When They Come from Space by Mark Clifton Page A

Higgins?"
    "Well, sir, his staff says that since he is Senate Majority Leader he is in a big meeting at the White House, with the general staff, and they won't..."
    "Oh, shut up. Gimme the Washington operator. I'll do it, myself."
    And then he told the woman operator who responded from Washington,
    "Gimme the White House."
    "Sorry, sir,” the woman said automatically. “All circuits are busy. The projectiles..."
    "Oh, crap!” he said. “Gimme your supervisor. Let me talk to somebody with sense. Gimme your manager."
    "Supervisor,” another voice said almost instantly.
    "This is Harvey Strickland,” he said. “Break a circuit and put me through to the White House."
    There was a short delay, a very short one. Only long enough for her to report the name and request to the manager and ask for instruction.
    "Yes, Mr. Strickland.” She came back on the line with the words. “Right away."
    Almost immediately the White House switchboard answered.
    "This is Harvey Strickland,” he said again. “Get Senator Higgins on the phone for me."
    "He is in a meeting with the President, the Cabinet, the General Staff, and the Heads of the Department of Extraterrestrial Psychology...” she began.
    "I said this was Harvey Strickland,” he enunciated slowly, ominously. “If you'd clean out your ears you could hear what I'm saying."
    "Yes, sir. I know who you are, sir,” she said. Then doubtfully, “I'll see, sir."
    While he waited, he jabbed the circuit button on his phone to signal his own operator.
    "Yes, sir,” the young man answered.
    "You see, I got through without any trouble at all. I don't know why it is, goddam it, that I gotta do everything for myself..."
    "This is Tom Higgins, Harvey,” a voice interrupted his tirade.
    "Wait a minute, Tom,” he commanded. Then to his operator. “Get off the line, goddam it. Who the hell told you that you could listen in on my private calls?"
    There was a click as his operator broke the circuit without answering.
    "Well, how about it?” Strickland demanded.
    "No decision yet, Harvey,” the Senate Majority Leader answered apologetically.
    "What! Why, goddam it, what're you guys doing down there? You go back to that meeting and tell them to use an H-Bomb on those projectiles and no more nonsense about it. Damn it, Higgins, you hear me?"
    Tom Higgins’ voice drifted to him then, old and weary.
    "Yeah, Harvey, I hear you."
    "Well then, get back in there and goose them pinhead generals off their fat duffs!"
    "There are a lot of angles to this thing, Harvey.” Higgins’ voice seemed to grow stronger. “We've got a couple of experts on extraterrestrial psychology testifying. A Dr. Kibbie and a Dr. Ralph Kennedy. Kibbie doesn't know anything, he's just a promoter. But Kennedy talks some sense. He says there's something odd and peculiar about the behavior pattern. I don't know, he says a lot of things, but he does point out one thing you can't get around, Harvey. They haven't hurt us yet. That's an angle, you know."
    Strickland picked up a solid-silver ash tray and hurled it across the office. It crashed against a far wall, gouged a hole in one of the heraldic symbols carved into the wall.
    "Angles!” he shouted. His voice was high and shrill. “Don't give me any stuff about angles. Don't give me any of that professor talk about peculiar patterns of behavior. I know what the goddam angle is. I know what they're waiting for. They're waiting to hear from me. That's what this is all about. And I'm gonna give ‘em an answer. The answer is gonna be the H-Bomb. They're gonna find out I got a little trick or so of my own. Drop that goddam H-Bomb on them. That's all I want."
    "Look, Harvey,” Higgins tried to reason with him. “The discs are over big cities. A whole city would be wiped out—a million people or more."
    "Who cares?"
    "Well, now, Harvey ... public opinion..."
    "Public opinion? For Chrissake, who you think tells the public what its opinion is? Goddam it, Tom, gimme a week with my