Ten From Infinity

by Paul W. Fairman

  5

  "Doctor Corson. Calling Doctor Corson. Please come to the second-floorreception room."

  Frank Corson got the call as he was leaving the maternity ward. He tookthe elevator down and found a rather sloppily dressed, middle-aged mansitting on a lounge beside a weather-beaten camera that tended to markhis profession.

  "I'm Les King, a free-lance news photographer. You're Doctor Corson?"

  Frank Corson's reaction was slightly hostile. He wondered why. "I'mDoctor Corson."

  "I'm on the trail of a patient that came here late last night. Name,William Matson. They tell me he was your patient."

  Frank nodded briefly.

  "They say he was released."

  "That's right."

  "A little over an hour ago."

  "Right."

  "They say he had a broken leg."

  "If that's what they said, it must be a matter of record."

  "Well, they're wrong on both counts. He came to see me over three hoursago--and both his legs were as good as mine."

  Frank Corson did not volunteer the information that he had personallytaken William Matson to his furnished room in Greenwich Village and thatMatson was there at this very moment, awaiting Frank's return.

  "I think there must be some mistake on your part," Frank said.

  "No mistake. But something very definitely got crossed up. Maybe weought to have a little talk--the two of us."

  Anger stirred in Frank Corson. Did this Les King character think abeaten-up camera gave him the right to walk in and make demands. "I'mbusy now. And I can't see what we'd have to talk about."

  "A hell of a lot, maybe. There are some things you may not know aboutthis deal. You might have let a big thing slip through your fingers."

  "Look here, I'm not interested in anything you've got to say. And Ithink you've got a hell of a nerve, coming in here and cross-examiningme on something that's--"

  King reacted with weary patience. "Take it easy. I'm just trying to getsome information that can help both of us, maybe."

  "How could it possibly help me?"

  "To make it simple, there's a standing ten-thousand-dollar reward forknowledge of the whereabouts of a Judge Sam Baker who disappeared tenyears ago from a little upstate New York town. Now, if you aren'tinterested--"

  "Are you telling me that William Matson is Sam Baker?"

  "Let's say a hell of a lot indicates it. Matson left here without givinga home address. If you know what it is, we can do business. If youdon't--"

  "I'm off duty in an hour," Frank Corson said. "Maybe we should talk itover."

  "That's better. In the meantime, if you'll tell me where I can findMatson--"

  Frank smiled. "Wait an hour. Then I'll show you. But we'll talk about itfirst."

  * * * * *

  The tenth android, one of the two so earnestly sought after by BrentTaber, had observed the accident at 59th Street and Park Avenue on theprevious night. He'd stood on the curb, lost in the crowd that gathered,and had watched the proceedings carefully. A man who was not a man, amachine that was not a machine, he incorporated, in many respects, thebest qualities of both. Now, as the leader of the group deposited fromspace for a specific purpose, he exhibited these qualities excellently.

  He waited. He observed. He added the accident to the several otherunforeseen incidents that endangered the project and its objective, andstored them in his memory-bank.

  He watched the minor drama as it unfolded, and what was somewhat akin toa danger bell went off in his mind when he saw a bright flash, tracedits source to a camera, and carefully studied the man who had taken thepicture. Pictures, he knew, could be dangerous. He must get his hands onthe picture, if possible.

  He waited. He observed. He evaluated. The situation had gotten somewhatout of his control, but he did not blame himself for this. Certainemotions had been made a part of his being, but guilt, a useless one,had been omitted, as had been any ability to react to love, compassion,anger or hatred.

  So, with no hope of reward or fear of punishment, he had recorded thefacts that he had been unable to communicate telepathically with eightof the units under his command and that, therefore, they were no longeroperational. He had no way of knowing what had happened to them. This,however, did not make his work one bit less vital. Even though eightunits were unaccounted for, his intelligent handling of the ninthandroid, and of himself, was still vitally important. It was up to himto see that the project was brought to a successful conclusion.

  He watched as the ambulance came, noted the name of the hospital, andrecorded the proceedings. But he allowed the ambulance to drive away,keeping his attention pointed at the man who had taken the picture.

  When the man moved off down the street, the tenth android followed. Whenthe man entered Central Park, he was observed from a discreet distance.When he came out again, he was followed into Times Square, down intoGreenwich Village, back uptown and, finally, to an apartment building inthe West Seventies. There he was observed opening a mailbox, and thename thereon was duly recorded.

  At this point, temporarily entrusting King to destiny, the tenth androidtook a taxicab to the Park Hill Hospital where he entered, went to thedesk, and inquired about a friend of his, a William Matson.

  He was directed to Emergency where a nurse, after checking a recordsheet on her piled-up desk, told him that Doctor Corson was with thepatient in Ward Five. Unaware that he had been extremely lucky, thatvery few real people--people with only one heart, and a soul to go withit--would have gotten such specific information out of a receiving-desknurse, the tenth android began counting wards until he came to the onemarked Five.

  He looked in through the small window in the swinging door and saw hiscounterpart in bed, a white-coated man bending over him.

  That made the ninth android unapproachable, so his counterpart-leaderwithdrew to the end of the corridor and waited until Doctor Corson cameout. He followed Corson outside and, from the back seat of another taxi,never lost sight of the convertible until Rhoda Kane drove it into thegarage under her apartment building. From the street, the tenth androidsaw Rhoda and Frank enter the elevator. As soon as the door closed, hewas in the outer lobby, watching as the numbers progressed upward on theelevator dial. The hand stopped at 21. This was noted and recorded,after which the tenth android called a finish to the night's activitiesand retired to the small room he'd rented on a quiet street on the LowerEast Side where, if you bothered no one, no one would bother you.

  He was back the next morning, however, and that's when his unavoidablecontact with Frank Corson on the sidewalk was made. He noted thesurprise on Corson's face, but the logical situation did not developbecause Corson did not make an issue of the meeting. He allowed thetenth android to go on his way.

  A nonsynthetic man would have wondered at this and thanked his own goodluck. Not so with the android. He knew nothing whatever about luck. Heaccepted this bit of good fortune in exactly the same manner he wouldhave faced its opposite, and when Frank Corson boarded a bus, a taxicabpulled out of a side street and followed.

  The cab waited, in front of the Park Hill Hospital. When Frank Corsonand the ninth android emerged, two cabs, not one, wheeled down Manhattanand into Greenwich Village.

  Thus it was that some ten minutes after Frank Corson went back to hisduties at the Park Hill Hospital, there was a knock on the door of hisroom in Greenwich Village. The ninth android opened the door. The tenthandroid entered. The ninth android hobbled back to his chair and waitedquietly.

  The tenth android looked both ways in the corridor and then closed thedoor. He walked to the chair and stood looking down. He turned his eyesto the bulky, cast-encased leg. "It will not heal," he statedmatter-of-factly.

  The ninth android nodded. "I--know."

  "That makes you useless."

  Another nod. "Why couldn't they have made it possible for our flesh andbone to become whole again after an--accident?"

  "That wasn't possible."

/>   The tenth android went to a tiny curtained-off kitchenette and returnedwith a knife. He put his hand on the head of the ninth android and drewit backward so that the neck muscles were taut. He raised the knife.

  Then he paused and looked down with a faint expression of interest inhis otherwise empty eyes. "Are you afraid to die?"

  "I don't--know. What is it to--die?"

  "You become nonfunctioning."

  "I think I would rather not become nonfunctioning."

  The tenth android cut the ninth android's throat. Carefully and cleanly,he severed the big artery that carried the blood-fluid back down to theupper heart.

  The blood-fluid spouted out and drained down over the chest of the ninthandroid. He shuddered. His eyes closed. When the tenth android releasedhis grip, the head fell forward.

  And from somewhere in the synthetically created mind of the tenthandroid there came a question: Was it undesirable to becomenonfunctioning? The human was afraid to die. He sensed this but not thereason for it, if there was one. The human was afraid to die.

  He wondered only momentarily, vaguely recorded it as a mistake to wonderabout such things, and then crossed the room and put the red-stainedknife into the sink.

  After that, he let himself quietly out of the apartment and walked offdown the street.

  He had much to do. He had to leave town and finish the project alone.

  Then, quite suddenly, he stopped, stepped into a nearby doorway andstood motionless. There was no change in his expression except thatpossibly his eyes became a shade emptier.

  After a while he left the doorway and moved on. But it was with newpurpose and with new plans.

  The new orders, relayed across a light-year of space, were notintercepted by any terrestrial receiving device, however sensitive. Butthey were received and recorded perfectly in the mind of the tenthandroid.

  * * * * *

  Frank Corson and Les King sat in a coffee shop and regarded each otherwith a certain wariness. "It's like this, at least from where I sit,"King said. "About ten years ago a small-town judge named Sam Baker--"

  "You told me that," Corson cut in impatiently. "Baker was supposed tohave been drowned, but they never found the body. Now, you think WilliamMatson is Sam Baker?"

  King pondered the question morosely. "I've got every right to think so.But Baker would have aged some in ten years. The man I saw--"

  "The man you saw didn't have a broken leg. I must have seen the same onewhen I--"

  King was instantly alert. When you were on the trail of ten grand youhad to be alert, and suspicious of comparative strangers.

  "You saw someone who looked like Baker and Matson? A guy without abroken leg?"

  "I was leaving an apartment building on the Upper East Side thismorning. I met him in the street."

  "You didn't tell me that."

  "I'm telling you now."

  King scowled. "I don't get it. You were the doctor. You left a man witha broken leg in bed in a hospital. You saw a man who looked like--"

  "I saw the same man, goddamn it!"

  "All right--the same man. And you didn't do anything about it? Youdidn't say _Good morning_ or _It might rain_ or _What the hell are youdoing out of bed?_ You just let him walk away?"

  "You're being unreasonable. When you come face to face with somethingthat's impossible, you don't treat it as a fact. It throws you offbalance."

  King continued to scowl. "We're not getting anywhere. Let's face it. It_was_ impossible. Let's get the hell up to your room and talk to WilliamMatson."

  "All right."

  Frank Corson came half out of his chair, then he dropped back again. "Idon't like this," he said.

  "What's to like? What's to dislike? For ten thousand dollars we canignore both."

  "I have a feeling we're getting into something beyond our depth."

  "Okay, then let me handle it. I'll see that you get your cut."

  "Not so fast," Corson said sharply. "I didn't say I was backing out. Ijust said this might be bigger than we bargain for."

  "I don't think that's quite it," King replied coldly. "I think you don'ttrust me."

  "Maybe that's it. I don't think you trust me, either."

  "Ten thousand _is_ a lot of money. But we're not going to get it bysitting in a coffee shop arguing over it."

  "I guess you're right."

  "Then let's go."

  They left the coffee shop and, as they walked the four blocks thatseparated them from the room where he was ashamed to take Rhoda Kane,Frank Corson analyzed his own mood and attitude. He decided it wasn'tthat he mistrusted King, or that he actually thought the deal had anyfrightening elements in it. In plain truth, he was ashamed of himself.Somehow, in his own mind, he was degrading his profession. His love ofRhoda Kane, his need of money, his impatience with time andcircumstance, had forced him into what seemed like a cheap intrigue.There was, somehow, a bad taste to the whole thing.

  But it was too late to back out now. And what the hell! If there was tenthousand dollars lying around, why shouldn't he get a piece of it? Whatwas wrong with that? He unlocked the door to his room.

  He took a step forward and stopped, blocking the entrance.

  "Oh, my God!"

  Les King pushed through. His eyes widened, but that was his onlyreaction. Then his camera swung up into position. The bulb flashed. Helowered the camera.

  "Somebody cut the bastard's throat!" he marveled.

  Frank Corson moved forward. "Good lord! It looks as though he just satthere and let himself be murdered."

  "Suicide maybe?"

  "No knife close enough. It's over there in the sink."

  "Well, he didn't cut his own throat and then walk back here."

  Frank Corson had been studying the wound. He pressed his fingers againstthe crimson shirt front and rubbed them together, testing the feel ofthe blood with his thumb.

  "What's wrong?" King asked.

  "I don't know. That's an odd color for coagulating blood. It doesn'tfeel right, either."

  "Do you think he was sick?"

  "There's just something crazy about this whole thing. The man had twohearts."

  King was both amazed and angered. "What the hell are you talkingabout?"

  "I didn't get a chance to tell you. This man was a freak. I found it outlast night. He had two hearts. I'm sure of it."

  "No chance to tell me? Why, goddamn it, we sat in that coffee shop forhalf an hour while I leveled with you. No chance! You held out on me."King laughed cynically. "I guess that's human nature. With a couple ofbucks at stake even honest men go cagey."

  Corson ignored the jibe. "Listen, for Christ sake! This is murder! Can'tyou understand that?"

  "Of course, it's murder--in your room, with your knife. You'll have someexplaining to do."

  King's face hardened. He became subtly remote, impersonal. His eyesturned cold as he began inserting flash-bulbs into his camera andsnapping the room and the body from various angles.

  Frank Corson, out of his depth for sure now, stood helpless. Les Kinglooked up from his work. "Well, don't just stand there, Doctor. You'vegot a murder to report. Get with it."

  As Corson turned helplessly toward the door, King grinned faintly. "Me,I'm just a free-lance photographer trying to make an honest buck."

  * * * * *

  Brent Taber stared icily down at Frank Corson and Les King. They lookedup at him sullenly, looming over them as he did, from the position ofauthority. A little like two schoolboys being punished by the principal,they lowered their eyes. Defiantly, each told himself that he was a freecitizen and didn't have to take this from Taber, even if he didrepresent governmental authority.

  Still, they sat and took it.

  "Of course," Taber said, "you have the universal alibi. You didn't knowhow serious this thing was. So far as you were concerned, you'd locateda man with a reward on his head." He shook his head deprecatingly. "Ifwe hadn't sent out a top-secret bulletin to
all the big-city policechiefs to be on the lookout for this guy you'd have had it spread insome tabloid."

  "A person has a right to make a buck," King said stubbornly.

  "Oh, sure. Again the universal defense. Make the buck first and thenthink about your patriotic duty."

  "Patriotic duty, hell! There wasn't any as far as I was concerned. WhenI found out about that--What the hell did you call him? The android?--hewas already dead."

  "And you'll do very well with the pictures you took."

  "They're my pictures."

  "The hell they are. We're confiscating them and you'll keep your mouthshut about this."

  "Then the people haven't got a right to know--"

  "Damn the people!" Brent snarled, and wished instantly that he hadn'tsaid it. He didn't mean it, of course. He'd just been pressed too hard.In a sense, he was taking his own frustrations out on these two becausethey were handy.

  And yet, damn it all, he was right! Nobody gave a hoot for the welfareof the country!

  "You," he said, turning on Frank Corson. "In the course of your duty asa doctor, you came upon something very strange."

  "I wasn't sure!"

  "You found a man with two hearts. What should you have done as a doctor?Reported it through recognized channels. If you'd done that, do yourealize we might have got word? We might have been able to act? We mighthave saved that creature's life. That may well have been the differencebetween life and death for this country. For this planet."

  "Are you sure you're not exaggerating things a little?" King asked thequestion and lit a cigarette as his self-confidence began to return."Isn't the whole thing pretty far-fetched?"

  Brent held his temper. "I suppose you have every right to assume wearen't really sure ourselves. But please listen to me now and give methe benefit of the doubt. We have reason to believe that thesecreatures--there have been others--are a menace to our survival. We'realso pretty sure that there's another one roaming around. It's myopinion that the last one, the tenth one, may have had something to dowith what happened in Dr. Corson's room. I don't know whether your livesare in danger or not, but _please_ co-operate with us. Please reportimmediately anything of a suspicious nature that you see."

  "Of course, we will," Frank Corson said. "I didn't see any signs ofhostility in the other one, though."

  "Be that as it may, we _must_ get our hands on him."

  "If he did kill the one with the broken leg," King said, "wouldn't hehave left town?"

  "If he thinks like a murderer, yes. But he probably doesn't. That's thetrouble. We don't know how he thinks or what he's here for. We'replaying it by ear."

  "I think we understand," Frank Corson said.

  "Thank you. And I'm sorry if I antagonized you. That wasn't my purpose.I'm just trying to do my job." He smiled and held out his hand. "This isall strictly confidential, of course."

  "Of course."

  "Thanks for coming."

  They left, but Brent Taber's frustrations remained with him. Earlierthat day, in Washington, he'd stood on the carpet himself, before higherauthority, and played the part of the reprimanded schoolboy.

  "It would appear," Authority said, "that you went out of your way toantagonize Senator Crane."

  "I'm sorry if that's the opinion up above."

  "It is not a matter of opinion, one way or another. It's a matter ofexpediency. The Administration has to get along with Congress. SenatorCrane is in a powerful position. He is on three committees that canhamper legislation the Administration is vitally interested in."

  "I understand. And I didn't pick the quarrel with Senator Crane. Hepicked it with me. In my judgment, he is not the kind of person to betrusted with information of this vital nature."

  "You consider Senator Crane an unreliable demagogue?"

  "I didn't say that."

  Authority smiled wryly. "I'll concede that the Senator's type is rare inAmerican politics--at least among those who get elected to high office.But the fact remains--he is a power."

  "If you agree that the information should have been withheld--"

  "I didn't agree on that at all," Authority said quickly. "And don'tquote me as having said so. I'll deny it."

  Brent Taber smiled also, but inwardly, where it wouldn't show. He shouldhave expected that denial. After all, Authority had Higher Authority toaccount to. Authority could also be put on the carpet. There was alwaysSomeone higher up.

  "I'm sorry," Brent Taber said. "I was put in charge of this project andI used my judgment--"

  "We are not questioning your over-all judgment," Authority assured him.

  _Then what in the hell are you gabbling about?_ This question was alsoasked inwardly as Brent said, "I felt the gravity of the situationmerited extreme care."

  "It does. But life must go on. The government must still function."

  _That's right, play it from both ends_, Brent Taber thought bitterly._Ride the fence. Stay in a position to jump either way._

  "What do you wish me to do about Senator Crane?"

  "I'd stay out of his way if I were you."

  "Whatever damage you say I have done can be corrected with a ten-minutebriefing."

  "That's up to you," Authority answered nimbly. "As you say, you've beenput in charge of the project."

  "Then I'll leave things as they are."

  "Very well. I just wanted to go on record."

  "Thank you," Brent Taber said. "Thank you very much."

  * * * * *

  Frank Corson and Les King walked north together after their interviewwith Brent Taber.

  "I guess we got off lucky," King said. "Those Washington appointees canbe tough."

  "He seems to have a pretty tough job."

  "They all think they've got tough jobs."

  "It's still a murder as far as the New York police are concerned. Whatdo you think will happen?"

  "They turned us over to Taber, didn't they?" King asked. "That shows howthey're playing it. The New York cops have enough murders to worryabout. They like to pass them on to somebody else."

  "Then they won't question us any further?"

  King shrugged. "Who knows? You've got nothing to worry about, though.Just sit tight. In fact, you're damned lucky."

  "How so?"

  "This killing is under wraps. Nobody's talking. That means you won't getin trouble at the hospital." King grinned. "Your _ethics_ won't comeunder scrutiny."

  Frank Corson flushed and said nothing. King, after a moment's silence,said, "I've been thinking about that tenth android."

  "Do you think there's as much danger in this thing as Taber says?"

  King shrugged. "Those guys always think that way. Remember what theysaid about the atom bomb? The world was doomed. We were going to bloweach other up. But nobody's been heaving them around. Theview-with-alarm boys always talk that way."

  "I hope you're right."

  "But about that android that's supposed to be walking around loose."

  "What about him?"

  "Those bastards confiscated all my stuff. The shots I made in yourroom--everything. But if I could get some shots of the other one--"

  "You're actually going to work on your own? In spite of what Tabersaid?"

  "It's a free country," King retorted hotly. "I've got a right to followmy profession. What I was going to say was that you're in a position tohelp yourself a little, too."

  "I am?"

  "Only you and I know what we're looking for. If you spot the android,see him hanging around anywhere, and let me know, I'll--"

  "You can go to hell, King. I want no part of any more of your ideas.I've had it. If I see the creature I'll call Taber and nobody else. I'mgoing to do exactly what he told me to do. Mark me off your list."

  Frank Corson strode away. Les King stood watching him. King shrugged.Just another bewildered citizen who thought God lived in Washington.Afraid to spit if some Washington bureaucrat wagged a finger.

  Well, the hell with Corson. The hell with Tabe
r. The hell with all ofthem. If Les King stood to make an honest buck, he was going to do hisdamnedest until somebody passed a law making it illegal.