Traitor's Choice — Text and Context

Kendall had a difficult decision to make; if he defied the aliens Clare faced a horrible death; if he complied a whole planet must die!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy August 1956 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

The phonovision bell rang. Reed Kendall reached for the switch, not taking his eyes off the blueprint that lay on his desk. He spoke absently. "Yes?"

The reply came sharp and cold. "I'd suggest you stop what you're doing and pay attention to me."

Kendall raised his head and looked at the screen. The image that faced him was that of a man; a tall man in ordinary street clothes, but wearing an odd silver mask over his face.

Kendall made no effort to hide his annoyance. This was no time for jokes. Some lab comedian with time on his hands. "Now listen here! I'm busy and I'm in no mood to--"

The tone was sharp, brutal, contemptuous. It stiffened Kendall, then eased him slowly back into his chair. "What do you want?"

"Take that absurd mask off."

"Then get this over with. Tell me what you want!"

"It will take a few minutes. Go over and lock your door."

"I'll do no such thing!"

"I said--_go over and lock your door_."

Their eyes clashed; Kendall's frank, indignant, accusing; the stranger's dark and menacing in the holes of the mask.

"Very well." Kendall crossed the room and stood for a moment with his back to the phonovision screen. This man meant business. But what could be the nature of that business? Kendall's thoughts went of course to the top secret material he had access to. The defense of the world lay within the boundaries of the Canadian Flats Ordnance Research Project. But safely so.

The Centaurians were as eager to set these secrets as--well, as had been the Russians during the first phase of the atomic era when the world was divided into two frightened and belligerent camps. Strange, Kendall thought, that he should think of that period. The world had long since become one frightened and belligerent camp but the problem of survival had greatened as advanced science had opened the starways.

"I said--lock the door!"

Kendall complied. As he returned to his desk, he sensed the man was smiling behind his mask. What was he? A Centaurian? Either that or a Terran. Certainly not a Venusian unless he was standing on a box.

"All right. Let's get on with it."

"In my own good time. First, let me sympathize with you on your love for your wife."

"What sort of idiocy are you talking about?"

The man ignored the question. "You are unique in that love, Mr. Kendall. We conducted a telepathic survey of every married scientist in this project. And only one psych-pattern was suited to our purpose."

Kendall scowled. "I think you are enjoying this--but I'm not. And believe me, you'll live to regret it."

"We were fortunate in finding you, Mr. Kendall--the one man here who would be incapable of allowing his wife to die horribly if he could prevent it--no matter what the cost."

A vague fear coupled with a chill was seeping through Kendall's brain. "Say what you've come to say and get it over with!"

"I'm doing just that. We have your wife, Kendall. We got her at ten o'clock this morning."

"Impossible! Our security is foolproof. No person has ever been kidnapped from any world defense project!"

"Never before, but let me tell you why. Because such a hostage would have been of little value. Terran scientists and defense personnel have been psychologically conditioned to the point of fanaticism. We have never before discovered a Terran scientist who would put his wife or any other loved one before his loyalty to Terra."

"And what makes you think I will?"

"Our tests are absolute. But if we are wrong it will be unfortunate for only one person. Your wife."

Kendall thought of Clare, trying the while to keep his panic from showing through. Blonde, beautiful Clare--the one person who really made his life worth living. Clare. As he worked at this brutal, tedious defense business, he did not work for the defense of Terra, though that idea and its psychological drive was ever in his conscious mind. He worked to keep Clare safe and now he realized the stark fact; realized it as he cursed the Centaurians and their devilish extrasensory penetration; cursed this masked devil for being right.

Shocked out of wariness, he allowed these thoughts to spill through his conscious mind; then he caught himself and threw up the blank mental wall all defense people were taught to use.