7
"If you've changed your mind about anything--about us, maybe--just sayso. I'll understand." Frank Corson felt he had to make this point--atthis particular time. There was something inevitable in the need to doso.
"You're being ridiculous. The old thing about money again," Rhodaparried.
"There's nothing old about money. The problem is ever new. It's alwayswith us."
Rhoda Kane wanted to cry. She sat on the floor beside the sofa on whichFrank Corson lay, his hands behind his head, his eyes staring up at theceiling. She wanted to say, _Darling, what's happened to me? What isthis thing inside me that keeps blocking me away from you? Why can't Itell you about it?_
But she could not say this. She could only push the tears back and layher head seductively on his chest. "You're just tired, dear. You've beenworking too hard."
He ran his hand petulantly through her hair. "It isn't me. It's you,Rhoda. Half the time you don't even realize I'm talking to you. You'regetting such a faraway look in your eyes I'm beginning to think there'sanother man."
"That's silly," she said lightly. "Let me make you a drink."
"I don't want a drink."
The way he responded to her kiss indicated he didn't want to make love,either. Rhoda settled back to the floor and said, "Darling--"
Suddenly she couldn't go on. Somewhere inside, a dam broke; the strange,bewildering block tottered and began to fall. "Darling--there'ssomething I want to tell you--"
Frank Corson indicated with a jerk of his head. "The phone's ringing."
"Let it ring. Darling, I--"
"For heaven's sake, answer it, Rhoda. It might be important."
She got up, went to the phone and picked it up. "Hello."
"This is John Dennis."
She felt that frightening excitement again--that feeling of dangerousdelight at something forbidden. "Yes?"
"Do you remember what I told you to do?"
"Yes."
"Has it been done?"
"Not yet."
"Why have you not done it?"
"I haven't had a chance."
"You have a chance now. Frank Corson is in your home."
"Yes. I have a chance now."
The phone clicked. Rhoda put it down and went back to the sofa. As shesank to the floor, Frank Corson looked at her questioningly.
"That was certainly a cryptic conversation."
When Rhoda didn't answer, he scowled and snapped, "There you go again.Into the brown study."
"Oh, I'm sorry, dear."
"What was the phone call about?"
"My hairdresser. It was nothing."
"Weird conversation to have with a hairdresser."
"He's a weird hairdresser."
"What had you started to say when the phone rang?"
"It just occurred to me--you never told me what happened when thatgovernment man talked to you."
Frank wished she hadn't brought that up. He'd been ordered to keep theincident in his room strictly to himself. That hadn't been toodifficult. It _had_ been hard not to look on the thing as a murder. Theblood had looked real and so had the body.
But if that was the way Brent Taber wanted it, all right. Frank wasamazed at how smoothly everything had been handled. There hadn't evenbeen a police car at the door--just an unmarked delivery truck and twomen carrying out what might have been a rolled-up rug.
And that had been that.
"He didn't say much. Actually, there was no point in mentioning it toyou."
"What ever happened to the man with two hearts?"
"I was wrong. He just had a peculiar heartbeat. As a matter of fact,everybody's heart beats all over their body. Nothing strange aboutthat."
"But there's something strange about a doctor not being able to tell thedifference between one heart and two. Frank, you _are_ keeping somethingfrom me."
"Rhoda! For heaven's sake! The government man told me to keep my mouthshut about it."
"Does that mean you can't tell even me?"
He turned his head and looked into her eyes. "This isn't like you,Rhoda. Not like you at all."
"That's silly. I haven't changed."
"Yes, you have."
"How?"
"It's hard to say. You don't seem to have the same sense of values anymore. You've--"
"Just how have they changed?"
If he sensed any inner fright in her question he said nothing about it."For instance, when I told you I'd given up all ideas of going intoresearch, when I said I'd decided to finish out my internship andestablish a practice, you hardly twitched an eyebrow. I thought thatwould make you happy."
"It did, darling. I was delighted. But I'm still a woman and that givesme a right to be curious. What _did_ the government man say?"
He sighed and drew her cajoling hand out of his hair. "They've got somewild idea the man who broke his leg wasn't a man at all. They think hewas a synthetic of some kind. An android."
"Why, that's ridiculous. You saw him. You certainly know a man when yousee one."
"According to Brent Taber, these androids _are_ men, to all intents andpurposes, but they're manufactured."
"That's just utterly insane. Are we paying taxes just to keep a lot ofpeople in Washington who don't know the difference between a human beingand a--"
"Rhoda! Please! I'm sick of the whole thing and I'd rather not talkabout it."
"But he must have told you more than that. Where do these--theseandroids come from?"
"He didn't tell us any more than he had to, but I got the idea theythink they're from outer space."
Rhoda laughed. "I never heard such foolishness in my life." She stoppedlaughing abruptly. "Who's _us_?"
"What?"
"You said, 'He didn't tell _us_ any more than he had to ...' Who waswith you?"
"Oh. Les King. You don't know him."
She seemed satisfied with the information and probed no farther.
He drew her close and looked very seriously into her eyes. "You havechanged, Rhoda. What's got into you?"
She put her lips to his and whispered, "Is this changed?" She ran onehand softly and seductively down his body. "Or that?"
He took her in his arms. "No, baby, that hasn't changed. I guess I waswrong."
And as she kissed him, she saw the oddly expressionless face, the coldempty eyes--of John Dennis.
And she was afraid.
* * * * *
Something in the mind that had been given him--the synthetic duplicateof what had once been a part of Sam Baker--told the tenth android thatwomen were attractive. For just what reason, he could not tell. Therewas nothing in his practical working structure that had any need ofwomen. Still, the attraction was there in the memory patterns that hadbeen transferred.
There were other attractions just as puzzling to him. He had vaguememories of people with whom he felt no affinity except as vaguelynostalgic memories--Sam Baker's mother, his father, the blurred faces offriends he had known. And, at times, there were faint tinges of theterror Sam had known that night when a quick light flashed down fromnowhere and he was abducted into a world too strange and terrible to bereal. Yet it _had_ been real.
There were no birth memories in the android, but there were the vestigesof Sam's death memories: the endless torture under a machine sosensitive that, while it had no definition of a woman, it was able todiscern--in the names thefted from Sam's memory and used as names forthe ten androids--those which applied to males and those that did not.
But of all these traces of memories, those concerning women nagged theandroid most. And now, as it turned his empty gaze on Rhoda Kane, it waswith a little more personal interest than before.
"What did Frank Corson tell you?"
"He said the man in the hospital with a broken leg was not a man. He wasan android."
The term, grotesquely enough, meant nothing to the creature who calledhimself John Dennis. In the strange pattern of his consciousness therewere no patterns of definitive
difference. Though in many respects moreable than the humans against whom he was pitted, he was no more aware ofhimself as different than a dog is aware of its differences from a man.The concept didn't take shape in the android's synthetic mind.
"Did he tell you where the man with the broken leg came from?"
"He said they thought it came from somewhere in outer space."
"There were others. Did he know of them?"
"No. He only told me about a man named Les King."
"What did he say about Les King?"
"King was there when the government man talked to Frank. That was all.The government wanted them to say nothing."
"But Frank Corson told you."
"He would not tell anyone else, though. He is not interested in theandroids. He wants to forget them."
"But Les King does not want to forget them?"
"I don't know."
"Will he talk about them?"
"I don't know that, either. I have never seen Les King."
"Can the government man keep Les King from talking about the man withthe broken leg?"
"I doubt if he can force him to."
John Dennis again left the window and approached Rhoda Kane. She waswearing a housecoat, a brassiere and panties underneath.
"Take off your clothes."
Rhoda unbuttoned the housecoat and slipped it off. That strangeexcitement showed in her eyes now.
The android pointed. "Take those off."
As she unhooked her brassiere, Rhoda said, "My head aches."
"Your head does not ache."
"You are right, my head does not ache."
She slipped out of the panties and stood naked. The android regardedher. "You are different."
"Of course. I am a woman."
"I want to make love." As Rhoda stood motionless, helpless, he spokevery positively. "You make love on the bed. We will go into the bedroom..."
Later, she was never able to recall any details of that next half-hour.In defense of her own sanity, she was able to block the incident fromher mind. But as she lay naked on the bed, looking up at the man sheknew as John Dennis, she thought of her mind as being in two sections.One section, the part of her consciousness that clung to reality, keptsaying, _I want to cry. If I could cry, everything would be all right.Why can't I cry?_
The other part was a pool of quivering excitement. She lay motionless,watching John Dennis undress, garment by garment, until he, too, wasnaked.
His body was not perfect, yet it had an individual perfection of its ownin Rhoda's eyes. The skin was smooth and white, the legs and hips firmand masculine. The chest was broad and Rhoda wanted to put her hands onit and feel John Dennis' hands on her own body.
He stood looking at her, a little like a child, she thought tenderly; achild waiting to be told what to do. She did not account this asstrange--only as a shyness in him. She held out her arms.
He lowered himself onto the bed beside her. She put her arms around himand pressed her lips to his. She waited. Nothing happened.
He was neither cold nor passionate. He was neither hostile nor friendly.He was nothing.
"You wanted to make love," Rhoda whispered. "Here I am. Take me. Takeme."
Instead, he disengaged himself, raised himself up on his elbows andlooked down at her. "You are quite different."
She did not know whether to be complimented or offended. "I'm about thesame as every other woman."
"You are different than I am."
"Of course I'm different." Was he joking? He didn't seem to be. He wasdeadly serious as he began examining her breasts.
_This is mad. This is insane. Why can't I cry?_
But the other part of her mind quivered with her body as John Denniswent over it, inch by inch. He appeared to be trying to memorize it. Shemoved and turned as his hands directed, a new kind of fire rising withinher. She waited. He touched her and waited for a response. There wasnone; nor any feeling within her at that moment except the strange fireinside and the ache of her taut groin tendons.
John Dennis touched her again and noted the sudden jerk and quiver ofher response. He became grotesquely, academically interested. He touchedthe same nerve surface again and studied her face for the response.
Her eyes were closed and her lower lip was gripped in her teeth. "No,"she gasped. "Not that way. Not that way--please."
She could have been pleading with a brick wall. John Denniscontinued--her natural reactions interested him. He frowned and seemedpuzzled by the excitement he generated within her.
Then she cried out and rolled away from him and lay sobbing, her faceburied in the pillow. But they were dry sobs; strange, tense soundsfilling a questionable and dubious ecstasy.
"You are cruel," she whimpered.
"Cruel?"
"You make love so brutally."
He considered this and then got off the bed. "I do not like makinglove."
He began putting on his clothes. She watched him, completely defeated."Where do you come from?" she demanded. "Who are you? Why did you wantto know about the man with the broken leg?"
He turned from putting on his shirt and stood motionless, looking downinto her eyes and after a moment or two it did not matter to Rhodaagain. It mattered no more than it had in the beginning. The strangefire had not been quenched by what had occurred. It was still there, inher mind more than in her body, but finding its boundaries was notimportant either.
"Are you going?"
"Yes."
"Will you come back?"
"I will come back. I want you to find out from Frank Corson whathappened to the androids."
"He doesn't know."
"Have him find out for you."
"I can't do that."
"Then I will not come back."
Somehow, in the part of Rhoda Kane's mind that was beyond her control,the thought that John Dennis might not return took on the proportions ofa disaster. Her feeling was akin to panic as she said, "I will make himfind out."
"Then I will come back."
"Please. I will wait for you."
* * * * *
Les King answered the knock on the door and broke into a smile. "Well,talk about luck! I've been looking all over hell for you. Come in. Comein."
The tenth android was already in. He walked across the room and turnedto look back at Les King with the outside light behind him.
King returned the gaze and wondered if he was afraid. It was an oddthing to wonder about. A man should know his own emotions. But Kingcould not quite analyze the ones that struck him at that moment. For onething, he'd discounted most of what Taber had said. There was somethinggoing on here, true--something big. When the government could cover up amurder in Greenwich Village, there had to be a big score at stake. Andthere _had_ been a murder--but no cops, no police cars, nothing. Only acouple of guys in an unmarked truck walking out with what could havebeen a rolled-up carpet. They'd swiped _his_ pictures and told him tokeep his mouth shut.
This last was what made Les King mad. He'd found the story. It was hisby every right. But when they were ready to break it they'd do itthrough some privileged Washington newspaperman who'd get it on a silverplatter. The hell with that stuff. It would take more than a shadowycharacter like Brent Taber to scare him off.
He looked at the man in the blue suit and said, "You've been lucky.They're after you."
"Who is _they_?"
"Taber. The government crowd. The police, too, maybe. You killed thatguy in the Village, didn't you?" Les King had decided a bold approachwas the best way. But he was no fool. He kept his hand on the doorknoband watched the man carefully. "By the way, you haven't told me yourname."
"John Dennis."
"You look like a man named Sam Baker. He disappeared about ten yearsago--from a little town upstate."
"I am John Dennis."
King shrugged. "Okay, you're John Dennis. All I want to do is stay ontop of this thing and have the inside track when it breaks."
"Brent Taber told you to forget about it."
King did not like the odd feeling of helplessness that seemed to have agrip on him. He was not alarmed, though. Over and above this was asense of excitement. There was money here--he knew damned well there wasmoney here.
"You want money, don't you?"
The question startled King. Could the guy read his mind? "Who the helldoesn't?" he retorted defensively. "If you're heeled you've got itmade."
Somehow King felt that the pressure, the odd excitement, lessened inintensity. His nerves, he conceded, were sure playing tricks.
"There are some things I want. I will tell you where they are. I willgive you money for them."
An espionage approach? King wondered. In a way, he hoped it was. Hecould always get clear. When the time was right, when he had the storylocked, he'd go to the FBI with it. He had a quick vision of a spread in_Life_, a title: "I Broke the Russian Spy Ring." His own by-line.
"That sounds touchy," he said.
"I will tell you where to go and what to do."
"I'll have to know more than that."
"I will tell you what to do."
John Dennis left without saying good-bye.
Les King stared at the inner side of the closed door. "Jesus!" hemuttered.
But the excitement was creeping back.
Ten From Infinity Page 7
