HARVEY TODD, Director of the Department of Security, initialed two papers, put them aside and reached for another report. He didn't bother to look up. "Wish you'd make this brief as possible, Ross. I'm up to my ears."

"Chief," Ross Wooley said hesitantly. "suppose I wanted to investigate something on my own, follow up a hunch?"

His superior shot a quizzical look at the undersized agent. "What d'ya have in mind?"

"It's something screwy," the other answered, "something that'll sound like I'm around the corner."

Harvey Todd put down his pen and grinned at his best operative. "You must have a lulu this time, Ross, but your reputation's good and your hunches've been so far. What is it?"

Wooley scratched his chin with a thumbnail. "Chief," he said slowly, not sure how his words would be received, "I've got reasons to suspect there might be aliens in the United States."

The Department of Security head scowled at him. "Of course there're aliens here. What of it? That's not our jurisdiction."

"I mean aliens from space, some other planet, maybe."

"Are you drunk?"

"No, sir."

Harvey Todd stared at him for a long time without saying anything. Finally he muttered, "Let's hear it."

"I'd like permission to investigate. If I can't have it, I'd like leave of absence to probe around on my own. If I can't have that, I'll submit my resignation so that I'll be free to look into this as a private citizen." The little agent's eyes blinked rapidly behind his shell-rimmed glasses.

Todd glanced down at the pile of letters on his desk and sighed. He brushed them aside, reached into a drawer of his desk and brought out a prehistoric briar and a can of tobacco. He didn't speak again until the pipe was filled and lit and he was leaning back in his chair, puffing at it. Then he said, "This seems to mean quite a bit to you. What d'ya have?"

The agent stirred uncomfortably. "Not enough to make sense, chief. Ar article here, a news item there, some quotations from obscure scientists; more hunch than anything else. What I'd like is enough time to make a preliminary investigation. If I get anything definite, I'll report. Then it's up to you."

Harvey Todd let smoke trickle through his nostrils and squinted worriedly through it. "Give me more than that, Ross. I can't assign an agent to go around searching for characters out of Buck Rogers without having some idea of what he's working on."

"You said my reputation was good," Wooley reminded him.

Todd picked up his pen and doodled a series of cubes on a pad before him. "It's bad for the department to be held up to ridicule, Ross. We've been under fire several times this past year. I can think of several congressmen who'd like to know we assign agents to tail men from Mars."

"Then you'd prefer my resignation?" the dynamic little agent's voice was tight.

His chief granted disgustedly, then suddenly made up his mind. "No, damn it! Make your investigation. But, for heaven's sake, keep it quiet. If it gets into the papers, I'll have you counting your toes on Alcatraz before I'm through with you, Ross."

Ross Wooley grinned. "Thanks. Er... I'll have to do some traveling."

"See Smith about it on your way out. Now beat it. I think you're crazy." Harvey Todd took up his pen and another stack of letters, sighed, and went back to work.

A MAID ushered him into the study. He gave the room a quick once over and gained an impression of endless shelves of books, several comfortable chairs, good lighting, two well-conceived oils on the walls, a small portable bar. A scholar's room, but at the same time, a man's.

Professor Andre Dumar looked up from his chair with a frown, then squinted at the card in his hand again. "Mr. Ross Wooley?"

"That's right." The agent turned and looked at the maid. She left the room. closing the heavy door behind her.

"Sit down, Mr. Wooley," the professor said. "You don't look the way Hollywood leads us to believe a Security agent does."

Ross Wooley didn't smile. He'd heard the equivalent too often before. "My strong point as an operative, Professor."

Dumar said, "About thirty years ago, while I was still an undergraduate, I recall writing a paper for my anthropology class entitled, 'Primitive Communism Among the Amerindians.' Otherwise, I can't think of anything in my life that would call for a visit from a Department of Security man."

Wooley grinned and selected a chair. "I came for information, Professor, You seem to be an authority on several obscure subjects; sort of an off trail specialist."

"That sounds as though it needs amplification."

"You confine your research to subjects many men of science, fearing ridicule, deliberately avoid. Mental telepathy and clairvoyance, for instance; you were a pioneer in their early study."

The professor nodded. "Actually out of my line, but a fascinating investigation. Now the ice is broken, more capable specialists than I are doing yeoman work in ESP."

Ross Wooley ran his left hand nervously over his chin. "Before we go further, Professor, I'd like you to understand that no matter how strange the things I ask you, the department requests that you not discuss them, even with family members."

Professor Dumar scowled and studied Ross Wooley's card again. "This says you're a government agent. Prove it, please."

Wooley smiled. "A sensible precaution, sir." He drew his wallet from his pocket and held it over for the other's inspection.

The professor went over the credentials easefully, then picked up the telephone and dialed the operator. "Give me the Department of Security, please.... Hello. This is Professor Andre Dumar. Here in my study is a man claiming to be Ross Wooley. Have you an agent of that name?... Thank you. Will you now describe him? Thank you, very much. Good-bye."

The professor returned the wallet and relaxed in his chair. "You seem to be what you claim. What are your questions?"

Ross Wooley framed the first carefully. "Professor, is there life in the universe besides that found on earth?"

Dumar removed his pince nez glasses and stared. "Life?"

"Yes. Alien life."

The scientist considered for a moment, then said slowly, "We are quite positive that at least vegetation exists on Mars, but it's unlikely any of the other planets have life forms."

"How about other star systems?"

"Of course, the authorities differ considerably...."

"I'm asking your opinion, Professor," Wooley said.

The other shifted in his chair, as though the agent's questions irritated him. "Given the multitude of stars in our universe, it is likely that the conditions applying in our solar system, are duplicated elsewhere. In such case, I should say that life is probably also duplicated."

"Intelligent life?" Wooley pursued.

"—Possibly."

"Now this is the important question, Professor. Granting that life does exist elsewhere, could representatives of it have made their way to earth?"

Professor, Dumar flicked a fingernail against the gold rim of his glasses. "Who informed you of my research into this subject?" he snapped.

Pay dirt, the agent breathed. Then, even more earnestly, "Nobody, Professor. It was a strike in the dark. Please tell me what you can."

Dumar got to his feet and went over to his portable bar. "Drink?" he asked over his shoulder.

"No, thanks." This was the first break in the investigation. The little agent was stimulated enough without alcohol.

"If you don't mind, I'll have one." The professor mixed himself whiskey and water and returned to his chair. He took half of the drink down in a gulp, then launched into his subject.

"I BECAME aware about three years ago that there were unnatural life forms on earth. They had seemingly been here for a lengthy period, but, nevertheless, something was wrong about them. My first clue was the fact that they seemed to revolt other animals, including man."

Wooley injected. "How do you mean, revolt?"

The professor ran a hand through his hair in irritation, as though it were di?icult to explain. "Take the spider, for instance, or the snake; there's an instinctive loathing that nine out of ten persons feel at the sight of either. I believe it's because we know they don't belong. They're alien to earth, and, subconsciously, we realize it and our flesh crawls. To this list you might also add the rat and the cockroach."

Ross Wooley scratched his chin with a thumbnail. "I've always thought the fear of the snake and spider was instinctive, handed down from primitive man. They're poisonous, after all."

The professor shook his head. "That doesn't answer it. For one thing, few snakes and fewer spiders are poisonous. For another, it's more than just fear—it's absolute revulsion we feel. Besides, predatory animals killed more of primitive man than did the snake or spider. Why don't we feel this instinctive fear when we see lions, bears, or wolves? In addition, you'll find we have somewhat the same loathing, though not so strong for some reason, of rats and cockroaches, though they aren't poisonous."

The agent grimaced. "But how did they get here? Surely, you don't suggest that snakes, or spiders, or even rats, have the ability to construct spaceships."

"Frankly, that's been the greatest obstacle to my theory. I have two possible answers; neither quite satisfies me."

"Do you mind explaining them?"

"One possibility is that a spaceship arrived here a considerable time ago and crashed. The alien life forms it carried were forced to remain. However, the conditions on Terra were different from those on their home planet and they weren't completely successful in adapting themselves. They degenerated until now they are on a par with unintelligent life forms."

Ross Wooley was unsatisfied. "What led you to that theory?"

"For one thing, I note indications that the rat once held a higher stage on the scale of evolution. You'll find that the rat sometimes decorates its nest with broken pieces of colored glass or shiny bits of metal. Could it have the remnants of an esthetic sense?"

"Or the beginning of one?" Wooley suggested.

"Possibly. I'm not too strong for this theory. The theory I like best is that they're guinea pigs." The professor said.

"Guinea pigs?"

"That's right. Suppose some other planet wanted room for expansion and saw earth as a prospective colony. Rather than risk unknown diseases, or other deadly possibilities, they would simply land a number of inferior Lise forms from their planet. If the snake, spider, and rat could adapt themselves without harm, to the earth, then these aliens could take over."

Ross Wooley blinked. "Professor, it seems to me that the weakest point in these theories of yours is the fact that these forms of life have been on earth inde?nitely. The cockroach, for instance; it seems to me I've read that it's one of earth's oldest inhabitants. And all of them, snake, spider, rat, have been here since far back in the most primitive periods."

Dumar sipped his drink thoughtfully. "We don't know that the aliens are in any particular hurry. They might be willing to wait hundreds of thousands of years to be sure earth is suitable for their species. To a young civilization like ours a few thousand" years seems an endless time, but to a culture that might be many millions of years in age, it's a short period indeed."

"Then, to sum it up, you believe there is other intelligent life in the universe and that, for one reason or other, they've landed alien life forms on earth."

The professor nodded. "That's about it."

THE NEXT name took him across the continent to San Francisco; he'd have hesitated before expending the time and money involved if it hadn't been for the renewed interest Dumar had inspired.

First saying. "This comes from one of your recent lectures," the agent took a news clipping from an envelope and read aloud. "...In fact, so chaotic are man's affairs, so unbelievable is it he could thus be his own worst enemy, that one is led to believe aliens from space, enemies for some unknown reason, are in our midst and sabotaging our efforts toward progress...."

Wooley looked up. "I assume the quotation is correct?"

The nationally known lecturer and commentator, in whose office they sat, frowned but nodded. "Substantially."

"What did you mean by it?"

Morton Harrison ran an irritated hand through his famous snow white hair. "I didn't mean anything by it. What in the world are you driving at?"

Ross Wooley returned the clipping to his pocket. "Where did you get the idea that there was a possibility of aliens from space being in our midst?"

The other began to laugh. Finally, "Good heavens, man, has the Department of Security finally reached the point where it's investigating characters out of science-fiction? That illustration meant nothing; I thought of it out of a clear sky."

Wooley had pulled another blank. He sighed in resignation and leaned back in his chair. "All right, Mr. Harrison. But now I'm here, and just for the record, what were you illustrating when you used that example?"

The other got to his feet and flicked his right arm in the gesture so well known to his audiences. Unthinkingly, his voice and movements took on his platform mannerisms. "I was only pointing out that man is his own enemy to such an extent that it seems unbelievable."

"Such as what?" Ross asked.

Morton Harrison tugged at his right ear. "I could give a score of examples, but let me suggest just one or two.

"First, have you ever noticed that persons and organizations that strive for man's advancement are usually either given the silent treatment, or laughed to scorn? Take our pacifists, for instance. Most people think of them as crackpots. They're made light of in peace, and in times of war, thrown into concentration camps or jail. Almost everyone claims he is against war; why then this contempt for the persons who work hardest to end it?"

Ross Wooley ran a thumbnail over his chin reflectively. "Never thought of it that way," he admitted.

"Let me use another example," Harrison continued. "In this country we like to speak of our freedoms, but, actually, there are few nations where we find more intolerance and persecution. In our Southern states, the example is obvious; and throughout the nation we have anti-Semitism. But that's only the beginning. On the West Coast we have discrimination against those of Japanese descent in some areas, those of Mexican descent in others. In central California there is discrimination against those of Portuguese descent. In the Northern Great Lakes area, the Finns are the butt; in the Southwest, the American Indian.

"Nor is the practice limited to our nation. When we Americans go abroad we often find cutting indication that we are scorned, disliked, considered pushers and money grabbers, by other nationalities. It's amusing. America, England, France and the other United Nations sneered at the German and Japanese claims to being supermen, herrenvolk; but, actually, we all practice the same delusion."

Wooley stirred as though to protest at least part of the lecture he was being given, but the other held up a restraining hand and went on.

"The point is that instead of encouraging and fighting for such things as the end of war, a better social system. for an end to intolerance and racial discrimination, the average person is actually led to revile, or at least be disdainful of those who work to those ends. We seem to be deliberately fighting against the very things we want most."

Ross Wooley returned his notepad to his pocket and got to his feet. "I suppose I see your point. I don't agree with you entirely but at least I get what you meant in your reference to visitors from space." He held out his hand to be shaken.

THE HARRISON interview had been disappointing and only one other name remained on the list he'd compiled. He scowled at it, not liking a Los Angeles address, even when the man's name was followed by a Ph. D. The City of Angels, home of the crackpot, he told himself. The guy'd probably claim he had a whole cellar full of Martians.

However, Dr. Kenneth Keith, President of the Western Rocket Society, and a leading member of a Fortean group, was too near not to see. Ross Wooley took a plane to L. A. and a cab to the home of the man who had written an article on the possibilities of space travel.

It took him five minutes to convince Mrs. Keith he wasn't a science-fiction fan, trying to meet the President of the Rocket Society for the purpose of arguing over the desirability of using nitric acid and aniline for fuel, instead of nitric acid and vinyl ethyl, in the first moon rocket.

When he finally found himself in the doctor's study, he hesitated before beginning. He'd had so many rebuffs.

The doctor took the initiative. "You're probably here about my article in which I mentioned the presence of beings from other planets on Terra."

Ross Wooley blinked at him. "How...."

Doctor Keith grinned and held up, two hands in an expressive shrug. "It's been suggested, even proven, a score of times. It's only recently come to my attention just why the proof has been ignored, and I think it about time the situation is exposed. That's why I emphasized that although man is on the verge of discovering space travel, he is not the first to utilize it."

Wooley leaned forward excitedly. "Before we go any further, you say that the fact of space travel has been proven a score of times. Name one."

Kenneth Keith got to his feet and strode over to one of the bookcases that lined the walls. He returned with a volume which he tossed into the lap of the Department of Security agent. "There's proof," he said.

Ross Wooley took it up eagerly, read the title and then snorted in disgust. "Lo! by Charles Fort."

Keith shot a finger out at him. "That's what I'm talking about. Why were you disgusted when you saw the proof I offered?"

The little agent tossed the book contemptuously to a coffee-table which sat before him. "I'm afraid Fort isn't exactly acceptable as proof. He's commonly thought of as a crack...." He stopped, suddenly remembering what Morton Harrison had told him. Those persons who were foremost in fighting man's battle of progress, were scorned as crackpots, nuts, fanatics. So was Fort.

"All right," he said. "I'm listening. Tell me things."

Doctor Kenneth Keith beamed and launched happily into his subject. "In the past century it's been established a score of times, that there's travel to this planet from others. Fort, among others, proves it quite conclusively in his books. I've been aware of this for years, and I've been puzzled because the fact hasn't been widely accepted. I've recently found the reason."

"And what is that reason?" asked Wooley now tensed in expectation.

"We who have suspected the existence of these visitors, have always thought of them as merely that—visitors. Most of us supposed they didn't reveal themselves to us openly because they thought of man as a backward creature and not ready for intercourse with more advanced life forms."

Ross Wooley stirred. "But what is it you've discovered?"

The rocket authority stared seriously into the agent's face. "They aren't visitors, they're conquerors. Possibly we're already property, as Charles Fort suggested, but I'm inclined to think that our potential masters thus far haven't assimilated Terra."

Ross Wooley fingered the skin on his throat, as though he'd just finished shaving and was checking to find whether he'd done a good job. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

The other jabbed out a finger again to emphasize his point. "No conqueror ever bothers to take over a worthless desert, or an uninhabited mountain range. Before it's worth acquiring an area, it has to be populated by those you can exploit. For hundreds and thousands of years these aliens have visited Terra. We weren't ready for conquest as yet, but they were interested in watching us develop along the lines they thought best; sometimes they even helped.

"As we finally approached an advanced civilization they increasingly took control of our destiny. They wanted us to progress along a certain route, and made sure we did. Among other things: long after war has become ridiculous, they see to it that we remain warlike; they nurture our superstitions and our intolerances; they keep us divided into nations, classes, races, different religious groups.

"We've finally almost reached the point where we have space travel ourselves and it's at this period they grow more evident. Obviously, they're about ready to assume their role as rulers."

"But why...."

Keith jumped to his feet and paced the room impatiently. "Perhaps they have bred us for soldiers to be used in their interplanetary, or interstellar wars. Perhaps we are to be slaves. All I know is that they are beginning to take over. They're assuming positions of power in our governments, our means of communication of news, our educational system. In this manner, they've been able to laugh Fort, and other farseeing humans of his type, to scorn."

He broke off his tirade and sat down again to face the undersized agent. "The proof, Mr. Wooley, is endless. Take the recent flying saucers...."

HARVEY TODD, Director of the Department of Security, finally looked up from the papers before him, removed his pipe—long since gone out—from his mouth, and said, "This is quite a report, Ross." His expression was quizzical.

The agent had been sitting to one side, nervously fingering his chin, while his chief read the score or more pages he'd typed up. "Yes, sir," he said.

"I'd like to have your own summation, since you were the one who secured the material. What's your opinion?"

Ross Wooley ran his thumbnail back and forth over his chin. "Briefly this, sir. A helluva long time ago, when Earth was in its infancy, the first explorers from other planets arrived. They left various life forms here from their own world to see whether they would survive. The snake and spider are examples. Then, as man evolved, they assumed a certain amount of direction of his development. The way they directed us is an indication that they aren't exactly benevolent. Nobody could call it that. Never.

"We've finally reached a point where it's to their interest to take a more active part in our affairs. I think they're on the verge of assimilating us. It's been suggested that some of them have already infiltrated high positions in man's educational system, government, and so forth."

The chief smiled broadly. "You really believe that, eh?"

Ross Wooley flushed. "Yes, sir," he said stubbornly.

"That there's an alien underground—perhaps I should call it an overhead since they come from the stars—working within the framework of our government?"

Ross Wooley blinked rapidly behind his heavy glasses and nodded. "Yes, sir. And I believe that the most important thing in the world today is to expose these enemies of the human race; root them out, de...."

Harvey Todd interrupted. "Suppose I tell you to drop it, that ifs a lot of nonsense?"

"In that case, sir. I'd resign from the department and continue the investigation on my own."

The Department of Security head looked at him for a long moment. Finally, "Okay, Ross. Sorry." He pressed a button on his desk and a section of the wall slid back silently. Two strangely clad figures stepped out of the passage behind it. They weren't human—not exactly.

The chief eyed his agent laconically. "You were right in believing we of Aldebaran—it's Aldebaran, not Mars or Venus—have assumed positions of power in your fantastic Earth governments."

He turned to the first of the strangers, who had covered Wooley with an ugly weapon. "Dispose of him in the usual way."

Ross Wooley's hand streaked for his left shoulder. A pale light glean-led momentarily; he dropped his gun, stiffened, and began to slump forward. The two aliens grabbed him as he fell and began to drag his body to the passageway.

"Just a moment," Harvey Todd called. "Take along this report. There're several names on it that'll call for a visit from us, a Professor Dumar and a Doctor Keith, in particular."

He glanced at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. "Now get out of here. I'm up to my ears in work."