Stormgren was sleeping badly these nights, which was strange, since soon he would be putting aside the cares of office forever. He had served mankind for forty years, and its masters for five, and few men could look back upon a life that had seen so many of its ambitions achieved. Perhaps that was the trouble: in the years of retirement, however many they might be, he would have no further goals to give any zest to life. Since Martha had died and the children had established their own families, his ties with the world seemed to have weakened. It might be, too, that he was beginning to identify himself with the Overlords, and thus become detached from humanity.
This was another of those restless nights when his brain went on turning like a machine whose governor had failed. He knew better than to woo sleep any further, and reluctantly climbed out of bed. Throwing on his dressing-gown, he strolled out on to the roof garden of his modest flat. There was not one of his direct subordinates who did not possess much more luxurious quarters, but this place was ample for Stormgren’s needs. He had reached the position where neither personal possessions nor official ceremony could add anything to his stature. The night was warm, almost oppressive, but the sky was clear and a brilliant moon hung low in the south-west. Ten kilometres away, the lights of New York glowed on the skyline like a dawn frozen in the act of breaking.
Stormgren raised his eyes above the sleeping city, climbing again the heights that he alone of living men had scaled. Far away though it was, he could see the hull of Karellen’s ship glinting in the moonlight. He wondered what the Supervisor was doing, for he did not believe that the Overlords ever slept. High above, a meteor thrust its shining spear through the dome of the sky. The luminous trail glowed faintly for a while; then it died away, leaving only the stars. The reminder was brutal: in a hundred years, Karellen would still be leading mankind towards the goal that he alone could see, but four months from now another man would be Secretary-General. That in itself Stormgren was far from minding — but it meant that little time was left if he ever hoped to learn what lay behind that thickened screen.
Only in the last few days had he dared to admit that the Overlords’ secretiveness was beginning to obsess him. Until recently, his faith in Karellen had kept him free from doubts; but now, he thought a little wryly, the protests of the Freedom League were beginning to have their effect upon him. It was true that the propaganda about Man’s enslavement was no more than propaganda. Few people seriously believed it, or really wished for a return to the old days. Men had grown accustomed to Karellen’s imperceptible rule — but they were becoming impatient to know who ruled them. And how could they be blamed?
Though it was much the largest, the Freedom League was only one of the organizations that opposed Karellen — and, consequently, the humans who co-operated with the Overlords. The objections and policies of these groups varied enormously: some took the religious viewpoint, while others were merely expressing a sense of inferiority. They felt, with good reason, much as a cultured Indian of the nineteenth century must have done as he contemplated the British Raj. The invaders had brought peace and prosperity to Earth — but who knew what the cost might be? History was not reassuring: even the most peaceable of contacts between races at very different cultural levels had often resulted in the obliteration of the more backward society. Nations, as well as individuals, could lose their spirit when confronted by a challenge which they could not meet. And the civilization of the Overlords, veiled in mystery though it might be, was the greatest challenge Man had ever faced.
There was a faint click from the facsimile machine in the adjoining room as it ejected the hourly summary sent out by Central News. Stormgren wandered indoors and ruffled halfheartedly through the sheets. On the other side of the world, the Freedom League had inspired a not-very-original headline. “IS MAN RULED BY MONSTERS?” asked the paper, and went on to quote, “Addressing a meeting in Madras today, Dr. C. V. Krishnan, President of the Eastern Division of the Freedom League, said, ’The explanation of the Overlords’ behaviour is quiet simple. Their physical form is so alien and repulsive that they dare not show themselves to humanity. I challenge the Supervisor to deny this.”
Stormgren threw down the sheet in disgust. Even if the charge were true, did it really matter? The idea was an old one, but it had never worried him. He did not believe that there was my biological form, however strange, which he could not accept in time and, perhaps, even find beautiful. The mind, not the body, was all that mattered. If only he could convince Karellen of this, the Overlords might change their policy. It was certain that they could not be half as hideous as the imaginative drawings that had filled the papers soon after their coming to Earth!
Yet it was not, Stormgren knew, entirely consideration for his successor that made him anxious to see the end of this state of affairs. He was honest enough to admit that, in the final analysis, his, main motive was simple human curiosity. He had grown to know Karellen as a person, and he would never be satisfied until he had also discovered what kind of creature he might be.
When Stormgren failed to arrive at his usual time next morning, Pieter van Ryberg was surprised and a little annoyed. Though the Secretary General often made a number of calls before reaching his own office, he invariably left word that he was doing so. This morning, to make matters worse, there had been several urgent messages for Stormgren. Van Ryberg rang half a dozen departments to try and locate him, then gave it up in disgust.
By noon he had become alarmed and sent a car to Stormgren’s house. Ten minutes later he was startled by the scream of a siren, and a police patrol came racing up Roosevelt Drive. The news agencies must have had friends in that vehicle, for even as van Ryberg watched it approach, the radio was telling the world that he was no longer merely Assistant — but Acting — Secretary-General of the United Nations.