TRAITOR'S CHOICE By Paul W. Fairman Kendall had a difficult decision to make; if he defied the aliens Clare faced a horrible death; if he complied a whole planet must die! [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy August 1956 Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] The phonovision bell rang. Reed Kendall reached for the switch, not taking his eyes off the blueprint that lay on his desk. He spoke absently. "Yes?" The reply came sharp and cold. "I'd suggest you stop what you're doing and pay attention to me." Kendall raised his head and looked at the screen. The image that faced him was that of a man; a tall man in ordinary street clothes, but wearing an odd silver mask over his face. Kendall made no effort to hide his annoyance. This was no time for jokes. Some lab comedian with time on his hands. "Now listen here! I'm busy and I'm in no mood to--" "Shut up!" The tone was sharp, brutal, contemptuous. It stiffened Kendall, then eased him slowly back into his chair. "What do you want?" "That's better." "Take that absurd mask off." "I'll leave it on." "Then get this over with. Tell me what you want!" "It will take a few minutes. Go over and lock your door." "I'll do no such thing!" "I said--_go over and lock your door_." Their eyes clashed; Kendall's frank, indignant, accusing; the stranger's dark and menacing in the holes of the mask. "Very well." Kendall crossed the room and stood for a moment with his back to the phonovision screen. This man meant business. But what could be the nature of that business? Kendall's thoughts went of course to the top secret material he had access to. The defense of the world lay within the boundaries of the Canadian Flats Ordnance Research Project. But safely so. The Centaurians were as eager to set these secrets as--well, as had been the Russians during the first phase of the atomic era when the world was divided into two frightened and belligerent camps. Strange, Kendall thought, that he should think of that period. The world had long since become one frightened and belligerent camp but the problem of survival had greatened as advanced science had opened the starways. "I said--lock the door!" Kendall complied. As he returned to his desk, he sensed the man was smiling behind his mask. What was he? A Centaurian? Either that or a Terran. Certainly not a Venusian unless he was standing on a box. "Sit down." "All right. Let's get on with it." "In my own good time. First, let me sympathize with you on your love for your wife." "What sort of idiocy are you talking about?"