Ted Reynolds - The Hammerpond Park Burglary

She noticed that she was not under restraint, and then a flask of liquor was placed in her hand. It was Drambuie—well, why not?

“She’s coming out of it,” said a voice.

“We’ve caught both of them, ma’am,” said another voice, deep and authoritative. “Thanks to you.”

No one answered this remark. Yet she Med to see how it applied to her.

“She’s been knocked silly,” said someone else. “Those levelers halfkilled her.”

Teodora W@kins decided to remain knocked silly until she got a better hold on the situation. She perceived that two of the dark figures near her were under restraint, and that neither was her clone, who should be out of the picture by now anyway.

“I am very much obliged to you,” said a woman out of the shadows. “You have prevented a serious theft. Allow me to introduce myself. I am S&ra Aveling, owner of this establishment.”

“Very glad to meet you, Gal Aveling,” said W@kins.

“I presume you saw these creeps stealing about the premises, and took after them?”

“That’s about it,” said W@kins.

“It was lucky for you,” said the Gal, “that the guards spotted you chasing them. I doubt you could have taken them both—though it showed an awful lot of grit to try.”

“One can only try,” said W@kins, “and trust to fortune.”

“Quite, quite,” said Gal Aveling. “I’m afraid you have been roughed up a bit.” The group was moving toward the house. “You’re limping a little. Let me help you.”

So instead of having to replicate the whole house to achieve her purpose, Teodora W@kins entered it—slightly stoned, and quite cheerful once more—on the arm of a real Lady of the Mob, and through the front door. “This,” she thought, “is what I call a cool burgle!”

The “levelers” proved to be mere local amateurs, driven by personal envy. They were taken into the low-downs and there watched over by the three guards, two humanoids, a usuform, and six-hour clones of Gal Aveling and her spouse, until the dismantles arrived. W@kins, on the other hand, was made much of in the upper chambers. The Gal replicated the master suite for her and would not hear of her departure that night. The spouse said she was surely a unique individual, and said his idea of Simone De Beauvoir was just such another vague, half-stoned, sharp-eyed, brave, and self-effacing woman. Someone brought up a remarkable set of replicators that had been found in the shrubbery, and explained how it could have connected up to replicate the whole house.

And they showed her the Frigart sketch in the strong-room.

“My spouse did it with Crayola when he was three,” said Gal Aveling. “His father had the cameras already set up, and the guards and witnesses ready. It’s never been touched since. One of the few authenticated unique items left in the world. Untold value.”

W@kins looked at the lined yellow paper with the vivid colors scrawled over it. “It looks hideous,” she said.

“Doesn’t it?” said the Gal proudly. “True Frig Art.”

W@kins had the sense to turn down the offer of a short-time clone of the Gal or her spouse for the night, pleading her own internal bruises acquired in the heroic chase. She was finally seized with severe yawning; her hosts immediately apologized, and led her to the replicated bedroom, next to Gal Aveling’s own.

Artistic expression, sportive diversion, or social statement—modern burglary is hard to categorize.

When Gal Aveling found that her overnight guest had silently departed in the morning, she rushed at once to the strong-room. When her eyes fell on two identical scrawled pieces of yellow-lined paper, she knew she had been totally cleaned out.