"Wylie!" Fox hissed in an undertone. "You're supposed to be looking at the crowd! You're supposed to be watching for it! Not gawking at the animals!"
"I'm sorry, sir. I was just—thinking."
"Thinking? Good, Wylie, good. We'll find out more and more about how its mind works. Okay, tell me, Wylie, what were you thinking?"
"Well... about the animals."
"The animals? What is there to think about animals?"
"I don't know ... For some reason, whenever I go to the zoo, I start thinking about animals."
"Hmmm, okay, probably it will be thinking about animals if it's here at the zoo. So, what about animals?"
Wylie looked at his boss, a little unbelieving that the impatient Fox should suddenly be so intently interested in Wylie's musings. "Well, these bears here..." Wylie ventured.
"Bears. Yes. What about the bears?"
"Well, they are living their whole life in a cage. They even have a baby, and they have to raise their baby behind bars. I wonder what that feels like."
"Wylie, they're not human, for God's sake," Fox said tensely.
"Yes, sir." Wylie was silent. Then he added, "They're kind of like aliens, aren't they, sir? Bears, zebras, wolves... they're kind of like aliens in our world.—Except, of course, they didn't invade us on purpose like... you know."
Fox was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as Wylie spoke. "Wylie," he interrupted sharply. "I need coffee. Now. Go get me some. Coffee, Wylie. Black."
"Yes, Mr. Fox." Wylie moved to go. Then he stopped, and turned back to face his boss with a puzzled look. "Mr. Fox...?"
"Yes, Wylie?"
"The part I'm not sure I understand is... Why are humans so special, that we're the only ones with the right to walk around free?"
o o o O o o o
Scott and his father were in the monkey house, watching a gorilla named Soochek beat his chest and roar.
"I'm getting hungry, Scott. They were selling peanuts and popcorn and potato chips over where we saw the big cats. Would you like me to get you anything?"
"I'm just thirsty, Dad. Could you get me a root beer with lots of ice?"
"Scott, I'm a little worried about you. You seem different since I came back yesterday."
"I seem different??"
"You don't eat anything. Teenaged boys are supposed to always be hungry. That was one of the first things I learned about teenaged boys. Eddie told me, and you've shown me he was right. But now you act different."
"I guess I haven't had much of an appetite... recently."
"Well, I hope you feel better soon, Scott," his father said. "I'll be back with your root beer in a few minutes."
From the exit of the monkey house, Scott watched his father walk off, the only figure in the crowd dressed in a three-piece suit. "Oh, Dad, Dad," Scott sighed. "Why did it have to be that body?" He retreated back into the monkey house.
His father was strolling back from the peanut stand when Fox accosted him.
"Wylie!" Fox bellowed. "I sent you for coffee. What do you have there? Pizza? Soda pop? Go get my coffee, Wylie. Now! Black! Not from there— from there! The coffee take-out is over there! Can't you see it? I thought you said you come to the zoo all the time!"
"Not this zoo," the other managed to say. "We live in Washington, D.C., don't you remember?"
"Go!"
The tall man shuffled off into the crowd. Fox suddenly realised he should have told his assistant to get him an aspirin, too. Maybe the gift shop would have aspirin. Fox wearily made his way toward the gift shop.
As Fox entered the gift shop, Scott emerged from the monkey house. He scanned the crowd for his father, and spotted a tall, familiar figure wandering about with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, and cotton candy in the other, scanning the crowd himself. "He must not even remember that he left me in the monkey house," sighed Scott. "And he didn't even remember my root beer. Oh, Dad, Dad—I should never have left you alone to try to navigate with those Wyliean brain cells."
"Dad!" Scott shouted, waving.
The tall man didn't even turn around. He just kept taking bites from his cotton candy and scanning the crowd.
"Dad!" Scott panted, catching up to him. "What took you so long? Where's my root beer? Never mind, forget it. Let's just see the new kiwi bird exhibit and then go."
The tall man looked blank for a moment, and then those slow-motion brain cells seemed to kick into gear.
"Ah... No, Scott... Let's just wait here a minute... There's someone here who... who I want you to meet."
"Who, Dad? What are you talking about?"
"Just follow me... son."
Suddenly, Fox's voice rang out from behind them. "Wylie! There they are!
Both of them! Go get 'em, quick!"
"Run, Dad, run!" Scott yelled, taking off into the crowd. The tall man with the cotton candy ran right behind him. But when he caught up with Scott, he grabbed the boy's collar and seized his arm. At the instant of contact, Scott knew the truth.
Fox ran up to them—with another Wylie trailing behind. Scott's eyes met those of the second Wylie; then, as Fox reached them, Scott twisted around and threw his arms around the man who was holding him, crying out, "Dad!! What do we do now, Dad?"
In a single, highly trained martial-arts move, Fox had knocked Scott to the asphalt and had the tall man handcuffed to himself. Scott tried to scramble to his feet, and with lightning reflexes Fox tripped the tall man so that he fell on top of Scott, pinning him to the ground. However, since he was handcuffed to the man he had pulled down, Fox fell on top of him. Scott was pinned beneath them both. Fox held down his prisoners triumphantly.
"Ow!" came a voice from beneath him. "You spilled coffee all over me!"
"Now I've got you, Forrester!"
"I'm not Forrester!"
"Well, whatever you call yourself now—I've got you at last!"
The second Wylie stood over them, sharing Fox's triumph. "Mr. Fox! You got them! Both of them!"
"Help me secure the boy, Wylie!"
"But I'm Wylie, Mr. Fox!" came a muffled wail beneath him.
"It's no use, Dad!" came Scott's, voice, even more muffled. "He knows you're the alien!"
"I am not! I found the boy for you, Mr. Fox! I was bringing him to you!"
Fox looked at the profiled face of the Wylie beneath him, then looked at the Wylie standing over him, and then back again at the handcuffed Wylie beneath him. They looked the same, and even their clothes were identical... except that there were coffee stains on the clothing of the man beneath him. A horrible realisation dawned upon Fox.
"I sent you to get me coffee, didn't I, Wylie?"
"I did get your coffee, sir! But now it's spilled! It's not my fault it got spilled! You knocked me down, sir!"
"Well, we've got the boy, at least," Fox said, keeping his eyes fastened warily on the Wylie standing above them. He struggled to get off the Wylie beneath him and onto his feet, but since the prone figure to which he was handcuffed was so much taller than he, he was unsuccessful.
The man beneath him began to struggle to get his own footing. "No, no, Wylie, don't you get up. Keep the boy down until we have a better way to secure him."
"I'll secure the boy for you, sir," said the tall Wylie looming above the prone trio.
"You!! I know who you are!!! Or, I should say, what you are!!!"
"Yes, sir. Well, Mr. Fox, since you've captured both the alien and his offspring, shall I send a telegram, sir?"
"Wylie, you idiot! I mean, I haven't captured you, I've captured Wylie, and it's all your fault for cloning him!"
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to do better next time," said the standing Wylie.
"Mr. Fox," came the voice of the Wylie below, "if you take the handcuffs off me, I can secure the boy with them."
"Oh, no, I'm not! I'm not letting you loose! I'm not falling for a trick like that!"
"That's right," said the Wylie above to the Wylie below. "Mr. Fox is way too smart to fall for a trick like that."
"I am not! I mean—I know you're the alien, mister!" Fox raged at the Wylie above him. "Just wait until I get these cuffs off! You won't get away this time!"
"Don't forget to give the cuffs to me, when you get them off," said the Wylie below, "so I can use them to secure the boy."
"Wylie, did you forget your own handcuffs again? Or did you lose them in the earthquake along with your comb?"
"Don't you remember, sir, you took my handcuffs, to secure the alien back in the safehouse. And now my handcuffs are part of the evidence they're holding for the investigation of the civilian's death. Don't you remember, I had to get you to sign that form twenty-six-slash-one-A, so I could get a new pair requisitioned to me? Shouldn't take more than twelve or fifteen months, you said."
Fox stared at the handcuffed Wylie for a wordless moment. "It's gotta be you," he muttered at last. "Couldn't be anyone else—anything else. It's just gotta be you."
By this time, a crowd was gathering. Evidently, some people were finding this little group more entertaining than the penguins and kangaroos.
A security guard stepped assertively out of the crowd. "All right, what's going on here?" he demanded.
"These crazy guys knocked me down," oofed Scott, with what little breath he could manage under the combined weight of Wylie and Fox.
"And then he handcuffed me," added the Wylie on top of Scott, "but that's all right, he's my boss, and he's looking for the key right now."
"All right, get up, all three of you," ordered the security guard.
"Mister, I'm a federal agent, and this boy is wanted in a federal matter," Fox said. "He is a fugitive, and so is his father."
"A fed-linked perp," added the handcuffed Wylie on top of Scott.
"We would appreciate—your government would appreciate your assistance and co-operation in the apprehension of these fugitives," Fox concluded.
"I wish General Wade could have heard the way you said that," said the handcuffed Wylie admiringly. "It's exactly the way they teach us in training."
"What did they do?" asked the security guard.
"They didn't do anything," said the standing Wylie. "They're just aliens, is all. The kind from another planet."
"All three of them?" asked the guard sarcastically. "Looks like we've captured the whole invasion force and saved the Earth once again."
"I'm not an alien! Just those two!" shouted Fox, attempting to point with his handcuffed hand first to Scott and then to the Wylie standing above him.
"Ow, Mr. Fox, you're hurting my shoulder."
"Here, I'll show you my badge. I'm an agent with the FSA. That's the Federal Security Agency, for your information, mister! Wylie, for God's sake, let me move my hand. Get up a little so I can reach my inside pocket.
Don't let the boy get away, now. My badge is in here, if I can reach it—"
"Ow, Mr. Fox, you're hurting my shoulder!"
"Well, I can't find my badge in this pocket... Maybe it's in this other pocket..."
"Maybe you dropped it in the earthquake, sir," the handcuffed Wylie suggested helpfully. "I have my badge right here. You can borrow it."
"Just show the guard your badge, Wylie." Fox wondered why he hadn't thought of this before—the impersonator wouldn't have an FSA badge.
"This badge says `Official Monkey House Patrol,'" said the guard sternly.
"Oh, that's the one I bought in the gift shop, when I was looking for the
cotton candy stand. Here, let me find the other one—"
But at that moment, as the handcuffed pair searched for badges, Scott managed to wriggle out from under them, and in an instant he and the other Wylie had vanished into the crowd.
"They're getting away! Stop them!" Fox yelled, but the crowd just stood and stared at him like a herd of impassive llamas. "Mister," he raged at the security guard, "this is all your fault, and I'm holding you responsible!"
"Yeah, you just do that," shrugged the security guard. He chuckled as he ambled off.
Fox stood wearily, rubbing his wrist where the handcuffs had dug in during their struggles. The crowd was beginning to thin out. Fox laughed a little bit, sounding like a deflated basketball losing air. "It is a little funny, you know," he mused. "This whole thing reminds me of Shakespeare's `Twelfth Night,' and what a coincidence, guess what play I went to just two weeks ago?"
"Um—Fiddler on the Roof?"
Fox raised his handcuffed hand to Wylie's cheek. "Oh, Wylie. Wylie, Wylie, Wylie. It really is you, isn't it?"
"I believe so, sir."
"Well, Wylie, the alien can't escape us now. We have the secret weapon, the Wylie brain. We've proved that it works. We found him the very first day. He got away this time, but he won't get away next time. We'll prevent any more mix-ups like what happened today by giving you some sort of password. Then the thing can never impersonate you again. We've got him, for sure... By the way, Wylie, do you have the keys to these handcuffs?"
"Why, no, Mr. Fox. They're your handcuffs. You sure you can't find the key?"
"Would I be asking you if I could?"
"Maybe you dropped them in the earthquake, sir."
"Damn earthquakes. They cause so much trouble."
"I know what we can do, sir!"
"What?"
"We can use this!" Wylie pulled a silver sphere from his pocket.
"Wylie! Where did you get that?"
"I rescued it during the earthquake, sir."
"You did what? Wylie, that's classified evidence!"
"Well, it's pretty lucky I did, isn't it? You never know when you might lose a key or something!"
"Wylie..." Fox said, exasperated. "Wylie, you can't make it work. You have to be like IT to make it work."
"Don't talk, sir, let me concentrate."
Wylie screwed up his face with effort. A minute went by. Two minutes.
Four minutes.
"Wylie..."
"Don't talk, sir. Let me concentrate."
Wylie concentrated harder. He made a few magician's passes over the sphere.
"Wylie, give that thing to me. We'll go back to the office and get the spare key."
"The spare key is in Washington, D.C., sir. Now, don't talk, sir, please.
I'm almost getting it."
"Wylie..."
Fox's voice died as he thought he heard a faint humming sound... Was he imagining it? Then... a faint blue glow began to come from the sphere.
"WyIie!..." Fox could barely breathe the word.
"Don't talk, sir. I've almost gotten it." Then the handcuffs snapped off both their wrists and clattered to the ground.
Fox was speechless. He stared at the sphere. The glow grew brighter and brighter.
"Pretty good, isn't it?"
"Wylie..." Fox whispered.
But the face that looked back at him wasn't Wylie's. It had Wylie's features, all right... but there was a sort of glow to it—one that wasn't just a reflection from the sphere.
"It's... it's... it's you!"
The glowing face merely smiled at him...and raised one eyebrow.
Then Fox heard a humming sound above his head. It grew louder and louder. But Fox did not want to look up. He looked up anyway. A huge orange sphere was descending upon them. It looked like a gigantic horrible grinning jack-o-lantern. A bright beam of orange light shot down from the sphere. Both of them were bathed in a bright orange light.
"Oh, no..." Fox moaned. "No... no... no..."
o o o O o o o
"Mr. Fox! Mr. Fox! Wake up! The stewardess has brought us our Salisbury steaks! Mmmm, I love airline food, don't you?"
Fox opened his eyes. "Ohhh... Where am I?"
"In a plane, sir. In the air. Were you having a dream?"
"Ohhh..." Fox moaned. "A nightmare. What a nightmare. The worst nightmare I ever had. It started with an earthquake... we were in California, and there was an earthquake..."
"They have earthquakes in California, sir?" Wylie asked apprehensively.
Fox awkwardly twisted his seat-belted body to look straight into Wylie's face. "It is you, Wylie!" he choked. "Oh, Wylie, I'm so glad to see you, Wylie the one and only. Oh, Wylie, Wylie, Wylie..."
Wylie turned red as his boss suddenly hugged him and buried his face against Wylie's chest. "Mr. Fox, you're drooling gravy on my new tie!"
THE END
Dedicated (by Gayle) to the memory of Colin Higgins, author of "Harold and Maude".