Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke [15]
They were already waiting, gathered round the rickety table, when Joe waved him politely into the living room. Stormgren was amused to note that his jailer was now wearing, very ostentatiously, a huge pistol that had never been in evidence before. The two thugs had vanished, and even Joe seemed somewhat restrained. Stormgren could see at once that he was now confronted by men of a much higher calibre, and the group opposite him reminded him strongly of a picture he had once seen of Lenin and his associates in the first days of the Russian Revolution. There was the same intellectual force, iron determination, and ruthlessness in these six men. Joe and his kind were harmless; here were the real brains behind the organization.
With a curt nod, Stormgren moved over to the only vacant seat and tried to look self-possessed. As he approached, the elderly, thick-set man on the far side of the table leaned forward and stared at him with piercing grey eyes. They made Stormgren so uncomfortable that he spoke first-something he had not intended to do.
"I suppose you've come to discuss terms. What's my ransom?"
He noticed that in the background someone was taking down his words in a shorthand notebook. It was all very businesslike.
The leader replied in a musical Welsh accent.
"You could put it that way, Mr. Secretary-General. But we're interested in information, not cash."
So that was it, thought Stormgren. He was a prisoner of war, and this was his interrogation.
"You know what our motives are," continued the other in his softly lilting voice. "Call us a resistance movement, if you like. We believe that sooner or later Earth will have to fight for its independence-but we realize that the struggle can only be by indirect methods such as sabotage and disobedience. We kidnapped you partly to show Karellen that we mean business and are well organized, but largely because you are the only man who can tell us anything of the Overlords. You're a reasonable man, Mr. Stormgren. Give us your co-operation, and you can have your freedom."
"Exactly what do you wish to know?" asked Stormgren cautiously.
Those extraordinary eyes seemed to search his mind to its depths; they were unlike any that Stormgren had ever seen in his life. Then the sing-song voice replied;
"Do you know who, or what, the Overlords really are?"
Stormgren almost smiled.
"Believe me," he said, "I'm quite as anxious as you to discover that."
"Then you'll answer our questions?"
"I make no promises. But I may."
There was a slight sigh of relief from Joe, and a rustle of anticipation ran round the room.
"We have a general idea," continued the other, "of the circumstances in which you meet Karellen. But perhaps you would describe them carefully, leaving out nothing of importance."
That was harmless enough, thought Stormgren. He had done it many times before, and it would give the appearance of co-operation. There were acute minds here, and perhaps they could uncover something new. They were welcome to any fresh information they could extract from him-so long as they shared it. That it could harm Karellen in any way he did not for a moment believe.
Stormgren felt in his pockets and produced a pencil and an old envelope. Sketching rapidly while he spoke, he began;
"You know, of course, that a small flying machine, with no obvious means of propulsion, calls for me at regular intervals and takes me up to Karellen's ship. It enters the hull-and you've doubtless seen the telescopic films that have been taken of that operation. The door opens again-if you can call it a door-and I go into a small room with a table, a chair, and a vision screen. The layout is something like this."
He pushed the plan across to the old Welshman, but the strange eyes never turned towards it. They were still fixed on Stormgren's face, and as he watched them something seemed to change in their depths. The room had become completely silent, but behind him he heard Joe take a sudden