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 two tourists while his wife clung proudly to his arm. Like him, she was tall, 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 mathematician brightened as he peered through the quartz top at a dollar bill marked W8265286A. "I can only get the worthless real stuff. Ancient governments always destroyed counterfeits. But you're in Economic Planning, so it must be easier to get good fakes." "Only the merest imperfection, that slight Mongoloid fold in Washington's left eyelid," Stahl replied, tightly encircling his wife's waist as if showing off all his finest possessions simultaneously. He glanced at Tinker, a cyberneticist who, like Smith, had sent several requests 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." He gave his wife an even more ostentatious squeeze. Smith stared at her, too, but more with dull dissatisfaction than desire. "Fifteen bills in the box now--but I've still only one wife." "Fifteen!" exclaimed Smith. "The rich get richer and the poor stay poor." "The wallpaper," Stahl smoothly proceeded, "is a replica of Italian murals. If you adjust your focus properly the flat columns become solids through the art of vanishing-point perspective." "Excellent period distortion of Greek styles," said Tinker, studying the 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 are even scarcer than their originals. And originals, of course, can never be 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 past achievements?" "A little rundown," Smith admitted, "but.... Oh, let's forget it." "Let's," Stahl nodded, striving to recapture the pair's attention as they went on through the Suite. "Notice the paintings. Those two are excellent pseudo-Braques and in the last room were fine fakes of Van Gogh, Picasso and Chardin. In fact," he pointed toward a Gauguin-like nude, all flattened sensuousness, "that one's as close to a real Gauguin as an imitation can go without being a mere reproduction."