Webber grinned. "I thought they would but I wanted to be sure. It's one
of the Centauris."
"Is that as close as you can come?"
"With that telescope it is. It's pretty wobbly. Who made it, anyway?"
"I did."
Webber grinned again. "In that case it's pretty damned good." With
difficulty Webber kept himself from looking down but Docchi could see
that his real foot was wriggling.
"Thanks. Did you get an estimate of the speed?"
Webber grunted. "Not a spectroscope on the place and without one how
can I measure the light shift?" He rubbed his arm slowly. "Unless you
made one of those too and have it stored away."
"I don't. I made the telescope when I first came here. I didn't see
that it proved anything even to myself so I stopped." Docchi thought
briefly. "There's an analyzer in the medical lab. You can borrow it
but don't change it in any way. We can't risk ruining the only means we
have of checking our synthetics."
"We don't have to know how fast we're going. We'll get there just as
soon. I'll look into that analyzer after my work period. There's a
chance it will do what I want it to."
"What you're doing is work. You don't have to put in more hours than
anyone else."
Webber smiled unhappily. "Oh--I'm as lazy as the next person. We're
short handed in hard labor. I thought I'd fill in for a while."
The reference was what he'd expect from Webber, not at all subtle. "You
mean that there's criticism over the shortage of geepees?"
"I didn't want to say anything--but yes, there is."
"I've heard the same complaint. You're not revealing something I don't
know." Docchi leaned back. "To you it seems like ingratitude and I
suppose it is. More than anyone else Nona is responsible for what we've
achieved. I don't object to anything she wants--twice as many geepees
if she needs them and we have them. We'll get it back in ways we didn't
expect."
"I agree. But not everyone feels the same way."
"It doesn't hurt. In times of hardship everyone complains, and they may
as well direct it at her. Actually it's a measure of how important they
feel she is--and the accusations are so ill-founded they can't believe
them themselves."
Webber got up. For the first time since he entered the mechanical and
muscular halves of his body failed to coordinate. "You're right. I
thought if I had something to tell them they'd be less uncertain."
"Perhaps they would, for a while. I'm not keeping secrets. The truth is
I don't know what she's using the geepees for."
If the explanation failed to be completely convincing it was because
Webber didn't want to believe. There were others like him. He didn't
blame anyone for wanting an accounting for every piece of equipment
on the asteroid. And yet the attitude was an advantage. Discontent,
real or fancied, wouldn't become a problem as long as it was openly
displayed. There would be time to worry if Webber didn't mention his
dissatisfaction. Docchi watched him leave and then bent over his work.
A few hours and a score of unimportant details later Cameron hurried
in. "Need a couple of lab workers," he said on entering.
"I thought Jeriann was doing all right."
"She is--indispensable. We can't have that. Suppose she should get
sick? I want her to teach someone else the synthesizers. She's got too
much on her hands."
Docchi hooked his knee on a corner of the desk and tilted the chair
back. "Sounds reasonable. Do you have anyone in mind?"
"Jeriann says two women have worked with her in the past. She won't
have to start from scratch. She'll give you their names." Cameron
rifled the files and jotted down the information. He folded the sheet,
stuffing it in his pocket. "Here's something for you. We've reduced the
unsolved deficients to three. All the rest we can synthesize for."
From forty-two to nine and now it was three. It was all the progress
they could hope for, and much of it was due to Cameron. He had
misjudged the doctor's reasons for staying and he was thankful he could
admit it to himself. The man was sincere--and he was also very fond of
Nona.
Coupled with an increased food supply the major hazards were vanishing.
Power, of course, never had been a problem and never would be. There
was only one small doubt that remained and though there was no basis
for it he couldn't get it out of his mind. He wished there was some way
to reassure himself.
"We weren't able to replace everything the deficients need," Cameron
was saying. "However they'll get along on what we manufacture."
"Then they're still deficients?"
"Hardly," said Cameron. "The body's more versatile than you think. Long
ago it was learned that certain vitamins can be created in the body
from simpler substances.
"In several cases we're depending on an analogous process. We supply
simple compounds and depend on the body to put it together. Afterwards,
when we checked, the body did create the new substance."
"Good. When will you take the remaining three off the emergency list?"
"Two are minor. It doesn't matter when we get to them as long as it's
within the next few years."
He didn't have to be told who the third was. Maureen. He'd all but
forgotten her. It was the doctor's responsibility, but he didn't feel
that way.
"She's not causing trouble," emphasized Cameron. "Daily she is growing
more feminine and we'd have positive proof of it except that we've
taken steps."
"Confinement?"
"No, except the solitude of her mind. Hypnotics. We tell her she's
getting the regular injections and it's these which cause her to want
to be left alone."
It was more stringent than he cared for but he didn't have a better
suggestion. "How long can she continue on hypnotics?"
"Depends. The reaction varies with the person. She can tolerate quite a
bit more."
Docchi's face darkened. "You said you can't transfer tissue from any of
us. Is that also true of hormones concentrated from blood donations?"
"Let's put it this way: blood won't help Maureen at all. We can't
extract the complete hormone spectrum from blood--the basic factors she
must have to utilize the rest just don't exist there. If I thought it
would help I'd have asked for donations long ago."
Docchi tried to shut out the pictures that were coming fast. Maureen
alone in a room in which she had darkened the windows so she wouldn't
look outside. The door would swing open at the touch of her hand,
but she would never touch it. The lock was intangible and hence
unbreakable. It would break when her mind broke.
"That's all you've planned," said Docchi, "wait and see what happens?"
"Hardly. I'm having Jeriann work solely on synthesizing those hormone
fractions we can't extract from blood. If she gets even a few we'll
call for blood and between the two sources we'll have Maureen out of
trouble."
Docchi refrained from asking what chance of success Jeriann had.
It might be better not to know. Before he could question the doctor
further Jordan wandered in, buoyant and cheerful. Tacitly they let the
subject of Maureen drop.
"Where have you been the last few days?" said Cameron. "I've been
wanting you to fix some of my equipment."
"I've been busy tearing down a robot."
"That's important but the hospital comes first," said Docchi.
"Not before this one," said Jordan. "It was erratic and I had to get
out those faulty circuits before it decided to look into a nuclear
pile. If I'd let it go there might be no robot, power plant or
asteroid. Not to mention a hospital."
"You're exaggerating."
"No I'm not. You should have seen it. It had more curiosity than--well,
Anti."
"Or you?" suggested Docchi, smiling faintly at the man's good nature.
"Get to the doctor's equipment when you can."
"I'm not in a real hurry," said Cameron. "By the way, I saw Anti
yesterday. She's coming along nicely with your treatment, looking
almost human."
"She always did seem human to me," said Jordan.
"Sorry. No offense."
"Sure, I know. It was a compliment." The tension left Jordan again; he
was relaxed and easy. "Anyway, you should see her today. Better yet. I
don't have to rig the scale in her favor. I can let her read the honest
figures."
"Good. But don't overdo the encouragement. It will make it harder when
she finds she won't be walking for years."
"She'll be up long before you think," said Jordan mildly but the
doctor chuckled at the wrong time and the mildness vanished. Jordan
had come to tell them but now he couldn't. Cameron thought he was good
and so he was but he forgot he wasn't dealing with ordinary people.
His rules just didn't apply to Anti, nor to Nona, Jordan, or even the
spectacularly useless robot. The doctor didn't understand and because
of that he'd have to wait, Docchi too.
"I discovered where Nona does most of her work these days," Jordan
muttered. He described where it was, omitting the details of how he got
there. He was also careful not to mention anything he saw.
Cameron looked out the window as Jordan talked. "Glad you told me," he
said. "I've been meaning to see what I could do for her. It might help
if I watched her working."
"Very ordinary," said Jordan. "She putters around--but things fall
together when she touches them."
"I imagine. I've seen great surgeons operate." Cameron gathered up his
notes and left.
Jordan lingered for a while trying to make up his mind whether to tell
Docchi what he had refrained from discussing while the doctor was
present. He wanted to, but the longer he kept it to himself the harder
it was to share. Eventually Docchi tired of chatting and bent over his
work and Jordan wandered out, his secret still safe, too safe.
Docchi stopped foggily when he was alone again. Cameron would soon be
trying to help Nona. Somebody had to and he, Docchi, couldn't. It was
enough to settle all the prosaic details that must be attended to if
the place were to function properly.
It was a relief to know that he no longer be concerned about her.
Nevertheless a certain grayness descended that didn't lift until
Jeriann came in to check on a patient's file.
11
In the beginning there was silence and it never changed. No sound came
to break the stillness. Darkness changed to light with regularity or
not, but in the particular universe in which she lived there was never
any noise nor any conversation, and music was unknown. She didn't miss
it.
There were also machines in the universe in which she dwelt and these
too observed a dichotomy. Some machines were warm and soft and this
distinguished them from those which were hard and cool. The warm ones
started themselves when they were very small. Later they grew up but
they didn't know how they did it. Neither did she. Once she was little
and she didn't remember doing anything to change it, but it did change.
The hard machines she knew more about. They didn't always have picture
receptors on top. Some were blind and some saw more than she did,
though not quite in the same way. She could never tell by looking at
them which was apt to do which.
(There was a stupid little running machine that she had discovered
once that was perpetually scurrying about looking for things to do. It
would never have survived on Earth because there was an unexpected flaw
in it. She herself had sensed the fault and started to fix it only to
realize that here was an unexpected stroke of luck. Curiosity circuits
there were by the million but they were all mechanical and what they
produced could be strictly predicted. But this was unique. A deviation
in the manufacturing process, a slight change in the density of the
material, whatever it was something extraordinarily fine had been put
together and it would take a hundred years of chance to duplicate it.)
(Midway she had changed her mind and instead had altered the machine to
encourage the basic sensitivity. She hadn't seen it recently. She hoped
someone who didn't understand hadn't undone her work.)
The known order crumbled under the touch into something that was
strange. But where sight itself would not suffice, it was possible
to touch reality, to soak it into the skin, like understanding which
cometh slowly to the growing mind. But what was understanding? Parts of
it were always left out and she could venture toward it only a little
way.
She twisted the head on the bench. The silence was unchanging. (What
was silence?) Other heads on the bench didn't move; they weren't
supposed to. Once they had been attached to clumsy machines and could
move about with a stiff degree of freedom. They couldn't now, though
they could twist the light perceptors in whichever direction suited
them.
But they didn't know where to look.
She herself couldn't see the thing that was approaching. It was because
her eyes were imperfect. Lenses were pliable and nerve endings were
huge things, too gross to catch the instant infinitesimal signals. Or
perhaps it was permeability--force bounced on distant impenetrability
and bounded back to and through her senses.
She'd have to align the heads to help them help her, string them
together for what reinforcement they offered each other. And still they
wouldn't see because what they depended on for seeing was too slow. By
itself the hookup wouldn't correct their sight.
But nearby was a fast mind though a lazy one. It liked routine once
the meaning of it was made clear. And it worked with instantaneity.
Blind itself it could fingertip touch the incredible impulses and
interpret what it felt for those who had eyes. It would join with her,
reluctantly but surely if she made it interesting, a game at which it
could always win. And winning wouldn't be difficult for it, not against
these nine circuit bound minds, even if it was true that they did
augment one another. Singly there were stupid and even added they were
not much better. Their virtue was that they were electronic.
(Alone) Were there intangible machines? Sometimes she thought there
might be. People twisted their mouth and (not because they were
smiling) to indicate that they too understood. She could touch the air
coming out but the impulses had no meaning. It was not like vibrations
machines set up, harmonics that told of the unseen structure. There was
nothing mechanical that could be concealed from harmonics--there were
no hard and fast secrets. But what came out of mouths was senseless.
It told nothing, or if it did have meaning her hands and her skin were
unable to relay the interpretation further. (People were soft machines
and they did not ring true. It was difficult to understand.)
Her hands were usually quite capable. (Now) she wove wires so fine
that only occasional light was caught and brilliantly reflected. Each
strand led somewhere. She removed panels from the robots' heads and
grouped them closer. They were beginning to shake off their incomplete
individuality. They were no longer separate mechanisms, each of which
could only grope for a small fragment of reality. They were merging,
becoming larger and stronger. There was more to be done to them but she
couldn't do it.
As light as her touch was it was too inaccurate for what must follow.
There were objects smaller than her eye could see, movements finer
than her muscles could control. She summoned a repair machine whose
microsenses were adequate to begin with. She would like to have the
one she repaired some time ago (actually it was quite smart) but it
had disappeared and she didn't know where to find it. However this one
would do.
It was set merely to repair what was already built, but what she wanted
was not yet made. She changed the instructions; they were not to her
liking anyway.
She delved into the machine and set the problem. The statement of it
was complex and she wasn't sure how much data the robot aide would
need. When she finished it stood there thrumming. It didn't move.
She waited but nothing happened. The robot, whose senses were far finer
than her own, remained frozen and baffled. Impatiently she restated the
problem, rephrased it so that it could reach every part of the circuit
almost instantly. Where it was complex she simplified, reducing it at
last to an order the robot could act on. It began to work, slowly at
first.
It copied exactly a circuit she had made previously. After she approved
it started another, like the first but much smaller, attaching it in
series. Satisfied it was obeying instructions, she left it. It would
continue to make those circuits, each one progressively smaller, the
final one delicate enough to contact the gravity computer.
Meanwhile there was her own work. It wouldn't suffice that the geepees
be linked with the gravity computer. They would then see what she had
discovered long ago--but it was people who had to be shown. Their eyes
were even less sensitive than hers.
Fortunately this was the easiest part. She went to the screen and began
to alter it. It could be made to scan what the gravity computer passed
on to the geepee heads. A row of dominos, each of which would topple if
the first were struck, and the screen was the last of the series.
"Hello," said a voice. "So this is where you always are. What a dreary
place to work."
She didn't hear the voice. She felt the footsteps and the air brushing
against her skin. She turned around, letting her hands continue, deft
and sure. She didn't need to see what she was doing. The smile was
involuntary.
He leaned against the wall, watching her. It was embarrassing the way
she gazed back. He wished she could say something but then he'd always
wished it. He'd had a thesis once, hadn't he? that for mechanics
deafness wasn't a handicap considering how noisy machines were. A deaf
person could withstand a concentration of sound the average man would
find intolerable. And there was no need for such a person to talk since
there was no one who could hear.
The connections in her hands grew swiftly. She felt that she could work
better while he was near. Why was this?
"What do you respond to?" he said gruffly. "Diagrams, blue-prints?
If so I'll have to learn to draw the damnedest things." He laughed
uncertainly. "Come on, help me a little bit. I've got some ideas that
might help you break out of your shell if you'd try to respond."
He fixed things too, warm soft mechanisms. She didn't know but she
thought it was a higher skill than hers. He was not as adept as she
was, though he could learn to be. There was so much more he could do if
he would realize. His mouth was a handicap. He moved it often when he
should be thinking.
"Listen, robot face, I left a career for you. Do you think they
wouldn't take me back? The Medicouncil wouldn't like it but I'd have
been a popular hero. Sometimes they want their heroes to fail. Besides
from their viewpoint it was the best possible solution. Now they don't
have to think of people like you out on that god-forsaken asteroid.
You're off their conscience and they don't have to have bad dreams
about you."
She smiled again and it was infuriating. What he said or did had no
effect. "At least show that you recognize me. Stop what you're doing.
It can't be important."
He drew her to him roughly and the work fell from her hands. The
connections had been done minutes before and she'd continued to hold
them because she didn't want to move away from him. She was willing to
let him look at her closely if he wanted. It was surprising how much he
wanted to.
Later he held her away from him. "I take it back," he said softly.
"You're not a robot face. There's no point of resemblance to a machine.
And look, you've even discovered that you've got more than one
expression."
The robot aide that had been laboring on whirred inaudibly and clacked
its extensibles. It rolled away from the work bench, brushing lightly
against the doctor as it did so.
Cameron glanced down blankly, not actually seeing it. "What do I do
now?" he said with unexpected gloominess. "You're a child. You're
as old as Jeriann, maybe as old as I am, but in this you're hardly
more than a child." What was consent and how would he know when he
had it? Well, no, that was not the problem--he knew, but would she?
What _could_ he explain to her? He put his arms around her and gazed
thoughtfully over her head at the odds and ends of machinery she
had been stringing together. The screen flickered and sprang into
illumination.
He glared at it for interrupting his thoughts. It seemed to him he had
just discovered something very significant and if he'd had a few more
minutes he'd have been able to say it in a way he'd never forget. But
there was a shape on the screen and he couldn't ignore it. The image
wavered in and out of focus, growing clearer as the machine learned to
hold it steady.
It was a ship.
A ship. He dropped his hands. "Don't give up on me. I'm not going to
run out on you." Was it his imagination that the ship was growing
larger? His throat was dry and tight. The last thing he wanted to see
was a ship.
"I don't know what we can do about this, Nona, but come on. We'll see."
She leaned against the wall, showing no inclination to follow. She
seemed to be disturbed but he would guess it was not about the same
thing he was. "Come on," he said. "We've got to tell the others."
And still she didn't move. "I can't stay here," he muttered and kissed
her. He started walking away fast so he'd be able to leave.
She could tell that he was upset by the unexpected appearance of the
ship on the scanner. Perhaps he thought they were alone in space, that
emptiness was lonely. He ought to have known better. She had seen it
long ago, and guessed what it meant. It would have to be overcome.
What she couldn't understand was what happened to her when he touched
her. Others had tried to come close and either she minded or was
indifferent and they went away. But this was surely outside of her
experience. She thought it meant something to touch a machine and to
know therefrom what it was. But to come in contact with him and to
learn all at once what he was--yes and herself too.... The warm soft
mechanism that she was behaved strangely--never the same way twice.
And now she was becoming confused--because she would always feel this
when he was near--and she didn't mind.