Ten From Infinity Part 24

"I think you ought to see him. He's got an official paper of some kind.

You didn't steal a car or anything, did you?"

"I parked in the middle of an intersection, but I didn't think they'd mind." Brent Taber sighed. "All right. Send him in."

The man was small, ingrown and, as Brent Taber learned, somewhat stubborn.

"My name is Charles Blackwell," he said. "My brother has been lost for over two months now."

"I'm sorry," Brent said politely.

"My brother was a source of concern to us--"

"Who is _us_?"

"Why, the family. Who else? We all worried about Charlie. He had fits of depression. Kind of a maniac-depressive."

"_Manic_-depressive," Taber corrected gently.

"Yeah, that kind, ah--kind of. Well anyhow, he hides from us sometimes and we worry."

"Who sent you to me?"

Charles Blackwell waved a vague hand, "Oh, they told me you were the man to see."

"Tell me their names," Brent said politely. "I'd like to thank them personally."

"Oh that won't be necessary--not necessary at all. You see the thing is, my brother Jack has accidents sometimes and so we figured he might have broken a leg or something, maybe, and it seems you--well, you kind of turned out to be the man to see about it." Charles Blackwell waved the paper. "With this."

_Good lord_, Taber groaned inwardly. _This thing is turning into a comic opera--plain slapstick._

"And why am I the man to see?"

"Because they said you knew about a man with a broken leg who got killed or something."

"They said that?"

"Uh-huh, and if you'd just let me see the man, I could tell in a jiffy whether he's Jack or not."

It had been a pretty long speech and Charles Blackwell seemed happy to get it off his chest. He felt he'd earned a cigarette so he lit one.

Brent Taber watched the match go out and then said, "You're the G.o.dd.a.m.nedest phony I've met this week."

"They said you'd say that, but all I want is to see the man and then I'll know. I'll tell you in a jiffy if he's my brother."

"All right."

Charles Blackwell gulped a throatful of smoke in disbelief. Evidently they'd told him it wouldn't be as easy as this. They must have told him it would be as hard as h.e.l.l, because he stared at Brent as though the latter hadn't played fair.

Brent reached into a drawer and took out a glossy photo. He pushed it across the desk. Charles Blackwell craned his neck, looked, and saw what appeared to be a man lying naked on a marble slab with his throat cut.

Blackwell swallowed hard and nodded and said, "Yeah, that's Jack, all right."

"How do you know?"

"I can tell."

"You can?"

Charles Blackwell got a little indignant. "Of course, I can. Don't you think a man knows his own brother?"

"That depends on which man and what brother."

"I want the body of my relative," Charles Blackwell said.

"I'll see you in h.e.l.l first," Brent Taber replied pleasantly. "Now get out of my office before I send for the man who uses the broom around here."

Charles Blackwell was more comfortable now--more confident. "That's what they told me you'd say, so they gave me this to bring. It's a court order signed by a judge who sits in a court and listens to people's beefs about getting pushed around and does something about it."

Brent Taber took the paper and peered at the signature. "It figures," he said softly. "It figures right down the line."

"He's a fine judge," Charles Blackwell said virtuously.

"He's a skunk. He'll sign anything there's a buck in, and sometimes he'll do it for fifty cents. He'd be a disgrace even to a park bench, and why they haven't caught up with him I'll never know."

"A fine man," Charles Blackwell said, "and the paper is as legal as--"

"Oh, it's legal all right."

Brent Taber lapsed into silence and Charles Blackwell seemed happy to allow him this privilege. _All I need_, Brent thought, _is a court-defiance rap charged against me. Is that what Crane is trying to get? Did he expect me to throw this creep out of my office and leave myself wide open? Maybe, maybe not. If not, what is Crane after? He's certainly achieved his purpose in getting even with an upstart government appointee._

"Okay," Brent Taber said decisively. "You can have the body. Come with me."

He got up, put on his hat, and strode out through the reception room and into the corridor. Charles Blackwell came scuttling along behind. Brent ignored the elevators and went through a door marked _Stairway_ and started down at a fast clip. Charles Blackwell came clopping along behind.

Six flights lower down, Blackwell gasped, "Why don't we use the el--elevator?"

Brent ignored him and went down seventeen more flights. Charles Blackwell was livid when they reached the bottom.

"For Christ sake--!"

Taber walked to the curb and dived out into traffic. Blackwell plunged out after him, horns snarling and general indignation ruling above the chaos.

They reached the opposite curb through some obscure miracle, with Blackwell hanging on grimly until Taber pushed a door open and plunged into a thick odor of formaldehyde.

"Have you still got that court order?" Taber asked as though hopeful of a negative answer.

Blackwell held it up triumphantly. A few minutes later, he was gaping down at a hasty rea.s.sembly of what had once been the ninth android.

He swallowed hard and said, "Nope. It ain't Jack."