The BUTTERFLY KISS
by Arthur Dekker Savage
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Orbit volume 1number 2, 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence thatthe U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
When Sykin Supcel was kidnaped, no one on Earth was less surprised thanDr. Horace Wilton, Chief Military Psychologist of the Solar Navy. Andsince he had been Sy's mentor, and obviously responsible for his safety,Dr. Wilton was the first high official sought by representatives of thenews syndicates.
"It has become increasingly difficult," said the psychologist carefullyto the group sitting in his office, "to ignore such actions by theSur-Malic." He gazed through an open window-wall to where the newsmen'stiny jet-copters glinted beneath a summer sun at the forest's edge. "Ofcourse, I might have predicted it; Sy insisted upon browsing through oldcity ruins for relaxation, and he seemed to delight in eluding hisguard escort."
A reporter with the long nose and narrow head of a Venusian—or, forthat matter, a Sur-Malic—raised his voice. "Y'mean he was all alonewhen he was snatched?"
The doctor rested one hip on the edge of a gleaming alloy desk. Militaryspecifications, like civilian preference, demanded that every artifactpossible be of enduring, stainless metal. "I am afraid so," he answeredslowly.
"Then how," demanded the reporter, "d'you know it was the Sur-Malic thatgot him?"
"Simple logic. The Sur-Malic have been sporadically making off withfirst-class Earth scientists for a century—and Sy had recentlydeveloped an important improvement in our so-called cosmic ray engine.If he is forced to divulge the information, there may be tragicrepercussions to the Interstellar League." Pencils raced eagerly acrossnote pads. "Furthermore, Sy was well equipped to handle any ordinaryemergency. Nor would a League world commit such an act, while any memberof the Radical Alliance other than the Sur-Malic would be incapable ofit."
A stocky brown Martian glowered. "Why the hell, sir, don't we wipe outthe Sur-Malic? We all know they're straining every seam to get a warfleet built on Pronuleon II, and that their attack's only a matter oftime. If we hit them where they are, they'd never recover—but if wewait for them to strike first...."
Dr. Wilton held up his hand to stem the torrent. "I can't speak for thegovernment, young man, but I might point out that it has never been ourpolicy to foment war. We are making such preparations as allotted fundspermit, and the combined Solar Fleet is on the alert. Also, knowingthat the Sur-Malic stole our laboratory speci—er—Unique, and beingable to prove it are two different matters."
"Excuse me, doctor." A keen-eyed Earth reporter stood up. "You startedto say 'specimen'. How about that? Are Sy and the other Uniques in thespecial lab groups actually some kind of humanoid robots or something? Iknow it's top-drawer stuff, but are these Uniques actually people? Doyou make 'em, or are they born, or what? What are they for, and whytheir odd names?" He resumed his seat. The others maintained anexpectant silence. It was not often they found themselves in thetropical, trackless forest area of the American Great Lakes region,which was almost inv