"My double. Don't be a fool, Selene. May and I—" he savored it— "May and I know all about it. He warned me to beware of a diver-sion by a woman while the double slipped in and killed me. When do you expect him?"
"I really do like you," Selene sobbed. "But Almon promised to take me up there and I knew when I was where they'd see me that I'd meet somebody really important. I really do like you, but soon I'll be too old—"
"Selene, listen to me. Listen to me! You'll get your chance. Nobody but you and me will know that the substitution didn't succeed!"
"Then I'll be spying for you on Almon, won't I?" she asked in a choked voice. "All I wanted was a few nice things before I got too old. All right, I was supposed to be in your arms at 2350 hours."
It was 2349. Reuben sprang from bed and stood by the door, his pistol silenced and ready. At 2350 a naked man slipped swiftly into the room, heading for the bed as he raised a ten-centimeter poignard. He stopped in dismay when he realized that the bed was empty.
Reuben killed him with a bullet through the throat.
"But he doesn't look a bit like me," he said in bewilderment, closely examining the face. "Just in a general way."
Selene said dully: "Almon told me people always say that when they see their doubles. It's funny, isn't it? He looks just like you, really."
"How was my body to be disposed of?"
She produced a small flat box. "A shadow suit. You were to be left here and somebody would come tomorrow."
"We won't disappoint him," Reuben pulled the web of the shadow suit over his double and turned on the power. In the half-lit room, it was a perfect disappearance; by daylight it would be less perfect. "They'll ask why the body was shot instead of knifed. Tell them you shot me with the gun from under the pillow. Just say I heard the dou-ble come in and you were afraid there might have been a struggle."
She listlessly asked: "How do you know I won't betray you?"
"You won't, Selene." His voice bit. "You're broken."
She nodded vaguely, started to say something, and then went out without saying it.
Reuben luxuriously stretched in his narrow bed. Later, his beds would be wider and softer, he thought. He drifted into sleep on a half-formed thought that some day he might vote with other generals on the man to wear the five stars—or even wear them himself, Master of Denv.
He slept healthily through the morning alarm and arrived late at his regular twentieth-level station. He saw his superior, May's man Oscar of the eighty-fifth level, Atomist, ostentatiously take his name. Let him!
Oscar assembled his crew for a grim announcement: "We are going to even the score, and perhaps a little better, with Ellay. At sunset there will be three flights of missiles from Deck One."
There was a joyous murmur and Reuben trotted off on his task.
All forenoon he was occupied with drawing plutonium slugs from hyper-suspicious storekeepers in the great rock-quarried vaults, and seeing them through countless audits and assays all the way to Weap-ons Assembly. Oscar supervised the scores there who assembled the curved slugs and the explosive lenses into sixty-kilogram warheads.
In mid-afternoon there was an incident. Reuben saw Oscar step aside for a moment to speak to a Maintainer whose guard fell on one of the Assembly Servers, and dragged him away as he pleaded inno-cence. He had been detected in sabotage. When the warheads were in and the Missilers seated, waiting at their boards, the two Atomists rode up to the eighty-third's refectory.
The news of a near-maximum effort was in the air; it was electric.
Reuben heard on all sides in tones of self-congratulation: "We'll clobber them tonight!"
"That Server you caught," he said to Qscar. "What was he up to?"
His commander stared. "Are you trying to learn my job? Don't try it, I warn you. If my black marks against you aren't enough, I could always arrange for some fissionable material in your custody to go astray."
"No, no! I was just wondering why people do something like that."
Oscar sniffed doubtfully. "He's probably insane, like all the Angelos. I've heard the climate does it to them. You're not a Maintainer or a Controller. Why worry about it?"
"They'll brainburn him, I suppose?"
"I suppose. Listen!"
Deck One was firing. One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three, four, five, six.
People turned to one another and shook hands, laughed and slapped shoulders heartily. Eighteen missiles were racing through the stratosphere, soon to tumble on Ellay. With any luck, one or two would slip through the first wall of interceptors and blast close enough to smash windows and topple walls in the crazy city by the ocean. It would serve the lunatics right.
Five minutes later an exultant voice filled most of Denv.
"Recon missile report," it said. "Eighteen launched, eighteen per-fect trajectories. Fifteen shot down by Ellay first-line interceptors, three shot down by Ellay second-line interceptors. Extensive blast damage observed in Griffith Park area of Ellay!"
There were cheers.
And eight Full Maintainers marched into the refectory silently, and marched out with Reuben.
He knew better than to struggle or ask futile questions. Any ques-tion you asked of a Maintainer was futile. But he goggled when they marched him onto an upward-bound stairway.
They rode past the eighty-ninth level and Reuben lost count, see-ing only the marvels of the upper reaches of Denv. He saw carpets that ran the entire length of corridors, and intricate fountains, and mosaic walls, stained-glass windows, more wonders than he could recognize, things for which he had no name.
He was marched at last into a wood-paneled room with a great polished desk and a map behind it. He saw May, and another man who must have been a general—Rudolph?—but sitting at the desk was a frail old man who wore a circlet of stars on each khaki shoul-der.
The old man said to Reuben: "You are an Ellay spy and saboteur."
Reuben looked at May. Did one speak directly to the man who wore the stars, even in reply to such an accusation?
"Answer him, Reuben," May said kindly.
"I am May's man Reuben, of the eighty-third level, an Atomist," he said.
"Explain," said the other general heavily, "if you can, why all eighteen of the warheads you procured today failed to fire."
"But they did!" gasped Reuben. "The Recon missile report said there was blast damage from the three that got through and it didn't say anything about the others failing to fire."
The other general suddenly looked sick and May looked even kindlier.
The man who wore the stars turned inquiringly to the chief of the Maintainers, who nodded and said: "That was the Recon mis-sile report, sir."
The general snapped: "What I said was that he would attempt to sabotage the attack. Evidently he failed. I also said he is a faulty dou-ble, somehow slipped with great ease into my good friend May's or-ganization. You will find that his left thumb print is a clumsy forgery of the real Reuben's thumb print and that his hair has been artificially darkened."
The old man nodded at the chief of the Maintainers, who said: "We have his card, sir."
Reuben abruptly found himself being fingerprinted and deprived of some hair.
"The f.p.s check, sir," one Maintainer said. "He's Reuben."
"Hair's natural, sir," said another.
The general began a rearguard action: "My information about his hair seems to have been inaccurate. But the fingerprint means only that Ellay spies substituted his prints for Reuben's prints in the files—"
"Enough, sir," said the old man with the stars. "Dismissed. All of you.
Rudolph, I am surprised. All of you, go."
Reuben found himself in a vast apartment with May, who was bubbling and chuckling uncontrollably until he popped three of the green capsules into his mouth hurriedly.
"This means the eclipse for years of my good friend Rudolph," he crowed. "His game was to have your double sabotage the attack war-heads and so make it appear that my organization is rotten with spies. The double must have been under post-hypnotic, primed to admit everything. Rudolph was so sure of himself that he made his accusations before the attack, the fool!"