“An insect menace,” said Red. “Back in the age I prefer, they even stopped publishing fantasy themes about insects--overworked and too trite. And now to be a hero of an insect menace theme--”
“Was that the reason they stopped publishing that kind of stories,” said Ward, “because it was overdone, trite? Maybe the editors were influenced by the Mo-Sanshon, even then. Charles Fort, you’ve read him? The excluded and the damned are marching.”
“Fort and Korzybski, my bibles, Doc. And that’s a good theory. The insects have been the most obvious threat to man’s dominant position, yet they were ignored, the whole idea dropped when too much publicity was current.”
Red looked at the cage. “Mercenaries,” he said. “Ingenious as hell. You’re a great brain, Doc.”
Ward studied the enigma that was labeled Red. There was no reason not to trust him now. He almost had to. “Yes. I’ve managed to breed a--”
The room’s lights glowed blue and then died. Ward turned, mouth suddenly dry and sticky. Someone was outside their door. Red’s face was twisted, his real expression showing through the plastimold and syntheskin make-up. It was one of burning hate. He leaped into the middle of the room in a half crouch. “It’s one of them!” he hissed between tight teeth. “It’s the Mo-Sanshon.”
“No time for dialectics,” said Red, voice trembling with emotion. “It’s the Executive Officer of the _Sol_, no less. And you can’t keep an Officer out. His keys’ll open the banks, anyway.”
Ward was getting callous. “Needle him, then. And he’ll disappear. They can’t blame us for a non-existent corpse.”
“No!” grated Red. “There are others aboard. He has others waiting in the hall. I’ve got to stay hidden, understand that, Doc. That’s the only way I can help you, and without that help, you’ll never accomplish anything. You’ve got to trust me. I’ll get the cage out of here and hide it.”
“I’ll hide here among these crates. You let ’em in. We’ll see what happens.”
This time the banks functioned, and Red ducked down out of sight. The panel slid slowly into the wall. The Officer standing framed in the opening was grossly huge, with a pasty dead white face and expressionless glassy eyes. His voice was low and hollow. He stepped inside and the door slid closed. Ward felt a smothering trapped cloud enveloping him, greater than any he had known so far, thick like poison air. Even the Executive Officer of a luxuriant space liner like the _Sol_! The inhumanness of the creature was obvious to Ward, but he could understand why it wouldn’t be to those uninformed. A little insight made all the difference. Why hadn’t Red needled him as he stood here? The cage, of course, but then--besides no one would suspect a passenger listed as Professor Limerick, harmless botanist and--