“I pretended to be you.”
“Sure,” Gallegher said with savage sarcasm. “That explains it. We’re twins. We look exactly alike.”
“I hypnotized them,” Joe explained. “I made them think I was you.”
“You can do that?”
“Yes. It surprised me a bit. Still, if I’d thought, I’d have vastened I could do it.”
“You…yeah, sure. I’d have vastened the same thing myself. What happened?”
“The Tones must have suspected Brock would ask you to help him. They offered an exclusive contract — you work for them and nobody else. Lots of money. Well, I pretended to be you, and said all right. So I signed the contract — it’s your signature, by the way — and got a check from them and mailed it to Kennicott.”
“The whole check?” Gallegher asked feebly. “How much was it?”
“Twelve thousand.”
“They only offered me that?”
“No,” the robot said, “they offered a hundred thousand, and two thousand a week for five years. But I merely wanted enough to pay Kennicott and make sure he wouldn’t come back and bother me. The Tones were satisfied when I said twelve thousand would be enough.”
Gallegher made an inarticulate, gurgling sound deep in his throat. Joe nodded thoughtfully.
“I thought I had better notify you that you’re working for Sonatone now. Well, I’ll go back to the mirror and sing to myself.”
“Wait,” the scientist said, “just wait, Joe. With my own two hands I’m going to rip you gear from gear and stamp on your fragments.”
“That won’t hold in court,” Patsy said, gulping.
“It will,” Joe told her cheerily. “You may have one last, satisfying look at me, and then I must go.” He went.
Gallegher drained his Collins at a draft. “I’m shocked sober,” he informed the girl. “What did I put into that robot? What abnormal senses has he got? Hypnotizing people into believing he’s me — I’m him — I don’t know what I mean.”
“Is this a gag?” Patsy said shortly, after a pause. “You didn’t sign up with Sonatone yourself, by any chance, and have your robot call up here to give you an out — an alibi? I’m just wondering.”
“Don’t. Joe signed a contract with Sonatone, not me. But — figure it out. If the signature’s a perfect copy of mine, if Joe hypnotized the Tones into thinking they saw me instead of him, if there are witnesses to the signature — the two Tones are witnesses, of course — Oh, hell.”
Patsy’s eyes were narrowed. “We’ll pay you as much as Sonatone offered. On a contingent basis. But you’re working for Vox- View — that’s understood.”
“Sure.”
Gallegher looked longingly at his empty glass. Sure. He was working for Vox-View. But, to all legal appearances, he had signed a contract giving his exclusive services to Sonatone for a period of five years — and for a sum of twelve thousand! Yipe! What was it they’d offered? A hundred thousand flat, and…and—
It wasn’t the principle of the thing, it was the money. Now Gallegher was sewed up tighter than a banded pigeon. If Sonatone could win a court suit, he was legally bound to them for five years. With no further emolument. He had to get out of that contract, somehow — and at the same time solve Brock’s problem.
Why not Joe? The robot, with his surprising talents, had got Gallegher into this spot. He ought to be able to get the scientist out. He’d better — or the proud robot would soon be admiring himself piecemeal.
“That’s it,” Gallegher said under his breath. “I’ll talk to Joe. Patsy, feed me liquor in a hurry and send me to the technical department. I want to see those blueprints.”
The girl looked at him suspiciously. “All right. If you try to sell us out—”
“I’ve been sold out myself. Sold down the river. I’m afraid of that robot. He’s vastened me into quite a spot. That’s right, Collinses.” Gallegher drank long and deeply.
After that, Patsy took him to the tech offices. The reading of three-dimensional blueprints was facilitated with a scanner — a selective device which eliminated confusion. Gallegher studied the plans long and thoughtfully. There were copies of the patented Sonatone prints, too, and, as far as he could tell, Sonatone had covered the ground beautifully. There weren’t any outs. Unless one used an entirely new principle—
But new principles couldn’t be plucked out of the air. Nor would that solve the problem completely. Even if Vox-View owned a new type of enlarger that didn’t infringe on Sonatone’s Magna, the bootleg theaters would still be in existence, pulling the trade. A. A. — Audience Appeal — was a prime factor now. It had to be considered. The puzzle wasn’t a purely scientific one. There was a human equation as well.
Gallegher stored the necessary information in his mind, neatly indexed on shelves. Later he’d use what he wanted. For the moment, he was completely baffled. Something worried him.
What?
The Sonatone affair.
“I want to get in touch with the Tones,” he told Patsy. “Any ideas?”
“I can reach ’em on a visor.”
Gallegher shook his head. “Psychological handicap. It’s too easy to break the connection.”
“Well, if you’re in a hurry, you’ll probably find the boys nightclubbing. I’ll go see what I can find out.” Patsy scuttled off, and Silver O’Keefe appeared from behind a screen.
“I’m shameless,” she announced. “I always listen at keyholes. Sometimes I hear interesting things. If you want to see the Tones, they’re at the Castle Club. And I think I’ll take you up on that drink.”
Gallegher said, “O.K. You get a taxi. I’ll tell Patsy we’re going.”
“She’ll hate that,” Silver remarked. “Meet you outside the commissary in ten minutes. Get a shave while you’re at it.”
Patsy Brock wasn’t in her office, but Gallegher left word. After that, he visited the service lounge, smeared invisible shave cream on his face, left it there for a couple of minutes, and wiped it off with a treated towel. The bristles came away with the cream. Slightly refreshed, Gallegher joined Silver at the rendezvous and hailed an air-taxi. Presently they were leaning back on the cushions, puffing cigarettes and eyeing each other warily. “Well?” Gallegher said.
“Jimmy Tone tried to date me up tonight. That’s how I knew where to find him.”
“Well?”
“I’ve been asking questions around the lot tonight. It’s unusual for an outsider to get into the Vox-View administration offices. I went around saying, ‘Who’s Gallegher?”’ “What did you find out?”
“Enough to give me a few ideas. Brock hired you, eh? I can guess why.”
“Ergo what?”
“I’ve a habit of landing on my feet,” Silver said, shrugging. She knew how to shrug. “Vox-View’s going bust. Sonatone’s taking over. Unless—”
“Unless I figure out an answer.”
“That’s right. I want to know which side of the fence I’m going to land on. You’re the lad who can probably tell me. Who’s gong to win?”
“You always bet on the winning side, eh?” Gallegher inquired. “Have you no ideals, wench? Is there no truth in you? Ever hear of ethics and scruples?”
Silver beamed happily, “Did you?”
“Well, I’ve heard of’em. Usually I’m too drunk to figure out what they mean. The trouble is, my subconscious is completely amoral, and when it takes over, logic’s the only law.”
She threw her cigarette into the East River. “Will you tip me off which side of the fence is the right one?”
“Truth will triumph,” Gallegher said piously. “It always does. However, I figure truth is a variable, so we’re right back where we started. All right, sweetheart. I’ll answer your question. Stay on my side if you want to be safe.”