"Routine--only routine."
Then, to Les King's practiced eye, Entman proved it wasn't routine at
all by entering the laboratory and gathering up a loose pile of notes
lying there on a table. He seemed to momentarily forget King's presence
as he went through the notes, sorted them carefully, and brought them
back into the office.
King watched as Entman then deposited them in a small safe. He closed
the safe but didn't lock it. Then he turned, beamed myopically at his
visitor, and said, "Now I'm at your service, young man."
"Fine, Doctor. Now, this series we're planning will highlight modern
techniques with an eye to illustrating ..."
While King asked questions and Entman answered, another part of King's
mind was busy with the real problem at hand. Entman would, no doubt,
lock the safe before he left the office. Burglary--a risk King was
willing to take--would get him back into the office when no one was
around, but how could he open the safe? Walking straight to the thing he
was after had been fine. Having been put in a position to get to know
what the notes looked like was another astounding piece of good fortune.
All this, however, could turn out to mean nothing because he didn't know
how to crack a safe.
He would have to report failure after being so close.
"As I said," Entman prattled on happily, "when I was at Johns Hopkins
I--"
The desk phone rang. Entman picked it up, answered it and then hung up.
"Would I impose if I asked you for a fifteen-minute break? Some people
are calling that I must see--an appointment I forgot."
"Not at all," Les King assured him. "I'd like to do a little work on
these notes to see if I left out anything."
"So good of you. Boring people, really. I'll get rid of them as soon as
possible."
Entman left through an inner door and King was stunned by his good luck.
He called it that even while experience and judgment shrieked warnings.
This was too pat--too easy. Something was phony in the setup.
But he didn't even have to fight what common sense was telling him. He
was too busy opening the safe, spreading the data out on the desktop,
and using a small camera he carried in the side pocket of his jacket.
Then, he put the data back in the safe and felt the hot, excitement
surge up through his body.
* * * * *
"I'm afraid I owe you a drink," Entman said ruefully.
"You were right. When I got back to the office, he was gone."
Brent Taber grinned, but only with his mouth--his eyes remained somber
and weary. "The data was back in the safe?"
"Right where I put it. I'll swear it hadn't been moved."
"He was photographing it thirty seconds after you left."
"But how can you be sure?"
Brent Taber pulled at his ear and stared at a Renoir on the wall of
Entman's drawing room without seeing it. "I can't, of course. We can't
be sure of anything. It's all based on an idea you gave me."
"What idea?"
"You told me the results of your research on the androids would be
valuable to whoever built them--as a guide to perfecting androids that
wouldn't die under earth conditions."
"That was obvious logic."
"And it ties in with another thought. A race of beings as advanced as
these could take us over without trouble, it would seem."
"Quite true. Except--"
"Except that they themselves may not be able to exist on earth, either;
no more so than we could exist on the moon without creating conditions
favorable to our physical capabilities."
"So ...?"
"So I'm betting that the ten androids were sent here on a
trial-and-error basis, with the objective of perfecting them and
creating an android army to move in and take us over."
"It's a thought, but with their power they could achieve the same result
with less effort by pulverizing us. Or so it would seem to me."
"True, but maybe they don't want us pulverized; maybe they'd rather take
over a working planet than a lot of rubble."
"All that follows logically," Entman admitted, "provided the original
hypothesis is true--that they cannot invade us in person."
"Right. But I've got to start somewhere and hope I'm on the right
track."
"One thing occurs to me. Eight of the androids died and one was killed.
What if all ten had succumbed? How did they plan to get their data?"
"Who knows? I'm not saying the idea is foolproof. But a certain amount
of risk had to be involved. If the ten died, they would have missed.
Maybe they'd try again in that case. But they were lucky--one survived."
Entman was peering thoughtfully at nothing. "Your idea is bolstered by
the fact that the androids were found all over the country. They could
have been testing various climates."
"But it's weakened by the creatures being found in cities--the least
likely places to escape detection. Why didn't they stay in isolated
sections?"
Entman smiled. "I like the way you reach out for arguments against your
own theory, but you reached too far for that one. If they'd done that,
who would find the androids and do the research work?"
Brent Taber brightened. "You comfort me, Doctor. That little thread got
lost in my maze. They wanted the creatures to be found. They didn't
expect to fool us. Why else would the one in Chicago go brazenly into a
tavern, start to drink and then get into an argument?"
"That's right. The argument must have been started deliberately." Entman
beamed on Taber. "I think we deserve another Scotch."
Entman poured the drink. He looked kindly at Taber as he handed it to
him, and made what seemed an abrupt change in subject. "They're giving
you a very hard time, aren't they, son?"
Taber considered the question as he downed a healthy belt from the
glass. "I guess you could call it that. I'm getting pretty unpopular in
some places. As a matter of fact, I've wondered why you stick by me."