November 30, 2025 • 24 mins
For half a million years, he slept in secret, hiding among humanity. But when the Watchers come for him at sunset, it ignites a war not just of survival—but of ancient betrayal, identity, and a truth too terrifying for the world to know. He confesses to everything the FBI accuses him of — but the real reason he's in that interrogation room is something they'd never believe. | “Infiltration” by Algis Budrys (Originally published in Infinity Magazine, October 1958)
MORE Stories Like This: https://www.auditoryanthology.com
=====Originally aired: November 30, 2025
EPISODE PAGE (includes sources): https://weirddarkness.com/infiltration
ABOUT WEIRD DARKNESS: Weird Darkness is a true crime and paranormal podcast narrated by professional award-winning voice actor, Darren Marlar. Seven days per week, Weird Darkness focuses on all thing strange and macabre such as haunted locations, unsolved mysteries, true ghost stories, supernatural manifestations, urban legends, unsolved or cold case murders, conspiracy theories, and more. On Thursdays, this scary stories podcast features horror fiction along with the occasional creepypasta. Weird Darkness has been named one of the “Best 20 Storytellers in Podcasting” by Podcast Business Journal. Listeners have described the show as a cross between “Coast to Coast” with Art Bell, “The Twilight Zone” with Rod Serling, “Unsolved Mysteries” with Robert Stack, and “In Search Of” with Leonard Nimoy.DISCLAIMER: Ads heard during the podcast that are not in my voice are placed by third party agencies outside of my control and should not imply an endorsement by Weird Darkness or myself. *** Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised.
#WeirdDarkness, #ColdWarSpy, #ClassicSciFi, #ExistentialHorror, #AlgisBudrys, #VintageScienceFiction, #ParanormalThriller, #NoirThriller, #HorrorPodcast, #PulpFiction
MORE Stories Like This: https://www.auditoryanthology.com
=====Originally aired: November 30, 2025
EPISODE PAGE (includes sources): https://weirddarkness.com/infiltration
ABOUT WEIRD DARKNESS: Weird Darkness is a true crime and paranormal podcast narrated by professional award-winning voice actor, Darren Marlar. Seven days per week, Weird Darkness focuses on all thing strange and macabre such as haunted locations, unsolved mysteries, true ghost stories, supernatural manifestations, urban legends, unsolved or cold case murders, conspiracy theories, and more. On Thursdays, this scary stories podcast features horror fiction along with the occasional creepypasta. Weird Darkness has been named one of the “Best 20 Storytellers in Podcasting” by Podcast Business Journal. Listeners have described the show as a cross between “Coast to Coast” with Art Bell, “The Twilight Zone” with Rod Serling, “Unsolved Mysteries” with Robert Stack, and “In Search Of” with Leonard Nimoy.DISCLAIMER: Ads heard during the podcast that are not in my voice are placed by third party agencies outside of my control and should not imply an endorsement by Weird Darkness or myself. *** Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised.
#WeirdDarkness, #ColdWarSpy, #ClassicSciFi, #ExistentialHorror, #AlgisBudrys, #VintageScienceFiction, #ParanormalThriller, #NoirThriller, #HorrorPodcast, #PulpFiction
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
The following is the story I narrated for the Auditory
Anthology podcast a few months ago. If you'd like to
hear the fully produced version with music and sound effects,
I've pleased a link to the full version in the
episode description. And if you're a fan of classic sci
fi stories from the fifties and sixties, or quirky, short,
creepy stories, you'll want to subscribe to Auditory Anthology, which
you can do at auditoryanthology dot com. Infiltration by Algis Budress,
(00:33):
originally published in Infinity Magazine, October nineteen fifty eight. Sunset,
they're coming from me tonight, he knew as he woke sunset.
Not really. If you are to get dressed now and
go on the street, the red Globe would still be
(00:53):
hanging over the cliffs of New Jersey, but the shadow
of the building next door had fallen over his apartment
when windows and he sleepily pushed a cigarette between his
numb lips and swung his feet over the side of
the bed, fumbling with a match as he walked over
to the small radio on the windowsill and turned it on.
There was a double header between the Giants and Cincinnati.
(01:15):
The first game was probably in its last inning sunset.
Odd how the conditioning worked. Was it conditioning or were
the old wives tales not so absurd? After all? But
he could go out in the sunlight, had done it
many times. His tan proved it. He touched silver and
(01:38):
cold iron countless times each day, crossed running water, and
he'd gone to church every Sunday until he was twelve.
Now there was a core of truth under the fantastically
complex shell of nonsense. But the old limitations were not
part of it, he shrugged. Neither were most to the powers. Still,
(02:02):
he liked to sleep in the daytime. His schedule seemed
to gain an hour at night lose one in the morning,
until almost unnoticeably, it slipped around the clock. He went
into the bathroom while the worn tubes and the radio
warmed up slowly, and washed his face, brushed his teeth, shaved,
He combed his hair, then paused thoughtfully. Wouldn't do any harm.
(02:27):
No full moon in here, either, he thought, looking up
at the circular fluorescent tube and the ceiling, But he
noticed no impediment. As he coalesced, dropped to all fours
and ran his pelt against the curry combs he had
screwed to the bathroom door. He did a thorough job
enjoying it, and after he had realigned, walked out of
(02:47):
the bathroom in time to hear the Giants make their
final fruitless out of the first game, five zero Cincinnati,
and he grimaced in disgust. Four shutouts in the last
five games. He laughed at himself then for actually being annoyed. Still,
in all, it wasn't the first time a man became
(03:08):
emotionally involved in a mirage. Was it a mirage? True?
There weren't really any such things as the San Francisco Giants,
But a man could certainly be expected to forget that
occasionally if you are part of the same illusion at
least half the time. And certainly such stuff as dreams
are made of is solid enough when you are yourself
(03:31):
a dream. He went out of the kitchen and started coffee,
then came back and sat down next to the radio,
hardly listening to the recap of the game. Odd how
it had all started, being suddenly marooned on this planet,
forced to survive somehow through the long years while waiting
for rescue. How many years had it been now, some
(03:56):
five hundred thousand? Did the subjective reference for this particular universe,
either the formula or conversion into objective time. It all
worked out to the equivalent of about six months, but
that wasn't what mattered. As long as they had all
had to survive in this universe. Sleep suspended animation, if
(04:17):
you wanted to call it, that had been the only answer,
and they couldn't do that directly. They had had to
resort to chrysolids. He smiled to himself, got up and
turned down the fire under the pot until the coffee
was percolating softly. The original plan had snowballed somewhat. Resolving
(04:37):
chrysolids was one thing, Making them eternal was another, and unnecessary.
It was far simpler to arrange the chrysolids so they'd
be able to reproduce themselves. And of course, in order
to survive and take care of itself, a chrysalis had
to have some independent intelligence, and so it worked. The
(04:58):
chrysalis housed a sleeper up rating, unawares and completely independent
of him or her until the chrysalis wore out. Then
the sleeper was passed on to a new chrysalis, with
neither of the chrysalids involved, nor for that matter, the
sleeper conscious of the transfer, so it would continue through
the weary subjective years, generation upon generation of chrysalids, until
(05:22):
finally the paramithematical path drifted back to touch this universe,
and the sleepers could wake and continue their journey. And
if the human race chose to speculate on its origins
in the meantime, well that was part of the snowball.
He got up again and turned off the flame under
the coffee pot. If I were a sorcerer as defined
(05:46):
by Cotton Mather's ilk, of course, he thought I should
be able to a turn the fire off without getting up,
or b generate the flame without the use of con
Edison's gas or c if I had any self respect
and all conjure hot coffee out of thin air. His
lips twisted with nausea as he thought that nine out
(06:07):
of ten people would expect him to be drinking blood
as a matter of course, he sighed with some bitterness,
but more of resignation. Well, that was just another part
of the snowball. Because the chrysolids had done a magnificent
job in all three of its subdivisions. They had kept
the sleepers safe and reproduced and used their intelligence to survive.
(06:30):
They had survived in spite of pestilence, famine, and flood
by learning enough to wipe out the first two and
control the third. It would seem that progress was not
a special quality to be specially desired. Most of the
chrysolids were consumed by a fierce longing for the good
old days. As a matter of fact, it was merely
(06:52):
the inescapable accretion to sheer survival. And so came civilization
with civilization in recreation. In short, the San Francisco Giants.
And he reached over, suddenly irritated at the raspy voiced
and slightly frantic recapitulation of the lost ballgame, and changed
the station and Beethoven. He relaxed, smiling slightly at himself
(07:18):
once again, and let the music sing to him. Chrysally'd sah, well,
they certainly weren't his kind of life, free to swing
from star to star, riding the great flux of creation
from universe to universe. But whence Beethoven, Wence Rembrandt, da Vinci,
and Will Shakespeare hunched over a mug of ale and
(07:40):
dashing off genius on demand, with half an eye on
the serving wench. He shook his head. What would happened
to this people when the sleepers woke? The snowball? Ah, yes,
the snowball. That was a good part of it. And
he and his kind were another. If we had known,
he thought, if we had known, how it would be.
(08:05):
But they hadn't known. It had been just a petty
argument at first. Nobody knew now who had started it.
But there were two well defined sides now, and he
was an insurgent for some reason. The winning side gives
the names that stick. They were watchers, an honorable name,
a name to conjure of trust and duty and loyalty.
(08:28):
And he was an insurgent. Well, let it stand, except
the heritage of dishonor and hatred. Somewhere sometime a gauge
was flung, and he was heir to the challenge. The
chrysolids solved the problem of survival, of course, but the
problem of rescue had remained. For rescue in the sense
(08:50):
of help from an outside agency would be disastrous when
the path shifted back. They had to learn of it
themselves and go on their own accord, or go into slavery.
But there is one currency that outlives document and token
personal obligation, and if they were so unlucky as to
(09:13):
have an actual rescuer, the obligation would be high, prohibitively.
So the solution had seemed simple at first. In each
generation of chrysalids, there would be one aware individual, one watcher,
to keep guard and to waken the rest should the
path drift back in the lifetime of his chrysalis. Then
(09:34):
when that particular chrysalis wore out, the watcher would be
free to return to sleep while another took his place.
His mouth twisted to one side as he took a
sip of coffee. A simple, workable plan until someone had asked, well,
and good, excellent, And what if this high minded watcher
realizes that we asleep are all in his power. What
(09:57):
if he makes some agreement with a rescuer, or worse, still,
decides to become our rescuer when the path drifts back.
What's to prevent him? Eh? No, that long forgotten. Wherey
individual had said, I think we'd best set some watchers
to watch the watcher, quei guistoiette. What had it been like?
(10:20):
He had no way of knowing, for he had no
memory of his exact identity that would come only with awakening.
He had only a knowledge of his heritage. For all
he knew, it had been he who raised the fatal doubt,
or had been the first delegated watcher. He shrugged. It
made no difference. He was an insurgent now, But he
(10:42):
could imagine the voiceless babble among their millions, the argument,
the cold, suspicion, the pettiness. Perhaps he was passing scornful
judgment on himself, he realized what of it he'd earned
it so finally to groups, one content to be trustful,
(11:03):
and the other a fitful, restless clan awakening sporadically, trusting
to chance alone, which by its laws, would ensure that
many of them were awake when the path drifted back.
The insurgents so as well to basic kinds of Chrysalis,
the human kind, and the other wolves, bears, tigers, bats, seals,
(11:27):
every kind of living thing except the human, the insurgent kind,
And so the struggle began. It was a natural outgrowth
of the fundamental conflict, which side had tried to overpower.
The first chrysalis who first enslaved another man, He thought,
and half snarled, that too was unimportant now, for the
(11:50):
seed had been planted. The thought was there those who
are awake in place those who sleep. Under obligation, control
the chrysalids, and you control the sleepers within. But chrystolids
endure for one generation, and then the sleepers pass on.
What then, simplicity, group your chrysalids, segregate them, set up
(12:16):
pens for them, mark them off, and do it so
the walls and fences endure through long years. This is
my country. All men are brothers. But stay on your
side of the line. Brother. Sorry, brother, you've got a
funny shape to your nose. You just go live in
that nice swalled off part of my city. Hi, brother,
(12:36):
be a good fellow. Brother. Just move to the back
of the bus, or I'll lynch you, brother, and the
chrysalie die. The sleepers transfer into another chrysalis in the
same pen. Speak you are vive Napoleon see Cayo. Some
of the time it was the watchers, some of the
(12:57):
time it was the insurgents, and the time, of course,
the chrysalids evolved their own leaders and imitated. For once
the thing had begun, it could not be stopped. The
organization was always more powerful than the scattered hands full
So the only protection against organization was organization. But it
(13:19):
was not organization in itself that was the worst of it.
It was the fact that the only way to control
the other side's penned chrysalids was to break down a
wall in the pen or to build a larger pen,
including many of the smaller ones. And again it was
too late now to decide who had been at fault,
(13:40):
who first invented war. The way to survive war is
to wage some decisive war. The chrysalids had to survive,
they learned they progressed by so doing. They progressed from
bowls to ballistas to bombs, from arbala USTs to aircraft
(14:01):
to a bombs, phosphorus, chlorine, he fragmentation, napalm, dust and
bacteriological warfare, Thermopoli, Cressy, the Battle of Britain, Korea, Indo, China, Indonesia.
And try to believe, as you sit here, insurgent, that
none of this is real, that it is all a
(14:23):
phase acted out by dolls of your own creation in
a sham battle that is really only a bad dream.
In the unfamiliar bed of a lodging for the night, chrysalids.
They might be insurgent, he lashed himself. But it was
the greed and suspicion of all your kind, insurgent and
watcher alike, that set this juggernaut to rolling. He took
(14:46):
another sip of coffee and almost gagged as he realized
it had grown cold. He got up and walked into
the kitchen with the cup in his hand. He threw
the rest of the coffee in the sink, washed out
the cup, and turned on the burner under the coffee pot.
One more thing, one more development born of suspicion for
the original one watcher plan had been abandoned, of course,
(15:09):
And here again there was no telling whose blame it was.
Qui custodier ipsos custudes, who will watch the watchers? There
had been many watchers to a generation. How many No
one knew. They balanced each other off, and they checked
the random number of insurgents who awoke in each generation.
(15:31):
So more insurgents awoke to check the watchers, and more.
In spite of what the Transylvanians believed, a wolf is
no match for a man, except under special conditions. A
tiger can pull a man down, but cannot fire back.
At the hunters. A seal is prey to the eskimaux.
(15:51):
So were wolves child of fear of watcher propaganda, and
of one tenth fact. The animals were insurgent chrysalids, right enough,
But for an awake insurgent to compete with a watcher,
the insurgent too had to be a man, or something
like it. The coffee had warmed up, he poured himself
(16:15):
a fresh cup and added cream and sugar. Absently the
refrigerator was empty, he reached in and turned it off.
No need for that after tonight. So that was the power.
The insurgents had the only power, and the watchers had
it as well. They could resolve their chrysalids into any
form they chose realign a wolf could become a man
(16:39):
without hair on his palm and with garlic on his breath,
if he so chose a man. A watcher, of course,
could become a wolf. Thus the final development espionage and
counter espionage, infiltration, spying, if you chose the insurgent smiled
bitterly and drained the cup. And propaganda, of course subtle,
(17:04):
most of it indirect, a good deal of it developed
by the chrysolids themselves, but propaganda. Nevertheless, kill the evil ones,
kill the eaters of dead flesh, the drinkers of blood.
They are the servants of the evil one. He almost wretched.
But you could hardly blame them. It was a war,
(17:25):
and in a war you play all your cards, even
if some of them were forced into your hand. Yes,
I've played genuine were wolf on occasion when I had to.
You started to wash the coffee pots and the cup
then threw both into the garbage can. He walked back
to the radio and dialed it away from the roika
and back to baseball. The Giants were losing three zero
(17:50):
in the third inning. The house fahn buzzed. He went
to it, slowly, picked it calmly off the hook. Yes,
already I missed it, Disbreel. There's a couple of guys
coming up to see you. I'm not supposed to tell
you about it, but well I figured. The doorman said.
All right, thanks, Artie, he answered quietly. He almost hung up,
(18:13):
then thought of something, Artie. Yes, mister Disbroe, there'll be
a couple of fifths of doers in my cupboard. I
won't be back for a while. You and Peter welcome
to them. And thanks again. He hung up and began
to dress, realigning as chrysalis to give him the appearance
of clothing. The doorbell rang, and he went to open
(18:33):
it for the two men from the FBI. What difference
did it make what particular pen he represented? Rather, since
the sober faced men knew very well which pen it was,
why should it be so necessary to them for him
to confirm what they already knew without a shadow of
a doubt. Now, then, mister Disbro, one of the FBI men, said,
(18:55):
leaning his hands on the edge of the table at
which the insurgent was sitting, we know who sent you
good I bother me. Then we know where you got
your passport. We know who met you at the dock.
We know your contacts. We have photographs of everyone you've
met and talked to. We have tapes of every telephone
call you've made or received. We also know that you
(19:17):
are the top man in your organization. Here and they
were chrysalids, every one of them. Perhaps there was no
watcher behind them. Perhaps, but he'd been picked up a
little too quickly. The net had folded itself around him
too soon. Now there had to be a watcher. He
wished they'd stop this talking and bring him out now.
(19:39):
I'd simply like to point out to you that this
is an air tight case. No lawyer in the world
will be able to break it down. You'll retain counsel,
of course, but I'd simply like to point out to
you that there'll be no point to any denial you
may make to us. We know what you've been doing.
I'd suggest you save your defense for the trial. He
(20:01):
looked up at him and smiled ruthfully. If you've got
a list of charges, he said, I'll be glad to
confess to all of them, provided, of course, that it
is a complete list. I'm sure it doesn't list me
as a werewolf, he thought. I wonder what the sentence
would be, death by firing squad equipped with silver bullets.
(20:22):
But then he wasn't going to confess to that anyway. Um.
The FBI man looked suspicious, obviously he'd expected nothing of
the kind. No strings. The insurgent reassured him the job's
over and it's time to punch the clock, which was
just about the way it was. But he wanted that
watcher if he was in the office at all, he'd
(20:44):
almost have to come out to witness the confession. After all,
the insurgent was supposed to be a pretty big fish.
The FBI man went into a cubicle office set off
to one side. When he came out carrying a sheaf
of paper, the Watcher was with him. The insurgent felt
the hackles standing up on the back of his neck,
and something rumbled inaudibly at the base of his throat.
(21:07):
He knew he could tell he could smell Watcher every
step of the way, from the day he had docked
until now, when the scent half there, half the pure
intuition of instinct, rose up before him in an overpowering wave.
Then he saw the look of distaste crawl across the
Watcher's face, and he barked a laugh that drew curious
(21:30):
looks from the men in the office. Hello, brother, He
saw the bulge of the hip holster on the Watcher's
belt and laughed again. So we play the game, he thought.
We'd add up scores, and in the end the side
with the most points wins. Forget that there should be
no sides, That every point, no matter for whom scored,
(21:52):
is a mark of shame and disgrace. He wondered briefly
whether the watcher was of his kind by choice, or
whether it was simply something that had happened. Probably two
separate heritages had met, represented by identical individuals who happened
to have awakened in dissimilar chrysolids. Will we remember, he wondered,
(22:15):
when we awaken, Will we remember this how we battled,
blinded in the shadows of our own casting? Or was
there more mercy in creation than they themselves had shown
to the chrysolids. He had three brothers among the sleepers.
When they woke. Would they embrace, not remembering that each
had killed the other countless times, or forgetting that they
(22:37):
had stood together on some battlefield. Would all the old comrades,
all the bitter enemies, be wiped from memory? He hoped so,
with every segment of his being. He hoped so, for
there was no peace through eternity. If it was otherwise.
He stood up, lightly, tensing the muscles in his calves.
(22:59):
The fbi, suddenly alert, began to move for him, but
he'd maneuvered things so that none of them were close
enough to him. The Watcher went pale, Shall I coalesce? Brother?
The insurgent asked, the words rumbling out of his throat,
a grin of derision, baring his teeth. No, the Watcher
was completely frightened. Words could be explained away, particularly if
(23:22):
they sounded like nonsense to the other men in the room.
But a werewolf fanging the throat of a watcher who
would have to fight back with his spectacular weapons, nothing
in the world could keep the rumors from spreading. The
chrysolites might even learn finely and irrevocably the origin of
their species. Your obligation, brother, the insurgent half laughed, and
(23:44):
kept stalking toward the watcher. Perhaps he is my brother,
and if he is no difference, the shadows are thick
and very dark. One of the other men shot him
in the side, but he sprang for the watcher, carefully
human to hold the Watcher to his and the Watcher
shot him three times in the chest, once in the throat,
and once in the stomach. The shape of a cross.
(24:08):
Did he believe it himself was a true A plus sign,
canceling a negative force who knew shadow shadow all his darkness.
He fell to his knees, coughing in victory. Score one
for the insurgents and a watcher at that. Thank you, brother,
(24:31):
the insurgent murmured and fell into the long sleep with
a grateful sigh.
The following is the story I narrated for the Auditory
Anthology podcast a few months ago. If you'd like to
hear the fully produced version with music and sound effects,
I've pleased a link to the full version in the
episode description. And if you're a fan of classic sci
fi stories from the fifties and sixties, or quirky, short,
creepy stories, you'll want to subscribe to Auditory Anthology, which
you can do at auditoryanthology dot com. Infiltration by Algis Budress,
(00:33):
originally published in Infinity Magazine, October nineteen fifty eight. Sunset,
they're coming from me tonight, he knew as he woke sunset.
Not really. If you are to get dressed now and
go on the street, the red Globe would still be
(00:53):
hanging over the cliffs of New Jersey, but the shadow
of the building next door had fallen over his apartment
when windows and he sleepily pushed a cigarette between his
numb lips and swung his feet over the side of
the bed, fumbling with a match as he walked over
to the small radio on the windowsill and turned it on.
There was a double header between the Giants and Cincinnati.
(01:15):
The first game was probably in its last inning sunset.
Odd how the conditioning worked. Was it conditioning or were
the old wives tales not so absurd? After all? But
he could go out in the sunlight, had done it
many times. His tan proved it. He touched silver and
(01:38):
cold iron countless times each day, crossed running water, and
he'd gone to church every Sunday until he was twelve.
Now there was a core of truth under the fantastically
complex shell of nonsense. But the old limitations were not
part of it, he shrugged. Neither were most to the powers. Still,
(02:02):
he liked to sleep in the daytime. His schedule seemed
to gain an hour at night lose one in the morning,
until almost unnoticeably, it slipped around the clock. He went
into the bathroom while the worn tubes and the radio
warmed up slowly, and washed his face, brushed his teeth, shaved,
He combed his hair, then paused thoughtfully. Wouldn't do any harm.
(02:27):
No full moon in here, either, he thought, looking up
at the circular fluorescent tube and the ceiling, But he
noticed no impediment. As he coalesced, dropped to all fours
and ran his pelt against the curry combs he had
screwed to the bathroom door. He did a thorough job
enjoying it, and after he had realigned, walked out of
(02:47):
the bathroom in time to hear the Giants make their
final fruitless out of the first game, five zero Cincinnati,
and he grimaced in disgust. Four shutouts in the last
five games. He laughed at himself then for actually being annoyed. Still,
in all, it wasn't the first time a man became
(03:08):
emotionally involved in a mirage. Was it a mirage? True?
There weren't really any such things as the San Francisco Giants,
But a man could certainly be expected to forget that
occasionally if you are part of the same illusion at
least half the time. And certainly such stuff as dreams
are made of is solid enough when you are yourself
(03:31):
a dream. He went out of the kitchen and started coffee,
then came back and sat down next to the radio,
hardly listening to the recap of the game. Odd how
it had all started, being suddenly marooned on this planet,
forced to survive somehow through the long years while waiting
for rescue. How many years had it been now, some
(03:56):
five hundred thousand? Did the subjective reference for this particular universe,
either the formula or conversion into objective time. It all
worked out to the equivalent of about six months, but
that wasn't what mattered. As long as they had all
had to survive in this universe. Sleep suspended animation, if
(04:17):
you wanted to call it, that had been the only answer,
and they couldn't do that directly. They had had to
resort to chrysolids. He smiled to himself, got up and
turned down the fire under the pot until the coffee
was percolating softly. The original plan had snowballed somewhat. Resolving
(04:37):
chrysolids was one thing, Making them eternal was another, and unnecessary.
It was far simpler to arrange the chrysolids so they'd
be able to reproduce themselves. And of course, in order
to survive and take care of itself, a chrysalis had
to have some independent intelligence, and so it worked. The
(04:58):
chrysalis housed a sleeper up rating, unawares and completely independent
of him or her until the chrysalis wore out. Then
the sleeper was passed on to a new chrysalis, with
neither of the chrysalids involved, nor for that matter, the
sleeper conscious of the transfer, so it would continue through
the weary subjective years, generation upon generation of chrysalids, until
(05:22):
finally the paramithematical path drifted back to touch this universe,
and the sleepers could wake and continue their journey. And
if the human race chose to speculate on its origins
in the meantime, well that was part of the snowball.
He got up again and turned off the flame under
the coffee pot. If I were a sorcerer as defined
(05:46):
by Cotton Mather's ilk, of course, he thought I should
be able to a turn the fire off without getting up,
or b generate the flame without the use of con
Edison's gas or c if I had any self respect
and all conjure hot coffee out of thin air. His
lips twisted with nausea as he thought that nine out
(06:07):
of ten people would expect him to be drinking blood
as a matter of course, he sighed with some bitterness,
but more of resignation. Well, that was just another part
of the snowball. Because the chrysolids had done a magnificent
job in all three of its subdivisions. They had kept
the sleepers safe and reproduced and used their intelligence to survive.
(06:30):
They had survived in spite of pestilence, famine, and flood
by learning enough to wipe out the first two and
control the third. It would seem that progress was not
a special quality to be specially desired. Most of the
chrysolids were consumed by a fierce longing for the good
old days. As a matter of fact, it was merely
(06:52):
the inescapable accretion to sheer survival. And so came civilization
with civilization in recreation. In short, the San Francisco Giants.
And he reached over, suddenly irritated at the raspy voiced
and slightly frantic recapitulation of the lost ballgame, and changed
the station and Beethoven. He relaxed, smiling slightly at himself
(07:18):
once again, and let the music sing to him. Chrysally'd sah, well,
they certainly weren't his kind of life, free to swing
from star to star, riding the great flux of creation
from universe to universe. But whence Beethoven, Wence Rembrandt, da Vinci,
and Will Shakespeare hunched over a mug of ale and
(07:40):
dashing off genius on demand, with half an eye on
the serving wench. He shook his head. What would happened
to this people when the sleepers woke? The snowball? Ah, yes,
the snowball. That was a good part of it. And
he and his kind were another. If we had known,
he thought, if we had known, how it would be.
(08:05):
But they hadn't known. It had been just a petty
argument at first. Nobody knew now who had started it.
But there were two well defined sides now, and he
was an insurgent for some reason. The winning side gives
the names that stick. They were watchers, an honorable name,
a name to conjure of trust and duty and loyalty.
(08:28):
And he was an insurgent. Well, let it stand, except
the heritage of dishonor and hatred. Somewhere sometime a gauge
was flung, and he was heir to the challenge. The
chrysolids solved the problem of survival, of course, but the
problem of rescue had remained. For rescue in the sense
(08:50):
of help from an outside agency would be disastrous when
the path shifted back. They had to learn of it
themselves and go on their own accord, or go into slavery.
But there is one currency that outlives document and token
personal obligation, and if they were so unlucky as to
(09:13):
have an actual rescuer, the obligation would be high, prohibitively.
So the solution had seemed simple at first. In each
generation of chrysalids, there would be one aware individual, one watcher,
to keep guard and to waken the rest should the
path drift back in the lifetime of his chrysalis. Then
(09:34):
when that particular chrysalis wore out, the watcher would be
free to return to sleep while another took his place.
His mouth twisted to one side as he took a
sip of coffee. A simple, workable plan until someone had asked, well,
and good, excellent, And what if this high minded watcher
realizes that we asleep are all in his power. What
(09:57):
if he makes some agreement with a rescuer, or worse, still,
decides to become our rescuer when the path drifts back.
What's to prevent him? Eh? No, that long forgotten. Wherey
individual had said, I think we'd best set some watchers
to watch the watcher, quei guistoiette. What had it been like?
(10:20):
He had no way of knowing, for he had no
memory of his exact identity that would come only with awakening.
He had only a knowledge of his heritage. For all
he knew, it had been he who raised the fatal doubt,
or had been the first delegated watcher. He shrugged. It
made no difference. He was an insurgent now, But he
(10:42):
could imagine the voiceless babble among their millions, the argument,
the cold, suspicion, the pettiness. Perhaps he was passing scornful
judgment on himself, he realized what of it he'd earned
it so finally to groups, one content to be trustful,
(11:03):
and the other a fitful, restless clan awakening sporadically, trusting
to chance alone, which by its laws, would ensure that
many of them were awake when the path drifted back.
The insurgents so as well to basic kinds of Chrysalis,
the human kind, and the other wolves, bears, tigers, bats, seals,
(11:27):
every kind of living thing except the human, the insurgent kind,
And so the struggle began. It was a natural outgrowth
of the fundamental conflict, which side had tried to overpower.
The first chrysalis who first enslaved another man, He thought,
and half snarled, that too was unimportant now, for the
(11:50):
seed had been planted. The thought was there those who
are awake in place those who sleep. Under obligation, control
the chrysalids, and you control the sleepers within. But chrystolids
endure for one generation, and then the sleepers pass on.
What then, simplicity, group your chrysalids, segregate them, set up
(12:16):
pens for them, mark them off, and do it so
the walls and fences endure through long years. This is
my country. All men are brothers. But stay on your
side of the line. Brother. Sorry, brother, you've got a
funny shape to your nose. You just go live in
that nice swalled off part of my city. Hi, brother,
(12:36):
be a good fellow. Brother. Just move to the back
of the bus, or I'll lynch you, brother, and the
chrysalie die. The sleepers transfer into another chrysalis in the
same pen. Speak you are vive Napoleon see Cayo. Some
of the time it was the watchers, some of the
(12:57):
time it was the insurgents, and the time, of course,
the chrysalids evolved their own leaders and imitated. For once
the thing had begun, it could not be stopped. The
organization was always more powerful than the scattered hands full
So the only protection against organization was organization. But it
(13:19):
was not organization in itself that was the worst of it.
It was the fact that the only way to control
the other side's penned chrysalids was to break down a
wall in the pen or to build a larger pen,
including many of the smaller ones. And again it was
too late now to decide who had been at fault,
(13:40):
who first invented war. The way to survive war is
to wage some decisive war. The chrysalids had to survive,
they learned they progressed by so doing. They progressed from
bowls to ballistas to bombs, from arbala USTs to aircraft
(14:01):
to a bombs, phosphorus, chlorine, he fragmentation, napalm, dust and
bacteriological warfare, Thermopoli, Cressy, the Battle of Britain, Korea, Indo, China, Indonesia.
And try to believe, as you sit here, insurgent, that
none of this is real, that it is all a
(14:23):
phase acted out by dolls of your own creation in
a sham battle that is really only a bad dream.
In the unfamiliar bed of a lodging for the night, chrysalids.
They might be insurgent, he lashed himself. But it was
the greed and suspicion of all your kind, insurgent and
watcher alike, that set this juggernaut to rolling. He took
(14:46):
another sip of coffee and almost gagged as he realized
it had grown cold. He got up and walked into
the kitchen with the cup in his hand. He threw
the rest of the coffee in the sink, washed out
the cup, and turned on the burner under the coffee pot.
One more thing, one more development born of suspicion for
the original one watcher plan had been abandoned, of course,
(15:09):
And here again there was no telling whose blame it was.
Qui custodier ipsos custudes, who will watch the watchers? There
had been many watchers to a generation. How many No
one knew. They balanced each other off, and they checked
the random number of insurgents who awoke in each generation.
(15:31):
So more insurgents awoke to check the watchers, and more.
In spite of what the Transylvanians believed, a wolf is
no match for a man, except under special conditions. A
tiger can pull a man down, but cannot fire back.
At the hunters. A seal is prey to the eskimaux.
(15:51):
So were wolves child of fear of watcher propaganda, and
of one tenth fact. The animals were insurgent chrysalids, right enough,
But for an awake insurgent to compete with a watcher,
the insurgent too had to be a man, or something
like it. The coffee had warmed up, he poured himself
(16:15):
a fresh cup and added cream and sugar. Absently the
refrigerator was empty, he reached in and turned it off.
No need for that after tonight. So that was the power.
The insurgents had the only power, and the watchers had
it as well. They could resolve their chrysalids into any
form they chose realign a wolf could become a man
(16:39):
without hair on his palm and with garlic on his breath,
if he so chose a man. A watcher, of course,
could become a wolf. Thus the final development espionage and
counter espionage, infiltration, spying, if you chose the insurgent smiled
bitterly and drained the cup. And propaganda, of course subtle,
(17:04):
most of it indirect, a good deal of it developed
by the chrysolids themselves, but propaganda. Nevertheless, kill the evil ones,
kill the eaters of dead flesh, the drinkers of blood.
They are the servants of the evil one. He almost wretched.
But you could hardly blame them. It was a war,
(17:25):
and in a war you play all your cards, even
if some of them were forced into your hand. Yes,
I've played genuine were wolf on occasion when I had to.
You started to wash the coffee pots and the cup
then threw both into the garbage can. He walked back
to the radio and dialed it away from the roika
and back to baseball. The Giants were losing three zero
(17:50):
in the third inning. The house fahn buzzed. He went
to it, slowly, picked it calmly off the hook. Yes,
already I missed it, Disbreel. There's a couple of guys
coming up to see you. I'm not supposed to tell
you about it, but well I figured. The doorman said.
All right, thanks, Artie, he answered quietly. He almost hung up,
(18:13):
then thought of something, Artie. Yes, mister Disbroe, there'll be
a couple of fifths of doers in my cupboard. I
won't be back for a while. You and Peter welcome
to them. And thanks again. He hung up and began
to dress, realigning as chrysalis to give him the appearance
of clothing. The doorbell rang, and he went to open
(18:33):
it for the two men from the FBI. What difference
did it make what particular pen he represented? Rather, since
the sober faced men knew very well which pen it was,
why should it be so necessary to them for him
to confirm what they already knew without a shadow of
a doubt. Now, then, mister Disbro, one of the FBI men, said,
(18:55):
leaning his hands on the edge of the table at
which the insurgent was sitting, we know who sent you
good I bother me. Then we know where you got
your passport. We know who met you at the dock.
We know your contacts. We have photographs of everyone you've
met and talked to. We have tapes of every telephone
call you've made or received. We also know that you
(19:17):
are the top man in your organization. Here and they
were chrysalids, every one of them. Perhaps there was no
watcher behind them. Perhaps, but he'd been picked up a
little too quickly. The net had folded itself around him
too soon. Now there had to be a watcher. He
wished they'd stop this talking and bring him out now.
(19:39):
I'd simply like to point out to you that this
is an air tight case. No lawyer in the world
will be able to break it down. You'll retain counsel,
of course, but I'd simply like to point out to
you that there'll be no point to any denial you
may make to us. We know what you've been doing.
I'd suggest you save your defense for the trial. He
(20:01):
looked up at him and smiled ruthfully. If you've got
a list of charges, he said, I'll be glad to
confess to all of them, provided, of course, that it
is a complete list. I'm sure it doesn't list me
as a werewolf, he thought. I wonder what the sentence
would be, death by firing squad equipped with silver bullets.
(20:22):
But then he wasn't going to confess to that anyway. Um.
The FBI man looked suspicious, obviously he'd expected nothing of
the kind. No strings. The insurgent reassured him the job's
over and it's time to punch the clock, which was
just about the way it was. But he wanted that
watcher if he was in the office at all, he'd
(20:44):
almost have to come out to witness the confession. After all,
the insurgent was supposed to be a pretty big fish.
The FBI man went into a cubicle office set off
to one side. When he came out carrying a sheaf
of paper, the Watcher was with him. The insurgent felt
the hackles standing up on the back of his neck,
and something rumbled inaudibly at the base of his throat.
(21:07):
He knew he could tell he could smell Watcher every
step of the way, from the day he had docked
until now, when the scent half there, half the pure
intuition of instinct, rose up before him in an overpowering wave.
Then he saw the look of distaste crawl across the
Watcher's face, and he barked a laugh that drew curious
(21:30):
looks from the men in the office. Hello, brother, He
saw the bulge of the hip holster on the Watcher's
belt and laughed again. So we play the game, he thought.
We'd add up scores, and in the end the side
with the most points wins. Forget that there should be
no sides, That every point, no matter for whom scored,
(21:52):
is a mark of shame and disgrace. He wondered briefly
whether the watcher was of his kind by choice, or
whether it was simply something that had happened. Probably two
separate heritages had met, represented by identical individuals who happened
to have awakened in dissimilar chrysolids. Will we remember, he wondered,
(22:15):
when we awaken, Will we remember this how we battled,
blinded in the shadows of our own casting? Or was
there more mercy in creation than they themselves had shown
to the chrysolids. He had three brothers among the sleepers.
When they woke. Would they embrace, not remembering that each
had killed the other countless times, or forgetting that they
(22:37):
had stood together on some battlefield. Would all the old comrades,
all the bitter enemies, be wiped from memory? He hoped so,
with every segment of his being. He hoped so, for
there was no peace through eternity. If it was otherwise.
He stood up, lightly, tensing the muscles in his calves.
(22:59):
The fbi, suddenly alert, began to move for him, but
he'd maneuvered things so that none of them were close
enough to him. The Watcher went pale, Shall I coalesce? Brother?
The insurgent asked, the words rumbling out of his throat,
a grin of derision, baring his teeth. No, the Watcher
was completely frightened. Words could be explained away, particularly if
(23:22):
they sounded like nonsense to the other men in the room.
But a werewolf fanging the throat of a watcher who
would have to fight back with his spectacular weapons, nothing
in the world could keep the rumors from spreading. The
chrysolites might even learn finely and irrevocably the origin of
their species. Your obligation, brother, the insurgent half laughed, and
(23:44):
kept stalking toward the watcher. Perhaps he is my brother,
and if he is no difference, the shadows are thick
and very dark. One of the other men shot him
in the side, but he sprang for the watcher, carefully
human to hold the Watcher to his and the Watcher
shot him three times in the chest, once in the throat,
and once in the stomach. The shape of a cross.
(24:08):
Did he believe it himself was a true A plus sign,
canceling a negative force who knew shadow shadow all his darkness.
He fell to his knees, coughing in victory. Score one
for the insurgents and a watcher at that. Thank you, brother,
(24:31):
the insurgent murmured and fell into the long sleep with
a grateful sigh.
Popular Podcasts
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations. Follow now to get the latest episodes of Dateline NBC completely free, or subscribe to Dateline Premium for ad-free listening and exclusive bonus content: DatelinePremium.com
Are You A Charlotte?
In 1997, actress Kristin Davis’ life was forever changed when she took on the role of Charlotte York in Sex and the City. As we watched Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte navigate relationships in NYC, the show helped push once unacceptable conversation topics out of the shadows and altered the narrative around women and sex. We all saw ourselves in them as they searched for fulfillment in life, sex and friendships. Now, Kristin Davis wants to connect with you, the fans, and share untold stories and all the behind the scenes. Together, with Kristin and special guests, what will begin with Sex and the City will evolve into talks about themes that are still so relevant today. "Are you a Charlotte?" is much more than just rewatching this beloved show, it brings the past and the present together as we talk with heart, humor and of course some optimism.