"What do you mean by that?" he asked. His eyes were suddenly sharp with
suspicion.
"Oh, nothing," I said, shrugging. "A minute won't make a big
difference will it?"
He studied me closely. My heart was beating against my ribs.
"I've changed my mind," he said abruptly, his fingers fumbling with the
buckle that would release his arms. "I'll wait until later to do this."
"No you don't!" I said, my calm deserting me. I leaped around the
tables. His fingers were trying desperately to open the buckle that
would free his arms. I slapped them away and stood over him.
"This is for those hours of torture," I said, leering into his blank
eyes. My fist crashed against the side of his jaw just in front of the
ear. He sank back, limp and unconscious.
It was better this way. I was glad it had happened. Now I could be
sure of what I did. I crossed the room to a bench and searched swiftly
through drawers of tools until I found a wire cutter. In a moment I
had clipped the blue coated wire where it was soldered to the red one.
Quickly, with sure movements, I fastened the cover back on the case,
threw the switch that sent electric current glowing through the cold
filaments of tubes, and returned the wire clipper to its drawer. And by
the time I had adjusted the two hoods into position over Dr. Leopold
Moriss' head and that of the waiting robot form, the meters on the
instrument panel showed that everything was ready for the final moment.
The moment I had been looking forward to, working toward; when I could
touch the switch that would begin the final act, completing my revenge.
My breathing was the only sound in the room as I stood for a moment
surveying everything to be sure. I grinned into the doctor's closed
eyes. It was too bad now that he wasn't conscious so that I could watch
his fear and horror, so that he could know before I jabbed down on that
switch what he had tortured me to discover.
* * * * *
All the hate that had built up in my soul went into that final act. I
heard the faint click as the switch snapped over to contact. A horrible
scream welled from the throat of the unconscious man as I ran to the
stairs and stumbled down them.
[Illustration: A wild laughter filled his eyes as he adjusted the
controls and turned to see the figures stiffen under the jolting
impact of the high electrical charge....]
I waited in the chemical lab, knowing that Paula would be watching the
door of the building, and not wanting to face her until it was all
finished. I was waiting for the sound of footsteps over my head. Slow
steps that would cross and come down the stairs.
And finally I heard them. I watched the stairs and saw first the legs
and then the rest of the man that was descending. It was the robot,
controlled by the mind of Dr. Leopold Moriss. There was no hostility
in its expression as its eyes settled on me. Rather, there was grave
respect. It stopped in front of me, its movements so natural and smooth
that no one could have guessed it was a non-living robot. I returned
its studied gaze in silence. Then it went on past me to the door. I
watched without moving as the door closed.
"Dad!" It was Paula's voice. "Tell January to come in here. Lunch's
ready. Dad!" Her voice was full of sudden alarm. "Dad!" Then,
"January!" Her feet pounded on the back steps and the narrow sidewalk
outside. The knob rattled as she fumbled, then the door burst open and
she stood framed there, her eyes wide with fear and horror and a half
realization of what her mind was not conditioned to quite accept.
She saw me, and with a sob of relief she was across the room and in my
arms. I held her head against the cradle of my neck, waiting.
And then it came.
Over our heads sounded a faint scuffle of a shoe, a hesitant footstep,
another, and then another, dragging, stumbling.
Paula's trembling body stiffened at the first sound. She looked up at
me in numb unbelief, then wonder, seeing in my expression, my eyes, the
culmination of my revenge. She started to pull away, to run toward the
stairs.
"No!" I said softly. "Wait. He deserved this."
The defiance left her. She stood beside me while we both waited.
Feet came into view. Legs. Hands sliding weakly along the wall for
support. A face bearing the shocked realization that another mind
existed in the world identical with itself. A realization of the
fallacy of believing that by destroying oneself at the instant of
creation of that other mind it would in some absolute way _become_
oneself.
As I looked at him standing there on the stairs the hate that I had
nurtured disappeared. In its place was pity and sympathy.
I was up the stairs catching him before he could fall, lifting him,
surprised at his lightness. Paula, her lips trembling on a hesitant
worried smile, was opening doors ahead of me as I carried her father
into the house and laid him on his bed.
And as Paula and I undressed him to treat the bruises caused by the
straps, in my mind rose a picture of the other Dr. Leopold Moriss, the
robot, hurrying along some street and, perhaps, already making plans to
search for--the _other_ January Stevens.