Virtual Unrealities, The Short Fiction of Alfred Bester (23 page)

“But yes, yes,” he sputtered when the layman had finally made himself clear to the scientists. “Yes, indeed! A most ingenious notion. Why it never occurred to me, I cannot think. It could be accomplished without any difficulty whatsoever.” He considered. “Except money,” he added.

“You could duplicate the girl that died ten years ago?” Alceste asked.

“Without any difficulty, except money.” Goland nodded emphatically.

“She’d look the same? Act the same? Be the same?”

“Up to ninety-five percent, plus or minus point nine seven five.”

“Would that make any difference? I mean, ninety-five percent of a person as against one hundred percent.”

“Ach! No. It is a most remarkable individual who is aware of more than eighty percent of the total characteristics of another person. Above ninety percent is unheard of.”

“How would you go about it?”

“Ach? So. Empirically we have two sources. One: complete psychological pattern of the subject in the Centaurus Master Files. They will TT a transcript upon application and payment of one hundred credits through formal channels. I will apply.”

“And I’ll pay. Two?”

“Two: the embalmment process of modern times, which—She is buried, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Which is ninety-eight percent perfect. From remains and psychological pattern we re-clone body and psyche by the equation sigma equals the square root of minus two over— We do it without any difficulty, except money.”

“Me, I’ve got the money,” Frankie Alceste said. “You do the rest.”

For the sake of his friend, Alceste paid Cr. 100 and expedited the formal application to the Master Files on Centaurus for the transcript of the complete psychological pattern of Sima Morgan, deceased. After it arrived, Alceste returned to Terra and a city called Berlin, where he blackmailed a gimpster named Augenblick into turning grave robber. Augenblick visited the
Staats-Gottesacker
and removed the porcelain coffin from under the marble headstone that read
SIMA MORGAN
. It contained what appeared to be a black-haired, silken-skinned girl in deep sleep. By devious routes, Alceste got the porcelain coffin through four customs barriers to Deneb.

One aspect of the trip of which Alceste was not aware, but which bewildered various police organizations, was the series of catastrophes that pursued him and never quite caught up. There was the jetliner explosion that destroyed the ship and an acre of docks half an hour after passengers and freight were discharged. There was a hotel holocaust ten minutes after Alceste checked out. There was the shuttle disaster that extinguished the pneumatic train for which Alceste had unexpectedly canceled passage. Despite all this he was able to present the coffin to biochemist Goland.

“Ach!” said Ernst Theodor Amadeus. “A beautiful creature. She is worth re-creating. The rest now is simple, except money.”

For the sake of his friend, Alceste arranged a leave of absence for Goland, bought him a laboratory and financed an incredibly expensive series of experiments. For the sake of his friend, Alceste poured forth money and patience until at last, eight months later, there emerged from the opaque maturation chamber a black-haired, inkyeyed, silken-skinned creature with long legs and a high bust. She answered to the name of Sima Morgan.

“I heard the jet coming down toward the school,” Sima said, unaware that she was speaking eleven years later. “Then I heard a crash. What happened?”

Alceste was jolted. Up to this moment she had been an objective … a goal … unreal, unalive. This was a living woman. There was a curious hesitation in her speech, almost a lisp. Her head had an engaging tilt when she spoke. She arose from the edge of the table, and she was not fluid or graceful as Alceste had expected she would be. She moved boyishly.

“I’m Frank Alceste,” he said quietly. He took her shoulders. “I want you to look at me and make up your mind whether you can trust me.”

Their eyes locked in a steady gaze. Sima examined him gravely. Again Alceste was jolted and moved. His hands began to tremble and he released the girl’s shoulders in panic.

“Yes,” Sima said. “I can trust you.”

“No matter what I say, you must trust me. No matter what I tell you to do, you must trust me and do it.”

“Why?”

“For the sake of Johnny Strapp.”

Her eyes widened. “Something’s happened to him,” she said quickly. “What is it?”

“Not to him, Sima. To you. Be patient, honey. I’ll explain. I had it in my mind to explain now, but I can’t. I—I’d best wait until tomorrow.”

They put her to bed and Alceste went out for a wrestling match with himself. The Deneb nights are soft and black as velvet, thick and sweet with romance—or so it seemed to Frankie Alceste that night.

“You can’t be falling in love with her,” he muttered. “It’s crazy.”

And later, “You saw hundreds like her when Johnny was hunting. Why didn’t you fall for one of them?”

And last of all, “What are you going to do?”

He did the only thing an honorable man can do in a situation like that, and tried to turn his desire into friendship. He came into Sima’s room the next morning, wearing tattered old jeans, needing a shave, with his hair standing on end. He hoisted himself up on the foot of her bed, and while she ate the first of the careful meals Goland had prescribed, Frankie chewed on a cigarette and exp
l
ained to her. When she wept. he did not take her in his arms to conso
l
e her, but thumped her on the back like a brother.

He ordered a dress for her. He had ordered the wrong size, and when she showed herself to him in it, she looked so adorable that he wanted to kiss her. Instead he punched her. very gently and very so
l
emn
l
y, and took her out to buy a wardrobe. When she showed herself to him in proper clothes, she
l
ooked so enchanting that he had to punch her again
.
Then they went to a ticket office and booked immediate passage for Ross-Alpha III
.

Alceste had intended delaying a few days to rest the girt but he was compe
ll
ed to rush for fear of himse
l
f. It was this alone that saved both from the explosion that destroyed the private home and private laboratory of biochemist Goland, and destroyed the biochemist too. Alceste never knew this. He was already on board ship with Sima, frant
i
cally fighting temptation.

One of the things t
h
at everybody knows about space travel but never mentions is its aphrodisiac quality. Like the ancient days when travelers crossed oceans on ships, the passengers are isolated in their own tiny world for a week. They’re cut off from reality. A magic mood of freedom from ties and responsibilities pervades the jetliner. Everyone has a fling.
T
here are thousands of jet romances every week—quick, passionate affairs that are enjoyed in complete safety and ended on landing day.

In this atmosphere, Frankie A
l
ceste maintained a rigid self-control. He was not aided by the fact that he was a ce
l
ebrity with a tremendous animal magnetism. While a dozen handsome women threw themselves at him, he persevered in the role of big brother and thumped and punched Sima until she protested.

“
I know you’re a wonderful friend to Johnny and me,” she said on the last night out. “But you are exhausting, Frankie. I’m covered with bruises.”

“Yeah. I know. It’s habit. Some people, like Johnny, they think with their brains. Me, I think with my fists.”

They were standing before the starboard crystal. bathed in the soft light of the approaching Ross
-
Alpha, and there is nothing more damnably romantic than the velvet of space illuminated by the white-violet of a distant sun. Sima tilted her head and looked at him.

“I was talking to some of the
passengers,”
she said. “You
’
re fa
mous,
aren’t you?”

“More
notorious-like.”

“There’s so
much
to catch
up on
.
But I must
catch up
on you
first.
“

“Me?”

Sima nodded
.
“It’s all
been
so sudden. I’ve
been bewildered—and
s
o exited that I
haven
’
t
had
a chance to thank you, Frankie. I
do thank
you
.
I’m beholden to you forever.
”

She
put her arms around
his neck and kissed him
with parted
lips.
Alceste began to shake.

“No,
”
he thought.
“
No
.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing
.
She’s
so crazy
happy
at the idea of
being
with Johnny again that she
doesn
’
t realize …”

He
reached
behind him
until he
felt the
icy
surface of the crystal, which passengers are strictly enjoined from touching. Before
he
could give way,
he deliberately
pressed the
backs
of his
hands
against the subzero surface.
The
pain made
him
start.
Sima
released
him in
surprise and when
he
pulled
his hands away, he left
six square
inches
of skin and
blood behind.

So
he
landed
on
Ross-Alpha
III with one girl
in
good condition
and two hands
in
bad
shape and
he
was
met by
the acid-faced Aldous
Fisher,
accompanied
by
an official who
requested Mr.
Alceste to step
into
an office for a very serious private talk.

“
It has been brought to our attention by Mr. Fisher,
”
the official said
,
“that you are attempting to
bring in
a young woman of
illegal
status.”

“How would Mr
.
Fisher know
?”
Alceste asked
.

“
You fool!
”
Fisher spat. “Did you
think
I would let it go at that? You were followed. Every
minute.”

“Mr. Fish
e
r informs
us
,
”
the
official continued austerely, “that
the
woman with you
is
traveling
under
an assumed name. Her pa
pers
are fraudulent.”

“How fraudulent?” Alceste said. “She’s Sima Morgan. Her papers say she’s
Sima Morgan
.
”

“Sima
Morgan died eleven years
ago,
”
Fisher answered
.
“The
woman
with you can’t
be
Sima Morgan.”

“
And
unl
e
ss the question of her true
identity is
cleared
up
,
”
the official said, “she will not be permitted entry.”

“I’ll have the documentation on Sima Morgan’s death here within the week,” Fisher added triumphantly.

Alceste looked at Fisher and shook his head wearily. “You don’t know it, but you’re making it easy for me,” he said. “The one thing in the world I’d like to do is take her out of here and never let Johnny see her. I’m so crazy to keep her for myself that—” He stopped himself and touched the bandages on his hands. “Withdraw your charge, Fisher.”

“No,” Fisher snapped.

“You can’t keep ’em apart. Not this way. Suppose she’s interned? Who’s the first man I subpoena to establish her identity? John Strapp. Who’s the first man I call to come and see her? John Strapp. D’you think you could stop him?”

“That contract,” Fisher began. “I’ll—”

“To hell with the contract. Show it to him. He wants his girl, not me. Withdraw your charge, Fisher. And stop fighting. You’ve lost your meal ticket.”

Fisher glared malevolently, then swallowed. “I withdraw the charge,” he growled. Then he looked at Alceste with blood in his eyes. “It isn’t the last round yet,” he said and stamped out of the office.

Fisher was prepared. At a distance of light-years he might be too late with too little. Here on Ross-Alpha III he was protecting his property. He had all the power and money of John Strapp to call on. The floater that Frankie Alceste and Sima took from the spaceport was piloted by a Fisher aide who unlatched the cabin door and performed steep banks to tumble his fares out into the air. Alceste smashed the glass partition and hooked a meaty arm around the driver’s throat until he righted the floater and brought them safely to earth. Alceste was pleased to note that Sima did not fuss more than was necessary.

On the road level they were picked up by one of a hundred cars that had been pacing the floater from below. At the first shot, Alceste clubbed Sima into a doorway and followed her at the expense of a burst shoulder, which he bound hastily with strips of Sima’s lingerie. Her dark eyes were enormous, but she made no complaint. Alceste complimented her with mighty thumps and took her up to the roof and down into the adjoining building, where he broke into an apartment and telephoned for an ambulance.