Camouflage

notice the coincidence.”
    “That’s a good approximation. Take a look at the next page.”
    It was a close-up of the thing. Its curved surface mirrored perfectly the probe that was taking its picture.
    “We tried to get a sample of the metal for analysis. It broke every drill bit we tried on it.”
    “Diamond?”
    “It’s harder than diamond. And massive. We can’t estimate its density, because we haven’t been able to budge it, let alone lift it.”
    “Good God.”
    “If it were an atomic submarine, we could have hauled it up. It’s not even a tenth that size.
    “If it were made of lead, we could have raised it. If it were solid uranium. It’s denser than that.”
    “I see,” Russ said. “Because we raised the Titanic. . . . ”
    “May I be blunt?”
    “Always.”
    “We could bring it up with some version of your flotation techniques. And keep all the profit, which may be considerable. But there would be hell to pay when the Navy connection was made.”
    “So what’s your plan?”
    “Simple.” He took a chart out of his portfolio and rolled it out on Russ’s desk. It snapped flat. “You’re going to be doing a job in Samoa. . . .”

- 2 -
san guillermo, california, 1931
    B efore it came out of the water, it formed clothes on the outside of its body. It had observed more sailors than fishermen, so that was what it chose. It waded out of the surf wearing white utilities, not dripping wet because they were not cloth. They had a sheen like the skin of a porpoise. Its internal organs were more porpoise than human.
    It was sundown, almost dark. The beach was deserted except for one man, who came running up to the changeling.
    “Holy cow, man. Where’d you swim from?”
    The changeling looked at him. The man was almost two heads taller than it, with prominent musculature, wearing a black bathing suit.
    “Cat got your tongue, little guy?”
    Mammals can be killed easily with a blow to the brain. The changeling grabbed his wrist and pulled him down and smashed his skull with one blow.
    When the body stopped twitching, the changeling pinched open the thorax and studied the disposition of organs and muscles. It reconfigured itself to match, a slow and painful process. It needed to gain about 30 percent body mass, so it removed both arms, after studying them, and held them to its body until they were absorbed. It added a few handfuls of cooling entrails.
    It pulled down the bathing suit and duplicated the reproductive structure that it concealed, and then stepped into the suit. Then it carried the gutted body out to deep water and abandoned it to the fishes.
    It walked down the beach toward the lights of San Guillermo, a strapping handsome young man, duplicated down to the fingerprints, a process that had taken no thought, but an hour and a half of agony.
    But it couldn’t speak any human language and its bathing suit was on backward. It walked with a rolling sailor’s gait; except for the one it had just killed, every man it had seen for the past century had been walking on board a ship or boat.
    It walked toward light. Before it reached the small resort town, the sky was completely dark, moonless, and spangled with stars. Something made it stop and look at them for a long time.
    The town was festive with Christmas decorations. It noticed that other people were almost completely covered in clothing. It could form more clothing on its skin, or kill another one, if it could find one the right size alone. But it didn’t get the chance.
    Five teenagers came out of a burger joint with a bag of hamburgers. They were laughing, but suddenly stopped dead.
    “Jimmy?” a pretty girl said. “What are you doing?”
    “Ain’t it a little cool for that?” a boy said. “Jim?”
    They began to approach it. It stayed calm, knowing itcould easily kill all of them. But there was no need. They kept making noises.
    “Something’s wrong,” an older one said. “Did you have an accident, Jim?”
    “He drove out with his surfing board after lunch,” the pretty girl said, and looked down the road. “I don’t see his car.”
    It didn’t remember what language was, but it knew how whales communicated. It tried to repeat the sound they had been making. “Zhim.”
    “Oh my God,” the girl said. “Maybe he hit his head.” She approached it and reached toward its face. It swatted her arms away.
    “Ow! My God, Jim.” She felt her forearm where it had almost fractured it.
    “Mike odd,” it said,