He did not run gibbering from the room. His reaction was more matter-of-fact than anything else.
“Hey, you look like me!”
The perfect double made shushing sounds while glancing up and back to make sure their little brother was still locked fast in sleep.
“Of course I look like you. I’d be worthless if I didn’t. I’m the Beta Unit.”
“What the hell’s a Beta Unit? I know what a Be-tamax is, but not a Beta Unit.”
“I recognize the reference, but there is only the most tenuous of relations. Centauri didn’t tell you?”
“No, Centauri didn’t tell me. Centauri doesn’t tell people things,” Alex murmured angrily. “Why did I think that you had something to do with Centauri?”
The double hesitated a moment. “You’re being sarcastic now, aren’t you? Sarcasm is difficult to recognize.”
“It shouldn’t be. Not when Centauri’s involved. You still haven’t explained what you are, besides me.”
“I am a BS-RS.”
“I’ll buy the first half of that. What about the rest?”
“I don’t think you buy any of it, unless you’re being sarcastic again. I am a brain-scan regenerated simulacrum. An exact duplicate of you. Only not as loud.”
The noise made Louis turn lazily in his bed, the dangling arm rolling to flop against the far wall. Alex fought to keep his voice down. It would not do his younger brother’s development any good at all if he awoke in the middle of the night to confront two Alexes sitting on the bunk beneath his, staring anxiously up at him.
“We met before,” the alien said. “Don’t you recall?”
Alex shook his head slowly, thinking. “Somehow I think I’d remember you.”
“I was in the car, Centauri’s vehicle. Remember now? In the back. We touched hands, I took a fast impulse and retina scan, the final impression was complete, and then I got out fast. After which I became you . . . unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately for whom?” Alex frowned. “A brain-scan regranulated . . . can’t you put that in plain English?”
“All English is plain; a scientifically unsophisticated language.”
“That’s okay. I’m a scientifically unsophisticated guy. Lemme give it a try, though. You’re a robot?”
His double looked offended. “I beg your pardon! I am a state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line Beta Unit, fully programmable on short notice with slipsoidal epidermis and complete self-adapting internal cultural acclimatization features designed specifically for work on backward planets.”
“Which means?”
“Which means that to you morons I’m a robot.”
Alex pondered this a moment, brightened. “I didn’t remember promising to help Otis fix his antenna. So you’re the one who made that promise.”
“That’s what I liked the first time I was told I was going to be working among you humans. You’re so quick on the uptake. Of course it was me. Who else?”
“What else have you been doing while I was stuck chasing Centauri through a cave on Rylos?”
“Oh, wonderful things. Eminently suitable to a simulacrum of my class. Patching electric lines and fixtures, plunging toilets, repairing fences, chasing stray dogs; no wonder you wanna get out of here! What a dump, and a backward dump to boot. And I thought this was gonna be a cushy assignment; big metropolitan area, everything nice and clean, the pick of local museums, my choice of exotic native lubricants and electronic stimuli. . . . You don’t even have cable out here! If I hadn’t been able to pick up transmissions from a couple of your geosynchronous satellites I would’ve gone bonkers by now.”
“Sure, you’ve had it tough. I’ll bet you’ve spent half that time watching cartoons.”
“As a matter of fact,” the Beta Unit replied drily, “your animated entertainments feature the drollest portrayals of primitive robotic notions I’ve ever encountered. From an archeological standpoint it’s been fascinating. The fascination wanes rather rapidly, however. Hey, what are you doing back here, anyway? I wasn’t notified of any impending return.”
“Are you kidding? There’s a war going on up there, and if you’re on the wrong side they stick your head in an alien vegematic! How’s that for the reactions of an advanced civilization?”
“Sadly, among organic sapients technological advances always outpace the social. A truism of advanced societies, I fear. One to which your own racial history can attest.” The Beta Unit’s eyes narrowed. “Hold it just one mimite. You mean after all this moaning and groaning about making something of yourself, about getting out of this trailer park, you get your big chance, a chance afforded very few primitives, and you punk out?” He clucked his lips. “How depressingly typical.”
“It’s not my fight! And how did you know I wanted out of here?”
“Centauri’s programming was very thorough. In addition to qualifying for Starfighter rating on the test machinery, a potential recruit must also be of the proper frame of mind. That is a more subjective measurement, however, and one Centauri apparently misjudged on your part.”
Alex looked away. “Whether I want out of here or not has nothing to do with this. This war still has nothing to do with me or my world.”
“Oh, save the whales, not the universe, is that it? And if you think this conflict between the League and the Ko-Dan has nothing to do with you, wait a few hundred years until they reach this part of your galactic arm. Of course your lifespan will have ended long before then, won’t it? You won’t have to worry about it, will you?”
Alex turned on his double. “If you’re so hot to defend this League or whatever the hell it is, why don’t you go up there and fight, instead of sitting here running off at your mechanical mouth?”
“First, I do only as I’m programmed to do. I don’t enjoy the luxury of free will. Though after seeing how some beings utilize it, I’m not sure I want it anyway. Second, simulacrums can’t fight, on any level. We’re not allowed. Besides which it’s been shown that we can’t respond to the needs of combat as well as organics. We’re not flexible enough in our thought-patterns.”
“Tell them you’re me. Pretend. I won’t tell.”
“You think it’s that simple? Externally, yes, I am you. Internally I’m a dead giveaway. If I were to try a stunt like you suggest I’d be reduced to scrap inside a week. A machine that doesn’t work right is valuable only for parts. Sure, I have a lot of you, Alex. But not the intangibles that make up a Starfighter.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t try it. I pride myself on working right.”
A shuffling of covers sounded from above and a small shape mumbled sleepily.
“Alex, be quiet, willya?” Louis was half conscious, half still in dreamland.
Alex whispered, “Sorry, Louis.” He whispered it twice, and found himself regarding himself thoughtfully.
The truck ground to a halt outside the general store, the driver muttering to himself as dust rose from beneath the rear wheels.
“Damn brakes. Got to get the bastards some new pads. This okay for you, buddy?”
The hitchhiker he’d picked up down the highway nodded, opened the door on his side and jumped lightly to the ground. The driver eyed him one last time. Scruffy-looking type, the kind you might encounter on any road hoping for a lift. Looked out of place, somehow. Maybe a foreigner trying to see the good ol’ U.S. of A.
Because he’d felt sorry for him, the driver had picked him up. It was against company rules to pick up hitchhikers. He did it as often as possible.
It was unusual to run into somebody standing thumb-out this late at night, though. He shrugged. None of his business what the guy was up to. Just somebody else in a hurry to get somewhere. Nobody took their time anymore.
A boxy wooden console on the porch nearby began winking its lights while emitting a series of regular, urgent beeps. The driver squinted at it.
“Video whatzit. Hate them suckers. My oldest kid, he pumps his lunch money into ’em all week long. Thinks we don’t know. Crazy.” He gestured at the subject of his ire. “That one must be on the fritz.”
The hitchhiker nodded in agreement as he stared at the flashing, humming game.
“Yeah, well, take it easy, mac,” the driver said. “I hope you know someone here. It’s a long hike to the next place to sleep.”
The hitchhiker turned. For the first time since he’d been given a lift, he smiled at the driver. It made the driver suddenly uncomfortable. He got the feeling that one more comment, one more question, might be one too many.
Naw, th at was silly. This guy was quiet, but hardly threatening. “Don’t talk much, do ya?”
The hitchhiker shook his head and the driver shrugged indifferently. “Suits me. I like a quiet rider now and then. Take it easy, mac.”
He revved the engine, backed the truck up in the broad, dirt-paved parking lot in front of the motel, and headed out toward the highway. The hitchhiker watched and waited until the lights of the truck had been swallowed by distance. Then he turned to study the trailer park. After several minutes of motionless examination, he headed for the first fence.