He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection from his transmitter
housing and automatically straightened his shoulders a little, then
laughed at his image.
Then he stopped and contemplated himself further. There was one thing
he could do. Many years before, he had an exact duplicate of himself
produced, when the vogue for copper colored bodies was at its height.
Since then the fashion had changed back to the pink, but that old job
must still be around somewhere.
He hated to do it, though. He had never liked that body. It had been
just too accurate, and every time he wore it, it embarrassed him. It
had been almost as if he were going outside in his protobody. Which,
of course, nobody did. People used their own bodies hundreds of years
ago, but it was most uncivilized. Besides, it was tiring, and
dangerous, too. Yet--was it more fun? He wondered.
He simply had to make Jennette's party. Otherwise he wouldn't see her
for months at least, and the thought of that made him feel funny in
his stomach.
Mark grinned again, admiring her image in his mind, and set about his
catalogue to find the fundamental frequency of that old copy of
himself. Fuse it, he told himself resolutely. Nobody would know it was
an exact duplicate.
He located the data and set it up in the transmitter. He had no idea
where the body was, but that would take care of itself if it were
still in good shape. Placing the helmet on his head, he punched the
controls and relaxed back on the table.
* * * * *
Two levels below, under a pile of dust-covered trash, the body became
suddenly conscious. Mark opened his eyes and looked around,
recognition slowly returning. He had forgotten all about this old
room, but then--one could hardly remember everything about a full
shelter system, what with the hundreds of compartments, endless
automatic equipment and innumerable connecting passages. Whoever it
was who built this one sure had liked complexity.
He bathed and carefully braided the long, blueblack hair, simulating
somewhat the fashion of the day, and spent some time adjusting a
purple scarf over his left shoulder. The purple scarf was sort of a
trade mark with him, and Jennette always admired it. Purple was her
favorite color. He made a joke out of it and called it Their color,
which was typical of the strange, dangerous behavior she engendered in
him.
Mark was a little worried as he plunged up toward the stratosphere in
his extra car. This time he kept clearly in his mind the fact that
this was his last serviceable body, and he could take no chances with
it getting ruined. Even if he saw a whole multitude of people, all
clustered together, he would ignore them, he told himself.
Halfway there, however, he spotted a peculiar marking on the scope,
and detoured. The peculiar marking followed him.
Anxiously, he looked out a clear view panel, but could see nothing in
the cold, mist-laden night. The marking grew more definite as he
hesitated. It was another car, and there could be no question what it
was after. A shot at Mark.
He cursed and sucked in his breath, making quick calculations. There
was a rolling billow of cobalt fog off to one side, a whole bank of
the stuff. Somebody apparently had been having a little game nearby.
It was still hot enough, according to his indicators, to discharge
anything the other car sent after him, and he would have the added
advantage of being invisible to the other man's instruments. The only
trouble was, once in the fog, he couldn't see anything either, and
could be ambushed without difficulty on the way out.
The marking on the scope became more definite, and the question
settled itself as the other car came between Mark and the cloud.
Growling with irritation, Mark swung around and sent a wide angle beam
in the direction of his pursuer, watching nervously as the indicators
described the pitiful short range of his fire at this setting.
The assailant veered off, however, scurrying into the cobalt cloud.
Mark grinned. He knew the man would expect him to wait for him to come
out, so he swooped down at max acceleration toward the surface. In
five minutes he was signaling into Jennette's shelter for permission
to enter.
There were servants everywhere--mechanical things, controlled by
electronics and not alive, although they looked it. This was
Jennette's specialty. She owned a factory that manufactured them for
mining on the scalding plains of Mercury, and these had been
superficially remodelled to act as servants. There was the usual
government man there, too, running the party. He strutted around under
his official sash with ill-concealed self-importance.
"Hey you, there--wait a minute," he called to Mark, waving a zuzz
pistol in his direction.
"Yes?" Mark hesitated, eyed the pistol, and obeyed.
"That scarf--get it off," the man ordered sternly as he approached.
The zuzz pistol was level and steady.
"Why?" Mark demanded. "It's just a scarf. I always wear one."
"You know why," the other man said coldly. "This is a tetotal party.
If I let somebody slip a weapon or something in, it would be an awful
brawl in no time. You know how people are."
The man was right, of course. You can conceal a lot of things in the
fabric of a sheer scarf. Reluctantly, Mark undid the catch and handed
it over.
"Okay. You can pick it up at the entrance when you leave." The
officer's amused eyes wrinkled as he looked Mark up and down. "Say,
that's a pretty nice job you've got there, man. Mind if I ask who made
it?"
"It's pretty good." Mark said cautiously. "It's custom made to a
private specification."
The officer grinned goodnaturedly. "Sure, I understand. That's all
right. I'm not from the revenue department. I don't have to do
anything about bootlegging."
"I don't mean that." Mark protested. "There's nothing illegal--"
The man waved his disregard anyway. "Forget it. It's a nice one,
though. And that copper color is coming back soon, too. These fashions
run in cycles, you know."
"Yes," Mark murmured diffidently. "I thought so, too."
"Sure." The officer eyed it speculatively for a moment. "Two point oh
one centimeter naval, isn't it? They're the best, of course." Mark
nodded shortly, looking away from the talkative officer, hoping he
would stop. But the man went on. "And I don't have any use for these
new non-feeders they've been coming out with recently."
"No," Mark mumbled.
"It's all right to fix it so that the food is not necessary, and it
really is a bother to have to feed those old models whether you want
to or not. But sometimes you like to eat something just for the fun of
it, and with the non-feeder models there's no receptacle for it."
Mark nodded, his eyes searching the huge anteroom, gazing hopefully
between the moving ranks of robot servants. Then he saw her and caught
his breath.
* * * * *
Jennette. His lips formed a low whistle in time-honored acclamation of
excellence. The officer followed his gaze and agreed.
"Yes," he said in a low voice, "that girl is really something. Private
spec for everything, and she sure knows how to use it. Take that
little golden job she's wearing tonight. Nothing to it. But with her,
it's terrific."
He was right. Jennette was wearing a slender, soft-looking golden
little body that Mark had never seen before. But it was a real prize.
Being hostess, she could have clothes on, and sported a half dozen
little bracelets and a jet black bandana around her throat. The thing
was draped down over her left breast, and the whole effect was really
quite stunning.
"Oh Mark!" she exclaimed, running up with an odd sort of
breathlessness. "You're late."
"Sorry Jennette," he replied. "Ran into a little trouble and had to go
back for another body."
"You must have missed," she said with amused accusation. "I'm
surprised at you."
"Aw, there were three of them," he protested. "And the last one used a
broad beam."
"Never mind. I forgive you," she told him. "Come along. Let's go look
at my garden."
Mark grinned happily. "Wonderful idea. But what about your guests? Are
you just going to leave them like that?"
"This is my birthday," she said. "They can amuse themselves."
Then she pulled him down and put her lips to his ear. "Besides," she
whispered. "I've got an identical copy with electronic works. No one
will even know I've left, unless they get too friendly with it."
"Pretty clever," Mark admitted thoughtfully. "But I wouldn't always be
so ready to break the law like that."
"Who's to know except you, Mark?" She looked up at him with burning,
gold-flecked eyes. "You wouldn't tell anybody, would you?"
Mark shook his head uncomfortably.
"All right, then."
They entered the elevator that took them down another half mile to the
central living quarters of the ancient shelter. It had been built
early in the flux period and remodelled several times. It was one of
the best equipped on the planet.
"Tell me," Jennette said, gazing appreciatively at the heavy bronze
shoulders, "where on earth did you get that?"
"I--Oh, it was just lying around somewhere," Mark mumbled.
"I bet," she said. "But it's nice. I like it."
Mark just grinned at her, happy for the moment, secure in the
knowledge that it would be impossible for her ever to know that it was
really identical with his protobody. Not that it would matter, just so
long as it was artificial. He listened to the humming of the elevator
for a few minutes. When it stopped the door vanished, and the two of
them moved out into a sea of wild, colorful beauty. High above them
was a simulated sun that made as good a substitute for the real thing
as had been developed since the underground movement.
"Bright," Mark commented.
"Oh, that's right. I've been forcing some Venerian puffers and scent
flowers, and raised the radiation level ten decibels. They always do
well under a strong sun, you know." She left his arm and moved to a
control panel beside the entrance to the elevator. She manipulated
something and the sun dimmed a little. "There," she turned around.
"Better?"
Mark looked at the landscape, then back to her. He grinned. "Too much
light."
"Oh you--" she murmured. She touched the controls, and the sun
disappeared, being replaced by a huge, mellow moon that sailed
majestically on the simulated horizon. It was impossible to tell it
from the real thing.
"How's that?"
"A little dark."
Ignoring his comment, she came back and took his arm, and they went
strolling across the flowers and grass. "Don't you like my moon,
Mark?"
"Sure. It's fine. Sort of aphrodisiac, of course, but--"
"Isn't that what it's for?" Jennette asked innocently.
"I dunno. I never had a moon."
"Let's sit down here," she said abruptly.
* * * * *
They were eating pomegranates, biting briefly into them and sucking on
the sour juices. The moon had risen higher during the past hour,
becoming a little smaller in appearance. It was a peaceful,
contemplative scene. Jennette snuggled up against Mark, thoughtfully
tracing a design with fruit juice on his arm.
"This is fun," she said softly. "So much more fun than the usual
things a person has to do."
"Mmmm?"
"Oh, you know. Checking reports from the factory, making sure there is
plenty of ammunition all the time, pestering the body manufacturers so
you'll always have something decent to wear. Always watching or
somebody will sneak in and blow up part of your shelter."
"Yeah. Well, guess that's life."
Jennette sighed and picked up another fruit. "It gets so tiresome,
always having to keep on the look-out and fighting people. Don't you
get bored by it."
"Sure, sometimes. It's gotta be done though. Otherwise you couldn't
tell what might happen."
"Mark--" Jennette said hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"Mark, would you shoot me if you found me outside your shelter?" She
looked coyly up at him.
"Well, sure, unless you had a proper, government-authorized permit to
be there." Mark turned astonished eyes on her. "What else could I do?"
"Oh, but you _know_ I wouldn't do anything to harm your place."
"Aw, Jennette," Mark said uncomfortably, "of course you would. Anybody
would. If people started acting like that, the whole balance would be
upset."
She gently stroked his arm where the fruit juice had dried. Her face
crinkled up and she giggled. "Maybe you just don't know me."
"Let's talk about something else," Mark suggested.
"What's the matter? Do I shock you?"
Mark laughed and brushed his lips against her shoulder. "I'm pretty
hard to shock. Especially by you."
"See?" she replied archly. "You're just as anti-social as I am."