CHAPTER VIII
Norma missed Herb. There was the glamor of the unknown about him and the appeal of the familiar. He was two individuals, a little boy, confused and puzzled and mute and needing her, and a man, strong and wise and belonging to a strange world she could not enter as she had entered all too easily the masculine world of Earth.
She was with Frank when Bud made his television announcement.
Bud beamed happily in the glare of uncounted millions of dollars of publicity. "At my invitation," he said, "the starmen have consented to return."
Frank winced to see what he thought to be a decent cause advancing the personal fortunes of a fool, a hypocrite, and a coward.
Bud—it was a little difficult to imagine (without having heard it) how he managed it—at the high point of his speech inserted a few remarks about home, mother, and the virtues of honesty and hard work. He was, he explained, a poor but honest man, holding certain principles dear to his heart. He was at a loss to account for the fact that he had been chosen to lead this great crusade for the starmen. "We can thank All Mighty God that they have consented to return. They will return. I do not believe there are enough Communists in the country today to prevent it."
Frank shuddered to think what might happen now. Suppose Bud should—God, no!—become President out of all this; suppose the people, in gratitude, or the politicians seeking a popular hero, contrived his election.
Frank felt that he might have erred in using bad means to gain good ends. For Bud, hunting subversives, socialists, liberals, and critics, could rapidly reduce the country to conformism and with native ingenuity, pervert starscience into a political weapon.
The first radio message, on Earth frequency, to the President requested that Bud be given the job of handling all negotiations. If, it said, Senator Council finds it in his heart to accept the responsibility.
Many people did not understand the last.
Bud did.
The morning of the day the starmen returned, Norma came into Bud's office. She was practically bursting with excitement. Thoughts of what their knowledge would contribute to Earth, the marvelous advances in medicine, in physics, in art that hovered just within reach....
On her way through the secretary's office, she passed a slight, nattily dressed man wearing a hat.
For a puzzled second she furrowed her brow. Then memory came. He had been investigated by the Senate Crime Committee. She bit her lip in exasperation. Why would Bud be willing to see someone like that?
"Wasn't that—?" she demanded, bursting into Bud's office.
He got up with quick awkwardness. His face was bloodless. "Ohhhhhh," he sighed. "I didn't expect—Hello, Sis."
"Wasn't that—?" she began again.
"It's, it's, it's, he, he...." Bud indicated the box on his desk. "From an old friend."
"What's wrong? Don't you feel well, Bud?"
"Fine, fine," Bud said. "I feel fine.... I'm very busy just now."
Norma sat down. The box rested on the desk between them. Warily Bud sank into his chair. She saw his face framed above the box, almost as if the head were hanging suspended and bodiless, and she felt an unaccountable tremor of superstitious fear.
"You poor dear," she said. "You've been worrying so much about the starmen.... You're losing weight. Have Frank give you a checkup, Bud; you ought to take things easier."
"... I will. I've been intending to.... I'll have him look me over. Where is he; do you know where he is?"
"He went out last night. I expect him back any time."
He stood up. He was calmer now. He rested one hand on the box. "Yes, I wouldn't worry. He'll show up. I am tired, terribly tired. You saw the Secret Service men out there? They're out to kill me, Norma! Senator Stilson is hiring them!"
Norma started to protest.
"I tell you, they are. If the Secret Service weren't out there to protect me, I'd be dead right now. But God has given me a job to do. I can't let them kill me until I have done His will."
"Bud, you're just overworked. Nobody's trying to do a thing like that. Frank says it's just publicity, and I thought...."
"Ahhhhh," Bud said darkly. "Would the President have assigned me a body guard if it weren't true? Would he? There are extremists in this country—Communists and Socialists—who stop at nothing to prevent the starmen from coming back. Even Frank...."
Norma's face grew a shade paler. "But he's the one...."
"You can never tell! But I'll tell you this. I pray every night, Sis. I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will let me live long enough." Bud's mind suddenly flashed back to his childhood, and he remembered praying that God would let him assassinate Stalin. God needed only to arm him and transport him to the Kremlin. He could have done the rest. He shook his head darkly again. "You don't understand the dangers." He felt courageous. It took guts to face the Communist menace.
She wanted to run. She clenched her fists. This is Bud, your brother, she thought. He's just upset. "I just wanted to see you for a moment," she said. "It wasn't about anything important."
Bud rubbed his hand caressingly over the box. "Yes?"
"I'll let you get back to work."
She stood up and started for the door.
"Don't worry about Frank!" Bud said sharply. "He's all right. Nothing's happened to him."
Norma was gone.
Bud began to cry, and looking at the box, he whispered, "It's all your fault. You made me do it. You did, you made me!”