Ten From Infinity Part 8

Entman shrugged. "Still--a remarkable job, particularly since they would have no chance for a trial-and-error test under the conditions that would prevail. It's surprising that _any_ of the androids were able to keep functioning."

"The eighth one is pretty sick. He may be gone by now. And about their earlier coming, I can give you one point. They came quietly, probably at night, grabbed their model, and moved out fast."

"How do you know that?"

"Because, obviously, they think all men on earth look alike. Or, at least, we can a.s.sume that. Else how did they expect to get away with ten identical androids?"

Entman's eyes widened. "I never thought of that," he muttered.

Senator Crane, a doggedly determined man, had listened to the replay of Brent Taber's top-secret conference again and again. In the comfortable rationalization of which he was capable, his whole zeal and hostility were fashioned around Brent's "arrogant disregard of democratic processes." Who did this bureaucrat think he was? Did he consider himself smarter than the People? Did he feel they couldn't be trusted with revelations affecting their survival? Well, by G.o.d, they'd been trusted with word of the bomb and its implications, and they'd reacted admirably. So they were ent.i.tled to frankness concerning this new threat to their security.

Of course, Senator Crane reserved the right to enlighten them in his own time and in his own way. After all, hadn't they elected him and thus given him leeway to use his own judgment in their best interests?

But who the h.e.l.l had elected Brent Taber?

n.o.body.

So Crane listened to the recording and picked out what he cla.s.sified as the key lines.

_A routine autopsy revealed some peculiar things ... The man had two hearts...._

_The blood? Could it have been a new kind of plasma?..._

_All in all, gentlemen, eight identical specimens have been picked up in various American cities ...

Exactly alike...._

Crane ran through the rest of it and threw himself moodily into a chair.

The idiots! The stupid unelected, self-appointed guardians of democracy!

Not once--not _once_, mind you--had a single one of these great brains referred to the obvious.

It was a Russian plot!

All those allusions to the extraterrestrial was so much bilge. The Russians were infiltrating the country with synthetic men. This meant--oh, G.o.d--it meant that in a short time Russia would be able to create an army of these monsters and overwhelm the world.

Senator Crane sprang to his feet and measured his indignation in long strides across the thick, expensive carpeting on his floor. The traitor! The sheer, compulsive opportunist! That was certainly all that Brent Taber could be called. Using this deadly situation as a means of furthering his own interests.

Senator Crane deliberately stilled his rage and objectively considered what he should do about it. With the obvious source of the androids logically deduced, there was only his own defensive procedures to be considered. And they had to be considered carefully. As he saw himself, he stood alone, against a group of b.u.mbling idiots, with the future of the nation at stake. What to do?

The key question, of course, was: How soon will Russia be able to mount an army? Probably not very soon, he decided. That fact gave him time to ferret out more information; to become completely sure of himself.

One thing you had to realize about the American public--or about any ma.s.s of humanity, for that matter--a thing of importance had to be presented dramatically. This, in a sense, was the duty of the elected public servant--to recognize this somewhat childish failing of the average intelligence and make allowances for it. _You can do this, of course_, Senator Crane told himself, _when you love the people_.

And, fortunately for their survival, Senator Crane loved the American people.

So, for a few moments, he o'erleaped the hard work ahead and saw the goal--envisioned the headlines:

SENATOR CRANE UNCOVERS DEADLY PERIL TO THE NATION

Due entirely to the patriotic, selfless efforts of one United States Senator, the nation has been warned in time of....

SENATOR CRANE STUNS CONGRESS AND THE NATION WITH HIS REVELATIONS

Standing alone on the rostrum, a heroic figure pitted, as it were, against all the sinister forces that bore from within, one valiant United States Senator....

Crane had dropped back into his chair. His eyes had closed, the better to visualize a grateful nation expending their plaudits.

And because he was a man who used a great deal of energy in pursuing an objective, he tired at times. He became drowsy now....

... And went gently to sleep.

5

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

Frank Corson got the call as he was leaving the maternity ward. He took the elevator down and found a rather sloppily dressed, middle-aged man sitting on a lounge beside a weather-beaten camera that tended to mark his 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'm Doctor 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 hours ago--and both his legs were as good as mine."

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

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