that way?" pointingsouth.
"More of the same."
"Any railroads?"
"That we ain't got."
"Buses? Airlines?"
The kid shook his head.
"Some city."
"Yeah, it's kinda isolated. A lot of ships dock here, though."
"All cargo ships, I'll bet. No passengers," said Pembroke.
"Right," said the attendant, giving with his perfect smile.
"No getting out of here, is there?"
"That's for sure," the boy said, walking away to wait on anothercustomer. "If you don't like the place, you've had it."
* * * * *
Pembroke returned to the hotel. Going to the bar, he recognized one ofthe _Elena Mia's_ paying passengers. He was a short, rectangular littleman in his fifties named Spencer. He sat in a booth with three youngwomen, all lovely, all effusive. The topic of the conversation turnedout to be precisely what Pembroke had predicted.
"Well, Louisa, I'd say your only fault is the way you keep wigglin' yourshoulders up 'n' down. Why'n'sha try holdin' 'em straight?"
"I thought it made me look sexy," the redhead said petulantly.
"Just be yourself, gal," Spencer drawled, jabbing her intimately with afat elbow, "and you'll qualify."
"Me, me," the blonde with a feather cut was insisting. "What is wrongwith me?"
"You're perfect, sweetheart," he told her, taking her hand.
"Ah, come on," she pleaded. "Everyone tells me I chew gum with my mouthopen. Don't you hate that?"
"Naw, that's part of your charm," Spencer assured her.
"How 'bout me, sugar," asked the girl with the coal black hair.
"Ah, you're perfect, too. You are all perfect. I've never seen such acollection of dolls as parade around this here city. C'mon, kids--how'bout another round?"
But the dolls had apparently lost interest in him. They got up one byone and walked out of the bar. Pembroke took his rum and tonic and movedover to Spencer's booth.
"Okay if I join you?"
"Sure," said the fat man. "Wonder what the hell got into those babes?"
"You said they were perfect. They know they're not. You've got to berough with them in this town," said Pembroke. "That's all they want fromus."
"Mister, you've been doing some thinkin', I can see," said Spencer,peering at him suspiciously. "Maybe you've figured out where we are."
"Your bet's as good as mine," said Pembroke. "It's not Wellington, andit's not Brisbane, and it's not Long Beach, and it's not Tahiti. Thereare a lot of places it's not. But where the hell it is, you tell me.
"And, by the way," he added, "I hope you like it in Puerto Pacifico.Because there isn't any place to go from here and there isn't any way toget there if there were."
"Pardon me, gentlemen, but I'm Joe Valencia, manager of the hotel. Iwould be very grateful if you would give me a few minutes of honestcriticism."
"Ah, no, not you, too," groaned Spencer. "Look, Joe, what's the gag?"
"You are newcomers, Mr. Spencer," Valencia explained. "You are thereforein an excellent position to point out our faults as you see them."
"Well, so what?" demanded Spencer. "I've got more important things to dothan to worry about your troubles. You look okay to me."
"Mr. Valencia," said Pembroke. "I've noticed that you walk with a veryslight limp. If you have a bad leg, I should think you would do betterto develop a more pronounced limp. Otherwise, you may appear to beself-conscious about it."
* * * * *
Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but saw with amazement that it wasexactly this that Valencia was seeking. Pembroke was amused at hiscompanion's reaction but observed that Spencer still failed to see thepoint.
"Also, there is a certain effeminateness in the way in which you speak,"said Pembroke. "Try to be a little more direct, a little more brusque.Speak in a monotone. It will make you more acceptable."
"Thank you so much," said the manager. "There is much food for thoughtin what you have said, Mr. Pembroke. However, Mr. Spencer, your valuehas failed to prove itself. You have only yourself to blame. Cooperationis all we require of you."
Valencia left. Spencer ordered another martini. Neither he nor Pembrokespoke for several minutes.
"Somebody's crazy around here," the fat man muttered after a fewmoments. "Is it me, Frank?"
"No. You just don't belong here, in this particular place," saidPembroke thoughtfully. "You're the wrong type. But they couldn't knowthat ahead of time. The way they operate it's a pretty hit-or-missoperation. But they don't care one bit about us, Spencer. Consider themen who went down with the ship. That was just part of the game."
"What the hell are you sayin'?" asked Spencer in disbelief. "You figure_they_ sunk the ship? Valencia and the waitress and the three babes? Ah,come on."
"It's what you think that will determine what you do, Spencer. I suggestyou change your attitude; play along with them for a few days till thepicture becomes a little clearer to you. We'll talk about it againthen."
Pembroke rose and started out of the bar. A policeman entered and walkeddirectly to Spencer's table. Loitering at the juke box, Pembrokeoverheard the conversation.
"You Spencer?"
"That's right," said the fat man sullenly.
"What don't you like about me? The _truth_, buddy."
"Ah, hell! Nothin' wrong with you at all, and nothin'll make me saythere is," said Spencer.
"You're the guy, all right. Too bad, Mac," said the cop.
Pembroke heard the shots as he strolled casually out into the brightnessof the hotel lobby. While he waited for the elevator, he saw themcarrying the body into the street. How many others, he wondered, hadgone out on their backs during their first day in Puerto Pacifico?
* * * * *
Pembroke shaved, showered, and put on the new suit and shirt he hadbought. Then he took Mary Ann, the woman he had met on the beach, out todinner. She would look magnificent even when fully clothed, he decided,and the pale chartreuse gown she wore hardly placed her in thatcategory. Her conversation seemed considerably more normal after theother denizens of Puerto Pacifico Pembroke had listened to thatafternoon.
After eating they danced for an hour, had a few more drinks, then wentto Pembroke's room. He still knew nothing about her and had almostexhausted his critical capabilities, but not once had she become annoyedwith him. She seemed to devour every factual point of imperfection aboutherself that Pembroke brought to her attention. And, fantasticallyenough, she actually appeared to have overcome every little imperfectionhe had been able to communicate to her.
It was in the privacy of his room that Pembroke became aware of just howperfect, physically, Mary Ann was. Too perfect. No freckles or molesanywhere on the visible surface of her brown skin, which was more than amere sampling. Furthermore, her face and body were meticulouslysymmetrical. And she seemed to be wholly ambidextrous.
"With so many beautiful women in Puerto Pacifico," said Pembrokeprobingly, "I find it hard to understand why there are so few children."
"Yes, children are decorative, aren't they," said Mary Ann. "I do wishthere were more of them."
"Why not have a couple of your own?" he asked.
"Oh, they're only given to maternal types. I'd never get one. Anyway, Iwon't ever marry," she said. "I'm the paramour type."
It was obvious that the liquor had been having some effect. Either that,or she had a basic flaw of loquacity that no one else had discovered.Pembroke decided he would have to cover his tracks carefully.
"What type am I?" he asked.
"Silly, you're real. You're not a type at all."
"Mary Ann, I love you very much," Pembroke murmured, gamblingeverything on this one throw. "When you go to Earth I'll miss youterribly."
"Oh, but you'll be dead by then," she pouted. "So I mustn't fall in lovewith you. I don't want to be miserable."
"If I pretended I was one of you
, if I left on the boat with you, they'dlet me go to Earth with you. Wouldn't they?"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure they would."
"Mary Ann, you have two other flaws I feel I should mention."
"Yes? Please tell me."
"In the first place," said Pembroke, "you should be willing to fall inlove with me even if it will eventually make you unhappy. How can you bethe paramour type if you refuse to fall in love foolishly? And when youhave fallen in love, you should be very loyal."
"I'll try," she said unsurely. "What else?"
"The other thing is that, as my mistress, you must never mention me toanyone. It would place me in great danger."
"I'll never tell anyone anything about you," she promised.
"Now try to love me," Pembroke said, drawing her into his arms andkissing with little pleasure the smooth, warm perfection of her tannedcheeks. "Love me my sweet, beautiful, affectionate Mary Ann. Myparamour."
Making love to Mary Ann was something short of ecstasy. Not for anyobvious reason, but because of subtle little factors that make a woman awoman. Mary Ann had no pulse. Mary Ann did not perspire. Mary Ann didnot fatigue gradually but all at once. Mary Ann breathed regularly underall circumstances. Mary Ann talked and talked and talked. But then, MaryAnn was not a human being.
When she left the hotel at midnight, Pembroke was quite sure that sheunderstood his plan and that she was irrevocably in love with him.Tomorrow might bring his death, but it might also ensure his escape.After forty-two years of searching for a passion, for a cause, for aloyalty, Frank Pembroke had at last found his. Earth and the human racethat peopled it. And Mary Ann would help him to save it.
* * * * *
The next morning Pembroke talked to Valencia about hunting. He said thathe planned to go shooting out on the desert which surrounded the city.Valencia told him that there were no living creatures anywhere but inthe city. Pembroke said he was going out anyway.
He picked up Mary Ann at her apartment and together they went to asporting goods store. As he guessed there was a goodly selection offirearms, despite the fact that there was nothing to hunt and only asingle target range within the city. Everything, of course, had to bejust like Earth. That, after all, was the purpose of Puerto Pacifico.
By noon they had rented a jeep and were well away from the city.Pembroke and Mary Ann took turns firing at the paper targets they hadpurchased. At twilight they headed back to the city. On the outskirts,where the sand and soil were mixed and no footprints would be left,Pembroke hopped off. Mary Ann would go straight to the police and reportthat Pembroke had attacked her and that she had shot him. If necessary,she would conduct the authorities to the place where they had beentarget shooting, but would be unable to locate the spot where she hadburied the body. Why had she buried it? Because at first she was notgoing to report the incident. She was frightened. It was not airtight,but there would probably be no further investigation. And they certainlywould not prosecute Mary Ann for killing an Earthman.
Now Pembroke had himself to worry about. The first step was to entersmoothly into the new life he had planned. It wouldn't be so comfortableas the previous one, but should be considerably safer. He headed slowlyfor the "old" part of town, aging his clothes against buildings andfences as he walked. He had already torn the collar of the shirt anddiscarded his belt. By morning his beard would grow to blacken his face.And he would look weary and hungry and aimless. Only the last would be adeception.
* * * * *
Two weeks later Pembroke phoned Mary Ann. The police had accepted herstory without even checking. And when, when would she be seeing himagain? He had aroused her passion and no amount of long-distance lovecould requite it. Soon, he assured her, soon.
"Because, after all, you do owe me something," she added.
And that was bad because it sounded as if she had been giving somewomanly thought to the situation. A little more of that and she might goto the police again, this time for vengeance.
Twice during his wanderings Pembroke had seen the corpses of Earthmenbeing carted out of buildings. They had to be Earthmen because theybled. Mary Ann had admitted that she did not. There would be very fewEarthmen left in Puerto Pacifico, and it would be simple enough tolocate him if he were reported as being on the loose. There was no outbut to do away with Mary Ann.
Pembroke headed for the beach. He knew she invariably went there in theafternoon. He loitered around the stalls where hot dogs and soft drinkswere sold, leaning against a post in the hot sun, hat pulled down overhis forehead. Then he noticed that people all about him were talkingexcitedly. They were discussing a ship. It was leaving that afternoon.Anyone who could pass the interview would be sent to Earth.
Pembroke had visited the docks every day, without being able to learnwhen the great exodus would take place. Yet he was certain the firstlap would be by water rather than by spaceship, since no one he hadtalked to in the city had ever heard of spaceships. In fact, they knewvery little about their masters.
Now the ship had arrived and was to leave shortly. If there was any butthe most superficial examination, Pembroke would no doubt be discoveredand exterminated. But since no one seemed concerned about anything buthis own speech and behavior, he assumed that they had all qualified inevery other respect. The reason for transporting Earth People to thisplanet was, of course, to apply a corrective to any of the Pacificos'aberrant mannerisms or articulation. This was the polishing up phase.
* * * * *
Pembroke began hobbling toward the docks. Almost at once he foundhimself face to face with Mary Ann. She smiled happily when sherecognized him. _That_ was a good thing.
"It is a sign of poor breeding to smile at tramps," Pembroke admonishedher in a whisper. "Walk on ahead."
She obeyed. He followed. The crowd grew thicker. They neared the docksand Pembroke saw that there were now set up on the roped-off wharvessmall interviewing booths. When it was their turn, he and Mary Ann eachwent into separate ones. Pembroke found himself alone in the littleroom.
Then he saw that there was another entity in his presence confinedbeneath a glass dome. It looked rather like a groundhog and had sevenfingers on each of its six limbs. But it was larger and hairier than theglass one he had seen at the gift store. With four of its limbs ittapped on an intricate keyboard in front of it.
"What is your name?" queried a metallic voice from a speaker on thewall.
"I'm Jerry Newton. Got no middle initial," Pembroke said in a surlyvoice.
"Occupation?"
"I work a lot o' trades. Fisherman, fruit picker, fightin' range fires,vineyards, car washer. Anything. You name it. Been out of work for along time now, though. Goin' on five months. These here are hard times,no matter what they say."
"What do you think of the Chinese situation?" the voice inquired.
"Which situation's 'at?"
"Where's Seattle?"
"Seattle? State o' Washington."
And so it went for about five minutes. Then he was told he had qualifiedas a satisfactory surrogate for a mid-twentieth century American male,itinerant type.
"You understand your mission, Newton?" the voice asked. "You are toestablish yourself on Earth. In time you will receive instructions. Thenyou will attack. You will not see us, your masters, again until theatmosphere has been sufficiently chlorinated. In the meantime, serve uswell."
He stumbled out toward the docks, then looked about for Mary Ann. He sawher at last behind the ropes, her lovely face in tears.
Then she saw him. Waving frantically, she called his name several times.Pembroke mingled with the crowd moving toward the ship, ignoring her.But still the woman persisted in her shouting.
Sidling up to a well-dressed man-about-town type, Pembroke winked at himand snickered.
"You Frank?" he asked.
"Hell, no. But some poor punk's sure red in the face, I'll bet," theman-about-town said with a chuckle. "Those high-strung
paramour typesalways raising a ruckus. They never do pass the interview. Don't knowwhy they even make 'em."
Suddenly Mary Ann was quiet.
"Ambulance squad," Pembroke's companion explained. "They'll take her offto the buggy house for a few days and bring her out fresh and ignorantas the day she was assembled. Don't know why they keep making 'em, as Isay. But I guess there's a call for that type up there on Earth."
"Yeah, I reckon there is at that," said Pembroke, snickering again as hemoved away from the other. "And why not? Hey? Why not?"
Pembroke went right on hating himself, however, till the night he wasdeposited in a field outside of Ensenada, broke but happy, with twoother itinerant types. They separated in San Diego, and it was not longbefore Pembroke was explaining to the police how he had drifted far fromthe scene of the sinking of the _Elena Mia_ on a piece of wreckage, andhad been picked up by a Chilean trawler. How he had then made his way,with much suffering, up the coast to California. Two days later, hisidentity established and his