the astounding dr amizov

De Baun, RF - The Astounding Dr Amizov v1.0.htm

It sounded as if the auditoriumwas filled to capacity. From his hiding place backstage Paul could hear theaudience growing restless, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the scheduledspeaker. Paul was waiting for him, too. This could be the most importantnight of my career, he thought. The most important night of my life! Paulwas waiting in the shadows near the artists' entrance for the astounding Dr.Amizov.

Dr. Igor Amizov.

The name echoed in Paul's mindlike a sacred incantation.

Dr. Igor Amizov.

In the pantheon of science-fictiongreats that name stood above all others. Jules Fern, H. G. Welps, BradRaspberrynone of these could match Amizov's imagination, his wit, his style,or his sheer prolificity. Who could ever forget "Crustacean,""Crustacean and Umpire," and "Second Crustacean," hisclassic trilogy about a race of giant crabs who came out of the sea to win theWorld Series? Or his moving "I, Rowboat," the tragic saga of anintelligent dinghy in a world of hostile humans?

And Amizov's genius was notlimited to fiction. His fertile mind had parlayed a Ph.D. in biochemistry intoscores of books explaining virtually every scientific discipline to the layman.Astronomy, anatomy, mathematics, physics, botanyno scientific stone was leftunturned in his myriad works. Nor had he neglected the humanities. Amizov'sguide to Shakespeare, "From One Bard To Another," in which herevealed William Shakespeare to be the true author of all Sir Francis Bacon'sworks, was required reading for any serious student of English literature. Andhis definitive treatise on the Bible, "The Word According to Amizov,"was credited with providing significant impetus to the current revival ofreligion among the younger generation.

In addition to his writing, thegood doctor was an esteemed professor at a prestigious Eastern university, anadviser to several government agencies, an officer in a host of scientific andliterary societies, and former champion on the professional bowling circuit.The Russian-born immigrant author had done the work of a dozen gifted men andbecome a legend in his own time.

How do you start a conversationwith a legend? Paul wondered. "Dr. Amizov, I presume?" soundedtoo formal. "What's up, Doc?"too flippant. Paul had come to theauditorium that night with a determined plan, but his resolve was quicklyfading in the darkness.

Paul Franco hoped one day to be agreat science-fiction writer, like Amizov, and he had brought his recentlycompleted first novel to show the master. If he could only get Amizov to readit, maybe get a few suggestions, a little encouragement. Maybe Amizov wouldlike it so much he would put in a good word to a publisher. Maybe the bookwould become a best seller. Paul would win the Hugo, the Nebula, and/or thePulitzer. He would become rich and famous and write dozens of greatscience-fiction novels, as Amizov had. He would surpass Amizov and become thegreatest sci-fi scribe of all time!

Paul shifted the loose pages ofhis manuscript from hand to hand as he nervously wiped his damp palms on histrousers. It's a crazy idea, he thought, but it just might work.

Suddenly the door next to Paulopened and a startling figure rushed by. It was Amizov. The doctor did not lookquite like Paul had imagined. It was the familiar mischievous face that hadbeamed at Paul from the back covers of hundreds of books all right, but insteadof the "giant" of literature Paul had anticipated, Amizov had thesize and appearance of a slightly overgrown dwarf.

Paul's tongue felt too large forhis mouth. His Moment of Destiny had arrived. Amizov was only a few feet fromhim now, fumbling with some notes as he stood in the wings about to go on.Gathering his courage, Paul leaped out of his hiding place and confronted theunsuspecting author.

"Dr. Amizov" he began,his voice booming in the backstage stillness.

The startled maestro nimbly dodgedaway from Paul.

"Help! Assassins!Assassins!" he cried, covering his head with his hands.

Paul felt faint. "Dr. Amizov,I just want to talk to you!"

Amizov cautiously peeked at Paulfrom behind some scenery. "Eh?" he queried.

"Please, sir," Paulstammered. "It will just take a few moments of your time."

"What is it you want,boy?" demanded the wary doctor, keeping his distance.

"Well, sir, you see, I'm agreat fan of yours"

Amizov cut him off: "Yes,yes, I know . . ."

Paul was mystified.

"How did you know that?"

"Because everyone is agreat fan of mine," explained the impatient professor.

Damn clever, these cossackauthors, reflected Paul. He pressed on: "But I'm more than just a fan,Dr. Amizov. Ever since I was a little boy I've wanted to be a greatscience-fiction author like you. When the other kids were playing cowboys andIndians, I was playing Amizov and apostrophes. You've been my idol, myinspiration. And now I've written my first novel and was hoping, that is, youropinion, if you'd be willing to read, I mean, it would be a great honor . .."

"If you can't write anybetter than you can talk you're in big trouble, boy," observed. Amizov.Then he seemed to mellow when he saw the crestfallen look on Paul's face."Don't worry, lad," he continued softly. "I can still rememberhow hard things were when I first started writing. Looks like there's no lightat the end of the tunnel, eh? All right, I'll take a look at your book for you."

"Oh, thank you, sir!"cried Paul, thrusting his manuscript into Amizov's hands. "I can't tellyou how much this means to"

Paul was drowned out by a raspybellow from behind the stage door: "Iggy! Iggy, where are you?!"

Amizov turned pale. "It's Mr.Fagin," he whispered. "My agent . . ."

The door burst open and a paunchy,weasel-faced man chewing on a large cigar stormed up to Amizov and grabbed hisarm.

"Where have you beenhiding?" he demanded. "You were supposed to be lecturing ten minutesago!" His voice had the tonal quality of fingernails scraping across ablackboard.

"I was just talking to thisyoung" began Amizov.

"No time for autographs now,Iggy," interrupted Fagin, pulling him away. "The audience isn't goingto wait forever: How many times do I have to tell you 'Time is Money'?"

"Yes, I know," murmuredAmizov. "And ten percent of it yours . . ."

"You'll have to cut thislecture short," said Fagin, dragging the cowed doctor onstage. "I'vebooked a midnight appearance with the local persiflage society and we have tocatch a flight to Toledo and rework the acceptance speech and . . ."

Paul grinned as they disappearedfrom view. So the great Dr. Igor Amizov has problems just like us mortals. ThenPaul really grinned. Amizov was going to read his novel!

Three months later, Paul was nolonger grinning.

He had heard not a word from thegood doctor about his novel. His polite letters of inquiry and threateningtelegrams had gone unanswered. Amizov's literary agent had thrown Paul out ofhis office; and when Paul identified himself on the telephone, the girl whoworked for Amizov's answering service claimed she couldn't speak English.

Now Paul found himself staring atthe massive stone wall that surrounded the doctor's country estate. He had justbeen informed by the intercom box at the barred gate that Dr. Amizov was out.In fact, it said, Dr. Amizov had gone on an extended world tour and was notexpected back for several months, maybe even years, and had not left aforwarding address. But Paul had recognized the voice on the intercom. It wasAmizov's.

Paul studied the wall carefully.It was over fifteen feet high and topped with vicious-looking iron spikes.Signs bearing such antisocial sentiments as "Beware of Wild Stobor!"and "Trespassers Will Be Eaten!" and even "Earth Is RoomEnoughKeep Out!" were prominently displayed on its face. Paul guessedthat the wire running along the top of the wall was probably electrified.Apparently Dr. Amizov didn't like people dropping in without an invitation.That wasn't surprising to Paul, especially if Amizov had a habit of stealingother people's manuscripts.

Paul started to walk along thewall, looking for a way inside. Three hundred yards from the front gate hefound it. A tall tree with branches that reached over the top. Minutes laterPaul dropped into Amizov's garden, deliberately landing on some, blueforget-me-nots.

He recognized the gnome sunbathingby the pool immediately.

"So, Dr. Amizov," Paullisped menacingly, coming on like Humphrey Bogart confronting SidneyGreenstreet. "We meet again ..."

Amizov sat up in his lounge chairand frowned at Paul. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

"That won't work, Amizov.Where's my manuscript?"

"Manuscript?" blinkedthe basking biochemist. "What manuscript?"

"So that's your game,eh?" Paul accused. "You steal other writers' material and pass it offas your own . . . I should have known it was impossible for any one man toproduce so many books!"

"I don't know what you'retalking about," insisted Amizov. "I don't have your preciousmanuscript!"

"One last time. Are you goingto give me back my book or not?"

"Look here, you can't justsneak in here and make wild accu" Amizov stopped in midsentence as Paulpicked up a croquet mallet that was lying on the patio. "What are yougoing to do with that?" the manifold mentor asked suspiciously.

Paul idly swung the mallet,checking its balance, and said, "If I can't get my novel back from you atleast I'll have the satisfaction of rewriting the first few chapters on yourskull . . ."

"You're crazy!" screamedAmizov as he dived beneath a nearby picnic table.

"What's going on outhere?" a familiar voice called angrily from the house. "I can't getany work done with all this racket outside my window."

Paul whirled to face Dr. IgorAmizov as he stepped out on the patio. Then he looked back at Dr. Igor Amizovcowering under the picnic table. Then back at the new Amizov. The new Amizovfroze when he saw Paul.

"An intruder!" thesecond Amizov squeaked. He turned to the Amizov emerging from under the picnictable. "Why didn't you warn me?"

"I'm sorry," apologizedhis look-alike. "I panicked."

"Twins? You're twins!"Paul cried. "So that's how you manage to do it all!"

"Not exactly twins,"said the third Dr. Amizov as he came out of the house to join them.

Paul let the croquet mallet slipout of his hand.

"Triplets?" he ventured.

It was then that he noticed thateach Amizov was wearing a button with a number on it. The sunbathing Amizov waswearing number "2," the two others had numbers "3" and"5."

"Do those numbers mean what Ithink they mean?" Paul asked hoarsely.

"Looks like the pebble is outof the sky," murmured number 5.

Paul could feel the plot beginningto thicken. Dazed, he sank to the lounge chair. "There are five ofyou?"

"Six, actually," saidAmizov number 2.

"Quiet!" hissed number3. "He knows too much already!"

"If he knows so much, whatdifference does it make?" asked Amizov number 5.

"I just don't think we shouldstart telling any secrets until we know something about our guest here."said number 3. "Just who are you and what are you after?"

Paul introduced himself andbriefly described his literary aspirations, his meeting with Amizov with one ofthe Amizovsand the agreement to read Paul's novel.

"That was number 6 you saw,"explained Amizov number 5. "He does most of the lecture work.Unfortunately, he has the worst memory of the group. He probably forgot aboutyour book, didn't mention it to any of us, and left it lying around the housesomewhere."

"What do you mean by 'thegroup'?" asked Paul. "Which one of you is the real Dr. Amizov?"

"We are all the real Dr.Amizov," said number 5. "Although you'd probably get some argumentfrom number 1. He likes to think the rest of us are copies made in hisimage."

"Copies?"

"It's not, easy to explain.You don't happen to be a biochemist, do you?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Do you by any chance knowwhat a clone is?"

"Stire," said Paul."It's a funny guy at the circus in baggy pants and a red nose."

Amizov number 3 groaned and lookeddisgusted.

"That's a clown," continuednumber 5 patiently. "A clone is the product of reproduction withoutfertilizationreproduction without sex."

"I don't understand,"said Paul. "Why would anyone want to do that? And how?"

"That's a bit complicated.Let's just say that Amizov number 1 stumbled onto a way to take a single cellfrom his body and make it grow into an exact duplicate of himself, a copy thatwas identical both physically and mentally to Amizov at the time the donor cellwas removed from his body."

"Identical? Both physically andmentally?"

Amizov number 5 nodded. "Atwin with the same memories, intellect, and personality. We don't startdeveloping our own individual uniqueness until after we are `born'."

"Astounding!" said Paul,astounded.

"Dr. Amizov duplicatedhimself five times. He is our parent, our brother, and ourselves."

"But why have you, I mean he,I mean youall kept it a secret? It's one of the greatest scientificdiscoveries in history!"

"Do you realize what would happenif everyone could make copies of themselves?" asked Amizov number 3."The world is on the brink of an overpopulation catastrophe as it is. Doyou want us to push it over the edge?"

"And what if somepower-hungry crackpot started reproducing an army of himselves in hisbasement?" warned number 2. "It would be too late before anyone foundout."

"And the metaphysicalimplications are staggering," added Amizov number 5.

"I guess you're right,"said Paul. "It's better that no one knows."

"Unfortunately, someone does know,"said number 3. "The question is, what are we going to do about you?"

Paul smiled weakly at the threeAmizovs and shrugged.

"If we had a dungeon we couldkeep him locked up like the Prisoner of Zenda," suggested number 2.

"But we don't have adungeon," said number 3.

"What if he promised not totell," said number 5. "We could just let him go if he promised not totell."

"A promise is noguarantee," said number 3. "The risk is too great."

"Then what are we going todo?" asked number 2. "We can't just dispose of him . . . canwe?"

Amizov number 3 hesitated far toolong for Paul's comfort, then said: "No, we can't just dispose of him. WeAmizovs are no murderers."

Paul started breathing again.

"I know!" said number 5suddenly. "We'll fix it so he'll have as much to lose if the secret getsout as we do!"

"And how are we going to dothat?" asked number 3.

"Yes, how?" asked Paul.

"Look, my boy," Amizovnumber 5 said to Paul. "You said you wanted to be a writer like Dr. Amizov.Do you really mean that?"

"I sure do," said Paul."It's been my lifelong dream."

"The secret to the Amizovsuccess is that six heads are better, and more prolific, than one. What wouldyou say if we trained you, helped you with your writing career, and cloned somemore of you so you could really produce? You'd follow in our footsteps, becomeheir to the Amizov empire! What do you say to that?"

"Really? You really meanthat?" bubbled Paul. "It would be terrific!"

"I don't know . . ."said number 3. "Shouldn't we wait and see how the rest of us feel aboutthis?"

"What choice have wegot?" asked number 5. "Especially if Paul's willing tocooperate."

"You bet I'm willing,"said Paul. "I'd be nuts to turn down a chance like this. I could becomeone of the great authors of all time if there were a few more of me!"

"That settles it then,"said number 5, shaking Paul's hand. "You're one of us . . . er . . . Imean, you're one of yourselves."

"I don't know," saidAmizov number 3. "I'm not sure this is the right thing to do . . . Rememberwhat happened the last time someone found out . . ."

"Someone else knows yoursecret?" asked Paul.

"There was one otherperson," admitted number 5, uneasily. "He found out by accident, too,only . . . only in his case there were some, uh, complications "

His voice trailed off as the soundof a heated argument rose from around the corner of the house and the sixagents of Amizov, the six Mr. Fagins, strolled into view, each looking for hispercentage.

Editor's Note: Dr. Isaac Asimovwishes it mentioned (apropos of nothing, since it is clear there is noresemblance in the story to any person, living or dead) that he himself is ofaverage height, does not fly, lives in an ordinary apartment, has no agent, andis only one person.

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