Chapter 10 chapter eight

I was delighted to have captured this important high official, but it was a casual satisfaction, and I gave up thinking about it afterwards.We—new recruits from among humanity—think very little.We know what we are going to do at every moment and occasion, but only at the time and occasion of the action, like a thoroughbred racehorse responding to a command.Also like horse racing, we are always on standby for another signal from the rider. Horse racing and jockeys are a good analogy—but not perfect.Riders have partial access to the horse's intelligence; owners have not only full access to our intelligence, but direct access to our memory and experience.We pass messages between masters for them; sometimes we know what we are communicating; sometimes we don't—and that's just verbal communication through servants.The more important, more direct, master-to-master meetings are light, and the servants are not involved at all.During these talks, we sit there quietly, waiting until our riders are done talking, rearranging our clothes to cover them, and then doing whatever is necessary.

After the assistant secretary of the treasury was recruited, there was a large meeting; although I sat in it and participated in the meeting, I don't know more than you. Although the master spoke through my mouth, I took no part in the words any more than the voice repeater implanted behind my ear took part in the conversation carried through it—the voice repeater, by the way, remained silent; No phone - I'm just like a phone, just a communication tool, nothing more.A few days after I was recruited, I sent out new instructions to the club managers on how to order containers of owners.While doing this, I was vaguely aware that three more shipments had arrived, but I didn't know where they were; I knew only one address in New Orleans.

I didn't think about it, I went on working. After that day at the club, I became the new "Mr. Porter's special assistant", spending days and nights in his office.In fact, the relationship should probably be reversed; I kept giving Mr. Porter verbal instructions.But I'm not sure about this relationship either, since my knowledge of the parasite's social organization is as shallow now as it was then.In this social structure, the superior-subordinate relationship may be more flexible and freer, and its subtlety is beyond my experience. I knew--my master knew better, of course--that I should keep out of sight.My master, through me, knows as much about that organization we call a department as I do.They knew that I was the only human recruit who knew the old man--I'm sure my master knew the old man would not leave me, and he would recapture me, or kill me.

Strangely, they didn't decide to switch bodies and destroy my body.There are many people who can be recruited, and the number is much larger than that of the master.I don't think owners are as neurotic as humans.Owners fresh out of the shipping container often destroy their original host; we always completely destroy the damaged host and find a new one for the owner. My master was just the opposite. When he chose me, he had already controlled at least three human hosts—Jarvis, Miss Hynes, and a girl in Barnes' office, probably a secretary.During this process, he has undoubtedly mastered the skill of controlling the human host thoroughly. He is skilled and ingenious, and he can "change horses" with ease.

On the other hand, a skilled ranch rider would not ruin a well-trained work horse in favor of an unfamiliar mount he had never tried.Maybe that's how I got hidden and saved my life - maybe, I don't know what I'm talking about; how can a bee know Beethoven? After a while, the city "did it" and my master started sending me out to the streets.I'm not saying that every resident of the city has a lump of flesh on his back - more than ninety-nine percent of the people don't; there are too many human beings, and the masters are still few - but the city's All the important positions were taken over by our recruits: from the policeman on the street corner, to the mayor and police chief, as well as the superintendent of prisons, priests in churches, members of boards of directors, all positions related to mass communication and the media.The vast majority went about their daily business, Buyi was undisturbed, and Mu, unaware of anything that happened.

Unless, of course, one of them happened to get in the way of the Master's purpose—in which case, he'd be killed to keep his mouth shut.This is a waste of potential hosts, but no saving is necessary. There is a small advantage in our work in serving our masters—perhaps I should say a disadvantage in our masters' work, and that is long-distance communication.Long-distance communication can only be carried out by human hosts in human language, which is a great limitation.If you are using a normal line, the restrictions are even greater.Unless the lines are secure, communication is limited to coded words, as it was when I originally ordered two boxes of masters.Oh, masters can of course communicate between ships, and presumably with home bases as well.But there were no ships nearby; the fall of the city was an accident, a direct consequence of my old trip to Des Moines.

It is almost certain that such communication through servants was insufficient to achieve the master's goals; they seemed to require constant body-to-body meetings to coordinate their actions.I'm not an expert on alien psychology; some people insist that parasites are not separate entities, but components of larger organic cells, and so on - why am I saying this?It is enough to know that they seem to need direct contact meetings. I was sent to New Orleans to attend one such conference. I didn't know where I was going.One morning, I walked out to the street as I usually do, and got on the launch pad for the city, and booked a berth.Taxis were few and far between, and I was thinking of switching to the other side to catch the public dropship, but the thought was immediately quashed.After a considerable wait, my car was up to the ramp, and I started to get in—I say "start" because an old gentleman hurried up and got into the car before me.

I had an order to kill him, but that order was immediately canceled by another.The new order told me to take my time and be careful.Even the hosts don't always seem to have a plan in mind. I said, "I'm sorry, sir, this car is already taken." "That's right." The old man replied. "Didn't I sit in already?" Everything from his briefcase to his demeanor is a testament to self-importance.He could very well be a member of the Constitution Club, but he's not one of us.My master knew and told me. "You'll have to find another one," I demanded logically. "Show me the tickets you have lined up." Once I got to the launch pad, I took the tickets from the rack; mine had the vehicle's launch printed on it. Number.

He had nothing to say, but just remained motionless. "Where are you going?" he asked. "New Orleans," I answered him, realizing my destination for the first time. "Then you can let me down in Memphis." I shook my head, "No way." "It's just a trivial matter of fifteen minutes!" He seemed unable to control his temper, and it seemed that he rarely encountered other people disobeying him, "You, sir, must know the rules for sharing vehicles when there is a shortage of vehicles. You You can't use public transportation unreasonably." He turned away, "Driver! Explain the rules to this man."

The driver was picking his teeth. He stopped and said, "It's none of my business. I'll pick you up, I'll drop you off, and I'll let you get off somewhere. You two can figure it out on your own, or I'll let the dispatcher find another passenger." I hesitated, but hadn't been instructed yet.So, I threw my bag into the car and went up by myself. "New Orleans," I said, "stop in Memphis." The driver shrugged and signaled to the control tower.The passenger snorted contemptuously and ignored me. After lift-off, he opened the document bag and spread the documents on his lap.I looked at him uninterestedly.

But it wasn't long before I found myself changing my sitting position so it was easier for me to draw the gun. The old man suddenly reached out and took my wrist. "Don't move too fast, kid," he said.A ferocious smile appeared on his face, and he became the old man himself. My reflexes are very quick, but I have a handicap: I have to send everything to the master.Send it first, and the master will send me the next action to be taken.How long is the delay?thousandth of a second?I am not sure.I was about to draw the gun and felt the muzzle against my ribs. "Relax." With his other hand he thrust something into my side.I felt like a needle, and then a violent, warm tremor dreamily enveloped my entire body.I've been paralyzed by this drug twice before, and I've given it to others a lot more; I know what it is. When I tried to draw the gun again, I fell face down. I distinctly felt the sound—it had been going on for a while, but I was only now able to make sense of it.Someone is roughing me up. Another said: "Watch out for that ape!" Another voice replied, "It's okay, his tendons have been removed." The first voice retorted, "He still has teeth, doesn't he?" Yes, I thought distraughtly, I'm going to bite you with my teeth if you come near me.The tendon removal seemed true; I couldn't move a limb, but that didn't humiliate me; what really pissed me off was being called a monkey and not being able to express it.I think it's really wrong to insult a person when he is defenseless. I cried for a while, then passed out. "Feeling better, boy'" The old man leaned against the head of my bed, staring at me thoughtfully.His bare chest was covered with gray chest hair; his belly was somewhat fat. "Ah," I said, "pretty good, I think." I tried to sit up, but couldn't move. The old man walked around to the bed. "Now we can lift those restrictions," he said, fumbling with the pegs. "Don't want you to hurt yourself. You know!" I sat up and rubbed my body.I am stiff. "How much can you recall? Report now." "remember?" "You were with them—remember? They got you. Do you remember anything after the parasite has attached itself to you?" I felt a sudden pang of fear and clutched the edge of the bed with both hands. "Boss! Boss—they know this place! I told them." "No, they don't know," he replied calmly, "because this is not the department office you remember. When I knew you had escaped cleanly, I withdrew from the old office. They don't know this place— — I think. Do you remember?" "Of course I remember. I left from here—I mean from the old office, to—" My thoughts came faster than words; Take a live, wet master and prepare to put it on the back of a rental agent. I spit on the bed sheet, the old man pulled up the corner of the bed sheet, wiped my mouth for me, and said gently: "Speak." I took a breath and said, "Boss—they're everywhere! They've taken over the city." "I know. Same with Des Moines. And Minneapolis, and St. Paul, and New Orleans and Kansas City. Maybe more, but I don't know, because I can't go everywhere." He looked very gloomy. "It's like fighting with your feet tied. We're losing the war, and losing it fast." He said, frowning, "We can't even Controlled cities are being wiped out. It's so—" "My God! Why not?" "You should know. Because those 'older and wiser' than me still don't believe that a war has broken out and is going on. The reason is that whenever they take a city, it's business as usual, business as usual. " I glared at him. "Never mind that," he said softly. "You were our first breakthrough. You were our first victim alive—and now we find that you can still recall what happened to you." .That's important. The parasite on you is the first living thing we've caught and kept alive. We'll have a chance—" He stopped suddenly.The expression on my face must have been horrific; the thought of my master still alive - and possibly controlling me again - was too much for me to bear. The old man grabbed my arm and shook it. "Don't worry, kid," he said gently. "You're still very sick and weak." "Where is that thing?" "What? Parasite? Don't worry. You can look, if you like: it's living off a creature that took your place, an orangutan named Napoleon. It's safe." "Kill it!" "Impossible—we want it alive for research." My spirit must have been broken because he slapped me several times. "Cheer up," he said. "You're sick. I didn't want to bother you, but this has to be done. We must record everything you can think of. Think hard and talk well." I pulled myself together and began to report in earnest and detailed everything I could recall.I described renting the loft, recruiting my first victim, and then how we went from there to the Constitution Club. The old man nodded. "It's logical. You're a good agent, even for them." "You don't understand," I objected, "I'm not thinking at all. I know what's going on, that's all. It's like, uh, like—" I pause, unable to find the right words to describe. "It's all right. Go on." "Once we've got the manager of the club, it's easy for the rest of us. As soon as they come in, we get them down, and—" "What about the name?" "Oh, of course. Myself, Greenberg--M.C. Greenberg, Saul Hansen, Hardwick Porter, his driver, Jim Weekley, and a man named 'Jack ' was the little guy who was the club bathroom attendant, but I believe he was later killed, his masters didn't want him wasting his time cleaning. Finally there was the manager, whose name I never knew." I pause and let my mind go back to that hectic afternoon and evening at the club, trying to figure out the process of recruiting everyone, "Oh my God!" "What's wrong?" "Minister—Assistant Secretary of the Treasury." "You mean you took him down too?" "Yes. On the first day. What day of the week was it? How long ago? God, sir, the Treasury Department protects the President." But there was no one on the opposite side of me; there was only a gust of wind left where the old man had sat. I lay down exhausted.I started crying softly into my face with my pillow.After a while, I fell asleep.