“I am,” they both quavered—and turned to glare at each other.
“Difficulties,” the old man rumbled. He sighed like an arctic wind. “I always have difficulties! Why can’t I ever have a simple case like a carnuplicator?”
“Look here,” the duplicate began. “The original will be—”
“Less unstable and of better emotional balance than the replica,” Sam interrupted. “Now, it seems—”
“That you should be able to tell the difference,” the other concluded breathlessly. “From what you see and have seen of us, can’t you decide which is the more valid member of society?”
What a pathetic confidence, Sam thought, the fellow was trying to display! Didn’t he know he was up against someone who could really discern mental differences? This was no fumbling psychiatrist of the present; here was a creature who could see through externals to the most coherent personality beneath.
“I can, naturally. Now, just a moment.” He studied them carefully, his eyes traveling with judicious leisure up and down their bodies. They waited, fidgeting, in a silence that pounded.
“Yes,” the old man said at last. “Yes. Quite.”
He walked forward.
A long thin arm shot out.