American Science Fiction Five Classic Novels 1956-58 Read Online Free

you look like a child dressed up for Trick or Treat. You can’t act and you can never learn, at your age. We won’t touch your face.”
    “Huh? But with this beak on me——”
    “Attend me. Anything I could do to that lordly nose would just call attention to it, I assure you. Would it suffice if an acquaintance looked at you and said, ‘Say, that big fellow reminds me of Dak Broadbent. It’s not Dak, of course, but looks a little like him.’ Eh?”
    “Huh? I suppose so. As long as he was sure it wasn’t me. I’m supposed to be on . . . Well, I’m not supposed to be on Earth just now.”
    “He’ll be quite sure it is not you, because we’ll change your walk. That’s the most distinctive thing about you. If your walk is wrong, it cannot possibly be you —so it must be some other big-boned, broad-shouldered man who looks a bit like you.”
    “Okay, show me how to walk.”
    “No, you could never learn it. I’ll force you to walk the way I want you to.”
    “How?”
    “We’ll put a handful of pebbles or the equivalent in the toes of your boots. That will force you back on your heels and make you stand up straight. It will be impossible for you to sneak along in that catfooted spaceman’s crouch. Mmm . . . I’ll slap some tape across your shoulder blades to remind you to keep your shoulders back, too. That will do it.”
    “You think they won’t recognize me just because I’ll walk differently?”
    “Certain. An acquaintance won’t know why he is sure it is not you, but the very fact that the conviction is subconscious and unanalyzed will put it beyond reach of doubt. Oh, I’ll do a little something to your face, just to make you feel easier— but it isn’t necessary.”
    We went back into the living room of the suite. I was still being “Benny Grey” of course; once I put on a role it takes a conscious effort of will to go back to being myself. Dubois was busy at the phone; he looked up, saw me, and his jaw dropped. He hurried out of the hush locus and demanded, “Who’s he? And where’s that actor fellow?” After his first glance at me, he had looked away and not bothered to look back—“Benny Grey” is such a tired, negligible little guy that there is no point in looking at him.
    “What actor fellow?” I answered in Benny’s flat, colorless tones. It brought Dubois’ eyes back to me. He looked at me, started to look away, his eyes snapped back, then he looked at my clothes. Broadbent guffawed and clapped him on the shoulder.
    “And you said he couldn’t act!” He added sharply, “Did you get them all, Jock?”
    “Yes.” Dubois looked back at me, looked perplexed, and looked away.
    “Okay. We’ve got to be out of here in four minutes. Let’s see how fast you can get me fixed up, Lorenzo.”
    Dak had one boot off, his blouse off, and his chemise pulled up so that I could tape his shoulders when the light over the door came on and the buzzer sounded. He froze. “Jock? We expecting anybody?”
    “Probably Langston. He said he was going to try to get over here before we left.” Dubois started for the door.
    “It might not be him. It might be—––” I did not get to hear Broadbent say who he thought it might be as Dubois dilated the door. Framed in the doorway, looking like a nightmare toadstool, was a Martian.
    For an agony-stretched second I could see nothing but the Martian. I did not see the human standing behind him, nor did I notice the life wand the Martian cradled in his pseudo limb.
    Then the Martian flowed inside, the man with him stepped in behind him, and the door relaxed. The Martian squeaked, “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Going somewhere?”
    I was frozen, dazed, by acute xenophobia. Dak was handicapped by disarranged clothing. But little Jock Dubois acted with a simple heroism that made him my beloved brother even as he died . . . He flung himself at that life wand. Right at it —he made no attempt to evade it.
    He must have been dead, a hole burned