“It involves matching brain rhythms. When I created the AAA Class Alvarado clones, I built a recognition key into them that would enable me, using a simple E.E.G. hookup, to distinguish their brain-wave patterns from yours. I did this at your request, so that in the case of a possible coup d’état attempt by one of the clones, you’d be able to unmask the pretender. The method uses my own brain waves as the base line. If you jack my E.E.G. output into a comparator circuit and overlay it with yours, the two patterns will conflict, the way any two patterns from different human beings will. But if my E.E.G. gets matched against one of your clones, the pattern will drop immediately into alpha rhythms, as if we’re both under deep hypnosis. It amazes me that you’ve forgotten this.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’re not Alvarado at all but simply one of his—what’s the word?—one of his brothers.”
“Very good, Doctor.”
“Am I right?”
“Come closer and see for yourself.”
“I can’t. The security screens—”
“I have switched them off.”
Mondschein approached. There was no air resistance. When he was five meters away, he felt the unmistakable click of recognition.
“Yes, I am right. Even without an E.E.G. test. You’re a clone, aren’t you?”
“That is so.”
“Is the real Alvarado too busy for me today, or is it that he doesn’t have the courage to look me in the eye?”
“I will tell you something very strange, which is a great secret,” said the clone. “The real Alvarado is no longer in command here. For the past several months, I have run the government of Tierra Alvarado. No one here is aware of this, no one at all. No one except you, now.”
For a moment, Mondschein was unable to speak.
“You seriously expect me to believe that?” he said at last.
The clone managed a glacial smile. “During the years of your absence, there have been several internal upheavals in Tierra Alvarado. On three occasions, assassination plots resulted in the deaths of Alvarado clones who were playing the role of the Maximum Leader at public ceremonies. Each time, the death of the clone was successfully covered up. The conspirators were apprehended and things continued as if nothing had occurred. On the fourth such occasion, an implosion grenade was thrown toward the Maximum Leader’s car while he was en route to Iquique for a ceremony of rededication. I happened to be accompanying him on that journey so that I could double for him in the riskier parts of the ceremony, when the general public would be present. The impact of the grenade was tremendous. In the confusion afterward, I was mistaken for the true Maximum Leader. I quickly understood the situation and began to act accordingly. And so it has been ever since.”
Mondschein realized that he was trembling.
“So Alvarado’s dead?”
The clone looked smug. “His reign is over. His time is finished.”
What a strange concept that was. Alvarado dead! His old enemy was really dead! Mondschein felt a flash of satisfaction and surprise—and then a curious sense of loss.
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked after a moment. “Assuming that it’s true, and not just some game that your master is playing with me, why do you want to take chances this way? What if I tried to expose you and bring the whole crazy system down?”
“You would not do that,” said the clone.
“Why not?”
“You have said it yourself: You want only to live out your remaining years in peaceful retirement. If you denounced me, who would believe you? And even if you were believed, would things be better in Tierra Alvarado in the wake of my overthrow? No, doctor, the status quo is your only hope. I am the status quo.”
Mondschein nodded. “Even so, why confide in me at all?”
“So that you may protect me.”
“How could I do that?”
“You hold the key to identification, this alpha-rhythm thing. Your possession of it gives you great power here. If there were a challenge to my legitimacy, you would be the only arbiter of the truth, do you see?”
“Yes,” said Mondschein. “Yes, I do.”
“There are twenty-one other surviving clones. One of them might take it into his head to overthrow me, thinking that he could rule the country at least as well. It is quite a comfortable existence, being a clone of the Maximum Leader, but it is not always pleasant to serve as his double, exposed to all the risks of public appearances. It is a much better life, believe me, to be Maximum Leader and have others double for you than to be a double yourself, never knowing when the bullet will come. Besides which, there is the wielding of authority for its own sake. That is a highly desirable thing, if you are of the sort who desires such things, and we are. After all, we are all of us Alvarados to the core, as you know better than anyone else.”
“So you think that if one of your vat brothers suddenly tried to say that he was the real Alvarado, not you, then I’d be willing to come forward and test him and expose him as a clone for you?”
“So I hope and trust.”
“Why would I want to take the side of one clone against another? It’s of no importance to me which one of you calls himself president here.”
“But I am the one who calls himself president just now. I might kill you if you didn’t cooperate.”
“And if I don’t care whether I live or die?”
“You probably care how you die,” the Alvarado clone said. “You would not die in an easy or a gentle way, that I could promise you. On the other hand, if you pledge that you will aid me, when and if the need arises, I will see to it that you live out the remaining years of your life in the most complete happiness that I can make available. It seems to me a very reasonable offer.”
“It is,” Mondschein said. “I see that it is.”
“You protect me, and I will protect you. Do we have a deal?”
“If I say no, what are my chances of leaving this building alive today?”
The clone smiled. It was the pure Alvarado smile. “They would be quite poor.”
“Then we have a deal,” Mondschein said.
The weeks went by. June gave way to July and the year descended toward its winter depths. Often there was fog; some nights there was frost; always the dry harsh wind blew from the west. Mondschein slept poorly. He heard nothing from the Maximum Leader or any of his minions. Evidently, all was tranquil in the ruling circles.
He rarely left the villa. His meals were prepared for him according to his wishes, which were uncomplicated. He had a few books. No one came to see him. Sometimes, during the day, he went out with his driver to explore the city. It was larger than he expected, spreading long, thin tentacles of slum toward the north and south—as in any impoverished country, everyone from the villages was moving to the capital, God only knew what for—and shoddy everywhere except in its grand governmental district.
On two of these excursions Mondschein was granted a glimpse of the supposed President Alvarado. The first time, his car was halted at a police roadblock and he waited for half an hour in an immense tie-up until at last the president passed by in a motorcade coming from the airport, with the Director-General of the Republic of the Orinoco, here on a state visit, riding beside him in the armored bubble-roof car, while the spectators who lined the boulevard offered sullen acclaim. On the second occasion, far in the outskirts, Mondschein stumbled upon the ceremonial dedication of what he was told was the Grand Sanitation Facility of the Northeast, and there was the familiar figure of the Maximum Leader on high in the reviewing stand, surrounded by fierce-eyed, heavily armed bodyguards and orating bravely into the biting wind.
At other times while traversing the city, Mondschein caught sight of various of the clones going about some business of their own. It was not at all unusual to encounter one. Doubtless, the populace was quite used to it. Wherever you looked, you could find one or two of the Maximum Leader’s brothers. Five or six of them headed government ministries—a meeting of the cabinet must have
been like a hall of mirrors—and the others, apparently, simply stood by to serve as presidential doubles when needed, living as private citizens the rest of the time. The real Alvarado, if there still was one, could probably have passed in the streets without causing a stir, with everyone assuming he was just a clone. It was a fine kind of shell game.
Colonel Aristegui came to the villa again, eventually.
“We are ready to make a move, Doctor.”
“Move, then. I don’t want to know anything about it.”
Aristegui looked tense, grim, right at the breaking point. “We need very little from you. Station yourself in the crowd, and when our man asks you, ‘Is this one the real one?’ simply nod or shake your head. We want no more from you than that. Later, we’ll ask you to examine the body and confirm that it is the body of the dictator and not one of the imitations. A small service, and you will live forever in the hearts of your countrymen.”
“There’s no way I can give you the kind of information you want just by looking at him from a distance.”
“It can be done, and you are the one who can do it. This much I know.”
“No,” Mondschein said. “What you think you know is wrong. I can’t help you. And, in any case, I don’t want to. I told you that before, Colonel. I’m not interested in joining your conspiracy. It isn’t any affair of mine.”
“It is an affair of every loyal citizen of this country.”
Mondschein looked at him sadly. He could at least warn Aristegui, he thought, that there was no real Alvarado there to shoot, that they were all clones. But would the Colonel believe him? In any case, what Aristegui was trying to do was fundamentally futile. Kill one Alvarado, another would move into his place and announce that he was the authentic article. Aristegui couldn’t get them all. This country was going to be ruled by Alvarados for a long time.
“They took my citizenship away twenty-five years ago,” Mondschein said, after a pause. “I’m here now purely as a guest of the nation, remember? Good guests don’t conspire against their hosts. Please go away, Colonel. I haven’t heard a thing you’ve said to me today. I’m beginning to forget even that you were here.”
Aristegui glowered at him in a way that seemed to mingle anguish and fury. For a moment, Mondschein thought the man was going to strike him. But then, with a visible effort, the colonel brought himself under control.
“I thank you for your continued silence, at least,” said Aristegui bitterly. “Good day, Señor Dr. Mondschein.”
Late that afternoon, Mondschein heard voices from below, shouts and outcries in the servants’ quarters. He rang up on the housekeeper’s intercom and said, “What’s going on?”
“There has been an attack on the president, Señor Doctor. At the Palace of Government. We have just seen it on the television.”
So Aristegui had been telling the truth, it seemed, when he said that they were ready to make their move. Or else they had decided it was too risky to wait any longer, now that Mondschein had been told that an assassination attempt was impending.
“And?” Mondschein said.
“By the mercy of the Virgin, he is safe, señor. Order has been restored and the criminals have been captured. One of the others was slain, one of the brothers, but the president was not harmed.”
He thanked her and switched on his television set.
They were in the midst of showing a replay of it now. The president arriving at the Palace of Government for the regular midweek meeting of the ministers; the adoring populace obediently waiting behind the barricades to hail him as he emerged from his car; the sudden scuffle in the crowd, evidently a deliberate distraction, and then the shot, the screams, the slim, long-legged figure beginning to sag into the arms of his bodyguards, the policemen rushing forward.
And then a cut to the Hall of Audience, the grim-faced Maximum Leader addressing the nation from his throne in broken phrases, in a voice choked with emotion: “This despicable act…the bestial attempt to overrule the will of the people as expressed through their chosen president…We must root out the forces of chaos that are loose among us…We proclaim a week of national mourning for our fallen brother…”
Followed by an explanation from an unruffled-looking official spokesman. The Guardia de la Patria, he said, had received word of a possible plot. One of the president’s brothers had courageously agreed to bear the risk of entering the Palace of Government in the usual way; the Maximum Leader himself had gone into the building through a secret entrance. The identities of the main conspirators were known; arrests had already been made; others would follow. Return to your homes, remain calm, all is well.
All is well.
The executions took place a few weeks later. They were shown on huge television screens set up before great throngs of spectators in the main plazas of the city and relayed to home viewers everywhere. Mondschein, despite earlier resolutions to the contrary, watched along with everyone else in a kind of horrified fascination as Colonel Aristegui and five other officers of the elite guard, along with three other men and four women, all of them members of the Popular Assembly, were led to the wall one by one, faces expressionless, bodies rigid. They were not offered the opportunity to utter last words, even of carefully rehearsed contrition. Each name was spoken and the prisoner was blindfolded and shot, and the body taken away, and the next conspirator brought forth.
Mondschein felt an obscure sense of guilt, as though he had been the one who had informed on them. But, of course, he had said nothing to anyone. The country was full of governmental agents and spies and provocateurs; the Maximum Leader had not needed Mondschein’s help in protecting himself against Colonel Aristegui.
The days went by. The season brightened toward spring. Mondschein’s driver took him up the mountain roads to see Lake Titicaca, and north from there to Cuzco and its grand old Inca relics, and up beyond that to the splendors of Machu Picchu. On another journey, he went down to the fog-swept coast, to Nazca, where it never rains, where in a landscape as barren as the moon’s he inspected the huge drawings of monkeys and birds and geometrical figures that prehistoric artists had inscribed in the bone-dry soil of the plateaus.
On a brilliant September day that felt like midsummer a car bearing the insignia of the Guardia came to his villa and a brisk young officer with thick hair that was like spun gold told him that he was requested to go at once to the Palace of Justice.
“Have I done something wrong?” Mondschein asked mildly.
“It is by order of the president,” said the blond young officer, and that was all the explanation he gave.
Mondschein had been in the Palace of Justice only once before, during the weeks just prior to his exile. Like most of the other governmental buildings, it was a massive, brutal-looking stone structure, two long parallel wings with a smaller one set between them at their heads, so that it crouched on its plaza like a ponderous sphinx. There were courtrooms in the upper levels of the two large wings, prison cells below; the small central wing was the headquarters of the Supreme Court, whose chief justice, Mondschein had recently discovered, was another of the clones.
His Guardia escort led him into the building on the lower level, and they descended even below that, to the dreaded high-security area in the basement. Was he to be interrogated, then? For what?
The Maximum Leader, in full uniform and decorations, was waiting for him in a cold, clammy interrogation cell, under a single bare incandescent bulb of a kind that Mondschein thought had been obsolete for 100 years. He offered Mondschein a smile as benign as that sharp-edged face was capable of showing.
“Our second meeting is in rather less grand surroundings than the first, eh, Doctor?”
Mondschein peered closely. This seemed to be the same clone who had spoken with him in the Hall of Audience. He felt quite sure of that. Only intuition, of course. But he trusted it.
“You remember the agreement we reached that day?” the clone asked.
“Of course.”
“Today I need to invoke it. Your special expertise is now essential to the stability of the nation.”
The clone gestured to an aide-de-camp, who signaled to a figure in the shadows behind him that Mondschein had not noticed before. A door opened at the rear of the cell and a gurney bearing electronic equipment was wheeled in. Mondschein recognized the familiar intricacies of an electroencephalograph.
“This is the proper machinery for your brain-wave test, is it not?” the Alvarado clone asked.
Mondschein nodded.
“Good,” the clone said. “Bring in the prisoner.”
The door opened again and two guards dragged in the ragged, disheveled-looking figure of an Alvarado. His hands were shackled behind his back. His face was bruised and sweaty and smeared with dirt. His clothes, rough peasant clothes, were torn. His eyes were blazing with fury of astonishing intensity. Mondschein felt a tremor of the old fear at the sight of him.
The prisoner shot a fiery look at the Alvarado clone and said, “You bastard, let me out of here right now. You know who I am. You know who you are, too. What you are.”
Mondschein turned to the clone. “But you told me he was dead!” he said.
“Dead? Who? What do you mean?” the Alvarado clone said calmly. “This clone was gravely injured in an attempt on my life and has hovered close to death for many weeks, despite the finest care we could give him. Now that he has begun to recover, he is exhibiting delusional behavior. He insists that he is the true Maximum Leader and I am nothing but a genetic duplicate. I ask you to test the authenticity of his claim, Señor Doctor.”
“Mondschein! Rafael Mondschein!” the ragged Alvarado cried. A convulsive quiver of amazement ran through his shoulders and chest. “You here? They’ve brought you back?”
Mondschein said nothing. He stared at the ragged man.
The prisoner’s eyes gleamed. “All right, go on! Test me, Rafael. Do your mumbo jumbo and tell this fraud who I am! Then we’ll see if he dares keep up the masquerade. Go on, Rafael! Plug in your damned machine! Stick the electrodes on me!”
Hot Times in Magma City - 1990-95 - The Collected Stories of Robert Silverberg Volume Eight Page 3
