," said Tarbert, "I'll be on hand. How about you, Margaret?"

Margaret opened her mouth to speak, but Burke shook his head curtly. "We'd better do this by ourselves—at least on the first run."

"Why?" asked Tarbert curiously. "Is there danger?"

"No," said Burke. "Not for either of us. But a third party would complicate matters."

"Very well," said Margaret in a neutral voice. Under other circumstances her feelings would have been hurt; now, she felt nothing. This machine was probably nothing but an aberration, a senseless agglomeration of parts. . . . But if this were so, would Dr. Tarbert take Burke so seriously? Surely he'd notice any scientific irrationality—and he showed no signs that he had.

Perhaps the machine was not a luna-tic device after all. But if not, what was its purpose? Why should Burke wish to exclude her at the try-out?

She strolled away from Burke and Tarbert, slipped into the warehouse. Inconspicuous in a corner was an old door secured by a spring-lock Margaret drew back the bolt, secured it; the door could now be opened from the outside.

She returned into the workshop. Tarbert was taking his leave; Margaret departed with him.

She slept very poorly and worked listlessly the next day. Monday evening she telephoned Ralph Tarbert, hoping for reassurance. He was not in, and Margaret spent another un-easy night.

Something told her—instinct?—that tomorrow would be a very important day. Eventually she went to sleep, but when she awoke her mind was clouded with uncertainty. She sat dull-eyed over coffee until it was too late to go to work, then telephoned that she was ill.

At noon, she tried once more to get in touch with Dr. Tarbert, but none of his associates knew where he could be found.

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