Second Variety and Other Stories (51 page)

The ruined face. Salt ash and debris. The broken line of crumbling hills. And the silence. The
eternal silence. Nothing but the wind and the lapping of the thick stagnant water. And the dark birds
overhead.

Something glinted. Something at his feet, in the salt ash. Reflecting the sickly pallor of the moon.

Andrews bent down and groped in the darkness. His fingers closed over something hard. He
picked the small disc up and examined it.

"Strange," he said.

"Strange," he said.

He slid away from the control panel, searching his pockets for it.

The disc was worn and thin. And terribly old. Andrews rubbed it and spat on it until it was clean
enough to make out. A faint impression -- nothing more. He turned it over. A token? Washer? Coin?

On the back were a few meaningless letters. Some ancient, forgotten script. He held the disc to
the light until he made the letters out.

E PLURIBUS UNUM

He shrugged, tossed the ancient bit of metal into a waste disposal unit beside him, and turned his
attention to the star charts, and home...

"One of these days I'm going to take time off," Spence Olham said at first-meal. He looked
around at his wife. "I think I've earned a rest. Ten years is a long time."

"And the Project?"

"The war will be won without me. This ball of clay of ours isn't really in much danger." Olham sat
down at the table and lit a cigarette. "The newsmachines alter dispatches to make it appear the
Outspacers are right on top of us. You know what I'd like to do on my vacation? I'd like to take a
camping trip to those mountains outside of town, where we went that time. Remember? I got poison oak
and you almost stepped on a gopher snake."

"Sutton Wood?" Mary began to clear away the food dishes. "The Wood was burned a few
weeks ago. I thought you knew. Some kind of flash fire."

Olham sagged. "Didn't they even try to find the cause?" His lips twisted. "No one cares anymore.
All they can think of is the war." He clamped his jaws together, the whole picture coming up in his mind,
the Outspacers, the war, the needle-ships.

"How can we think about anything else?"

Olham nodded. She was right, of course. The dark little ships out of Alpha Centauri had
bypassed the Earth cruisers easily, leaving them like helpless turtles. It had been one-way fights, all the
way back to Terra.

All the way, until the protec-bubble was demonstrated by Westinghouse Labs. Thrown around
the major Earth cities and finally the planet itself, the bubble was the first real defense, the first legitimate
answer to the Outspacers -- as the news-machines labeled them.

But to win the war, that was another thing. Every lab, every project was working night and day,
endlessly, to find something more: a weapon for positive combat. His own project, for example. All day
long, year after year.

Olham stood up, putting out his cigarette. "Like the Sword of Damocles. Always hanging over
us. I'm getting tired. All I want to do is take a long rest. But I guess everybody feels that way."

He got his jacket from the closet and went out on the front porch. The shoot would be along any
moment, the fast little bug that would carry him to the Project.

"I hope Nelson isn't late." He looked at his watch. "It's almost seven."

"Here the bug comes," Mary said, gazing between the rows of houses. The sun glittered behind
the roofs, reflecting against the heavy lead plates. The settlement was quiet; only a few people were
stirring. "I'll see you later. Try not to work beyond your shift, Spence."

stirring. "I'll see you later. Try not to work beyond your shift, Spence."

"Well?" Olham said, as the bug shot ahead. "Heard any interesting news?"

The usual," Nelson said. "A few Outspace ships hit, another asteroid abandoned for strategic
reasons."

"It'll be good when we get the Project into final stage. Maybe it's just the propaganda from the
newsmachines, but in the last month I've gotten weary of all this. Everything seems so grim and serious,
no color to life."

"Do you think the war is in vain?" the older man said suddenly. "You are an integral part of it,
yourself."

"This is Major Peters," Nelson said. Olham and Peters shook hands. Olham studied the older
man.

"What brings you along so early?" he said. "I don't remember seeing you at the Project before."

"No, I'm not with the Project," Peters said, "but I know something about what you're doing. My
own work is altogether different."

A look passed between him and Nelson. Olham noticed it and he frowned. The bug was gaining
speed, flashing across the barren, lifeless ground toward the distant rim of the Project building.

"What is your business?" Olham said. "Or aren't you permitted to talk about it?"

"I'm with the government," Peters said. "With FSA, the security organ."

"Oh?" Olham raised an eyebrow. "Is there any enemy infiltration in this region?"

"As a matter of fact I'm here to see you, Mr Olham."

Olham was puzzled. He considered Peters" words, but he could make nothing of them. "To see
me? Why?"

"I'm here to arrest you as an Outspace spy. That's why I'm up so early this morning. Grab him
Nelson --"

The gun drove into Olham's ribs. Nelson's hands were shaking, trembling with released emotion,
his face pale. He took a deep breath and let it out again.

"Shall we kill him now?" he whispered to Peters. "I think we should kill him now. We can't wait."

Olham stared into his friend's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Both
men were staring at him steadily, rigid and grim with fright. Olham felt dizzy. His head ached and spun.

"I don't understand," he murmured.

At that moment the shoot car left the ground and rushed up, heading into space. Below them the
Project fell away, smaller and smaller, disappearing. Olham shut his mouth.

"We can wait a little," Peters said. "I want to ask him some questions first."

Olham gazed dully ahead as the bug rushed through space.

"The arrest was made all right," Peters said into the vidscreen. On the screen the features of the
security chief showed. "It should be a load off everyone's mind."

"Any complications?"

"None. He entered the bug without suspicion. He didn't seem to think my presence was too
unusual."

"Where are you now?"

"On our way out, just inside the protec-bubble. We're moving at a maximum speed. You can
assume that the critical period is past. I'm glad the takeoff jets in this craft were in good working order. If
there had been any failure at that point --"

"Let me see him," the security chief said. He gazed directly at Olham where he sat, his hands in
his lap, staring ahead.

"So that's the man." He looked at Olham for a time. Olham said nothing. At last the chief nodded
to Peters. "All right. That's enough." A faint trace of disgust wrinkled his features. "I've seen all I want.
You've done something that will be remembered for a long time. They're preparing some sort of citation
for both of you."

"That's not necessary," Peters said.

"That's not necessary," Peters said.

"There is some chance, but not too much. According to my understanding it requires a verbal key
phrase. In any case we'll have to take the risk."

"I'll have the Moon base notified you're coming."

"No." Peters shook his head. "I'll land the ship outside, beyond the base. I don't want it in
jeopardy."

"Just as you like." The chief's eyes flickered as he glanced again at Olham. Then his image faded.
The screen blanked.

Olham shifted his gaze to the window. The ship was already through the protec-bubble, rushing
with greater and greater speed all the time. Peters was in a hurry; below him, rumbling under the floor,
the jets were wide-open. They were afraid, hurrying frantically, because of him.

Next to him on the seat, Nelson shifted uneasily. "I think we should do it now," he said. "I'd give
anything if we could get it over with."

"Take it easy," Peters said. "I want you to guide the ship for a while so I can talk to him."

He slid over beside Olham, looking into his face. Presently he reached out and touched him
gingerly, on the arm and then on the cheek.

Olham said nothing. If I could let Mary know, he thought again. If I could find some way of
letting her know. He looked around the ship. How? The vidscreen? Nelson was sitting by the board,
holding the gun. There was nothing he could do. He was caught, trapped.

But why?

"Listen," Peters said, "I want to ask you some questions. You know where we're going. We're
moving Moonward. In an hour we'll land on the far side, on the desolate side. After we land you'll be
turned over immediately to a team of men waiting there. Your body will be destroyed at once. Do you
understand that?" He looked at his watch. "Within two hours your parts will be strewn over the
landscape. There won't be anything left of you."

Olham struggled out of his lethargy. "Can't you tell me --"

"Certainly, I'll tell you." Peters nodded. "Two days ago we received a report that an Outspace
ship had penetrated the protec-bubble. The ship let off a spy in the form of a humanoid robot. The robot
was to destroy a particular human being and take his place."

Peters looked calmly at Olham.

"Inside the robot was a U-Bomb. Our agent did not know how the bomb was to be detonated,
but he conjectured that it might be by a particular spoken phrase, a certain group of words. The robot
would live the life of the person he killed, entering into his usual activities, his job, his social life. He had
been constructed to resemble that person. No one would know the difference."

Olham's face went sickly chalk.

"The person whom the robot was to impersonate was Spence Olham, a high-ranking official at
one of the research Projects. Because this particular Project was approaching crucial stage, the presence
of an animate bomb, moving toward the center of the Project --"

Olham stared down at his hands. "But I'm Olham."

"Once the robot had located and killed Olham it was a simple matter to take over his life. The
robot was released from the ship eight days ago. The substitution was probably accomplished over the
last weekend, when Olham went for a short walk in the hills."

"But I'm Olham." He turned to Nelson, sitting at the controls. "Don't you recognize me? You've
known me for twenty years. Don't you remember how we went to college together?" He stood up,. "You
and I were at the University. We had the same room." He went toward Nelson.

"Stay away from me!" Nelson snarled.

"Listen. Remember our second year? Remember that girl? What was her name --" He rubbed his
forehead. "The one with the dark hair. The one we met over at Ted's place."

"Stop!" Nelson waved the gun frantically. "I don't want to hear any more. You killed him! You. .
. machine."

Olham looked at Nelson. "You're wrong. I don't know what happened, but the robot never
reached me. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe the ship crashed." He turned to Peters. "I'm
Olham. I know it. No transfer was made. I'm the same as I've always been."

Olham looked at Nelson. "You're wrong. I don't know what happened, but the robot never
reached me. Something must have gone wrong. Maybe the ship crashed." He turned to Peters. "I'm
Olham. I know it. No transfer was made. I'm the same as I've always been."

Neither Peters nor Nelson spoke.

"I am Olham," he said again. "I know I am. But I can't prove it."

"The robot," Peters said, "would be unaware that he was not the real Spence Olham. He would
become Olham in mind as well as body. He was given an artificial memory system, false recall. He would
look like him, have his memories, his thoughts and interests, perform his job.

"But there would be one difference. Inside the robot is a U-Bomb, ready to explode at the trigger
phrase." Peters moved a little away. That's the one difference. That's why we're taking you to the Moon.
They'll disassemble you and remove the bomb. Maybe it will explode, but it won't matter, not there."

Olham sat down slowly.

"We'll be there soon," Nelson said.

He lay back, thinking frantically, as the ship dropped slowly down. Under them was the pitted
surface of the Moon, the endless expanse of ruin. What could he do? What would save him?

"Get ready," Peters said.

In a few minutes he would be dead. Down below he could see a tiny dot, a building of some
kind. There were men in the building, the demolition team, waiting to tear him to bits. They would rip him
open, pull off his arms and legs, break him apart. When they found no bomb they would be surprised;
they would know, but it would be too late.

Olham looked around the small cabin. Nelson was still holding the gun. There was no chance
there. If he could get to a doctor, have an examination made -- that was the only way. Mary could help
him. He thought frantically, his mind racing. Only a few minutes, just a little time left. If he could contact
her, get word to her some way.

"Easy," Peters said. The ship came down slowly, bumping on the rough ground. There was
silence.

"Listen," Olham said thickly. "I can prove I'm Spence Olham. Get a doctor. Bring him here --"

"There's the squad," Nelson pointed. "They're coming." He glanced nervously at Olham. "I hope
nothing happens."

"We'll be gone before they start work," Peters said. "We'll be out of here in a moment." He put
on his pressure suit. When he had finished he took the gun from Nelson. "I'll watch him for a moment."