That Sweet Little Old Lady-Randall Garrett

Phil Chenevert (0:00)

CHAPTER I. That Sweet Little Old Lady This story was first published in Astounding Science Fiction, September and October, 1959

That Sweet Little Old Lady by Randall Garrett. CHAPTER I.

What are we going to call that sweet little old lady, now that mother is a dirty word? Dave Foley.

In 1914, it was enemy aliens. In 1930, it was Wobblies. In 1957, it was fellow travelers. And in 1971, they could be anywhere, Andrew J. Burr said, with an expression which bordered on exasperated horror. They could be all around us. Heaven only knows. He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up, a chunky little man with bright blue eyes and large hands. He paced to the window and looked out at Washington, and then he came back to the desk. A persistent office rumor held that he had become head of the FBI., purely because he happened to have an initial J in his name, but in his case the J stood for Jeremiah.

And, at the moment, his tone expressed all the hopelessness of that Old Testament prophet's lamentations.

We're helpless, he said, looking at the young man with the crisp brown hair who was sitting across the desk. That's what it is. We're helpless. Kenneth Malone tried to look dependable. Just tell me what to do, he said. You're a good agent, Kenneth, Burris said. You're one of the best. That's why we've picked you for this job, and I want to say that I picked you personally. Believe me, there's never been anything like it before. I'll do my best, Malone said at random. He was twenty-eight, and he had been an FBI agent for three years. In that time he had, among other things, managed to break up a gang of smugglers, track down a counter-fitting ring, and capture three kidnappers. For reasons which he could neither understand nor explain, no one seemed willing to attribute his record to luck.

I know you will, Burruss said. And if anybody can crack this case, Malone, you're the man. It's just that everything sounds so impossible, even after all the conferences we've had.

Conferences? Malone said vaguely. He wished the chief would get to the point. Any point. He smiled gently across the desk, and tried to look competent and dependable and reassuring. Burruss's expression didn't change. You'll get the conference tapes later, Burruss said. You can study them before you leave. I suggest you study them very carefully, Malone. Don't be like me. Don't get confused. He buried his face in his hands. Malone waited patiently. After a few seconds, Burruss looked up. Did you read books when you were a child? he asked. Malone said. What?

Books, Burruss said. When you were a child. Read them. Sure I did, Malone said. Bomba the Jungle Boy and Do Little and Lucky Star and Little Women. Little Women?

When Beth died, Malone said, I wanted to cry. But I didn't. My father said big boys don't cry. And your father was right, Burruss said. Why, when I was a—never mind. Forget about Beth and your father. Think about Lucky Star for a minute. Remember him? Sure, Malone said. I like those books. You know, it's funny. But the books you read when you're a kid, they kind of stay with you. Know what I mean? I can still remember that one about Venus, for instance. Gee, that was never mind about Venus, too, Burruss said sharply. Keep your mind on the problem. Yes, sir, Malone said. He paused.

What problem, sir? He added. The problem we're discussing, Burruss said. He gave Malone a bright blank stare. Just listen to me. Yes, sir. All right, then. Burruss took a deep breath. He seemed nervous. Once again he stood up and went to the window. This time he spoke without turning.

Remember how everybody used to laugh about spaceships and orbital satellites and life on other planets? That was just in those lucky star books. That was all just for kids, wasn't it? Well, I don't know, Malone said slowly. Sure, it was all for kids, Burruss said. It was laughable. Nobody took it seriously. Well, somebody must—you just keep quiet and listen, Burruss said.

Yes, sir, Malone said. Burruss nodded. His hands were clasped behind his back.

We're not laughing any more, are we, Malone? he said without moving. There was silence. Well, are we? Do you want me to answer, sir? Of course I did, Burruss snapped. You told me to keep quiet and— Never mind what I told you, Burruss said. Just do what I told you. Yes, sir, Malone said. No, sir, he added after a second. No, sir, what? Burruss asked softly.

No, sir, we're not laughing any more, Malone said. Ah, Burruss said. And why aren't we laughing any more?