The Diploids - Katherine MacLean, ebook, Temp
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//-->The DiploidsA Novel byKATHERINE MacLEANThrilling Wonder StoriesApril 1953A 3S digital back-up edition v1.0click for scan notes and proofing historyContents|1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|The Penalty of UniquenessWHAT would you do if you suddenly discovered you were not humanat all, but an alien? Would it change your feelings towards yourfriends—your wife—your sweetheart—your parents? Would you stillfeel drawn toward humans, or would a new craving spring up in you tofind and join your own kind?Independent as many men may be in their thinking, there is yet thebasic herd comfort of being not too much unlike their fellows. Nothingis lonelier than uniqueness—except being an outcast. This was theferment which worked in Paul Breden, from the day he discovered hewas different. And in him worked not only the loneliness, but anoutraged sense of injustice dangerously like revenge.—The EditorHe had to backtrack his own heredity before he could find out whetherhe was a freak or a supermanI^»LOOK out!” The shout was almost in his ear, and with the shoutcame another sound, a flat crack like two boards slapping together.He moved instinctively, grasping Nadine’s arm and making threerapid strides to the shelter of a store doorway. Then he turned asthe flat echoes of sound rang back from the stone fronts of thebuildings across the street. He expected to see something fallenfrom a window, or a car out of control veering up over the curb.At first glance there was nothing. The traffic moved by silentlyand swiftly as usual, but the people on the sidewalk milled oddly,and then straightened to stare all in one direction down the street.The light had changed a few seconds ago, and the traffic sped bymore rapidly, accelerating.He picked out voices.“Did you get his number?”“Some nut waving a gun from a taxi.”“But he shot at us!”He glanced at Nadine; they exchanged a half shrug and walkedon.Then “Mart” Breden remembered that something had brushed hisneck roughly as he heard the shout. He had assumed it was thesleeve of a waving arm but…“So as I was saying—” he continued stubbornly, determined tofinish a half-finished witty point. While he spoke he put hisfingertips up to feel the spot on his neck, then brought them downagain. There was a dampness on his neck and a red smear of coloron his fingertips… blood.Nadine halted. “As you were saying, brother—you’re just toodumb to know when you’ve been hurt.”She moved quickly around to his other side where she could seethe side of his neck. “It’s only a scratch. The bullet just touchedyou,” she reassured, groping in her jade-green bag with gold-tintedfingernails. “Hold still! I’ll fix it.”He stood still. Whatever he had been about to say had vanishedfrom his mind, but it was a pleasure to stand and have Nadinefussing over him and ministering to him with obvious concern. Shewas indisputably lovely, and dressed in a way that was designed tobring out the fact. He was conscious of envious glances. Streams ofbrightly dressed, handsome people returning to work from lunchpassed by, their feet soundless on the green resilient sidewalk.Some of them were talking quietly and laughing in conversation asthey passed; some were listening to music spools with ear-buttonsthat touched his hearing with a faint faraway strain of music asthey passed. He was pleased that they looked at her, and had noattention for him.Standing still under Nadine’s ministrations, he saidappreciatively, “You’re the perfect partner to take along to anaccident.”She smiled up at him. “Well, if you’re going to make a habit ofbeing shot at, I’ll buy more band-aids.” Stepping back she cockedher head to inspect her work. The wail of a police patrol wingthrottled down to a growl as it touched road and swung in to wherethe crowd clustered. She glanced back doubtfully. “Should we goback and tell them?”He touched the small flesh-colored bandage on his scratch,looking at the reflection in a window. “Hardly worth going back. Allwe’d prove is that someone was shooting, and they know thatalready.”THEY walked on together through the shade of the tall trees thatlined the avenue. “When your Revision Committee for the PatentCode testifies before Congress,” he said, remembering what he hadbeen saying, “you should be spokesman in that tight green and goldsuit you’re wearing. They’d agree to anything.”She picked up the thread. “ ‘Gentlemen,’ I’ll say—”“Undulating slightly,” he added.“Invention has become a form of restriction. The law has beendiverted from—”“Seducedfrom!”“Seduced from its original intention, which was to guaranteesufficient profits to the inventor to encourage and stimulateinvention. Instead, research now has as its main purpose the desireto invent something first and patent it first, not for use, but toprevent its use, to preserve the status quo for the industry,financing the research, by preventing its use by competitors.”A small tube elevator whooshed them up to the sixtieth floor,“Lawyers’ Row.” They were at the door of his office.PAUL BREDENPATENT LAWNadine’s office was further down the corridor. Paul pushed hisdoor open, hoping to extend their lunch time together a little more,beguiling her with the imaginary speech. “At this point your claquein the gallery claps and cheers and stomps, and while they arebeing ejected you pull out your compact and put on more lipstick.”They walked into the inner office past the secretary, ignoring thefact that lunch was over and they both had work to do. Nadinecontinued the speech, gesticulating with mock earnestness. Heconsidered her from a standpoint of an imaginary audience oflascivious Congressmen. She was beautiful—yes, but too perfectlydressed, too crisp and finished and unapproachable. It was probablyan effect carefully calculated to keep the minds of her businessassociates on the subject of business.“You should muss your hair a little,” he interrupted, getting afrown for his efforts.“The competition, not to be outdone, pours its money intoresearch to findotherways of doing what it needs done rather thanthe way the patent excludes them from. This, gentlemen, is…”He looked at her with a familiar question coming: up in his mind,quickening his pulse. She probably had a private life of friends andlovers, but he had never dared let himself approach that side of her,although they had known each other for six months. She couldchoose among many men—men without his handicap—yet sheseemed glad to be with him as a law collaborator, and welcomedany free time they could escape from business lunches to eattogether. Yet…“… does not make the inventor any richer, for he draws only hisresearch salary from his company. Actually, the prime result isduplication of research, so that instead of each day bringinghundreds of brilliant new inventions, the patent office is floodeddaily with hundreds of brilliant new ways of doing the samedamned thing, each one tying up the patent office with its redtape—each one no better than the other!”He sat down behind his desk and propped his elbows on it,smiling. “Add this. ‘There are nine and ninety ways —Ofconstructing tribal lays, And every —Single—One—Of them—Isright!’”“As Kipling wrote—” she began, then stopped to frown at him.“Would Congressmen know that lays are a form of poetry?”He laughed. “All the better if they don’t.” It was not often theyhad lunch together or extended their lunch hours like this. Theywere too busy. She probably would have been surprised to learnhow much these occasional lunches meant to him.The televiewer chimed.PAUL muttered a “damn,”, reaching for the right phone, andNadine gave him a farewell salute and moved toward the door.“Wait a minute,” he asked her, “and we’ll see who this jerk is.” Hepushed a button and a screen on the wall opposite him sprang to lifein color, showing a lean old man in a snappy pearl gray suit,waiting with restless impatience. “Yardly Devon.” Breden identifiedhim without pleasure, remembering the things Devon had saidbefore switching off the last time they had seen each other.“His last two inventions were not patentable, Nadine, and I toldhim so, but he insisted I try to get patents on them anyhow. Whenthey were rejected he claimed I’d sabotaged them. He probably tookthem to another consultant, got the same opinion, and wants to
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