THE IMPERSONATOR
By ROBERT WICKS
First he had to know what he was,
then who he was and why he was—but
who was relying on the answers?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He opened his eyes. He couldn't remember having ever seen humans before, but he recognized them instantly. Nor could he remember having seen anything before, yet he felt a warm familiarity with all that fell into view—the light panels set flush with the ceiling, the gleaming laboratory paraphernalia erected around the table on which he lay, electronic scanners probing his mind with invisible beams—but, most of all, the two men in white lab coats bending over him.
"Clench your fingers," ordered the shorter of the two humans.
Muscles tightened. Fingers clenched.
"Blink your eyes."