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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.
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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.
Behind him, the videogame continued its inexplicable electronic antics.
Moving in a preplanned arc through the trailer park, the hitchhiker passed the
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first lightless mobile without incident. The second still had lights showing
and he bent low to make certain he passed well beneath the line of sight of
anyone inside.
As he ducked below the last window a voice inside suddenly blared, "Drop it or
you're dead!"
The hitchhiker froze, momentarily frightened as well as confused by the
unexpected challenge. More words followed upon the first, but they were
unrelated to the challenge. In fact, they made next to no sense at all.
Another loud voice followed clicking noises.
"Herrrreee's Johnnnny!"
Now very puzzled indeed, but considerably less frightened, the hitchhiker rose
slowly until he could just peer over the window sill into the trailer. At one
end of the room an elderly human sat in a chair holding a small plastic
rectangle. This he kept aimed at a video device squatting on the far side of
the room. Each time a button on the rectangle was depressed, frequency shifts
took place within the device and a new image appeared on the primitive glass
face.
Relieved, as well as mad at himself for his reaction, the hitchhiker once more
crouched below window level as he resumed his prowling through the park, Alex
and his Beta had resumed their conversation, keeping their voices down, each
conscious of the impressionable ten-year-old sleeping on the overhead bunk.
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". . . and one other thing," Alex was saying angrily, "what'd you do to
Maggie?"
"Maggie? Ah, the young woman. Not all primitive instincts are unpleasant."
"I don't like what you're saying, friend."
The Beta raised both hands defensively. "Merely an unemotional analysis of
observed habits based on known mammalian standards of beauty. Nothing
personal. That would be impossible in any case."
Alex wasn't sure how far he should trust this character, no matter what he was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]