Ten From Infinity

by Paul W. Fairman

  6

  Brent Taber was drawn to Doctor Entman. He found, in the ugly littlescientist, a rapport that seemed to exist nowhere else. At the moment,Entman was having a fine, stimulating time dissecting the cadaver of theandroid. His ugly little eyes were bright. "It's a miracle, my friend! Apositive miracle. The thing these people have been able to do!"

  "People? You've used that word before."

  Entman waved an impatient hand. "Oh, don't quibble! Why, the creation ofan artificial digestive system alone is awesome--not to mention thecreation of a synthetic brain."

  "The brain is what interests me."

  "I can hardly wait to get into that area. Certain aspects are obvious,though. These creatures must have mental powers far beyond ours--incertain areas, that is."

  "Tell me more."

  "That's merely a matter of logic. We know that _homo sapiens_--becauseof his free choice, so to speak--uses, on an average, not more than atenth of his mental ability. All right. These people have created, toall intents and purposes, a man. They surely had sense enough to removethe free-choice element. The creature surely has judgment, even cunning,but it is no doubt pointed totally and completely toward the objectiveof its being."

  "Whatever the hell that objective is!"

  Entman was mildly surprised by Taber's exclamation. He held up a warningfinger. "Nerves, boy, nerves. You must watch that. As to theobjective--I'm sure it's something pointed at our destruction."

  "What powers were you referring to?"

  "Hypnotism, I should think. Any of the mental processes through whichone human being strives to assert control over another. We are aware ofseveral of these. They may have found others."

  "You won't be able to define them by cutting up that brain?"

  "I doubt it. We could know them only by watching one of the creatures inaction." Entman sighed. "If we only had other facts."

  "What facts?"

  Entman's smile was almost patronizing. "You're tired, aren't you, son?You're not thinking very well."

  "Goddamn it! Quit treating me like a cretin!"

  "Temper, temper! Look at it analytically, son, analytically. Suppose weknew who these people are. What distances have they covered in arrivinghere? What is their method of conveyance?"

  "The distance? Light years, I would assume. The conveyance? A spaceship,or a projectile along basic lines but farther advanced."

  "All right. We know they've sent ten creatures to our planet frominfinity--that's as good a word to use as any. The next question is,why?"

  "Damnit, that question is obvious."

  "And from my point of view, the answer is obvious."

  "Then I wish to hell you'd give it to me."

  "Logic, man, logic! A race as far advanced as this one could certainlymove in and occupy us without trouble. Wouldn't you think?"

  "Certainly. That's what bothers me. Why all the pussy-footing aroundwith synthetic men who keep dropping dead?"

  "I think it's because they themselves are unable to exist in theclimatic and atmospheric conditions existent on our planet."

  Brent Taber's eyes opened as Entman went on. "They plan to occupy us,certainly--this we must assume--so they're trying to create an entitythrough which they can do it. The process is really no different, eventhough a little more dramatic, than our science creating a mechanicalunit that functions to the best efficiency under specified conditions."

  Taber's finger snapped up. He pointed at Entman's desk. "They'd like toknow why their androids died. Maybe they weren't alike--at least, notexactly alike. Maybe there were differences you haven't found yet--maybethey turned out ten models and they want to know which one worked thebest."

  "You get the point," Entman beamed.

  "They'd like the data you're assembling--those reports you've got infront of you."

  "I imagine they'd find them quite interesting."

  "Do you think we can assume the tenth android died also?"

  "Perhaps. We have no proof that it killed the one found slain inGreenwich Village."

  "I'm satisfied to assume that. But I'm wondering just what contact those'people,' as you call them, had with their androids. Could a part of thebrain have been a sending and receiving device?"

  "It would be difficult to tell. I delved in far enough to find amechanical device, if there had been one. It did not exist in those Idissected. There is another possibility though, except that we oftenmake the mistake of assuming that what we humans on earth can't do,can't be done. Consider telepathy. Who's to say they were not madecapable of communicating in that way--at whatever distance?" He pausedfor a moment, deep in thought, before going on. "Has it occurred to youthat the tenth android might be a supervisor, the boss, the captain? Ifhe is still alive, why haven't you found him? You have the men andfacilities at your command."

  Brent Taber sprang to his feet. "Doctor," he answered, scowling, "Didyou ever hear of a project so secret that it couldn't even be givenenough personnel to make it work?"

  Entman smiled sympathetically. "Washington is a strange place in someways, son. Usually it's the other way around. You get so much help theyget in each other's way. I'm glad I'm not involved in those phases ofit."

  Brent paced the floor, occupied with his own thoughts. It was more thanmere frustration. It went deeper. There was his resentment of thedressing-down he'd taken from Authority; the subtle coolness that hadbegun to permeate his relations with those upstairs.

  He jerked his mind away from such thoughts. Nerves. That was it. He wastense. He was imagining things. They were certainly too well aware ofthe gravity of this situation to let petty politics interfere.

  Or were they?

  "Okay, Doc," Brent said crisply. "Thanks for letting me pick yourbrain."

  "Good luck, son."

  Entman went back to his work and Taber left. As he walked down thecorridor, he analyzed the cheerful tone of Entman's voice and toldhimself that even Entman didn't really believe it. Entman had theevidence before his eyes but he still couldn't get the concept of aliencreatures from space really taking us over. It was too unbelievable.

  _Am I the only one who really believes it?_ He asked himself thisquestion as he hailed a cab in the street and watched a fat man in abowler hat slip in and take it away from him.

  "You're slipping, Taber," he muttered. "You're definitely slipping."

  * * * * *

  The bell rang. Rhoda Kane opened the door. The man standing there wasnot extraordinary in any way. He appeared just short of middle age. Hewore a blue suit and a blue necktie. The word for him was _quiet_. Hewas a man who did not stand out.

  "My name is John Dennis," he said. "I would like to speak to you."

  The abrupt demand annoyed Rhoda. She frowned and was about to retortjust as peremptorily, but an odd bemusement tempered her mood. The manwas uncivil enough to be interesting. She said, "I'm busy now," butinstead of closing the door, she stepped back into the room. The mancame in and it was he who closed the door.

  "I don't wish to alarm you, Miss Kane."

  "I'm not in the least alarmed."

  As she spoke, Rhoda wondered if this was true. But the wondering itselfwas on such an impersonal basis that it didn't seem to make muchdifference.

  Also, she was noticing that John Dennis was not quite as he'd firstappeared. He was much younger than middle-aged, really--somewhere in histhirties. He was quiet, yes, but handsome, too. There was a ruggedindividuality about him that was easily missed at first glance. Adefinite attractiveness.

  "I want to ask you about a friend of yours. Frank Corson."

  This seemed like a logical request. It definitely seemed that way but,at the same time, Rhoda was confused as to why it should appear to be. Aman came and knocked on the door and entered and asked a question likethat. It _shouldn't_ have been all right, but it was. He probably hadthe right, she told herself, else he would not have asked.

  "What do you wish to know?"

  "Tell me about him."
r />   "He is a doctor. Frank is an intern at Park Hill Hospital. After hefinishes there he will go into practice. I guess that's about all thereis to it."

  "He had a patient named William Matson."

  "William Matson? I don't know. He doesn't discuss his work with me."

  "This was a patient with a broken leg who was taken to the hospitalnight before last."

  "He did mention one man. I don't know his name, though. A man Frank saidhad two hearts."

  "What else did he tell you about this man?"

  "Nothing else. Frank had the case in Emergency. We came home--camehere--and then Frank was bothered. He went back and examined the man andcame out and said he had two hearts."

  "That was all he said?"

  "Nothing else."

  John Dennis looked around. Then, when Rhoda stirred and passed a handquickly through her hair, he brought his eyes back to bear on hers.Rhoda lowered her hand.

  "Does Frank Corson live here?"

  "No. This is my home. Frank lives in the Village."

  "What Village?"

  "Greenwich Village. It's a part of New York. Are you a stranger?"

  John Dennis did not answer. "Why doesn't he live here with you?"

  "Why--why, we're not married. We are only engaged."

  "That means you will get married later?"

  "I hope to."

  "Does he hope to?"

  "Yes--I'm sure he does."

  "Then he will live here with you?"

  "I don't know. We may find another place."

  "What's wrong with this one?"

  "Why, nothing--nothing at all--"

  Such strange questions, Rhoda thought. Why was he asking them? No doubthe had a reason. It somehow did not occur to her to wonder why she wasanswering. Her own thoughts on the matter did not seem important.

  "He lives here with you sometimes, doesn't he?"

  "He stays over once in a while."

  "Why doesn't he stay over all the time?"

  "Because we're not married."

  "What do you do when he stays over?"

  "We--talk."

  "Is that all?"

  "We make love."

  "How do you do that?"

  Rhoda hesitated for the first time. "We--haven't you ever made love?"

  His words came a little sharper. "How do you make love?"

  "We lie in each other's arms. We show affection for each other."

  "You lie in the same bed together?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  "If you were married, what would you do?"

  "I said--we would live together."

  "Would you make love?"

  "Yes."

  "Would you lie in the same bed together?"

  "Yes."

  "Is there anything you would do if you were married that you don't donow?"

  "Of course. We would live together. We would be man and wife. It wouldbe--well, legal."

  "It is not legal to make love and lie in the same bed together now?"

  "No--well, yes--you see--"

  He was joking, of course. Rhoda was sure of this. She wanted to explainit all to him but he suddenly lost interest.

  "Frank Corson knew nothing else about William Matson?"

  "The man with two hearts?"

  "Only that?"

  "It was all he told me."

  "I think he knows more. I want you to ask him. Then I will come and askyou."

  "I'll ask him if he knows anything more than what he told me."

  "Ask him if he knows of any other men with two hearts. I want to knowwhere they are and what happened to them."

  "I'll try to find out."

  "You _must_ find out."

  "Will you come back soon?"

  "I will come back. You must do as I tell you."

  "I will do as you tell me."

  John Dennis had been sitting by the window so that Rhoda had to stareinto the light. He got up and approached her. She stood up and waitedfor him, motionless. He came close and looked at her curiously. His eyeswent up and down her body. He laid a hand on her left breast and pressedgently. She did not move.

  "I will come back. You will not tell anyone I have been here or that wetalked." He left without saying good-bye.

  After he was gone, Rhoda stood where she was, motionless, for severalminutes. Her mind was on the place he had touched her. She had neverbefore experienced such a reaction. Never before had a man's hand, evenon her bare flesh, produced such thrill and excitement. Desperately, hercommon sense struggled with this new thing. She dismissed with annoyancethe callow, schoolgirl thought that this was the way love finallycame--in the door, unannounced, to take over a woman's heart and souland body. Ridiculous.

  The intellectual Rhoda agreed, but the emotional Rhoda continued to toywith the idea, finding it a fascination, a joy. But there was somethingmore than the intellectual and the emotional; a deeper, frighteningnumbness; a strange paralysis of mind she could not come to grips with;it kept eluding her even as she reached out for it.

  Fear? She wondered.

  But mainly she thought of John Dennis, the strange man who had walked inher door and to whom she had surrendered without a struggle.

  _My God. What happened to me? What happened to Rhoda Kane?_

  Abruptly she dropped the thought--it did not seem important.

  * * * * *

  Senator Crane sat in the dining room of the Mayflower Hotel. His guestwas Matthew Porter, a mystery man, also, of the Brent Taber type, but alittle more clearly defined in that he had a title and a department ofgovernment. But far more important to Crane, he outranked Taber.

  One other point of importance: Matthew Porter was, in the terms evenSenator Crane used, "something of a fathead."

  "Maybe I am a Senator," Crane said jovially, "and maybe we boys up therethink we have a hand in directing you fellows--still I'm flattered thatyou could find time to lunch with me."

  Porter had a thin, aristocratic face, delicate features. His expressionwas usually benign, but there was steel behind it. He could scowl andhurl righteous invective, for instance, when a policeman questioned hisright to park by a fireplug in spite of his official license plates.

  But mainly he was a shy person who nursed his inferiority complex insecret.

  "That's very flattering, Senator. But the truth is quite the opposite.It's we fellows who are honored to put ourselves at your beck and call.After all, you're the ones the people elect to office."

  The flattery boomeranged nicely and put Porter one up on Crane.

  "The people must be served, of course," Crane said, "and that's one ofthe things I want to talk to you about. The people's interests."

  Matthew Porter cocked an alarmed eye as he bit into a roll. "Have theirinterests been violated?"

  Crane glanced around and lowered his voice. "There's been too much loosetalk going around about that project you've got Brent Taber on."

  Porter laid the roll down very carefully, as though he feared it mightgo off. "I'm not sure I know what you're referring to, Senator."

  "Your reticence is quite understandable. That I bring it up at all mustshock you, but--" Crane hesitated, a touch of sadness brushing acrosshis face.

  "But what, Senator?"

  "You understand, certainly, that I hold the greatest respect for BrentTaber. That's why I hesitated to come to you."

  "It seems to me Halliday said something about calling Taber in.It had to do with a mild reprimand over Taber's attitude onlegislative-executive relations."

  "Halliday?" Senator Crane asked innocently. "He's another of the reallygood men you picked for government service."

  "I trust Halliday implicitly, but he's carrying a big load so I'm gladyou came directly to me, Senator. Exactly what is the trouble?"

  "In plain words, there have been some bad leaks out of Taber's office.There is in existence a taped recording of a meeting."

  Porter was aghast. He tried to hide it, which made his greenishexpression all
the more ludicrous--as though he'd swallowed a worm outof his salad.

  "Impossible."

  "You'd think so, with all the top-secret precautions that have beentaken."

  "How did you discover this?"

  Crane held up a restraining hand. "I'd be happy to tell you if it wouldserve any purpose, but believe me, it wouldn't. I would only tend toeliminate a contact who is extremely loyal to me and--I might add--togood government."

  "I understand. But I certainly can't imagine what has happened to Taber.I would have backed him with my last dime."

  "I actually don't think it was Taber's fault. A man can't personally seeto every detail in his department."

  "That's the responsibility of whoever is in charge."

  Crane sighed. "Yes, I guess that's a cold, hard fact of life in thistime of danger. But don't be too hard on him. Perhaps there's anexplanation."

  "He'll have his chance to explain," Porter said grimly.

  "I'm sure you understand how it pains me to have to--well, put thisblack mark on the record of a good man. I debated many hours andsearched my soul before I came to you. With a man's career at stake--"

  "Men are expendable," Porter snapped. "The nation's safety is not."

  Again Crane glanced around. "Are the Russians _really_ that far ahead?"

  Porter's eyes narrowed just a shade. "The Russians? Did you listen tothe tape you mentioned?"

  "Only sketchily. I assumed--"

  "The danger is far greater. A Senatorial committee was briefed on thething. I honestly think you should have been on that committee,Senator. By coming to me you've done far more toward protecting thenation's safety--and that of the world--than have any of yourcolleagues."

  "Let's just say I had more opportunity."

  "Your modesty is becoming."

  "And now," Crane said wryly, "now that I've done all I can, I wish Icould forget the whole thing. But with the gravity of the situation--"

  "I'll see that you get a complete briefing."

  "Thank you. And I promise I'll be most discreet."

  A little while later, on the way back to his office, Crane smiled. Nowmaybe that self-important little son-of-a-bitch, Taber, would find outwhat it meant to insult a United States Senator.

  From there, his mind went to another insult. So they'd passed him up informing the committee to hear about the damned androids, had they? Well,by God, he'd show them the people of his state wouldn't tolerate that,either.

  The people back home were going to hear about their Senator.

  It probably wouldn't even be necessary to campaign next year.