"The Diploids" - читать интересную книгу автора (Maclean Katherine)

The Diploids
KATHERINE MacLEAN


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The Penalty of Uniqueness

WHAT would you do if you suddenly discovered you were not human at all, but an alien? Would it change your feelings towards your friends—your wife—your sweetheart—your parents? Would you still feel drawn toward humans, or would a new craving spring up in you to find and join your own kind?

Independent as many men may be in their thinking, there is yet the basic herd comfort of being not too much unlike their fellows. Nothing is lonelier than uniqueness—except being an outcast. This was the ferment which worked in Paul Breden, from the day he discovered he was different. And in him worked not only the loneliness, but an outraged sense of injustice dangerously like revenge.

—The Editor



He had to backtrack his own heredity before he could find out whether he was a freak or a superman


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I
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LOOK out!” The shout was almost in his ear, and with the shout came another sound, a flat crack like two boards slapping together. He moved instinctively, grasping Nadine’s arm and making three rapid strides to the shelter of a store doorway. Then he turned as the flat echoes of sound rang back from the stone fronts of the buildings across the street. He expected to see something fallen from a window, or a car out of control veering up over the curb.

At first glance there was nothing. The traffic moved by silently and swiftly as usual, but the people on the sidewalk milled oddly, and then straightened to stare all in one direction down the street. The light had changed a few seconds ago, and the traffic sped by more rapidly, accelerating.

He picked out voices.

“Did you get his number?”

“Some nut waving a gun from a taxi.”

“But he shot at us!”

He glanced at Nadine; they exchanged a half shrug and walked on.

Then “Mart” Breden remembered that something had brushed his neck roughly as he heard the shout. He had assumed it was the sleeve of a waving arm but…

“So as I was saying—” he continued stubbornly, determined to finish a half-finished witty point. While he spoke he put his fingertips up to feel the spot on his neck, then brought them down again. There was a dampness on his neck and a red smear of color on his fingertips… blood.

Nadine halted. “As you were saying, brother—you’re just too dumb to know when you’ve been hurt.”

She moved quickly around to his other side where she could see the side of his neck. “It’s only a scratch. The bullet just touched you,” she reassured, groping in her jade-green bag with gold-tinted fingernails. “Hold still! I’ll fix it.”

He stood still. Whatever he had been about to say had vanished from his mind, but it was a pleasure to stand and have Nadine fussing over him and ministering to him with obvious concern. She was indisputably lovely, and dressed in a way that was designed to bring out the fact. He was conscious of envious glances. Streams of brightly dressed, handsome people returning to work from lunch passed by, their feet soundless on the green resilient sidewalk. Some of them were talking quietly and laughing in conversation as they passed; some were listening to music spools with ear-buttons that touched his hearing with a faint faraway strain of music as they passed. He was pleased that they looked at her, and had no attention for him.

Standing still under Nadine’s ministrations, he said appreciatively, “You’re the perfect partner to take along to an accident.”

She smiled up at him. “Well, if you’re going to make a habit of being shot at, I’ll buy more band-aids.” Stepping back she cocked her head to inspect her work. The wail of a police patrol wing throttled down to a growl as it touched road and swung in to where the crowd clustered. She glanced back doubtfully. “Should we go back and tell them?”