The clipping was from the Kenton, New York, _Chronicle_, an upstate
weekly, and the news story told how Judge Sam Baker had vanished on a
fishing trip to a nearby lake. Accidental drowning had been the verdict
but, as yet, the body had not been recovered.
Les King stared at the clipping. The body, as he remembered it, never
was recovered, either, but the drowning verdict stood intact and the
judge had been gradually forgotten.
Les King's interest in the affair had been financial. He'd gone to
Kenton, talked Baker's widow out of a couple of family photographs, and
had hiked back to New York, hoping for a sale to a big daily.
But the story hadn't caught on even though it well might have, because
Baker's power extended into Albany and could thus have interested New
York City. All in all, it had been a profitless speculation on Les
King's part.
Now, however, it seemed to be coming to life again. Les stared at the
photo under the headline. It was a good one--exceptionally clear.
And beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was the man who had just come to Les
King's room to purchase a glossy of himself for ten dollars. No wonder
the sight of that stranger had nagged at Les. He'd seen that face
before.
"Now just what in the hell have we got here?" Les mused. Something
definitely worth looking into, that was for sure.
He reached for his pants.
4
Dr. Rudolph Entman, one of the world's foremost neurologists, stripped
off his rubber gloves and scowled at the strange body that lay on the
table before him.
"Goddamn it," he fumed, "it's artificially constructed. It's been
hand-made--manufactured. And there's one thing I'd give a few years of
my life to know."
Brent Taber stared moodily into Entman's myopic little eyes and asked,
"What's that, Doctor?"
"How in hell did they do it?"
"Who do you suppose _they_ are?"
Entman looked ceilingward in a manner that indicated he might either be
hunting for _them_ somewhere out beyond, or sending a prayer heavenward
in a plea for Divine counsel and guidance.
"Some form of entity with far greater intelligence than we possess."
"You can tell me more than that, can't you?" Brent asked sharply. And
when Doctor Entman looked up in surprise, he added, "Sorry for the tone.
My nerves have gotten a little edgy lately."
Entman smiled understandingly. "I don't wonder. As to this living
machine--no ... it's not a machine because it did _live_. Let's see what
we can figure out. What's it made of? The material used in its
construction is--oh, hell--how can I put it? This way, maybe. Take a
wool blanket and call it genuine flesh, blood and bone. Now, take a
blanket made of one of the new synthetics--Dacron or any one of the
other equally serviceable materials--call that the material this
creature is made of. Figuring it that way--"
"You mean our visitor's body is constructed of things that feel and look
like flesh, blood and bone--work as well, but aren't. Right?"
"Right. But, of course, that doesn't tell you anything you didn't know
before."
"But what about their potentials, their capabilities? They're
_human_--in the sense that they're exact duplicates of humans--and they
_live_, but what about emotions? If we accept the somewhat unscientific
theory that it's a soul which is responsible for feelings and emotions,
these ... these ... creatures would be handicapped." Brent paused as if
uncertain of his ground. "Wouldn't they?" he asked lamely. "I mean, they
couldn't--theoretically, at least--react to situations ... or other
people's emotions."
Doctor Entman nodded his head and murmured, "I would be inclined to
agree. Except that we're obviously dealing with superior
intelligence--I'm speaking about the "people" responsible for these
androids--and we have no idea how far they might have progressed in
duplicating that indefinable something we call a soul."
For a moment he lapsed into silence. Then looked up at Brent abruptly.
"Have you read anything on Kendrick's experiments with synthetic
emotion?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Kendrick, down at Penton Technological Institute, has done some
remarkable things in drawing the stuff of human emotion from one person,
holding it on a tape, and transferring it to another person."
"On the face of it, that sounds ridiculous."
"Doesn't it? Nevertheless, the vibrations set up, or created you might
say, by a person in anger, consist of some sort of _stuff_--in the sense
of an incredibly high frequency wave. Radio or television waves are the
best comparisons.
"Kendrick, in one demonstration, took a young man who was very much in
love with a certain young lady. A really love-sick lad. He placed him in
the recording unit gave him the young lady's picture, and told him to
let his mind dwell on her to the exclusion of all else."
Doctor Entman smiled briefly. "This, I imagine, wasn't difficult for the
lad to do. Entman then put another young man, one who was unacquainted
with the girl, into a receiving unit and exposed him, after giving him
the girl's picture, to the vibrations created by the lovelorn chap.
Later, they saw to it that the second lad was introduced to the girl.
The results were rather startling, in that the young lady suddenly had
two ardent suitors in place of one."
Brent Taber scratched his ear and looked dubious. "That sounds pretty
sensational. But maybe the second lad just plain happened to fall in
love with the girl by natural processes."
"True, but the experiments tended to eliminate that possibility. Other
emotions were tested. How about a man walking up to a man he'd never
seen before in his life and busting him in the nose?"
"Okay, okay. Then you think--"
"I think a lot of things. Here, I see the possibility of a race with
superior science, having moved far ahead of us in the directions
Kendrick is pointing toward in his research. For instance, with more
advanced knowledge and know-how, they've probably been able to charge a
synthetic body with a complete set of functioning emotional responses.
Grant them that and we can also concede a tailor-made ego."
"I don't mind admitting I'm scared, Doctor," Brent Taber said.
"I think it's a time to be scared."
"But if a race of people were that advanced, if their intention is
hostile, why do they pussyfoot around this way? Why don't they just come
down and take us over?"
"I've wondered that, too. And yet, a race on some planet out there in
the universe might not evolve according to what we consider a logical
pattern."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that while they can create a synthetic man, their interests, and
therefore their progress, may have stayed in peaceful channels. For
instance, they may not have bothered with anything as elementary as the
atom bomb."
"It's a thought."
"A wishful thought, I'll admit. But it does have some validity. Also, it
has a fact of some possible value to back it up."
"What fact?"
"That they _haven't_ come down and taken us over."
"You almost cheer me, Doctor. Almost, but not quite."
"Actually," Entman said, "I've been wondering about something else."
"What's that?"
"When and how they came here before."
"You mean, where did they get the model for the ten androids?"
"Yes. They had to have not only a model, but also some knowledge
concerning our geographical and atmospheric conditions. The two hearts
indicate that they knew the elements contained in our air--the pressures
and so forth necessary to our existence--and were unable to construct a
working model that would function under our conditions with a single
heart. So they put in two."
"It looks as though they missed on some other things, too. Seven of the
androids have expired."
Entman shrugged. "Still--a remarkable job, particularly since they would
have no chance for a trial-and-error test under the conditions that
would prevail. It's surprising that _any_ of the androids were able to
keep functioning."
"The eighth one is pretty sick. He may be gone by now. And about their
earlier coming, I can give you one point. They came quietly, probably at
night, grabbed their model, and moved out fast."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, obviously, they think all men on earth look alike. Or, at
least, we can assume that. Else how did they expect to get away with ten
identical androids?"
Entman's eyes widened. "I never thought of that," he muttered.
* * * * *
Senator Crane, a doggedly determined man, had listened to the replay of
Brent Taber's top-secret conference again and again. In the comfortable
rationalization of which he was capable, his whole zeal and hostility
were fashioned around Brent's "arrogant disregard of democratic
processes." Who did this bureaucrat think he was? Did he consider
himself smarter than the People? Did he feel they couldn't be trusted
with revelations affecting their survival? Well, by God, they'd been
trusted with word of the bomb and its implications, and they'd reacted
admirably. So they were entitled to frankness concerning this new threat
to their security.
Of course, Senator Crane reserved the right to enlighten them in his own
time and in his own way. After all, hadn't they elected him and thus
given him leeway to use his own judgment in their best interests?
But who the hell had elected Brent Taber?
Nobody.
So Crane listened to the recording and picked out what he classified as
the key lines.
_A routine autopsy revealed some peculiar things ... The man had
two hearts...._
_The blood? Could it have been a new kind of plasma?..._
_All in all, gentlemen, eight identical specimens have been picked
up in various American cities ...