The man to the left of Tzadi began to raise his right arm. The man to the right of Tzadi said, "Not yet." Then, more sharply, to Derrence, "We were kinder in our war than you and your people ever were. We created no blood baths, no gas chambers, no panic. Over a period of twenty-seven years, we eliminated and replaced. Families lived with our replacements, never suspecting the loved one was an android. We caused almost no pain at all, as you'll soon find out."
"Android," Derrence whispered. "Machine."
The voice grew curt. "Anything else you'd like to know?"
Derrence wanted to ask why Tzadi and the others were so quiet now, and why children still ran around the streets of residential neighborhoods, and—above all—what was the sense in a world of machines. But he asked no questions. These were not people. In man's image, but not man. Their answers weren't for him.
"I don't believe you," he said, wanting to hurt them, anger them; wanting most of all to hear himself say it. "I believe it's all a joke, or nightmare, or figment of my insane mind."
The man to Tzadi's right held up his hand. A small opening appeared in the palm, and grew larger. When it was a hole as large as the wrist behind it, the man said, "Breathe deeply and you won't suffer."
"Wait," the man to Tzadi's right said. "He's the last. Let him believe!" He tapped the man between; the one looking out the window with his back to Derrence. That man turned, and cleared his throat, and seemed embarrassed. Derrence heard himself laughing. It was too much. He looked at the man and laughed and laughed.
His duplicate, his android self, also laughed. It was the laugh of the true Derrence Cale—weak, frightened, ineffectual and apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir," the android Derrence Cale said. "I hope I can do as well as you've done."
The hand with the hole came across the desk, and something very sweet filled the air. Derrence Cale breathed deeply.
THE END