Fantastic Stories Presents the Imagination (Stories of Science and Fantasy) Super Pack. Edmond Hamilton

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      “Aintcha never seen a car before?”

      Walt grunted and got in.

      “You been here long?”

      If he doesn’t shut up, I’ll strangle him, Walt thought. He closed the door and pressed against it to be as far away from the earthling as possible.

      “Somebody probably saw you when they passed and radioed on you,” the driver said, starting the car and flipping it on automatic. “A pick-up’ll be along shortly. This will save you the fee.”

      Walt gritted his teeth. “Thanks.”

      “ . . . you gotta funny accent. Where you from?”

      “I don’t want to talk to you,” Walt said slowly. God, he thought, I wish Forential hadn’t told me not to kill any of them!

      The driver looked sideways at him, shrugged, and began to whistle through his teeth.

      Ah, to kill him, Walt thought. To kill him! He stared at the man’s heavy jowls. To rip into them . . . . Wait, wait until Julia is caught, just wait . . . . I want to kill her a little at a time.

      Beyond the blue mountains, the driver drew the car into the checker stand.

      “Got any fruit?” the California state inspector asked.

      The driver climbed out and called the officer aside. They whispered. Walt twisted uncomfortably. His spine began to prickle.

      The officer came over and opened Walt’s door. “Get out, buddy.”

      “Me?”

      “You. Hurry up!”

      Walt’s eyes darted rapidly about. He got out slowly.

      “Say something!”

      “I, I don’t know. What do you want me to say something for?”

      “It’s Russian?” the driver demanded.

      “Hell, I don’t know. Come on buddy.” The officer took Walt’s arm. “There’s something funny here all right.”

      *

      Russian? Walt thought. What did that mean? He could tell he was in for trouble. The man’s grip on his arm was uncomfortably authoritative. If I only had a focus rod, I could . . . he thought.

      His heart began to hammer. Would they use one of the terrible atom bombs to destroy him in another minute?

      “Come along,” the officer said.

      “ . . . I want a drink of water, please.”

      “He’s been out on the desert,” the driver said. “Maybe all night, from the looks of him.”

      “Okay,” the officer said. “Let’s go over here . . . . What’s your name?”

      Walt walked beside him. “Walt.”

      “Walt what?”

      “ . . . Walt.”

      “I mean, Walt Smith or Jones or Johnson?”

      “That’s it.” Walt’s mind raced.

      “What?”

      “Johnson,” Walt said. “Walt Johnson?”

      The officer puckered up his lips. “Okay, friend, we’ll find out more about you in a little bit. Let’s get your drink.”

      They entered the warm roadside office. The officer crossed to the cooler and drew a glass of water.

      “Thanks.” Walt drank thirstily. “More?”

      The officer complied; as yet he had not taken his eyes off the mutant.

      Holding his glass, empty for a second time, Walt glanced around the office, balancing nervously on the balls of his feet. When his eyes rested on a spot behind the officer, he said, “What’s that?”

      The officer turned. “What?”

      Walt tried to concentrate on the invisibility projection. He started for the door.

      “What?” the officer repeated, puzzled. He looked around. “I’ll be damned! Now where—”

      Once in the yard, Walt raced toward the check point. It was hard to hold the distortion field around himself and his clothing.

      The officer was now in the yard shouting.

      “He can’t get far!” someone called.

      A moment later a car drew up to the check point. Walt would have to pass through the steel of the door to enter it unnoticed. Steel was difficult to penetrate, particularly difficult, if he remained invisible while doing it.

      He succeeded.

      He settled into the rear seat.

      Blood vessels strained on his forehead.

      Hurry! he thought.

      *

      The driver meshed the gears with a button just when he was wavering on the edge of visibility. An officer glanced into the car. Walt held his breath. The officer motioned the car on.

      The driver, Walt saw now, was a girl. Forential had shown him pictures of female Lyrians; and this girl—but for the fact she was an earthling—would have been beautiful. Now that he had begun to master his hate reaction, he felt the stirrings of curiosity.

      He became visible.

      After a mile or so, she must have heard his breathing. The car was on automatic, following the guide beam on the center of the lane. She turned. She studied him for a long moment with beautiful grey eyes.

      “Hello, where did you come from?”

      Walt moved his lips.

      The girl was sizing him up carefully. She seemed to like what she saw. She nodded. “You got on back there? I didn’t see you.”

      Walt stared at her.

      “You wanted a lift, that’s it, isn’t it?”

      Walt said nothing. She wore soft perfume. If I did not hate her so much . . . he thought.

      “You deaf and dumb.”

      “ . . . no. No.”

      She pulled the car into a clear-lane niche.

      She regarded him. “Not bad . . . . Get up front.”

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