The hand touched Julia’s dress. She was too preoccupied to notice.
“ . . . you have an interesting face. It’s very, very expressive. I want to give you my card. I want you to come in for a test.”
Julia moved away from him. All she could think about was Walt. Could he be in that car just behind? “ . . . please . . .” she said vaguely in protest.
He blinked his eyes; the hand retreated a few inches. “I’ve never talked to anyone like this before,” he said. “But your face, your eyes . . . . When I saw you standing there—saw you were running from something—I knew you’d understand.”
Julia swallowed stiffly. She pivoted to face him. “Listen mister. I need help. Would you drive me into L. A. ? Fast, mister?”
He was hurt. He drew back. “I thought we could go . . . . I know a little place . . . . They know me there; we could eat, and—” He moved one hand pathetically.
Julia felt a flutter of thought. (There was still a tiny bit of residual power remaining; it was fading fast.) Walt was starting after her!
“Mister, for God’s sake, can you drive me into L. A. ? I’ve got to get some money out of the all-night bank!”
“ . . . yes, of course, yes.” He moved his lips without words. “I thought you’d understand. Your face . . . . Nobody does, really. How it is, I mean.”
“Please hurry,” she said. If I can just get a car before Walt catches me, she thought. That’s the only way I can keep away from him. I’ve got to keep moving until I get my powers back; or until . . . until . . . what? Her lower lip trembled. She was cold and numb. Hurry! she wanted to shriek.
*
For a full minute Walt did not realize she was gone. When he did, he was relieved. He found himself trembling. Where did that demon go? Thank God she’s gone; I—!
The thought of her, diminutive and infinitely superior, made him cringe. He was afraid of her. He wanted to cry.
Forential understands, Walt thought. If he were here now, he’d understand. He’d . . . he’d tell me what to do.
Walt stared at the back of his hand.
Steady, he thought, steady. Try to relax. The shock . . . it’s not fair . . . she knows so much . . . .
Study the room; think of something else. The ship; I’d like to see Calvin’s face again . . . . There’s my face—in the mirror. It looks all right.
Forential will be angry. I shouldn’t have let her get away. I should have—what should I have done? Could I have?
I could have . . . .
He shook his head. No: that wouldn’t have fooled her either.
Forential, what am I going to do now?
Walt sat down. He tried to think things out. I’m no good, he thought. The only thing I’m good for is to kill earthlings. I ought to be ashamed of myself.
. . . I’m alone, he thought. Things are going all wrong.
I’ve . . . I’ve got to learn to depend on myself.
I’ve always depended too much on Forential.
I’ve always been told what to do, he thought. It’s time for me to begin telling myself what to do.
He nodded his head at the truth of this. I’m on my own, he thought. Well, by God, it’s time to face that! I’ll stop her some way.
Forential is depending on me!
At last it occurred to him to try to locate Julia. He concentrated. He formed Julia’s pattern in his mind. He sought to equate it with reality. For a moment of bleak despair, he felt nothing. Then the pattern and reality overlapped. He fixed her in space. He had her. She was fleeing in an automobile.
And—she had changed! She was now—as she had been once before—as impotent as an earthling.
He sprang to his feet. Elation filled him. A rising tide of confidence swept over him.
Damn, damn, damn! he thought in excited delight. She’s mine now!
Julia, oh Julia, can you hear me?
She couldn’t.
He could feel her fleeing.
I’ll show her now, he thought with savage satisfaction.
Wait’ll I catch you!
There’ll be no nonsense about privacy this time! he promised himself. I’ll kill her where ever I find her. Forential may not like it as well as—to hell with Forential!
*
Outside the hotel, in the crisp, fresh night air, Walt plunged into the crowd emptying from a theater, whose marquee, “Junkeroo”, flashed lonesomely above the sidewalk.
I’ll need a car to overtake her, he thought.
He remembered back to his first ride. I can operate one, he thought, if I can start it. It’s easy.
Julia lies in that direction. I’ll catch her in no time.
He heard a car door open behind him.
He spun on his heel and walked back to the car. The driver, settled behind the wheel, was just depressing the light stud when Walt cut in front of it and came abreast of the driver’s side.
“You’re the one I’m looking for,” he said.
“Eh?”
“Move over!”
The owner was a heavy, middle aged man; he snorted and narrowed his eyes. “What’s this baloney?”
“I’m taking this car.”
“The hell you say!”
Walt pulled the door open, grabbed the man by the shirt and twisted. He set his feet and the man came sprawling out into the street.
Holding him, Walt slapped his face.
The man flailed wildly. He tried to jerk loose. His shoulders twisted. He tried with a knee, and Walt threw him to the pavement. A few startled passers-by turned to watch.
Walt picked the man up and thrust him into the car. The man’s face was purple with rage. He tried to scream.
Walt displaced the air from his lungs. The man collapsed, gagging.
“Don’t make any loud noises,” Walt said.
The man choked and gasped with suddenly restored breath.
“ . . . what . . . what do you want?”
“How do you start this car?”
The man started to protest; the look on Walt’s face made him think better of it. He told Walt how to start the car.
Walt followed instructions. He listened to the purr of the motor.
“What is the power? What makes it run?”
The owner wiped blood from his face. Sullenly, through swelling lips, he said, “ . . . it’s a combustion engine . . . like all cars . . . .”
Cautiously maneuvering the car into traffic, Walt said, “Tell me what you know about combustion