Ten From Infinity
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Frank Corson got what was possibly the greatest shock of his life whenhe walked into Ward Five and saw William Matson lying in bed. It wasn'tso much that he hadn't expected it. He had, because he was too firmlylocked in reality to believe the man he saw on the Upper East Side couldpossibly have been the broken-legged Matson. Still, seeing Matson in bedhad the effect of bringing unreality into a realm where he had to copewith it. Perhaps, during the trip back to the hospital, he'd beenmystically apprised of what lay ahead and wanted subconsciously to avoidit. Perhaps his shock was a cringing away from facing a problem.
At the moment, of course, he didn't know what the problem was. There wasa mystery here, but only that, and his first thought was to report it tohigher authority--the business about the two hearts--and have itinvestigated. With this thought in mind, he walked down the corridor andreached for the knob of the door marked _Superintendent_.
But quite suddenly he stopped, reversed himself, and went back to WardFive. He approached Matson's bed and looked down at him. Matson, emptyof expression, stared back, and again Frank Corson sensed rather thansaw the emptiness behind the eyes.
"How are you feeling?"
"I feel very--well."
"It wasn't a bad break. How would you like to leave the hospital?"
"I would like to leave the--hospital."
Frank felt an odd, inner frustration. What in the devil was wrong withthe man? He sounded like a child just learning the language. Yet therewas nothing else to indicate backwardness. He looked pretty much like aself-sufficient, self-contained adult.
"I can sign you out--get you a pair of crutches. By the way, I don'tthink the hospital got your home address."
"My home--address?"
"Yes. The place you live." There was a pause, and finally Frank realizedthe man wasn't going to answer. "Your home, man. Where you live."
"I'm looking for a--home."
"Oh, I see. New in town?"
"Yes, new in--town."
"I have a place," Frank said, and it seemed to him as though someoneelse were talking from within him--that he was only a listener. "You cancrowd in with me until you get settled somewhere."
"I can crowd in with--you?"
"Okay?"
"Okay."
"Fine, I'll see that you're signed out. Ever walk on crutches before?"
"I never walked on--crutches."
"Nothing much to it. You'll get the knack."
Frank left the bed and headed toward the office, asking himself as hewent, _Why in hell did I do that?_ Then he found the reason--or at leasta reason that would suffice.
The discovery of a man with two hearts might be worth something. Atleast, it would put Frank Corson, unknown intern, into the spotlight fora while. This was pretty vague thinking but it made a kind of sense andFrank settled for it in lieu of trying to analyze the strangecompulsion, the odd foreboding deep within him.
_Here's a thing that might do me some good_, he told himself. _Why nottake advantage of it?_
Perhaps he was rigidly blocking out the cause of his unrest--that he wasmore or less dependent upon Rhoda Kane for the luxuries that wereinvolved in seeing her, having a relationship with her. He could neitherask her to dine with him on his level, at some place like Nedick's, norcould he refuse to go with her to The Forum or the Four Seasons. Hecould not take her to his miserable furnished room on East 13th Street,nor refuse rendezvous in her Upper East Side apartment.
He was trapped and was thus desperately looking for a way out.
And somehow, grotesquely, there were indications that a man with twohearts might help to provide the answer.
* * * * *
The tape recorder stuck to the bottom of the Taber conference coffeepothad cost Senator Crane a hundred dollars. He had now listened to it fourtimes and was pacing the floor of his office, scowling darkly at thewalls. An android! What in hell was an android? What kind of a stupid,impossible thing was this?
In a flash of panic, Crane wondered if it was all a diabolicalmachination of Brent Taber's. Maybe Taber knew all about the recorder.Maybe the whole meeting was an elaborate plant to maneuver an earnest,alert senator into making a public fool of himself. Taber was certainlycapable of such a thing.
And that was how it had begun to look. Still, that was ridiculous. TheArmy, the Navy, the Air Force--they were all involved. OnlyCongress--the true representatives of the people--had been ignored. And,by God, he'd do something about it!
Crane stopped pacing but continued to scowl at the wall. Now, whatdepartment of research could find him some data on androids?
* * * * *
Les King was awakened by a knock on his door. He rolled over, blinkedand looked at his watch. A little after two in the afternoon, which wasequivalent to midnight for Les. He pulled on his robe and went to thedoor and opened it.
He blinked.
Sure, no doubt about it. The man standing there was the one he'd snappedon Park Avenue the other A.M., lying among a bunch of pigeons,with a broken leg. But evidently that hadn't been the case because hislegs were okay now. It couldn't even have been a sprain, judging by theway he was standing there. He was a fairly tall, good-looking guy in hismiddle forties maybe--brown hair, blue eyes with a kind of vacant lookabout them.
And there was something else, goddamn it; something that kept evadingLes; something that had bothered him when he'd first developed theprint. _Let's see, what is this guy's name? The ambulance intern foundit in his jacket pocket on a half-torn identification card. WilliamMatson._
But, damn it, there was something else.
"Mr. Lester--King?"
"Right. What can I do for you?"
"I had trouble in locating--you. I wish to make a--purchase."
Queer duck. Damned queer. "What can I sell you?"
"You are a--photographer. You took a picture of a man injured onPark--Avenue. I wish to buy that--picture."
Les knotted his robe and stepped back. "Sure. Come on in."
The man entered the room and stood silent while Les got out his file."What do you want it for?" he asked.
"It is for my personal--use."
"Sure." Les handed the glossy to the man he identified in his own mindas Matson. "That the one?"
After a grave inspection, the other replied, "Yes. How much does itcost--me?"
"Ten bucks?"
Without comment, the man sorted a ten-dollar bill from a skimpy roll hetook from his pocket and handed it to Les. With that, he turned andwalked out, closing the door after him and leaving several questions inLes King's mind. Was this a vanity operation? Had the guy merely wanteda glossy of himself? He hadn't impressed Les as being that kind of man.Was there a reason for wanting the pic off the market? That didn't makesense either because he hadn't asked for the negative.
Quite suddenly, in answer to the really important, the nagging,question, Les snapped his fingers. The hem of his dressing gown flappedaround his skinny legs as he dived to his old file rack and went backwhere the dust was thick. He brought out an envelope, dug into it, andfound what he was looking for--an old newspaper clipping dated some tenyears back. It consisted of a headline:
LOCAL POLITICIAN DISAPPEARS
The clipping was from the Kenton, New York, _Chronicle_, an upstateweekly, and the news story told how Judge Sam Baker had vanished on afishing trip to a nearby lake. Accidental drowning had been the verdictbut, as yet, the body had not been recovered.
Les King stared at the clipping. The body, as he remembered it, neverwas recovered, either, but the drowning verdict stood intact and thejudge had been gradually forgotten.
Les King's interest in the affair had been financial. He'd gone toKenton, talked Baker's widow out of a couple of family photographs, andhad 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, becauseBaker's power extended into Albany and could thus have interested NewYo
rk City. All in all, it had been a profitless speculation on LesKing's part.
Now, however, it seemed to be coming to life again. Les stared at thephoto 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 LesKing's room to purchase a glossy of himself for ten dollars. No wonderthe sight of that stranger had nagged at Les. He'd seen that facebefore.
"Now just what in the hell have we got here?" Les mused. Somethingdefinitely worth looking into, that was for sure.
He reached for his pants.