dochermes

"Agents of the Mandate"

5/6/1964

I.

The Trom which called himself Leonard Slade locked the door of his Dodge Dart with a signal from his key fob, but only after glancing quickly about to be sure he was unobserved. No one else would possess such a gadget. He had made many modifications to the vehicle which made it far more advanced than anything else on the road but Trom policy was to keep their activities secret from the Humans among whom they lived.

To the Americans passing him on the sidewalk, Slade was unremarkable. He seemed to be a normal white man about thirty years old, an inch over six feet tall, athleticly built in an unobtrusive way. His black hair was neatly trimmed rather short, his regular features and olive skin hinted at having Mediterranean ancestors. Slade was wearing a conservative grey business suit with narrow lapels and the collar open on his white dress shirt, no tie.

His mundane appearance did not hint at the enormous strength and speed in a body that was the result of ages of breeding and genetic manipulation. Nor did his calm, thoughtful expression give away that his mind worked at lightning speed, drawing on a memory with perfect retention and generations of training out emotional responses. He was a Monitor of the Trom, a cousin Race of Humans who had been modified by the Darthim ages ago for higher intelligence.

A hard-faced young man greeted them with a small Brevetta in his hand. "Good evening, of course I must ask you for the word."

"Today being the

In front of him was a four-story red brick building which had seen better days, with a shop window on the street which read MILADY'S FLORISTS in ornate white script. This store was a front, established two weeks earlier by the being he had been sent to visit.

Slade's Race only showed emotion in their expressions and voices when needed as camouflage to blend in with Humans. When he stepped into the tiny vestibule and went past the flower shop door to his right, he briskly ascended the narrow stairs with quiet determination but nothing else. At the second floor landing, he did not get to press the bell before the door to 2A swung outward to admit him. He stepped inside and closed it behind him.

He had not seen the being which called itself Andrew Steel in five months. The dramatic change in the latter's appearance would have provoked some response from a normal person, if only a slip in the stricted poker face. "You have made extensive modifications on your external surface," he said. "Lasat January, we were visually identical."

The same height and build as Slade, with facial features closer in matching than a twin's, Andrew Steel had fine-textured white hair and bright grey eyes that were almost silver in their sheen. His skin was pale, not unhealthy-looking but light in tone. His new uniform was a solid iron-grey... high boots, tight pants, a front-flap jacket with long sleeves and a high collar. The effect was dramatic.

"I needed a new identity," Steel responded. "This image will make an impression on people. I will be hard to mistake for anyone else as I begin my work."

"That is why I am here," said Slade. Neither man made a move toward sitting in the chairs or couch available. All their attention was on each other. "The local Trom Council has decided to endorse you to whatever extent you will accept. You will not be regarded as a defector or outside but as an ally."

Steel's measured tones had a bit more depth than Slade's did, a touch of feelings beneath the surface. "But of course, there will be conditions. I expect that."

"Your plan to act in the Midnight War as a public figure offers some advantages. It allows the Trom to remain unknown to the public as you intervene to protect Humans against the creatures of the night. Our policy supports peace, progress, education and health. The phenomena that you intend to combat are counter to our values."

The strange grey man allowed himself a smile. "My goals are fighting crime, tracking down monsters and madmen, helping against natural disasters and poverty. I don't see how rational beings such as your people could object to that!"

Slade continued, "You will require maintenance and replacement parts, which will be made available to you at the New Mexico facility. Updates and new equipment will be offered."

"I won't have to break out and escape to leave this time?" asked Steel.

"No," the Trom replied without reacting to the implied criticism. "You are a free being. Operating funds for you to establish your mission have been budgeted."

The grey man folded his arms across his chest, his faint smile removing any potential negative tones from the gesture. "I am still expecting conditions that I'll have to meet."

"Only those which discretion requires," said Slade. "The existence of the Trom will not be revealed or confirmed by you. We have remained a secret society among Humans since the Darthan Age. Any exposure of us will lead to your being redesignated as a hostile being. Your own true nature is to remain secret as well. Human civilization must not know that an advanced robot is active in their midst."

Andrew Steel nodded once. "All understandable, Mr Slade. And all as I would wish things to be as well. I have no objections to these terms."

"Understood. I will report to my Council." Slade began to turn back toward the door but paused. "I have personally decided to give you information. You should know that we have not been able to duplicate the circumstances which created you in the unique you enjoy. Not even in theory can our constructs develop independent consciousness. You are a mystery."

Now Steel grinned openly, showing perfect white teeth. "That's no surprise. Does anyone know where the spirit of life comes from?"

II.( the rest of the story )