Part 8 (1/2)
Entman shrugged. ”Still--a remarkable job, particularly since they would have no chance for a trial-and-error test under the conditions that would prevail. It's surprising that _any_ of the androids were able to keep functioning.”
”The eighth one is pretty sick. He may be gone by now. And about their earlier coming, I can give you one point. They came quietly, probably at night, grabbed their model, and moved out fast.”
”How do you know that?”
”Because, obviously, they think all men on earth look alike. Or, at least, we can a.s.sume that. Else how did they expect to get away with ten identical androids?”
Entman's eyes widened. ”I never thought of that,” he muttered.
Senator Crane, a doggedly determined man, had listened to the replay of Brent Taber's top-secret conference again and again. In the comfortable rationalization of which he was capable, his whole zeal and hostility were fas.h.i.+oned around Brent's ”arrogant disregard of democratic processes.” Who did this bureaucrat think he was? Did he consider himself smarter than the People? Did he feel they couldn't be trusted with revelations affecting their survival? Well, by G.o.d, they'd been trusted with word of the bomb and its implications, and they'd reacted admirably. So they were ent.i.tled to frankness concerning this new threat to their security.
Of course, Senator Crane reserved the right to enlighten them in his own time and in his own way. After all, hadn't they elected him and thus given him leeway to use his own judgment in their best interests?
But who the h.e.l.l had elected Brent Taber?
n.o.body.
So Crane listened to the recording and picked out what he cla.s.sified as the key lines.
_A routine autopsy revealed some peculiar things ... The man had two hearts...._
_The blood? Could it have been a new kind of plasma?..._
_All in all, gentlemen, eight identical specimens have been picked up in various American cities ...
Exactly alike...._
Crane ran through the rest of it and threw himself moodily into a chair.
The idiots! The stupid unelected, self-appointed guardians of democracy!
Not once--not _once_, mind you--had a single one of these great brains referred to the obvious.
It was a Russian plot!
All those allusions to the extraterrestrial was so much bilge. The Russians were infiltrating the country with synthetic men. This meant--oh, G.o.d--it meant that in a short time Russia would be able to create an army of these monsters and overwhelm the world.
Senator Crane sprang to his feet and measured his indignation in long strides across the thick, expensive carpeting on his floor. The traitor! The sheer, compulsive opportunist! That was certainly all that Brent Taber could be called. Using this deadly situation as a means of furthering his own interests.
Senator Crane deliberately stilled his rage and objectively considered what he should do about it. With the obvious source of the androids logically deduced, there was only his own defensive procedures to be considered. And they had to be considered carefully. As he saw himself, he stood alone, against a group of b.u.mbling idiots, with the future of the nation at stake. What to do?
The key question, of course, was: How soon will Russia be able to mount an army? Probably not very soon, he decided. That fact gave him time to ferret out more information; to become completely sure of himself.
One thing you had to realize about the American public--or about any ma.s.s of humanity, for that matter--a thing of importance had to be presented dramatically. This, in a sense, was the duty of the elected public servant--to recognize this somewhat childish failing of the average intelligence and make allowances for it. _You can do this, of course_, Senator Crane told himself, _when you love the people_.
And, fortunately for their survival, Senator Crane loved the American people.
So, for a few moments, he o'erleaped the hard work ahead and saw the goal--envisioned the headlines: