I am writing this account in a hotel room somewhere in Canada. That is as specific as I dare get. They are after me, and I must take the most stringent precautions to keep my whereabouts a secret. I don't know how much longer I can hold out, however. My money is running low and soon I must emerge into the glare of day. I hold little hope that I will survive more than a week or two after that. I will be recognized and torn apart, as so many of my colleagues have been. So I want to set the events of the last few months down for posterity in the hope that my survivors may benefit from my experience.
I can't remember the precise moment when I realized that the invaders had taken possession. For a long time, years actually, I had regarded the manifestations as a natural human foible, sometimes lovable and amusing, sometimes exasperating, but never anything I could describe as sinister. It went with the territory of being a literary agent. Whenever it reared its head I would tease my clients or administer a pep talk and that would be the end of that. Had I known that these little tantrums were in fact the first symptoms of something malevolent, I would have ... but--what would I have done? What could I have done? Go to the authorities? What authorities? Who would have believed me? Perhaps I should have had my clients executed? Gee, that would have been great for business! But even if I'd been able to get away with it, there were all those other authors I didn't represent.
But I'm getting ahead of my story.
Looking back, I would date the invasion to about 1975. I've pored over meteorological accounts seeking some indication of their entry into our atmosphere, but I've found nothing significant. Of course, there were UFO sightings that year--but there are UFO sightings every year, and there's no way of knowing for sure that that's the way the aliens arrived.
I'd started my own agency about five years earlier and had begun to build a nice list of authors. Among these were four members of the Prairie Corners Writers Circle, a midwestern group, and one day I called one of them to report some good news: I'd sold her latest mystery novel to Putnam for ten thousand dollars. Naturally, she was thrilled. "I can't wait to tell my friends!" she burbled.
I had just started to record the deal on my record cards when the phone rang. It was Francine Smidlap, another client of mine and also a member of the Prairie Corners group. "Edna just told me the great news. She's on Cloud Nine."
"I'm glad she's pleased."
There was a moment's hesitation, as if Francine were struggling to select her words carefully. "May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Well ... did you try Putnam with my novel?"
"Sure. I always try hardcover first. My records show we submitted it to Putnam..." I riffled through my submission cards. "...last July."
She gave an embarrassed laugh. "I guess I'd forgotten. But you did push it there, didn't you? Edna says you really pushed her book hard."
"I push every book hard, Francine, yours included."
"I know. Well, sorry to bother you."
"It's no bother."
I had no sooner returned to my work than my secretary informed me that Ed Puttle was on the phone. Ed too was a member of the Prairie Corners Circle. "Edna's news just came over the drum," he chuckled. "That was a nifty piece of agenting you did for her."
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