THE REAL THING
BY ALBERT TEICHNER
Stacks of hundred-dollar bills—but
sadly, almost all of them were genuine!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, November 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Everything in this wing is genuine old fake," Stahl told the twotourists while his wife clung proudly to his arm. Like him, she wastall, blonde and impossibly good-looking.
"Even this strongbox money is finest American counterfeit," she said.
"May I see it?" asked Smith. The lifeless face of the mathematicianbrightened as he peered through the quartz top at a dollar billmarked W8265286A. "I can only get the worthless real stuff. Ancientgovernments always destroyed counterfeits. But you're in EconomicPlanning, so it must be easier to get good fakes."
"Only the merest imperfection, that slight Mongoloid fold inWashington's left eyelid," Stahl replied, tightly encircling his wife'swaist as if showing off all his finest possessions simultaneously. Heglanced at Tinker, a cyberneticist who, like Smith, had sent severalrequests to see the famous Suite of Artifices. "Ever try collecting?"
"Not money," Tinker answered, eyes still on Mrs. Stahl.
"Got the 'Mongoloid' bill five years ago, same year as I got Mary." Hegave his wife an even more ostentatious squeeze. Smith stared at her,too, but more with dull dissatisfaction than desire. "Fifteen bills inthe box now—but I've still only one wife."
"Fifteen!" exclaimed Smith. "The rich get richer and the poor staypoor."
"The wallpaper," Stahl smoothly proceeded, "is a replica of Italianmurals. If you adjust your focus properly the flat columns becomesolids through the art of vanishing-point perspective."
"Excellent period distortion of Greek styles," said Tinker, studyingthe columns. "And those three chairs are fine copies of Chippendale.You're to be complimented on your taste in everything, Stahl."
"You really know ancient designs," Stahl said. "Genuine old copies areeven scarcer than their originals. And originals, of course, can neverbe quite as good."
"Sometimes I don't see why," Smith muttered.
They all looked shocked. "Smith, you need a checkup," Tinker advised."You sound rundown. How can we progress without imitating pastachievements?"
"A little rundown," Smith admitted, "but.... Oh, let's forget it."
"Let's," Stahl nodded, striving to recapture the pair's attention asthey went on through the Suite. "Notice the paintings. Those two areexcellent pseudo-Braques and in the last room were fine fakes of VanGogh, Picasso and Chardin. In fact," he pointed toward a Gauguin-likenude, all flattened sensuousness, "that one's as close to a realGauguin as an imitation can go without being a mere reproduction."
They all gasped and even Smith shook his head reverently. "To be thatclose to the real thing! It's all you'd ever need."
"Becoming more possible all the time." Tinker grinned suggestivelyat Mrs. Stahl. She looked back, mildly interested. "We'll get thereeventually."
Happily oblivious to everything but his collections, Stahl led theminto the library. One wall, covered with rows of book spines, swungaround to reveal a well-stocked bar. There was also a large bar acrossthe room which quickly became a library of real books and recordingsystems.
"I'm not much for eating and drinking," Smith protested feebly.
"Who is?" Mrs. Stahl laughed.