Camouflage

trying to duplicate her facial expression.
    One of the boys pulled the girl back. “Somethin’ crazy’s goin’ on. Watch out for him.”
    “Officer!” the older girl shouted. “Officer Sherman!”
    A big man in a blue uniform hustled across the street. “Jim Berry? What the hell?”
    “He hit me,” the pretty one said. “He’s acting crazy.”
    “My God, Jim,” it said, duplicating her intonation.
    “Where’re your clothes, buddy?” Sherman said, unbuttoning his holster.
    It realized that it was in a complex and dangerous situation. It knew these were social creatures, and they were obviously communicating. Best try to learn how.
    “Where’re your clothes, buddy,” it said in a deep bass growl.
    “He might have hit his head surfing,” the girl who was cradling her arm said. “You know he’s not a mean guy.”
    “I don’t know whether to take him home or to the hospital,” the officer said.
    “The hospital,” it said.
    “Probably a good idea,” he said.
    “Good idea,” it said. When the officer touched its elbow it didn’t kill him.

- 3 -
mid-pacific, 2019
    I t worked like this: Poseidon Projects landed a contract from a Sea World affiliate—actually a dummy corporation that Jack Halliburton had built out of money and imagination—to raise up a Spanish-American War–era relic, a sunken destroyer, from Samoa. But no sooner had they their equipment in place than they got an urgent summons from the U.S. Navy—there was a nuclear submarine down in the Tonga Trench, and the Navy couldn’t lift it as fast as Poseidon could. There might be men still alive in it. They covered the five hundred miles as fast as they could.
    Of course Jack Halliburton knew that the sub had ruptured and there was no chance of survivors. But it made it possible for Russell Sutton to ply down the length of the Tonga and Kermadec Trenches. He made routine soundings as he went, and discovered a mysterious wreck not far from the sub.
    There was plenty of respectful news coverage of the two crews’ efforts—Sutton’s working out of professionalcourtesy and patriotism. Raising the Titanic had given them visibility and credibility. With all the derring-do and pathos and technological fascination of the submarine story, it was barely a footnote that Russ’s team had seen something interesting on the way, and had claimed salvage rights.
    It was an impressive sight when the sub came surging out of the depths, buoyed up by the house-sized orange balloons that Russ had brought to the task. The cameras shut down for the grisly business of removing and identifying the sailors’ remains. They all came on again for the 121 flag-draped caskets on the deck of the carrier that wallowed in the sea next to the floating hulk of the sub.
    Then the newspeople went home, and the actual story began.

- 4 -
san guillermo, california, 1931
    T hey put a white hospital robe on it and sat it down in an examination room. It continued the safe course of imitative behavior with the doctors and nurses and with the man and woman who were the real Jimmy’s father and mother, even duplicating the mother’s tears.
    The father and mother followed the family doctor to a room out of earshot.
    “I don’t know what to tell you,” Dr. Farben said. “There’s no evidence of any injury. He looks to be in excellent health.”
    “A stroke or a seizure?” the father asked.
    “Maybe. Most likely. We’ll keep him under observation for a few days. It might clear up. If not, you’ll have to make some decisions.”
    “I don’t want to send him to an institution,” the mother said. “We can take care of this.”
    “Let’s wait until we know more,” the doctor said,patting her hand but looking at the father. “A specialist will look at him tomorrow.”
    They put it in a ward, where it was observant of the other patients’ behavior, even to the extent of using a urinal correctly. The chemistry of the fluid it produced might have puzzled a scientist. The nurse remarked on the fishy odor, not knowing that some of it was left over from a porpoise’s bladder.
    It spent the night in some pain as its internal organs sorted themselves out. It kept the same external appearance. It reviewed in its mind everything it had observed about human behavior, knowing that it would be some time before it could convincingly interact.
    It also reflected back about itself. It was no more a human than it had been a porpoise, a killer whale, or a great white