12
The moon was close and full as it sat on the mirror of the lake’s surface. It wasn’t much of a desert lake compared to such giants as Powell or Mead, but it was big enough to fish in, to ski on and, most importantly, to the clustered teenagers lying on its best beach, to romance on.
The cars remained parked well back of the wooden sign that said Silver Lake. Nevertheless, it was an accepted axiom that before the night was through, some idiot would end up sticking his vehicle in the sand and would have to endure the ignominity of being towed out.
Jack Blake’s fancy pickup was one of the assembled cars. It stuck out from the battered Chevys and mini-pickups like a cabbage among brussels sprouts. From below the parking area whispers and giggles were interspersed with the sound of the lake lapping against the yellow sand.
The police cruiser that pulled into the lot moved slowly, running on parking lights only. They were extinguished as soon as the driver located a parking place. The engine died as the single trooper inside surveyed the silent ranks of vehicles.
Then he checked to make certain his radio was off and his gun was secure in its holster. He opened the door and stepped out. When he closed the door he held down the lock button on the handle to make sure there wouldn’t be any noise.
Eyeing pickup beds as well as interiors, he commenced a careful check of each vehicle. A couple of the cars were locked and he had to fiddle with the doors before they would open.
In one car the two occupants were wrapped up in each other on the back seat. They didn’t notice the trooper’s approach, did not look up when he peered in on them. They noticed only each other.
The trooper concluded his inspection and turned his attention toward the beach.
Jack Blake let his fingers do the walking as the cheerleader moaned softly next to him. The sleeping bag that enveloped them was without its removable goosedown lining and the thin nylon threatened to rip on the gravelly sand. Blake didn’t care. If it tore he’d just buy a new one.
His hands functioned independent of his thoughts. They were on another shape enclosed by another sleeping bag. He kept trying to pick out the shape and the other bag in the dim light, but it was difficult to see much of anything in his present position and the confining bag he was in wouldn’t let him raise his head very high. Neither would his companion.
Maggie and Alex had settled in farther up the beach, away from everyone else. Had he been able to see better, Blake would have been grinding his teeth at the sight of Maggie lying on top of Alex, working her tongue in his ear.
Except that it wasn’t Alex underneath her. It was an anxious, quietly desperate simulacrum whose earlier confidence was ebbing rapidly. A hasty programming had included nothing about how to deal with its present situation. The Beta knew Maggie’s actions were designed to stimulate pleasure, but how much pleasure he wasn’t certain. Furthermore, the entire ongoing procedure appeared to involve a good deal of on-the-spot improvisation. Though versatile, the Beta still relied heavily on preprogrammed information.
Obviously a ticklish confrontation. One wrong move could wipe out his original’s relationship with this forceful female. As a professional, the Beta wanted desperately to do the right thing by Alex.
But what was the right thing? He didn’t know, and rather than make a wrong move he lay quietly and allowed the female to do as she pleased. Evidently this wasn’t the correct reaction, however, since after several minutes of this Maggie rolled off him and straightened her clothing. The Beta had grown sufficiently sensitive to the nuances of human behavior to sense that she was not pleased. Had he reacted incorrectly by not reacting at all?
This was terribly confusing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked innocently. “Should I put my tongue in your ear?”
She shook her head sadly, staring down at him. “Don’t bother. It’s like you’re a million miles away, Alex.”
He started, then realized she was speaking metaphorically. Besides, she was more than a few miles off with her guess.
“It’s just that I’m kinda new to these gland games.”
“What?” (Uh-oh . . . wrong thing to say. He was making it worse every time he opened his insufficiently programmed mouth). “Hey, Earth to Alex. You’re not even paying attention to me.”
“I’m sorry, Maggie. It’s just that I’m a little preoccupied tonight.”
“A little? Alex, you’re as cold as a machine.”
“I am not!” he protested, aware that she had to be ignorant of that casual slur.
There had to be a way out of the quandry in which he found himself. The Beta glanced to his right. That big young male down there, he didn’t seem to be having any trouble making the proper social connections. He and his partner were whispering without pause, communicating fluidly. Beta listened to their conversation carefully.
“Darling, forgive me,” said the larger human. His name was Blake, Beta remembered. He thought the apology reeked of insincerity.
Not that it appeared to make any difference to the female writhing beneath him. From the information his sensors conveyed, the Beta determined that her thought processes at the moment not only were indifferent to the man’s tone, they verged on the unfocused.
Nothing ventured, nothing retained, Beta decided as he turned back to Maggie. “Darling, forgive me.”
To his considerable surprise, she smiled warmly. Surely she could see through his words the feeble attempt at manipulation? Surely the female of this species was more perceptive?
Apparently not. She moved suggestively against him. The Beta Unit filed this new information emotionlessly. It was not his function to judge the social reactions of other species. Besides, he didn’t have the time to render opinions. He was too busy doing his job. He concentrated on the words and accompanying movement of the couple nearby.
Just now they were rolling about on the sand. The Beta promptly began rolling with Maggie. She giggled, which if not the same reaction as the other young female below, at least was not hostile.
“You’re my Juliet, my Venus,” Blake murmured to his cheerleader.
Higher on the sand the Beta whispered throatily, “You’re my Juliet, my Venus.”
Maggie sighed beneath him, her eyes closed tight. This struck Beta as most peculiar, since it seemed logical that now would be just when these creatures would want to see each other. He held off asking Maggie about it, deciding rightly that this would be imprudent.
This was easy, he decided. All he had to do was keep mimicking the words and actions of young Blake, who just then was biting his lady’s ear.
This further confirmation of the primitive nature of the human species did not surprise the Beta. He was careful to note the intensity of the bite before duplicating it, reasoning correctly that it would not be appreciated if he drew blood.
He imitated the bite precisely, resigned to carrying on the charade to its eventual conclusion. Again the female beneath him giggled.
“Oh, Alex.”
She kissed him passionately before zipping up the sleeping bag the rest of the way. This occasioned a moment of panic on the Beta’s part since it temporarily obscured his vision. He twisted around inside the bag. To his relief his new position did not displease Maggie, and he was once more able to study the activity below.
There wasn’t much to see now. Both young humans had all but disappeared inside their own sleeping bag. He could still hear them quite clearly, though, thanks to his advanced audio sensing equipment.
“The other girls,” Blake whispered, “meant nothing to me. It was you I always wanted with me. You. You!” More kissing sounds, followed by the girl’s voice.
“Oh Jack, talk dirty to me!”
The Beta tried to interpret and organize this dialogue as Maggie pulled him deeper into the confines of the sleeping bag, shutting off his view a second time. Her hands were very active. The Beta allowed his human form to respond appropriately (that much programming was provided for, at least) while he made mental notes and record
ed the information for future use.
“The other girls meant nothing to me,” he whispered. “It was you I always wanted with me. You. You!”
He then kissed Maggie and waited for the next reaction.
There was a reaction, all right, but not quite the one he’d anticipated.
The sleeping bag stopped moving as Maggie suddenly froze beneath him. He could feel the sudden tenseness in her and wondered frantically what he’d done wrong.
What now? He considered repeating the short speech and decided not to since the effect it had produced was not the one expected.
“What . . . other . . . girls . . .?” Maggie inquired through clenched teeth.
Definitely the wrong speech, the Beta decided. It was obvious some sort of reply was expected, but he was at a loss what to say. All he could think of to do was to plunge ahead and hope for the best.
So he said, “Should I talk dirty to you now?”
Evidently it was not an inspired choice, because a furious Maggie suddenly began fighting her way clear of the sleeping bag’s confines while trying to refasten her clothing at the same time. She was still working on the latter by the time she’d escaped the bag. She stood glaring down at him as she worked with buttons and straps, her feet sinking into the soft sand.
“What’s wrong?” the Beta inquired weakly. “What did I do, what did I say?”
Her fingers worked on her pants. “Well if you don’t know, I’m certainly not going to tell you!”
Human, he thought. How typically human. How was he expected to cope with such an absurd social fabric? How was anyone expected to handle a race that came forth with statements like that?
As far as the Beta was concerned, Maggie’s words closed the last circuit. He was out of patience, out of confidence, and out of control. He climbed out of the sleeping bag and confronted her, and he was at least as mad as she was and twice as frustrated.
“That’s it, that’s all I can stand! I give up! Let them requisition me for spare parts, let ’em recommission my logic function, let them assign me to quality management . . . I can’t take it anymore, I’ve had it!” Maggie stared back at him in astonishment.
The Beta finished it. “I’m not Alex Rogan!”
From his position in the bushes overlooking the beach, the state trooper monitored this exchange with interest. As he listened he quietly removed the pistol from the holster at his hip. It was not a standard-issue .38. In fact, it had no caliber at all, relying for its effectiveness on a silent pulse of contorted electrons.
That was appropriate, though, because nothing about the trooper was standard-issue. Not even its face, which was a latex-like material stretched over false muscles connected to his own. No electronic illusion this time, but a true mask.
Keeping its eyes on the target it raised the peculiar pistol and aimed carefully. The target was still unaware of its presence and it waited for a clear shot. The cluster of adolescent humans did not notice him either, engaged as they were in the performance of their primitive rituals farther down the beach.
Maggie finally found her voice and, with it, the only explanation she could come up with to explain Alex’s bizarre behavior.
“Alex, I thought we’d talked about this before. I thought we’d agreed between us that no matter what any of the other kids tried, no drugs.”
“I’m not functioning under the influence of hallucinogens, Maggie, or anything else. They’d have no effect on my system in any case. Nothing would, unless you spiked my receptors somehow.” A sound made him pause, followed by the sight of a half-glimpsed shape moving in the bushes above them. Its silhouette was human, its infrared image decidedly alien.
“Maggie, get down!”
The Beta lunged at her as the assassin fired, caught a single burst in his side just beneath the left arm. Cloth and imitation skin disintegrated. The shot would have killed Alex Rogan or any other organic instantly. It only scorched the Beta’s lining.
He tried to turn to get a better view of the assailant while shielding Maggie at the same time. Any other night Maggie would have enjoyed the tussle and would gladly have let Alex come out on top, but just then she was more than a little confused and unwilling to continue without a much better explanation of his behavior.
One thing she noticed immediately, however. It struck her even more forcibly than his inexplicable actions.
“Alex, have you been working out?”
“Have I what?” Electronic eyes searched the vegetation surrounding the parking lot.
She pushed against him, trying to get up. He didn’t budge. Strong as she was, she couldn’t move him an inch. It was like pushing against iron.
“When did you get so strong? Damn it, Alex, let me up!”
“I can’t, and stop squirming. They’re shooting at us.”
Either it didn’t register or else she didn’t believe him. When they seized on a thought and made it their own, the Beta had learned, humans were impossible to persuade. It was part of the same biological equation that made Alex Rogan a potentially great Starfighter but kept Earth classified among the immature worlds.
“What are you talking about, Alex? I swear, I don’t understand you anymore.”
“I told you,” the Beta snapped as he tried to get a fix on the assassin’s position. It had to be moving now, wondering why its first shot hadn’t turned its target into a motionless mass of smoldering flesh. Confusion would buy the Beta some time. “I’m not Alex. I’m a duplicate of him, a simulacrum, a Beta unit.”
“Your elevator’s not going all the way to the top, is what,” she said, gaping at him.
“I’m an exact duplicate of Alex. I’m covering for him here while he tries to help the League against the Ko-Dan armada and Xur’s renegades. It’s my job, and it’s required by regulations. You can’t just yank some primitive off his world without replacing the resultant hole in the social fabric. It could be damaging to local development, especially when it involves someone who shows unusual promise of influencing his society, like Alex.”
Maggie listened to all this quietly, said by way of reply, “Huh?”
Exasperated beyond words, the Beta pulled open his shirt. Maggie watched uneasily, wondering what his intentions were, wondering how to cope if she had to with a drug-crazed boyfriend who might say or do anything.
However, those thoughts vanished when that same boyfriend followed the opening of his shirt with the opening of his chest. There was no blood, and after flinching in horror for a split second she found herself staring at a metal surface spotted with small ports and windows. Behind the transparencies, lights glowed steadily or winked on and off according to some alien pattern.
“Look, I’m a robot. Get it? How detailed a picture do I have to draw for you, you dumb human adolescent?”
“Gggg-gggg!”
The Beta spoke calmly as he refastened his artificial skin and clothing. “That is not in my vocabulary, but somehow I get the feeling it means I’m not making much progress. It doesn’t matter. Just keep down. I don’t want you killed by a shot meant for me.”
There would be no second shot, however. The ZZ-Designate had seen and heard enough. It rose and bolted for the stolen police car. The Beta detected the retreat. The assassin’s gait was quite human, but just stiff enough to confirm what was already suspected.
“There it goes!”
He took off in pursuit, cursing the slippery sand that slowed him while wishing Centauri hadn’t been too damn cheap to spring for installation of the optional levitation unit. No point in bewailing that omission now.
“Alex!” Maggie was struggling to follow. After-images of the Beta’s internal lights lingered like ghostly fireflies on her retinas. She stumbled up the slope toward the half-buried steps made out of old railroad ties. “Alex, or whatever you are . . . wait for me!”
The assassin was having its own problems. Not only had it been sent on a futile hunt, at great difficulty and expense, but its quarry had turned out to be a modern
Beta Unit—and quite capable of killing it, the alien knew. What mattered now was reporting back to command and informing them that the switch had been made. As to the location of the real target, that wasn’t the assassin’s problem any longer.
But it had to make that report.
Back inside the stolen land vehicle, he fumbled with the primitive controls and finally succeeded in activating the smelly internal combustion engine. The police cruiser screeched backward, stopped, then roared out of the parking lot.
Without hesitating, the Beta jumped into the nearest available vehicle. This happened to be Jack Blake’s precious pickup. Information raced through storage chips located in the Beta’s torso.
Truck, land vehicle, activation of: turn this bit of metal, engine function on, push this level, push down on this pedal.
The pickup burned rubber as it swung around in a curve that left it facing the exit. As the Beta prepared to shift into drive, the door on the passenger side opened.
“Wait!” Maggie yelled as the truck started forward.
“Let me go! If that assassin reports in to Xur and the Ko-Dan that I’m not Alex and that he isn’t here, then Alex is in big trouble. Stay here!”
“I’m not staying anywhere until I find out what’s going on!” She pulled herself up into the cab and dared the machine in the driver’s seat to throw her out. “And I am not a dumb human adolescent, tinman!”
“Stubborn, then,” said the Beta. There was no time for arguing. No time for anything except running down the assassin before it could file its report. “You may not like what you find out.”
“I don’t like it already.”
He nodded, and sent the big pickup thundering toward the access road leading to the highway.
The sound of the pickup pulling out of the lot galvanized Jack Blake into action. The assassin’s pistol had done its work silently, and even the Beta’s shouts and Maggie’s replies hadn’t been loud or violent enough to draw his attention away from the heated activity of the moment. But the sound of that particular engine was as near and dear to him as his own heartbeat.