"An idea of mine," said Jordan, lowering the coils carefully so the
acid didn't splash.
Anti looked at it judicially. "Maybe next time you'll think of
something better."
"Don't be nasty," said Jordan as the coils reached the surface of the
liquid and began to submerge. "Cameron thinks it will work."
"My faith is shaken."
"It isn't a question of faith and anyway he's as good a doctor as we've
ever had." Jordan kept lowering until the mechanism reached the bottom.
A single cable over the side of the tank was the only thing visible.
Jordan wiped his hands on the grass. "I was thinking about radiation
when this thing occurred to me."
"Would you believe it? Once I was young and radiant myself."
"It's not the same thing."
"Don't think I wouldn't trade."
"You won't have to," said Jordan. "This is my idea, not the doctor's.
He merely confirmed it."
"In that case it's bound to work."
Jordan pulled a tuft of grass loose and tossed it into the tank. It
disappeared in a soundless blaze. To conform with what was expected of
her, Anti blinked. "Don't be so afraid we're going to fail that you
can't listen to what I have to say. Do you want to be cured and not
know why? I've run my legs off to make this gadget."
"A figure of speech," commented Anti.
"A figure of speech," agreed Jordan. "To begin with we discovered that
when you were exposed to space the cold caused the fungus flesh to die
back faster than it grew. Right?"
"The fungus came from Venus," said Anti. "It's only natural it wouldn't
grow well in the cold."
"The origin doesn't have anything to do with it. Normally it doesn't
grow in flesh and it had to make concessions to live in the human body,
the biggest one being adaptation to body temperature. At the same time
the body cells tried to outgrow it but the faster they grew the more
there was for the fungus to live in. A sort of an inimical symbiosis."
"If you can imagine inimical symbiosis," said Anti. "I can't."
"You haven't tried very hard. Anyway, there seems to be a ratio between
the amount of fungus in one connected mass and the vigor. The more
there is the faster it grows, and conversely."
"Such a pleasant reference," said Anti. "Mass. Still it's an accurate
description of me, though I can think of a better one. Lump." She swam,
splashing ponderously toward the edge of the tank. "Are you trying to
say that if I can ever get below a certain point my body will be able
to keep the fungus in check?"
"Exactly."
"What's wrong with the treatment we discovered? Give me an oxygen
helmet and tie me to a cable and let me float outside the dome."
"You wouldn't float as long as the gravity's on. Besides, we can do
it better. In space you lose heat solely by radiation. Radiation
depends on surface and the larger a body is the more surface it had in
proportion."
"Convection is what you meant," said Anti. "Acid alone helps, but a
_cold_ acid would combine treatments."
"A very cold acid. Supercold."
Anti nodded and nodded and then stopped. "A fine piece of reasoning
except for one thing. When the temperature is decreased chemical
activity slows down."
"That's the triumph of my gadget," said Jordan. "It's not only a
refrigerant coil but electronically it steps up ionizations as the
temperature is lowered. We sacrifice neither effect."
Soundlessly Anti sank below the surface and remained there for some
time. When she came up acid trickled over her face. "I had to think.
It's been so long since I dared hope," she said. "When can I walk?"
"I didn't say you would," said Jordan hastily. "There may be a lower
limit beyond which it's dangerous to continue the cold acid treatment."
"Then what's the use?" said Anti. "I'm not interested in merely
reducing. I'll still be bigger than a house. I want to get around."
"This is the first step," explained Jordan patiently. "After this is
successful we'll think of something else."
"What language," said Anti. "The first step when obviously I'm nowhere
near taking one. Can't you turn off the gravity?"
If they did it would hinder others, and the odds were nearly a thousand
to one. Of course they might compromise, a short gravityless period at
intervals. It would be unsatisfactory to everyone but it might give
Anti the encouragement she needed.
Besides, he was unsure they _could_ turn off the gravity without
also turning off the drive. Their momentum would carry them along at
the same speed they had been going--but was it wise to tamper with
a mechanism that till now was functioning so smoothly and was so
important?
Jordan shook his head. "I said we'd think of something else and we
will. Continue with this treatment and watch your weight go down."
"Don't think I'm not aware of your cheerful intentions," said Anti.
"How can you possibly weigh me as long as I have to stay in the tank?"
"The same way Archimedes did--fluid displacement. I've rigged up a
scale so you can keep track of what's happening." He didn't tell her
what the scale was calibrated in. Absolute figures were disheartening.
It was only the progress which counted.
Anti looked at the dial near the edge of the tank. "I thought it was
just another gadget." When Jordan didn't answer she looked for him.
"Hey, don't leave me to freeze in this cold goop."
"You're not cold and you know it. You can't feel a thing."
"Don't be so frank," she grumbled. "Hardly anyone comes to talk to me.
I like company."
"Sure, but I've got to get busy on that other idea." He didn't have one
but he looked very wise and it had the desired effect.
"Guess I can't stop you," grumbled Anti. "Tell someone to come and
visit with me."
Again she looked long at the dial. It was a pleasant surprise to find
she was not so far from average that she could be weighed. Jordan was a
gadgeteer but sometimes his contraptions worked and once in a while his
ventures in psychology were extraordinarily shrewd.
For instance, the dial.
She imagined she could feel her toes tingling from the cold--if she
still had toes. Soon they would emerge from the fungus flesh in which
they were buried. She felt she was shedding.
What did they have that made anything seem possible? Jordan, the
sometimes wonderful gadgeteer. Docchi, a competent engineer but no more
than that. Unsure of himself personally he had a passion for correcting
inequalities. And then there was Cameron, a good doctor who was trying
to realign his principles. He wouldn't have made it except that he had
a powerful attraction ahead of him. Lord knows what he saw in Nona or
she in him.
And lastly there was Nona herself, to whom big miracles came easier
than small ones. There was a fragile grandeur about her but she knew
nothing at all of the human body, especially her own.
And this is what they relied on. It was strikingly little to balance
against the forces of Earth, which had failed them. And yet it was
enough; the accidentals would not fail.
It didn't matter what the resources were as long as they weren't aimed
in the right direction. She didn't have figures on the conquest of
cancer but the one-time scourge of mankind could have vanished far
sooner if the cost of one insignificant political gesture had been
spent instead to wipe out the disease.
Perhaps this was one answer. They were struggling not to make beautiful
men and women still more beautiful but to restore those who were less
than perfect to some sort of usefulness, especially in their own
evaluation.
The lights in the dome dimmed appreciably. It was the lengthening
shadows which made the needle on the dial that Anti was watching quiver
and seem to turn downward.
* * * * *
Jordan rode the repair robot away from the tank. It was more than
had ever been done for Anti but it wasn't enough. A fifty per cent
reduction and she still wouldn't be able to walk. He'd have to check
with anyone who had ideas of what to do. He didn't have much hope
there; nobody but himself had given much thought to Anti recently.
The machine he was on wasn't functioning properly. Nothing definite,
it just wasn't. He was sensitive enough to notice this through his
preoccupation with other problems. It was sluggish to his touch. It
was not unexpected; there was a lot of equipment that was supposed to
be foolproof and wasn't, any number of machines built to last forever
which didn't.
Once it would have been easy to blame technicians for failure to
keep the robots in proper condition. Now he couldn't because he was
that technician, the only one. Nona kept the big stuff working and
Docchi helped out with anything else when he could find them. But
minor machines were important too and this was his province. Robot
repair units affected gross corrections on themselves but weren't
capable of detecting defects in the basic repair circuit. This was his
responsibility.
He stopped the squat machine and opened it. There was nothing wrong
that he could see. Some other time he'd work it over thoroughly. He
climbed back on and touched the controls he added for his own use.
For a while nothing happened and then an extensible started flailing.
It was not what he'd signalled for. He shoved the lever in the opposite
direction and though it didn't stop the gyrations of the extensible it
did start the treads. The machine rumbled away at greater than ordinary
speed. Jordan would have fallen off if an extensible hadn't steadied
him.
Momentarily he wondered; the last response was not within the machine's
capacity. It was built to repair other machines and, within limits,
itself. It had no knowledge of the frailties of the human body. He
wondered at this and then forgot it completely.
The robot lurched heavily, narrowly missing one of the columns that
supported the dome. A collision at this speed--well, no, the column
wouldn't have been greatly damaged.
Hastily Jordan reached to shut it off. There was a shower of sparks and
the handle grew hot and sputtered. The grip flashed, fusing, visibly
becoming inoperative.
The robot no longer faltered. Jordan wasn't in immediate danger. He
could always swing off, slide off, or fall. But he ought to stop it
before it wrecked itself or, worse, the dome.
The dome enclosed a good part of the asteroid but it came to an end
somewhere, curving downward and joining the ground at a flexible
seal. Naturally it was protected against collision and naturally the
protection wasn't complete. It was conceivable that an uncontrolled
robot could break through. Jordan clutched an extensible as the machine
jolted and rocked. The nearest place it could damage the dome was miles
away. He'd disable it long before it got there.
He steadied himself and reached for the panel, prying it open. He
thrust his hand in and the lid slammed shut on his fingers. He yelled
and pulled loose, leaving part of his skin inside. The lid was firmly
closed.
He glowered at the machine. It was an accident that a wildly moving
extensible clamped the lid down as he reached inside. He didn't like
those kinds of accidents; the element of purpose was very strong.
He hesitated whether he should disable the machine. It was valuable
equipment and they wouldn't get more like it. It would have to last for
the duration. "Easy does it," he muttered but it wasn't easy. His hand
slid back to the toaster--and it wasn't there. The sensible thing was
to suppose that it had been jolted loose. The machine couldn't think in
complex terms.
Or could it? He glanced down; there were indications the robot had been
sliced into and he thought he knew who had done it. It was probably
the one he and Docchi had disabled long ago on their escape from the
asteroid. It had been repaired since and the technician who had done so
had altered the circuits.
The essential thing was to stop it before it caused real damage. He
suspected that, with a number of extensibles curled firmly around him,
there was no danger he'd fall off. Maybe he couldn't get off if he
wanted to.
He wished he'd encounter someone. He hated to admit it but he needed
help. In the distance he saw people and shouted. They knew him; he was
the person who rode the robot. They waved gaily and said something
unintelligible as he sped by. It was irritating that they didn't see
anything amiss.
The edge of the dome loomed up. They'd been going longer than he'd
thought. He squirmed uneasily; he should have gotten off long ago and
used something else to intercept the errant machine. A geepee, if he'd
had sense enough to get one, could run it down and smash it. His only
excuse was that he hadn't wanted to destroy valuable machinery.
With tremendous effort he tore himself loose and using the power of his
overdeveloped arms he threw himself off. He covered his head and rolled
along the ground in a tight ball. He was free.
But not for long. The treads whining in reverse, the robot whirled,
scooping him up as it passed by. This time it didn't pause as it headed
toward the edge of the dome. It was all his fault. The dome would
seal itself after the robot plunged through, but not without loss of
air--and one good mechanic.
The machine churned on but surprisingly didn't plow heedlessly into the
curved transparent wall. The extensibles felt the surface, the speed
was checked and the direction changed. The robot moved parallel with
the edge of the dome. It had a better sense of self-preservation than
was common with robots of this type.
It felt the wall as it rolled along. There was nothing noteworthy about
the surface, smooth, hard, and slightly curved. Another extensible
emerged from the squat body; the tip flashed a light toward the outside.
It was strange out there. Jordan hadn't often seen it; not many people
came to look out. When the asteroid was in the solar system jagged
rocks had gleamed in the sharp light of the sun. But now the landscape
was always dark except when some curious person wanted to remind
himself what the rest of his world was like. It was a torn and crumpled
sight the robot's light displayed, as if some giant had risen and
tossed aside the rocks he slept in. But not completely rumpled; here
and there were smooth areas that some vast engine might have planed
flat--or the same giant had straightened out with a swipe of his hand
before departing.
The robot flicked off the light and turned away. Jordan breathed with
relief when he saw where it was going, toward the central repair depot
to which all robots returned periodically. It would slide into a stall
and stop. He would get off. And he would see to it that the robot was
thoroughly checked over before it was called out again.
The entrance slot was extremely wide and equally low; it wasn't built
for passengers on the robots. Momentarily the thought flashed across
his mind that he should let himself be scraped off. But it seemed a
precipitous way to dismount and anyway the machine would soon stop and
he could get off more conventionally. Instinct won and Jordan flattened
himself as they swept under the gate. He could feel the masonry
twitching at his clothing.
The slot opened into a circular space in which other robots were
stationed in stalls. In the center were bins of spare parts. Jordan
called out, not too hopefully. Robots were assigned from here on a
broadcast band; he didn't think there were facilities for responding to
the human voice.
His machine headed toward a stall at the rear. This far from the
entrance the light was dim. Jordan wondered why there was any light
at all; robots didn't need it. Upon reflection he decided it was a
concession to human limitations.
But the machine didn't slow down as he expected. It rumbled between
walls, turned at a sharp angle--and the parking slot was not what it
had seemed. They were in a passageway, narrow and even more dimly
lighted. That it was lighted at all indicated it wasn't a chance
fissure. It had been built long ago and forgotten.
This was serious. Where was the machine going and when would it stop?
He hoped it _would_ stop. An outcropping in the passageway loomed ahead
of him; he flung himself flat. A sharp projection grazed his ear. The
tunnel wound on through solid rock. He was lost by the time it ended.
There were no true directions on the asteroid. Toward the sun or
away from it; toward the hospital or the rocket dome. These were the
principle orientations and the main one had been left behind--the sun.
He didn't know where he was except that it was somewhere under the main
dome. He was sure of this because he was still alive. There was air.
The passageway terminated in a large cavern. Once he saw it he relaxed.
It was a laboratory and a workshop and he knew whose. There was only
one person who would disassemble nine general purpose robots and
arrange their headpieces in a neat row on a stone slab. Their eyes
revolved slowly as the machine rumbled farther in. He stared back; the
intensity with which they gazed at him was uncomfortable. How long Nona
had had this workshop he didn't know. Perhaps it was here she'd hidden
from the guards.
Nine pair of eyes followed their progress as the machine rolled across
the floor. Jordan glared back. He could see that they were not merely
in a row, that they were hooked together by a complex circuitry that
wove an indefinable pattern between them. The purpose was obscure.
A repair robot was an idiot outside the one thing it was built to
do. A general purpose robot, the geepee, was a higher type. It was a
moron. Were nine morons brighter than one? With men, not necessarily;
stupidity was often merely compounded. But with mechanical brains,
using modules of computation, the combination might constitute an
accurate data evaluating system.
Jordan squirmed to get a better glimpse of the heads on the slab--and
fell off the machine that held him captive. He was free.
His first impulse was to scurry away. When he remembered how far he had
to go and by what labyrinth route he decided to wait. Something better
might come up. He raised himself and rubbed fine gravel off his cheek.
Dust irritated his nose; he sneezed. Eighteen eyes glowered at him.
The repair robot ignored him. Having brought him so far and clung
possessively, now it refused to notice him. On the bench there was
something new to interest it. The unshakable directive around which it
was built had taken over: there was a machine which should be fixed.
What? A mechanism of some sort. Not the nine heads. The repair robot
raised a visual stalk and scanned. Jordan craned but couldn't see to
the top of the stone bench. Extending other stalks the robot began
working up high on the unknown something.
His own curiosity was aroused. Jordan swung to the bench and, gripping
the edge, hoisted himself up. Parts of disassembled geepees and other
electronic devices were scattered over the slab. He inched carefully
along until he could see what his robot, microsenses clicking
furiously, was busy with.
It was disappointing. He had expected to find a complicated machine
and instead it was nothing at all--a strand of woven wire with a
rectangular metal piece at one end. A belt with a buckle on it. This
was what fascinated the repair robot.
Jordan went closer. The robot hummed and shook, extensibles racing
through the scattered parts which it sorted and laid aside for other
stalks to add to the end of the slender strand. It worked on, from time
to time stopping to buzz inquisitively. When nothing happened after
these outbursts it resumed activity. The pattern was clear: the belt
was not functioning properly and the robot was busy repairing it.
Gradually it slowed and the pauses became longer. It clattered loudly
and sputtered, extensibles waving uncontrollably until they seemed to
freeze. The directive completely frustrated, the robot whined once and
then was silent. It was motionless.
Jordan reached for the object, ready to swing away if there was any
objection. There wasn't. He examined it closely; it was _not_ a belt.
And the rectangular metal piece was not a buckle though it could serve
as one. Actually it was a mechanism of some kind, though what it was
supposed to do he couldn't tell.
It was one of Nona's experiments. Of that there was little doubt. The
strands were not wires but microparts fastened together and woven into
an intricate pattern. Jordan snorted; the robot hadn't improved on what
Nona had wrought.
He inspected it thoroughly. He could see where the robot had begun to
add parts. Methodically he unhooked the surplus components. If Nona had
thought they should be on there she would have attached them. They
didn't belong.
When he was down to the original mechanism he looked at it perplexedly.
It was designed to be worn as a belt. He fastened it around his waist
and touched the stud.
By now he had some idea of what it was intended for. It was not
surprising that it worked perfectly.
He expected that it would. Nona seldom failed. What Jordan didn't
notice and would never discover--no one would--was that there were
three minute parts that the robot had added, almost too small for the
human eye to see. And those three parts were indispensable. Without
them the belt would not function at all. For the lack of them Nona had
discarded the idea as unworkable.
10
Jed Webber came in noisily. His left foot was heavy and his left arm
swung more than it should. Otherwise there wasn't much that remained of
the timid awkward man of weeks ago.