"Righto," Garvey called out. He locked the door to the after cabin. If
the inspector wanted to look there, he was sunk. There was no place
in the ship where he could successfully conceal a packing case ten feet
high, and no way he could dispose of its illegal contents.
"I'm coming," Garvey shouted. Beads of perspiration stood out on his
high, pale forehead. He thought wildly of blasting off anyhow, running
for it, to Mars, Venus.... But the patrol ships would get him before he
had covered a million miles. There was nothing he could do but try to
bluff it.
He touched a button. The hatch slid back and a tall, thin uniformed man
entered.
"Thought you'd get away with it, eh, Garvey?" the inspector barked.
"You rich guys never learn!"
Somehow, they had found out! Garvey thought of the packing crate in the
after cabin, and its human-shaped, not-yet-living contents. Damning,
absolutely damning. What a fool he'd been!
* * * * *
He turned back to the control panel. Hanging from a corner of it, in
a cracked leather holster, was his revolver. Rather than face twenty
years breaking pumice on Lunar, he would shoot, then try--
"The Sexual Morality Act isn't a blue law, Garvey," the inspector
continued, in a voice like steel against flint. "Violations can have
a catastrophic effect upon the individual, to say nothing of the race.
That's why we're going to make an example of you, Garvey. Now let's see
the evidence."
"I don't know what in hell you're talking about," Garvey said.
Surreptitiously his hand began to creep toward the revolver.
"Wake up, boy!" said the inspector. "You mean you _still_ don't
recognize me?"
Garvey stared at the inspector's tanned, humorous face. He said, "Eddie
Starbuck?"
"About time! How long's it been, Ralph? Ten years?"
"At least ten," Garvey said. His knees were beginning to shake from
sheer relief. "Sit down, sit down, Eddie! You still drink bourbon?"
"I'll say." Starbuck sat down on one of Garvey's acceleration couches.
He looked around, and nodded.
"Nice. Very nice. You must be rich indeed, old buddy."
"I get by," Garvey said. He handed Starbuck a drink, and poured one for
himself. They talked for a while about old times at Michigan State.
"And now you're a Customs inspector," Garvey said.
"Yeah," said Starbuck, stretching his long legs. "Always had a yen for
the law. But it doesn't pay like transistors, eh?"
Garvey smiled modestly. "But what's all this about the Sexual Morality
Act? A gag?"
"Not at all. Didn't you hear the news this morning? The FBI found an
underground sex factory. They hadn't been in business long, so it was
possible to recover all the surrogates. All except one."
"Oh?" said Garvey, draining his drink.
"Yeah. That's when they called us in. We're covering all spaceports, on
the chance the receiver will try to take the damned thing off Earth."
Garvey poured another drink and said, very casually, "So you figured I
was the boy, eh?"
Starbuck stared at him a moment, then exploded into laughter. "You,
Ralph? Hell, no! Saw your name on the spaceport out-list. I just
dropped in for a drink, boy, for old time's sake. Listen, Ralph, I
_remember_ you. Hell-on-the-girls-Garvey. Biggest menace to virginity
in the history of Michigan State. What would a guy like you want a
substitute for?"
"My girls wouldn't stand for it," Garvey said, and Starbuck laughed
again, and stood up.
"Look, I gotta run. Call me when you get back?"
"I sure will!" A little light-headed, he said, "Sure you don't want to
inspect anyhow, as long as you're here?"
Starbuck stopped and considered. "I suppose I should, for the record.
But to hell with it, I won't hold you up." He walked to the port, then
turned. "You know, I feel sorry for the guy who's got that surrogate."
"Eh? Why?"
"Man, those things are poison! You know that, Ralph! Anything's
possible--insanity, deformation.... And this guy may have even more of
a problem."
"Why?"
"Can't tell you, boy," Starbuck said. "Really can't. It's special
information. The FBI isn't certain yet. Besides, they're waiting for
the right moment to spring it."
With an easy wave, Starbuck left. Garvey stared after him, thinking
hard. He didn't like the way things were going. What had started out
as an illicit little vacation was turning into a full-scale criminal
affair. Why hadn't he thought of this earlier? He had been apprehensive
in the sexual substitute factory, with its low lights, its furtive,
white-aproned men, its reek of raw flesh and plastic. Why hadn't he
given up the idea then? The surrogates couldn't be as good as people
said....
"Tower to G43221," the radio crackled. "Are you ready?"
Garvey hesitated, wishing he knew what Starbuck had been hinting at.
Maybe he should stop now, while there was still time.
Then he thought of the giant crate in the after cabin, and its
contents, waiting for activation, waiting for him. His pulse began to
race. He knew that he was going through with it, no matter what the
risk.
He signalled to the tower, and strapped himself into the control chair.
An hour later he was in space.
* * * * *
Twelve hours later, Garvey cut his jets. He was a long way from Earth,
but nowhere near Luna. His detectors, pushed to their utmost limit,
showed nothing in his vicinity. No liners were going by, no freighters,
no police ships, no yachts. He was alone. Nothing and no one was going
to disturb him.
He went into the after cabin. The packing case was just as he had left
it, securely fastened to the deck. Even the sight of it was vaguely
exciting. Garvey pressed the activating stud on the outside of the
case, and sat down to wait for the contents to awaken and come to life.
* * * * *
The surrogates had been developed earlier in the century. They had
come about from sheer necessity. At that time, mankind was beginning
to push out into the galaxy. Bases had been established on Venus, Mars
and Titan, and the first interstellar ships were arriving at Algol and
Stagoe II. Man was leaving Earth.
Man--but not woman.
The first settlements were barely toeholds in alien environments. The
work was harsh and demanding, and life expectancy was short. Whole
settlements were sometimes wiped out before the ships were fully
unloaded. The early pioneers were like soldiers on the line of battle,
and exposed to risks no soldier had ever encountered.
Later there would be a place for women. Later--but not now.
So here and there, light-years from Earth, were little worlds without
women--and not happy about it.
The men grew sullen, quarrelsome, violent. They grew careless, and
carelessness on an alien planet was usually fatal.
They wanted women.
Since real women could not go to them, scientists on Earth developed
substitutes. Android females were developed, the surrogates, and
shipped to the colonies. It was a violation of Earth's morals; but
there were worse violations on the way if these weren't accepted.
For a while, everything seemed to be fine. It would probably have gone
on that way, had everyone left well enough alone.
But the companies on Earth had the usual desire to improve their
product. They called in sculptors and artists to dress up the
appearance of the package. Engineers tinkered with the surrogates,
re-wired them, built in subtler stimulus-response mechanisms,
did strange things with conditioned reflexes. And the men of the
settlements were very happy with the results.
So happy, in fact, that they refused to return to human women, even
when they had the opportunity.
They came back to Earth after their tours of duty, these pioneers, and
they brought their surrogates with them. Loud and long they praised
the substitute women, and pointed out their obvious superiority to
neurotic, nervous, frigid human women.
Naturally, other men wanted to try out the surrogates. And when they
did, they were pleasantly surprised. And spread the word. And--
The government stepped in, quickly and firmly. For one thing, over
fifty percent of the votes were at stake. But more important, social
scientists predicted a violent drop in the birth rate if this went on.
So the government destroyed the surrogates, outlawed the factories, and
told everyone to return to normal.
And reluctantly, everyone did. But there were always some men who
remembered, and told other men. And there were always some men who
weren't satisfied with second-best. So....
* * * * *
Garvey heard movements within the crate. He smiled to himself,
remembering stories he had heard of the surrogates' piquant habits.
Suddenly there was a high-pitched clanging. It was the standby alarm
from the control room. He hurried forward.
It was an emergency broadcast, on all frequencies, directed to Earth
and all ships at space. Garvey tuned it in.
"This is Edward Danzer," the radio announced crisply. "I am Chief of
the Washington branch of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. You have
all heard, on your local newscasts, of the detection and closure of an
illegal sexual substitute factory. And you know that all except one of
the surrogates have been found. This message is for the man who has
that last surrogate, wherever he may be."
Garvey licked his lips nervously and hunched close to the radio. Within
the after cabin, the surrogate was still making waking-up noises.
"That man is in danger!" Danzer said. "Serious danger! Our
investigation of the molds and forms used in the factory showed us that
something strange was going on. Just this morning, one of the factory
technicians finally confessed.
"The missing surrogate is not an Earth model!
"I repeat," Danzer barked, "the missing surrogate is _not an Earth
model_! The factory operators had been filling orders for the planet
Algol IV. When they ran short of Earth models for humans, they
substituted an Algolian model. Since the sale of a surrogate is illegal
anyhow, they figured the customer would have no kickback."
Garvey sighed with relief. He had been afraid he had a small dinosaur
in the packing case, at the very least.
"Perhaps," Danzer continued, "the holder of the Algolian surrogate
does not appreciate his danger yet. It is true, of course, that the
Algolians are of the species _homo sapiens_. It has been established
that the two races share a common ancestry in the primeval past. But
Algol is different from our Earth.
"The planet Algol IV is considerably heavier than Earth, and has a
richer oxygen atmosphere. The Algolians, raised in this physical
environment, have a markedly superior musculature to that of the
typical Earthman. Colloquially, they are strong as rhinos.
"But the surrogate, of course, does not know this. She has a powerful
and indiscriminate mating drive. _That's where the danger lies!_ So I
say to the customer--give yourself up now, while there's still time.
And remember: crime does not pay."
The radio crackled static, then hummed steadily. Garvey turned it
off. He had been taken, but good! He really should have inspected his
merchandise before accepting it. But the crate had been sealed.
He was out a very nice chunk of money.
But, he reminded himself, he had lots of money. It was fortunate he had
discovered the error in time. Now he would jettison the crate in space,
and return to Earth. Perhaps real girls were best, after all....
He heard the sound of heavy blows coming from the crate in the after
cabin.
"I guess I'd better take care of you, honey," Garvey said, and walked
quickly to the cabin.
A fusillade of blows rocked the crate. Garvey frowned and reached for
the de-activating switch. As he did so, one side of the heavy crate
splintered. Through the opening shot a long golden arm. The arm flailed
wildly, and Garvey moved out of its way.
The situation wasn't humorous any more, he decided. The case rocked and
trembled under the impact of powerful blows. Garvey estimated the force
behind those blows, and shuddered. This had to be stopped at once. He
ran toward the crate.
Long, tapered fingers caught his sleeve, ripping it off. Garvey managed
to depress the de-activating stud and throw himself out of range.
There was a moment of silence. Then the surrogate delivered two blows
with the impact of a pile driver. An entire side of the packing case
splintered.
It was too late for de-activation.
* * * * *
Garvey backed away. He was beginning to grow alarmed. The Algolian
sexual substitute was preposterously strong; that seemed to be how they
liked them on Algol. What passed for a tender love embrace on Algol
would probably fracture the ribs of an Earthman. Not a nice outlook.
But wasn't it likely that the surrogate had some sort of discriminatory
sense built in? Surely she must be able to differentiate between an
Earthman and an Algolian. Surely....
The packing case fell apart, and the surrogate emerged.
She was almost seven feet tall, and gloriously, deliciously
constructed. Her skin was a light golden-red, and her shoulder-length
hair was lustrous black. Standing motionless, she looked to Garvey like
a heroic statue of ideal femininity.