Ten From Infinity Part 25

"You're sure?" Taber said sarcastically. "It looks just like the picture.

"Not quite. Anyhow, it ain't Jack."

The mystified Dr. Entman eyed Taber quizzically. "What's this all about?"

Taber jerked a thumb in the direction of Blackwell. "The eleventh android," he said tersely, and strode out of the laboratory.

Dr. Entman shook his head sadly, certain that Taber had slipped a cog.

Charles Blackwell, a trifle ill from the smell of formaldehyde, stood on the corner, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes a man in a blue suit was standing beside him.

"I would like you to answer some questions for me," the man said.

Blackwell gulped and blinked. "Sorry, mister, I'm kind of a stranger here myself."

"That man you entered this building with--what business did you have with him?"

It should have occurred to Charles Blackwell that this was none of the stranger's business, but it didn't. That thought came later but, at the moment, as he looked into the man's oddly empty eyes, his question seemed entirely justified.

"Well, you see, my brother Jack bothers us, kind of. He gets manic-depressive spells."

"What did that have to do with Brent Taber?"

"We thought maybe my brother broke his leg and then dropped dead or--or something. Anyhow, I got this here court order--they gave it to me--and I showed it to Taber--"

"Who are _they_?"

Blackwell felt strangely excited. He felt as though this man were a friend, although he didn't know quite why.

"Well, you see I've been around a long time. I run errands and things for Senator Crane. I'm confidential to him, you understand, because I never talk. I always keep my mouth shut. So he trusts me and he gave me this here court order--"

"Who is Senator Crane?"

"You don't know Senator Crane? You new in this country maybe?"

"He is a government official?"

"He's elected to office. He's a United States Senator. Anyhow, Brent Taber showed me this here guy all cut up and I said it wasn't Jack and--well, that was that."

"What room did Brent Taber take you to?"

"The d.a.m.n place smelled like a skunk factory."

"What room number?"

"Ten twenty-six--I think. Yeah, ten twenty-six it was, and I'm telling you, if you go in there, for Christ sake wear a gas mask. I d.a.m.n near--"

But Charles Blackwell was talking to himself. The man had turned away abruptly and was now disappearing around the corner.

"I wonder what the h.e.l.l he wanted?" Blackwell asked plaintively. Then he hailed a cab and went to report to Senator Crane.

The tenth android stood with his back to the window in Les King's room in Manhattan and said, "There is something I want you to do. If you are very careful, you will succeed. If you succeed, there is a great deal of money in it for you."

The fear that grew in Les King when they were apart, the uneasy feeling that maybe money wasn't the most important thing in the world, died automatically as John Dennis stared at him through those strangely empty eyes.

"Is it something I can handle?"

"Yes." Dennis handed King a folded slip of paper. "I have written down an address there. It is in Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. I want you to enter those premises--that room--and find some reports that should be there."

"Reports on what?"

"It is a dissecting place of some kind. That's where the bodies of the androids are. The man who is doing it must have reports. There must be records that tell what was wrong with the androids. It must be put down somewhere why they died."

"Does it matter?"

"It is a matter of vital importance. There will be much money for you if you get those reports and give them to me."

"Who pays the money?"

"I will pay it to you if you get the reports."

The prospect was exciting to King. Later, there could be a story about how he got vital pictures of the project. His thinking had changed, but this did not seem odd to him. All thought of functioning in counterespionage against the Russians had moved into the back of his mind. He was in the game now for the money. Oh was it that? Maybe he was in it for the excitement. There was something in the man who called himself John Dennis that generated excitement. It was like living a melodrama. It tingled in the blood and took a man out of the drab world where every day was like the one before it.

"I'll try," Les King said.

"You will succeed."

"I will succeed."

Jesus! This man had a thing about him. He inspired you. When he looked at you with those weird eyes, you just knew you couldn't fail.

10

The doorbell rang. Rhoda Kane sprang up from the sofa and almost spilled her drink. She was halfway across the room before she realized she was almost running. She stopped. The hand that held the c.o.c.ktail gla.s.s shook.

Resolutely, she steadied, crossed to the liquor cabinet, put down the gla.s.s, and went calmly to the door.

He stood there looking at her through those oddly empty eyes which, through some contradiction of all probability, warmed her.

He came in and closed the door, saying nothing. A touch of panic rippled through her. He was so silent, so unbending, so impersonal. Was this a reflection of her inability to communicate with him? Could their relations.h.i.+p fail because of this shortcoming on her part? What good was love if you couldn't communicate it to the loved one?