The Chameleon Corps & Other Sha - Ron Goulart, ebook, Temp
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Chameleon Corps
Chameleon Corps
By Ron Goulart
1. Chameleon
THE MIDDLE ROW of view screens showed a half-dozen images of a wrecked man. Resting his palms
on his backside, the Chief stopped pacing the office, "I can't buy him."
Azeler, the Junior Chief, Jerked his pale close-cropped head in agreement. "Too pathetic, not heroic."
Slouched in a dark wing chair Ben Jolson said, "Which is why you sent for a Chameleon Corps man?"
Chief Prittikin said, "Can't you sit up straight during a briefing, Jolson? After all, the Political Espionage
Office should command every good man's respect."
Azeler added, "We put your file through one of PEO's personnel brains, Jolson. You're not the best man
in the Chameleon Corps by any means."
Jolson's dark eyes narrowed. "For the last five months I've been in the wholesale pottery business. Then
yesterday CC recalled me for an emergency mission. You're free to request another man."
"You're all that's available in these tense times," said Chief Prittikin.
"We're hoping," said Azeler, "your notorious instability won't crop up on this assignment." Jolson's slump
was making Azeler uneasy and he kept absently throw-tog his narrow shoulders back. "Once on Peregrine
you refused to stop playing your role. It took six Police Corps men to make you come back home to
Barnum here."
"I liked that part," said Jolson. "Being the ruler of that jungle kingdom. I like outdoor work."
"Later, on Murdstone, you spent two months being a baboon," continued the Junior Chief.
"That was a mistake now that I look back on it."
"This," said Chief Prittikin, pointing at the hollow looking man on the screens, "is our problem at the
moment."
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Chameleon Corps
"Can you become him?" Azeler asked Jolson.
"Sure. You don't want him looking that bad, though, do you?"
"Of course not," said the Chief. "That's the whole trouble."
"His name," said Azeler, straightening so much that he was standing up, "is F. Scott Cutler."
"I read about him," said Jolson. "Imprisoned on Pedra for six-and-a-half years. By mistake as it turned
out. Probably a frame-up. Before that he was a rising military man on the planet of Barafunda."
"Just look at him, though," said Azeler. Cutler was sitting in a cane chair in an all gray room muttering to
himself. His hands danced gently in his lap and his shadow-rimmed eyes blinked too rapidly. "That's not
my idea of a hero."
Chief Prittikin said, "It's a shame so many martyrs end up looking so unattractive."
"Where is Cutler now?" Jolson asked.
"In a sanitarium near here. We brought him in secretly from Pedra after his pardon came through." The
Chief reached up and punched the switch that cut oft the pictures. "I can't stand too much of him. He
doesn't lift my spirits."
"He's not hero material," said Azeler. "So few heroes are. That's where you come in, Jolson."
The Chief laughed with relief. "Let's look at those pictures of F. Scott Cutler at his trial." He threw
another switch and the top bank of monitor screens lit up and showed an assortment of younger upright
Cutlers. "He was thirty-four then. A bit weak in the chin perhaps but I could buy
that
man as a positive
figure."
"I go along," said Azeler. "Jolson we want you to be the man Cutler might have been if he had aged more
gracefully and not succumbed to prison conditions."
Jolson stood and came up to study the images. "Isn't there a chance Cutler will recuperate on his own?
Why not wait?"
"It will take," said Azeler, "a full year and even then we can't be sure."
"A clean limbed, sturdy, positive-looking F. Scott Cutler has to appear on Barafunda by this weekend,"
explained the Chief.
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Chameleon Corps
His eyes on the moving pictures of the former Cutler, Jolson said, "Why?"
"Barafunda, as you may know," said Azeler, "still uses reactivated workers in many of its nonskilled
industries."
"Zombies," said Jolson. "That's right. Cutler got in trouble, in part, because he was against the using of
zombies."
"There is still a strong pro-zombie faction on Barafunda," said the Junior Chief. "The president of the
United Territories is, however, believed to be anti-zombie."
Jolson said, "That's that pretty girl, isn't it? The current President."
"Jennifer Crosby," said Azeler. "Five-feet-five, 110 pounds, complexion medium, hair auburn, posture
and muscle tone excellent, age twenty-six formerly President in Territory #13. She won the presidency of
Barafunda at last season's Seaside Political Festival. She'll hold office for another two years."
"And you want Cutler," said Jolson "to work on this President Crosby girl. Get her to come out positively
against the zombie trade."
"We know she's considering the almost immediate issuing of a proclamation against the whole zombie
industry," said the Chief, striding over to his low gray desk.
"Cutler, as a now-hero and a long time anti-zombie man," said Azeler, "will have a favorable influence on
Jennifer Crosby. His return to Barafunda and the attendant parades, speeches, and ceremonies will be
only one of the assorted pressures that the Political Espionage Office has planned and in various stages of
operation."
"This weekend," said Chief Prittikin, sitting rigidly down, "a reception celebrating Jennifer Crosby's first
half-year in office will be held in the capital of Barafunda. We're hoping she can be pushed into making
an anti-zombie statement at the reception."
"How tall is Cutler?" asked Jolson, backing away from the view screens.
"Two inches taller than you," said Azeler. "His weight should be about yours. It isn't of course because of
his eating habits while a prisoner. For the purposes of your masquerade we'll say he weighs what you do."
Jolson frowned and shifted his position slightly. Then he grew two inches. "About right?"
Azeler, swallowing, said, "Fine. I never get used to you fellows, though." He added, "Being chosen for
the Chameleon Corps must be quite an elating thing."
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Chameleon Corps
"I was twelve when I was tapped to start undergoing the conditioning and processing," said Jolson. "At
the time I guess I was elated. My father arranged it. He was." He tucked his chin once and his face blurred
and his features quivered and shifted.
Turning away Azeler said, "You are aware of our central Keystone government's reasons in this
Barafunda business?"
"Sure. They want all the planets in the Barnum System to have fully automated factories and so on."
Jolson checked his new face with the images of Cutler. "Automation is more functional, less expensive.
Besides which, the Keystone government quietly controls two of our biggest automating outfits. Whereas,
the zombie process is privately owned."
"You're not pro-zombie?" said the Chief, half-rising.
"I'm pro nothing," said Jolson. "Well? Is this what you want?"
The Junior Chief moved up to study him. "That's wonderful." He glanced at Prittikin. "A little more
suffering around the eyes?"
"Yes," agreed the Chief. He motioned to Jolson. "Walk up to me and let's see how you register."
Jolson walked. "Okay?"
"Beautiful," said Chief Prittikin. "I buy it. Could you fake the chin just a bit, make it a little more
positive?"
"Like this?"
The Chief popped up, patting himself on the backside. "I'm abundantly satisfied. I know this is an image
that's going to sell."
"Definitely," said Azeler. "Now, Jolson, you can report to our Indoctrination Cottage for some sleep-
briefing and a quick course in Cutler's voice and background. You'll be on tomorrow's rocket to
Barafunda, arriving on the morning of the day after. That will give you a couple of days to work on
Jennifer Crosby before the reception."
"Be sure not to get in the way of our other pressure groups," said Prittikin.
"Tell them the same for me," said Jolson. He took a last look at the still running films of F. Scott Cutler
and walked to the door.
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Chameleon Corps
Azeler came alongside him. "I'll escort you to Indoctrination."
"By the way," said Jolson, "do you have any information on a guy named Jose Terranova?"
The Junior Chief reached for the door lever. "He's a citizen of Barafunda, isn't he?"
"Yeah," said Jolson. "When I was at the Chameleon Corps Senior Academy I used to follow his exploits.
I just thought of him now. He was Baratunda's greatest romantic figure. A great operator. I admired him."
"A thoughtless womanizer and playboy," said Azeler. "He dropped from sight several years ago." He
turned to face the Chief. "I'll report back shortly."
"Excellent," said Prittikin, laughing. "I'm really very happy with the way this has gone so far."
"So far," said Jolson, following Azeler into the quiet green corridor.
Jolson shook his head and poured the poisoned cup of chocolate into the dispozehole of his small metallic
cabin. He was still half a day away from Barafunda and this was the third poison attempt. Not to mention
the retired dentist who had taken a shot at him in the TV lounge. The Baratunda pro-zombie faction was
apparently as well informed and widespread as the anti group. They already knew that the man they
believed to be F. Scott Cutler was heading for their planet to do them harm. Maybe they even knew he
was a fake. Either way they were trying to eliminate him.
Jolson was in his sleeping robe. He scratched himself and sat on the arm of his relaxachair and rocked
thoughtfully. He, his real Jolson self, was twenty-nine now and the Chameleon Corps work bothered him
increasingly. You could never, once they'd processed you, quit the CC. You could go inactive after a
certain number of years. It always hung over you, though. They had called Jolson back twice since he'd
dropped out of the corps five months ago. He'd never really liked it but, as Azeler's files showed in detail,
Jolson had enjoyed some of the fringe activities of his work. But he was becoming increasingly interested
in devoting his time and effort to being only Ben Jolson. It seemed about time.
A faint polished sliding sound came from his closet area. Jolson looked around the room. He unseamed
the robe and tossed it down on the chair. He hesitated and then crossed silently and sat on the edge of the
bunk. He concentrated and changed into a good facsimile of an orange, tufted pillow. Some of the
Chameleon Corps men didn't like to switch to inanimate things but it had never bothered Jolson too much.
In fact, it was less unsettling than being another human.
The bright closet door arced open and a fat sweat-dotted man in a blue sleep robe dropped into the cabin.
He had a stun pistol in his hand and a medical kit tucked into the fat shoulder crotch between his left arm
and side. He scanned the cabin and then ran into the bathroom. He came back and dropped to all fours in
the room's center. "Now where in the heck is he?" the perspiring fat man asked himself. "Hiding in some
other quarter of this vast ship I'll wager. Cutler's turning out to be a more artful dodger than I had at first
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