Baker had been walking for two weeks across the primitive surface of
the mining planet, Klondike II, to reach the shack in the gray shadow
of the granite mountain. It wasn't gold he was after but escape. Unlike
others seeking it, he had headed away from the saloons. But the
peepbug's lens of air had followed him.
Minutes later, he was knocking on the door. He _had_ to have a means
of transportation at least as good as government ships to do his work
of helping the aliens, and make his escapes. At least as good, and
preferably better.
The door was cracked by a kind-looking old man. "You got five seconds
to get, before thirty thousand volts of electricity go through those
floorboards you're standing on," the old man said kindly.
"Professor Gentle," Baker said hastily, "I have many friends. One
of them has told me you have established a major breakthrough in
electronics, that you have in fact invented a machine to transmit
matter as radio and television transmit sound and sight."
"Some loose-lipped electronics jobber found that out, did he? Step
right in."
"Do you suppose _I_ might be teleported?" Baker asked tentatively.
"Of course you can, my boy. But first perhaps you'd like to take a look
at some of the things I have teleported so far."
Baker looked at the animals--they _were_ animals?--in the cages lining
the laboratory. He had been hungry a minute before. Now he had trouble
just swallowing.
"Like making the original adjustments on a video set," the old man
explained. "Hard to get your focus, your horizontal and vertical
interlineation just right. There's some distortion sometimes. Sort
of--messy."
"On soul-searching consideration--" Baker began.
"Don't take another step toward that door. I've got the floor
checkerboarded with electric grids where I can turn on the juice
wherever you set your foot. Control's in my upper plate. Step in that
coffin, boy. Just my little pet name for it; don't worry."
* * * * *
With some degree of reluctance, Baker stepped into the left of twin
vertical boxes. The lid closed in his face and locked.
Before he could have time to begin worrying about his air supply, the
cover sprang open, and he stepped out. "Test over?" There was an echo.
A man stood in front of the second coffin. Baker had entered the one on
the left and he was still in front of the left box.
But he was also now in front of the cabinet on the right. He had been
completely duplicated.
"That damned feedback again," Gentle grumbled.
In the first shock of this duplication and therefore seeming negation
of his individual ego, Baker almost went mad.
"You did this to me!" said Baker and Baker to Gentle, each drawing a
concealed weapon and shooting the old man in the heart.
"You two fellers drop your guns and stand still," the voice behind them
said. "The professor was always saying I was the most simple-minded
assistant he ever had, but I've got brains enough to pull this trigger
on this old shotgun if you move."
(The ETI chief explained: "The rest is hearsay. Those miners spyproof
their towns.")
The trial was short with Jeb, the assistant's, testimony, but the
jury deliberation was unaccountably long on the primitive world where
justice ran fast for a blind woman.
"We waited long enough," Jeb said to the other men in the saloon.
"Let's break them out of the cellar and hang 'em."
The miners didn't let the jury set a precedent. They hoisted a few
inside the bar and went out of Lone Splyg Hill and hoisted two more.
"What have you idiots done?" the sheriff yelled as they trooped back
into Klondike City.
"Anticipated the verdict a mite," Jeb admitted.
"That's just it," the sheriff groaned. "It was ruled justifiable
homicide. Temporary insanity. At the time of the crime, each of the
defendants was beside himself!"