Analog Science Fiction and Fact 010113 by Dell Magazines

Author:Dell Magazines
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dell Magazines
Published: 2012-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

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SHORT STORIES

NOVELETTES

True to Form

Kyle Kirkland

When is a difference not a difference?

Cal Winter's rent totaled 139 dollars, due at the end of the month—two days away. He was 130 dollars short.

But that wasn't the only reason the ex-pharmacologist was sitting in Mr. Smith's cramped office. Cal had ideas, lots of ideas, and sometimes they paid off. He also had a terrible fear shared by many people on skid row, especially those who, like Cal, had seen much better times. It was a sinking feeling, as if he had stepped in quicksand. He felt like he was slowly being sucked down into a morass. It was a human morass, in which the brown ooze at the bottom consisted of mechs—joined, occasionally, by real humans like Cal who did possess consciousness but failed to use it to any great advantage.

If Smith didn't hire him, the only thing left was the research center on Dillerd Street. They always needed test subjects and sometimes mechs didn't have the right anatomy. That the job would pay reasonably well, be relatively painless, entail few risks and none that weren't covered by government insurance, was insufficient consolation.

Cal's chair was wedged between a velour-topped desk and a wall with inlaid screen, which was a short distance behind and above his head. The screen was showing the 6:30 news. Most of it was devoted to Senator Herald's overdose, so it had Smith's rapt attention. Cal was facing Smith and unable to see the display, but he watched the lights from the video flicker across the pudgy man's broad gray shirt. Cal waited for another commercial so that he could begin talking again.

A female voice came over the monitor: ". . . a great tragedy in American politics. She was on track to become the first female President. And now this. . . ."

The interviewer said, "I've heard that you and others are pushing for stronger regulation of the drug industry."

Smith's upper lip curled.

"That's right," replied the woman. "Maybe this drug, Stewed, as it's called, isn't being made and distributed as safely as we thought it was."

Smith's eyes closed, his chin dropped. The interview went on for a few more minutes. A physician then affirmed that the autopsy and chemical analyses showed that Senator Herald had definitely taken Stewed a short time before her death.

When the commercial break came, Cal used the time as best he could, speaking loudly enough to drown out a sales pitch for pre-enjoyed cars, an athlete endorsing a fat metabolizer called Weightaway, and a theatrical skit promoting the latest painkiller. Cal once caught himself talking in rhythm with an advertising jingle, but he persevered, said what he wanted to say. Smith's only motion was a slight tilt of the head, a movement Cal hopefully interpreted as indicating interest.

But the commercials finally came to an end, and the news program finished up. An overhead bank of fluorescents hummed on.

Smith looked at Cal and shook his head. "So who would want to get rid of this Herald woman? I don't know much about her.

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