_Illustrated by Ed Emsh_
_Cooperation was all right back in the dark ages but this
was an era of super culture and hi-psi intelligence. And
love was no laughing matter. People who cooperated, even
biologically, were unlawful and...._
* * * * *
Mark knew he shouldn't stop. He was already late for Jennette's
birthday party, but the sight of three people out in the open like
this was too much.
He pulled around and hovered over the undulating flow of glassy magma,
frozen on its way to the long, dry Potomac river bed, with its shallow
caverns and fascinating mile-wide potholes. Just under an overhanging
cliff of half-vitrified soil were two cars, obviously damaged. The
three men were standing beside them.
Mark laughed out loud. It was not often that one found three people at
once. And so close to each other. The scene there, with the long,
slanting rays of milky sunlight glancing off the ribbing of the flats
and sparkling through the million brittle shards of collapsed debris,
filled him with a certain poetic exultation.
"By the stars," he murmured to himself happily.
Bubbling with good humor, he slipped down a little closer to the hole,
staying up hard against the overhanging cliff. He was feeling too
cheerful to use his rightful advantage over them, and decided to use a
handgun, since they had nothing better.
This was a mistake, of course. He was only moving along at a hundred
miles an hour now. Too slow for safe shooting, particularly with the
bumpy air in the hole. But he happily disregarded this, as he pushed
open a view port and blazed away with a zuzz pistol.
Almost immediately the ship lurched in the uneven air, and he could
see the tiny thin trace of violet as it swept up and away off the
targets. One of the men went down, sliced cleanly in two. But the
others had seen him.
Mark cursed mildly, some of his high good humor gone, and pulled the
car about for another run. The chronometer pinged warningly at him,
notifying him that he was now a full hour late for Jennette's birthday
party, but the code required the second try.
There was nothing that required handweapons for this, however, and he
slipped his strong young hands around the main gun control. A single
burst of violet, and one of the men vanished in a puff of steam. Good
and clean, he told himself with satisfaction. But the last man opened
his pistol onto broad-beam, burning a red flare of general destruction
at him.
Mark veered around and bore down sharply for the last burst. He had to
get it over with and on to Jennette. But the deadly broad beam swept
below the car, evacuating the air and throwing the vehicle momentarily
out of control. Close behind, the cliff became suddenly alive as the
beam engaged it, bubbling and spewing out huge gouts of molten rock.
The aircar burst into a brief, brilliant, sodium-colored fire and
fell, with Mark burning inside of it, yelling and screaming in pain.
[Illustration:]
It took almost five seconds before the charred brain of Mark's body
stopped functioning. Then it released him.
He was conscious of the humming of his transmitter. Almost immediately
the remembered pain brought perspiration running down inside the
helmet into his eyes. He reached up and removed the headpiece with
unsteady hands, groaning softly.
It had been some decades since he had last been involved in trouble
like this. Killed, yes--but in a painless, fair fight. Being burned to
death was no joke. And that body had been one of his best, with the
finest reflex sensory system manufactured.
The machine purred softly beside him. He thought suddenly and emptily
of Jennette, and stood up.
"Damn," he muttered, crossing the floor, feeling the pleasant warmth
of the soft plastic under his feet. "Damn, damn, damn." He stopped
before the transparent cover of a storage cabinet, gazing sourly at
its contents.
Eleven humanoid forms were stiffly erect behind the cover, all broadly
resembling him in feature, and differing only in such minor things as
height, hair, perhaps the color of the eyes. Each bore the scars of
some past clumsiness or accident.
"Damn," Mark said again. "That was the only decent body I had to wear.
Now what do I do?"
He went into the next room and bathed himself in the tepid perfumed
mist that fell perpetually from its domed ceiling. If it were anybody
but Jennette, there would be no problem. He just would have to shoot
off a quick RT, explaining the situation and excusing himself. Nobody
would have minded, least of all himself. Particularly a no-fight
affair like this one was supposed to be.
But not Jennette. Ohhh, Jennette.
Mark grinned and rubbed the pleasant fluid over his well-cared-for
skin. Oh yes, Jennette. There was something about Jennette that he
could not quite put his finger on, but it was good. It was wonderously
good. Like the bodies she wore. No matter what it was, it was always
perfect. She just had the knack of dressing well.
Idly he wondered what her protobody was like. There must be some
resemblance, of course. That was the law. Identification was very
important, and few manufacturers would violate that, even as a simple
matter of good taste. But there still would be considerable
difference.
As he thought about it, he got a strange wistful feeling that he did
not quite understand. There was a sort of sadness about it. Jennette
seemed oddly different from other people. He liked her much too much.
Guiltily he brushed the thoughts aside. Anyway, it didn't matter, he
told himself. Due to his carelessness in that last fight, he probably
wouldn't even see her tonight, since he had nothing to wear.
He stalked out of the shower and gazed again at the bodies in the
store room. The only halfway decent one there was that six foot black
fellow with the little ears. It used to be his favorite, until he got
it smashed one night during a party at his nearest neighbor's. A half
smile tugged at Mark's lips as he recalled the incident. That had been
a no-fight party, too; but he had managed to smuggle in a small bomb,
and set it off right in the middle of the main bedroom. There were at
least ten couples there, since it was a big party, and none of them
lived. The trouble was, Mark had been pretty badly smashed up himself,
and just managed to get away without losing his body.
Now the thing was all scarred up and practically useless for anything
except manual labor.
Mark shook his head disgustedly. There was nothing to do but send off
the RT to Jennette.