“You did all that, Trudy, and still you were worried. It was hard to see how it could happen, but suppose someone learned that Errol had not died in the Aegean Sea. Suppose they suspected that he was still alive?
“There was an answer to that, too. Make a false trail that showed Errol had been shipped off to live on Samarkand—a trail, by the way, that we never found, but I feel sure it’s there. Go to Samarkand yourself, a place that the head of BEC would never normally choose to visit. That would ‘prove’ that Errol was living there.
“And do one other thing, too. Trudy Melford is the absolute ruler of BEC, and she controls BEC’s production line. So make slight changes to machines intended for certain high- mutation-rate colonies, changes that would allow a few cases to pass the humanity test when they should have failed it. That became a real concern of mine, when I first suspected what was happening.” Bey paused. “Trudy, it could have gone both ways. Did the changes ever fail an individual who would otherwise have passed?”
“Never!” Trudy glared back at him. “Do you think I would put some other mother through the hell that I went through? A few feral forms passed. That was all.”
“But as a result the humanity test itself came under suspicion and increased criticism. When its results were questioned, Errol would become a little bit safer. The Office of Form Control would ‘investigate’ the problem, but Denzel Morrone would make sure that the right person was assigned to it.”
“Uhhh! The right person.” Sondra banged her hand on the table. “You mean the dumb person. You mean me!”
“Sorry, Sondra. Morrone did it, I didn’t. I told you there were things I had to say that you would not like to hear. Anyway, Morrone assigned you. But he remained close to what was happening—too close. I sensed that very early. He was the director of the whole office, and this was a relatively small and apparently unimportant project. Normally a junior staff member would have no direct contact with him. But he had to stay close, because he intended to remove the investigator if she did too well. He would track her activities. At worst, Sondra might be allowed as far as the false trail to Samarkand. But no farther.
“It seemed that nothing could possibly go wrong. And in a sense, it didn’t. The fact that Sondra was related to me, and came to see me, was really irrelevant. I had my own work to do. I wasn’t about to become involved. But you and I had met before, Trudy, and it seems I have a reputation at the Office of Form Control. Even though I had retired, you were afraid.”
“With justice.” Trudy gestured to the door through which Rafael Fermiel had taken Errol Melford. “I was afraid, and I had every right to be afraid. You were Bey Wolf, the legendary Bey Wolf. I was afraid of what you might be able to do. I was afraid of something exactly like this. And I’m still afraid. Even if you found out that Errol was alive and on Mars, you ought not to have been able to find him. There are five separate links between him and me, and no one should be able to follow the whole chain. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t.” Bey tapped the sheet of paper sitting on the table in front of him. “Tracking people is not my game. Form-change, theory and practice, is. The humanity test is based on the ability to perform purposive form-change. I have been thinking about that test for more than fifty years, and I have a first-rate reason to do so. Because although I passed the test—- obviously, since I am here—I came perilously close to failing. I discussed the problem long ago with Robert Capman, who is known to you by reputation if not in person. We concluded that there is a certain psychological profile which differs a little from the human norm, in specific ways. Individuals with it have real trouble with the humanity test. I have such a quirky profile. So does Capman. And so, I suspected, might Errol Melford.”
Bey picked up the sheet of paper and smoothed its creases. “This is not Errol’s psychological profile. I did not have his to use. This is my own, as it was when I was four years old. I gave it to Rafael Fermiel, and I asked him to screen the juvenile population records of Old Mars. Not for the usual things, name and parents and residence and personal history, but in terms of psychological profile parameters. I gave Fermiel tolerance ranges for each parameter, and said I wanted to determine any individuals whose profile matched the one that I gave to him within those tolerances. You might say, I was looking for myself at the age of four, or the closest thing to it. I squeaked through, Errol failed. Fermiel came up with five reasonable fits—I want to know more about them—and just one excellent match. I asked him to locate that individual, and bring the person here. He had no idea who he was bringing. I did.”
“But now Fermiel knows.” It was Sondra, not Trudy, who spoke. “He heard you say the name. You can’t ask him to keep quiet, Bey. It’s all in the open and everyone is going to find out.”
“They are. But can’t you see—both of you—that it doesn’t matter any more? I’m telling you, Errol is going to be all right. He doesn’t need to hide.”
“But the humanity test. He failed the test. Anyone who fails the test … ” Trudy spoke softly, her voice trailing away as it came to the unspeakable thought.
“He did. But I have seen Errol, and I am prepared to testify, as former head of the Office of Form Control, that he is a normal human. I am tempted to say, supernormal. Anyway, before people bother Errol Melford they will have to fight their way past me.” Bey sat up straighter, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. “Me, and if I have to involve him, Robert Capman. He’s in the Logian form, and I’m retired, so maybe some people think we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven—sorry, I seem to be quoting again—but what we have to say still counts in anything involving form-change. The decision-makers will listen to us. They won’t touch Errol.”
“Are you saying it’s over?” Trudy spoke in the uncertain tones of someone unsure that she could believe her own words. “That he can come out of hiding? Errol can live with me all the time, instead of just when the castle is quiet?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“Then … ” Trudy leaned over and took Bey’s hands in hers. “Then I’ll say again what I said before. If I have Errol, you have me and everything I possess. No exclusions. Tell me what you want and when you want it.”
Bey leaned back a little from the intense stare of those blue-green eyes. He read in them hero worship and unconditional surrender. Even if they were temporary offerings, he was uncomfortable with both. And behind Trudy he could see Sondra, scowling most horribly.
He was saved from an awkward answer by the sound of loud argument outside the room.
“That must be Georgia.” Bey stood up in relief. “I didn’t intend for her and Rafael to meet without my being present. Wait a minute.”
He hurried out. When he returned he was accompanied by Errol Melford, Rafael Fermiel, and a third being that Sondra stared at in disbelief. It was like an obscenely fat kangaroo with the long muzzle of a camel, and it was dressed in snug boots and a form-fitting white suit with pockets all the way down the sides.
Errol at once ran to his mother and sat on Trudy’s lap. She hugged him fiercely. Fermiel came to sit at the table opposite Trudy. Oddest of all, the fat kangaroo moved to the end of the table and crouched comfortably on its haunches.
“Introductions,” said Bey. He waved his hand. “Sondra Dearborn. Trudy and Errol Melford. Rafael Fermiel. And”—to Sondra’s surprise he pointed to the kangaroo—“Georgia Kruskal. Georgia, you’ve amazed me yet again. You’re not wearing a suit.”