“I’ve been in contact with Colligatarch Authority on Earth,” Uberaba began.
Eric interrupted him. “This is crazy! I don’t know anything about the Syrax! I’m not a Syrax agent. What kind of idiocy is this?”
“It’s not a question of idiocy, but of engineering. You really believe in yourself, don’t you? I’m telling you, you are a construction. As surely as was the GATE, as surely as was this floating city, you were built.” He nodded toward Lisa. “As was the woman beside you, though her origin is different.”
“Look, I know I’ve done some unusual things,” he was about to say “inhuman things” but changed his words in mid thought, “but that doesn’t prove what you say.”
“You’re quite right about that, but many seemingly unrelated things when placed alongside each other create a context from which explanations may be drawn, like the pieces of any other puzzle. As an engineer and designer you should know that better than anyone.”
“I was born in Chandler, Arizona, a state of the North American Federation, in—"
Uberaba put up a hand. “Spare me. I’m sure your implanted memories are as detailed and strong as the Syrax could make them. They really are wonderful technicians. A pity they don’t share their knowledge.
“I’ve been briefed on the extent of your ‘unusual’ activities, Eric, and they are very impressive. You’ve done some remarkable things. But as you say, demonstrations of extreme physical ability do not in themselves constitute proof of extraterrestrial origin. But no artison or android could have done what you’ve done, not even one designed as an athletic model.
“You had an altercation in Nueva York, in Ms. Tambor’s home. In addition to a lot of other blood, you left behind a very little of your own. Like everything else at the scene it was studied intensively in hopes of learning something about you. It’s very good blood, but it’s not natural.”
Eric listened silently while his brain screamed at him to grab Lisa in his arms and rush the GATE, to get away from these insane people and their droning madness before it engulfed both of them. But he couldn’t. He was too fascinated by the man’s bizarre theory. He was too much the engineer intrigued by a possible solution to an inexplicable problem. Why, if you let your mind come apart, stopped thinking rationally, what Uberaba was saying made an abstract sort of sense.
“In addition to your physical abilities, Eric, you were given a considerable if not profound independent intelligence. Use it now to consider what I’ve said. How did you imagine you managed one incredible escape after another? In Nueva York you defeated an entire squad of highly trained professionals.” Around him, Orema’s people shifted uneasily.
“In a suburb of Greater London you broke out of a prison hospital by running through a solid concrete wall while filled with enough dope to lay out a dozen weight lifters. And lastly there is the still unexplained business of your departure from an enclosed office in a building on the shore of the Thames, in London. Six reliable witnesses were within two meters of you when you both vanished, even as you were about to be shot. Where did you go, Eric, and how did you do it?”
Construction. Creature of the Syrax. Good blood, but not quite natural, oh, most definitely unnatural.
They’re not mad at all, Eric thought suddenly. I am. I am, or the rest of the world. Looking to his left, he found Lisa staring up at him, and he could see that she didn’t want to believe either. But despite that, he saw what he wanted to see, what he needed to see. The love was still there, in her face, in her eyes. Man, android, artison, alien whatsis, no matter. Whatever Eric Abbott might be, Lisa Tambor loved him.
The catacombs of St. Paul’s … how had they arrived there? At the time they’d accepted salvation without question because there’d been no time for analysis, Think back, further back. Back to what had seemed such a pleasant, normal life. Back to that night in Phoenix, in the restaurant. The appearance of the Syrax.
How indifferent its casual inspection of bar and patrons had been! How fluid and casual its movements. Had it materialized there to observe human recreational habits, or to run some kind of final check? On what? Its machine?
And right after that, the fateful glimpse of Lisa on the street, and events set irrevocably in motion. Accident? Coincidence? Or long-dormant programming activated?
Teleportation. A Syrax could teleport over a short distance. Thames to St. Paul’s, defensive reaction triggered instinctively in the part of him that … wasn’t quite natural? How much of Eric Abbott was human and how much … something else?
“You’re in love with the artison four in the Tambor series, aren’t you?” the far-off voice of Uberaba was saying gently. “That’s what I’ve been told.”
Eric stared at him. Nothing else in the room existed anymore—not the colonists, not the security team with its weapons, not Orema, nothing. Only the vague presence of Lisa, himself, and Uberaba. Everyone else had ceased to exist, because only Uberaba had the answers. Eric ached with the need for answers.
“Yes, I am in love with her.” He held her close and almost cried when she did not pull away.
“You know what you’re not,” Uberaba explained patiently. “I‘m sure Tambor four has told you that it’s impossible for her to love a human male. Don’t you find it strange that she should love you?”
Eric didn’t reply. There was nothing to say.
Uberaba continued. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it?”
“Why? What if what you say is true? I still don’t understand why.”
The bioengineer whispered to Orema. “I think his ignorance may be genuine.” Then, to Eric, “That’s fairly obvious: the GATE.
“In most of the sciences the Syrax are far in advance of us. They continue to mete out information in tiny dribs and drabs in the hope that someday they’ll be able to wheedle the secret of the GATE out of us. In that one area of physics we’ve not only equaled, but have jumped far beyond, their accomplishments, thanks to a lucky guess on the part of some incredibly fortunate researchers.
“Their starships are far more efficient than any vessels we’ve built, but they still take years to reach Earth. In comparison to the GATE, they don’t move at all. Ever since they made contact with us and learned about the GATE, they’ve worked at duplicating it. They can’t, because its discovery was pure accident.
“The Station here is shielded, which means they can’t teleport in. Why do you think we take such security precautions here, Eric Abbott? To keep out terrestrial iconoclasts? No. To protect the GATE. It’s our one hold over the Syrax, and they badly want to break it. They’ve been trying for a hundred years.”
I know how the GATE works, Eric thought suddenly. I scanned the records in the computer here. But why? You don’t have to know the secrets of its operation to use it. All you have to do is step through. Why did I research that?
A tremor passed through his body, a mental quiver as the realization, no longer avoidable, finally struck home.
The bioengineer was right.
Abruptly his perception of his surroundings underwent a subtle shift. He saw Orema and his people and Uberaba and everyone else in the room differently, as though the world had suddenly gone slightly out of focus. Except he knew that wasn’t true. He was the one out of focus.
And yet he didn’t feel different emotionally, didn’t feel like a puppet or the extension of some extravagant computer program. He still felt like Eric Abbott, alive with all the feelings and thoughts and desires and hopes Eric Abbott had always possessed. Oh, they’d fashioned him fine, had the Syrax! Their work reached a new nadir of bioengineering perfection in him. It had to, to have fooled everyone for so long. Even the shield Uberaba spoke of had not kept him out of GATE Station.
The bioengineer’s voice and face were full of sympathy. He saw the pain on Eric’s face. “I know how difficult this must be for you to accept, but if you need further proof …” He reached behind him. Eric tensed, but what the bioengineer produced was no weapon.
The small, triangular metal unit displayed a few tiny readouts and a couple of adjustment controls. As Eric stared, Uberaba nudged first one, then its companion. A whispery hum filled the room.
“That’s a carrier wave, Eric.” He held out the unit so that Eric could see the signal dancing across a miniature opto. “That’s you. You’ve been broadcasting it all along, I suspect. I’ve been told it’s a very deceptive carrier wave, near impossible to detect without sophisticated sensing equipment. You’re transmitting, Eric, without being aware of it.
“There are two Syrax ships orbiting Earth right now. Not in the same orbit as GATE Station: that would be too obvious. They’re far away, but not behind the curve of the planet. Which one do you think you’re transmitting to?”
“I don’t know,” Eric mumbled. His free hand went to his head, touched gingerly, as a man might caress a live bomb. “I didn’t know I was doing that. I don’t feel anything. Please, you’ve got to listen to me! Maybe I am what you say, a construction of the Syrax, but I’m an independent construct. I’m not a slave. They couldn’t make me a slave or their deception wouldn’t have worked …” he broke off.
“As well as it has?” Uberaba finished for him. “Seems to me you’ve accomplished almost everything they planned for you.”
