"Jump in and we'll take you. We're not doing anything special--just
riding around." The hoppicopter stopped. This was luck--he'd get there
faster.
The man in the front seat opened the door and stepped out, flashing a
light on him. "Just a check. We don't mind taking you, but we want to
be sure we don't pick up some rough character."
The man didn't look so gentle himself--and the light was trained on Dan
too long. If they were afraid, he'd have to refuse their offer and go
on.
"Hey, Carl," the man with the flash called out puzzledly. "Haven't we
seen this guy somewhere before?"
He should have expected something like this and not stopped--but maybe
it would have been worse if he hadn't. So far, he had been lucky that
no one had spotted him--and now was not the time to be discussing
terms with _Interplanet_. He began to edge away.
Carl climbed out of the hoppicopter and circled in the same direction
Merrol was inching toward. "I guess I have at that," said Carl slowly.
He was a big man. "Can't say where, though."
Merrol breathed more easily. He couldn't make a break for it, but
perhaps he wouldn't have to. They might not have seen the broadcast.
"I've got to hurry," he said. "I'll go on."
"Don't get sore," said Carl soothingly. "We'll take you. Climb in."
The man with the light was frowning indecisively. "The guy on the
broadcast?" he asked sharply.
"Nah," said Carl disgustedly. "That guy--you look at his picture and
you have to bust out laughing. Now this fellow here--while he's a
long way from handsome--is clearly the executive type, a man you can
trust." Carl scrutinized him thoughtfully. Before Merrol could stop
him, he reached out and plucked off the hat. "There's only one guy with
three-colored hair, though, and you've got it," he said unbelievingly.
Merrol started to back away, but the body of the hoppicopter stopped
him.
"Mister, you've sure got some disguise," said the other man in an awed
voice. "I could look right at you all day and not tell who it was."
* * * * *
It was no disguise, it was the multi-personality again. No one looked
quite the same in real life as in a picture, because the personality
was missing. And with him the difference was far more marked. The
camera could register his features accurately, but men couldn't, not
when he was actually there to inspire trust and respect--and he did
arouse those emotions. Added together, these were some of the reasons
why he hadn't hitherto been recognized.
"Sorry to have bothered you," he said, pushing between them as they
converged on him. "I'm in a hurry."
"Sure, sure," said Carl, apologetically, moving aside.
"But he's money!" the man with the flashlight cried in an anguished
voice.
"So he is!" said Carl. The vision of money seemed to carry a lot of
weight with him. He seemed reluctant to act, but he reached out and
swung Merrol around. "We'll take you to _Interplanet_ and then you can
go to the hospital. Don't worry, we aren't going to do nothing. It
don't _pay_ us to hurt you."
Their original intentions were probably sincere, but now that they
thought they'd found money on the street, they weren't willing to let
it go. But Merrol was not going to accompany them to _Interplanet_. He
jerked away.
"We'll split the reward," said Carl. "Too bad we got to carry him in."
Merrol tried to elude him, but Carl caught his arm in a bone-cracking
hold. That is, it ought to have splintered bone. That it didn't was not
due to lack of skill, but to the proportions of the arm to which it was
applied. The advantage of leverage went to Merrol and he used it. He
broke loose and swung the long arm with the large fist and Carl went
down.
The man with the light dropped it, climbed on Merrol's back and was
pounding away at a nerve. Had he found the nerve, Merrol might have
crumpled to the street. He didn't find it, because it wasn't there. The
nerve had been surgically rerouted.
Merrol peeled him off and tossed him on top of Carl. He tossed him
harder than he meant to and neither man moved.
He climbed into the hoppicopter and rolled it through the dark streets.
They had caused him to lose time and for this they would forfeit the
use of their 'copter. They could pick it up in the morning, if they
felt like claiming it. He got out and hurried into the hospital.
He met others in the corridors--it was a busy place in spite of the
lateness--but the first person he recognized was Erica. "Dan!" she
said. She didn't use anything scientific, but the hold on him was
harder to break than judo. Perhaps because he didn't want to.
Later, he became aware of someone tapping his shoulder. He turned
around. "These things can be consummated in the privacy of one's own
home," murmured Doctor Crander. "But when a life is at stake, passion
should be put aside."
The purely physical elation began to fade. He put Erica down, but
uncertainly holding onto her. It was an ambivalent gesture. "Is this
what you call an emergency?" he asked sarcastically. He had broken a
number of minor laws and nearly his own neck in getting here. He had a
right to be angry, though he was not sure how he felt.
The doctor gave him a scandalized look. "Do you think we're unethical?
There is such a woman as we described, one of our staff. We do have
other donors, but we think you can do more for her. In a fit of
despondency, this woman wandered into the extraterrestrial room without
the customary protection, hoping to catch something--and she did."
Crander frowned. "The only way we altered facts was to use your wife's
photo. It was her idea. Furthermore, it is true that a pretty girl gets
a better response--and, of course, Erica wanted you back."
When he learned who the patient was, he was satisfied with his
decision. After the blood fraction had been administered to Miss
Jerrems, even his untrained eyes could see the improvement.
* * * * *
He watched Erica suspiciously as she pattered about in a state of
dishabille that did nothing to enhance her beauty but, perversely,
made her more exciting. That she had been uncertain as to his identity
the last time meant little and he could forgive it. Man and wife were
not thereby distinct species, separate to themselves, unattracted or
repelled by all others of the opposite sex. For himself, he had only to
remember the stewardess.
But it was important to know what her true feelings toward him were.
Laughter at the wrong time could be disastrous to a man's ego!
"This time, you know there's no mistake," he said, hoping that irony
was some protection. "But are you sure you want me as a husband?"
She stopped fiddling with her hair. She tilted her head and looked
at him, at a body that defied the laws of anatomy and the face that
belonged on a clown--except that a clown could take his face off. "Are
you trying to get rid of me?" She was asking questions, not answering
them.
Erica was examining him carefully and he could tell that she, unlike a
male, saw each feature distinctly, saw the nose that had belonged to
someone else and looked it, the jaw, originally very fine, but with
contours that had since melted out of shape.
"I'm not trying to get rid of you," he said. "Maybe you want somebody
nicer." He'd have to know before he could stop feeling tormented.
"Nicer?" she echoed. "Do you want me to answer that?"
* * * * *
She came and leaned against him. "A woman ought to have _some_
secrets," she murmured. "But if you have to know, the first time I
saw you I laughed, because you are funny. And after that, well, I saw
traces of the nicest features of nearly every man I ever had a crush
on. That was just the physical side."
She rested her head on his shoulder. "I didn't believe you actually
were Dan. I didn't pay attention to a thing you said."
"But if you didn't believe...."
"Just what you're thinking," she answered. "I couldn't help it. You're
the most exciting challenge a woman can have. Even if she doesn't know
why, as I didn't then, it's still there--half a dozen men, and all of
them in one monogamous package."
Now that she put it that way, he could see why she hadn't been able to
resist. He could see that there were few women who could. He glanced at
a framed photograph of the handsome pre-accident Dan Merrol that stood
on the bureau. He thought, _Poor sucker!_